SCOUT/MIKEY - WEEK THREE

Scout looked up from her book to glance at the clock. Her heart fluttered in a delightful way. Ten minutes until her turn in the gym. The hour each day from 2 to 3 went by far too fast. Especially since she was used to training for hours at a time.

Refocusing her energy to the art that shaped much of who she was, felt as normal as breathing. Something that made the time go faster. If she was honest with herself, it gave her the opportunity to reflect on who she once was, the choices she'd made, and who she wanted to be.

She couldn't hear.

She was never going to hear again.

Essence was a demon that existed, and by that existence would tempt her with the one thing she just wasn't meant to have, for all the days of her life. That was her addiction. She could own that now. To herself at least. She frowned as a lump rose to her throat. One thing she could not, however, bring herself to do was see her parents.

A side effect of them coming every day, her dad reportedly staying the entire four-hour window, was that she in turn refused not only them, but her brother and sister too. Because, if she were to go see them, she'd be forced to face him too. And she just couldn't.

Her stomach turned. What had started out as an internal debate with her pride, evolved into intense shame at ever having fallen so far from the path she'd been raised on. Individual counseling was doing wonders for her perspective. She was able to face herself. But somehow, the idea of facing the two people she respected more than anyone else- when she'd betrayed their trust- done such awful things-

Her mind pushed down the instant-replays that still gave her nightmares. She would meditate later, in her next free period. That would help.

Her jaw shifted as she closed her book, rising from the community area couch to put it away. Something else she'd do would be to divide that free time with some conditioning. Because once she had her life back, she had something to protect. Herself. And she had an enemy to pick apart and take down. She'd save as many mutants and hybrids as she could. Essence would always exist, but that didn't mean Tripp's would.

She placed the book on her side table and glanced at the clock in her room. Crap, she'd wasted too much time thinking. If she didn't hustle she'd be late, which meant less gym time. Which also meant if Yuuta got there before her he'd make her spend part of that time conditioning. A waste when she could do that without him. No, she needed to spar, to practice katas, it helped her gain focus, made her thoughts clearer. Helped her figure things out.

Racing to the gym, she made it with one minute to spare. But as she opened the door, expecting Yuuta, she was disappointed to find the space empty. He was late. Exhaling the negative energy settling in her gut, she then inhaled determined to let it go. Then she took up a spot in the center of the floor and began her warm up. Why was he late? Aside from that first day, he was never late.

As she folded over herself, reaching for her ankles to stretch both her back and leg muscles, a flash of unmistakable green and orange appeared in the tiny window of the gym door.

Oh Gods.

Her heart stopped as she scrambled to seiza and bowed her head.

Oh Gods. Oh Gods. Oh Gods.

Her pulse became an audible sound in her head as her palms, resting above her knees, began to sweat.

Damn Yuuta.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

She swallowed hard, knowing the ruling half, the lifetime of training half of her brain, was already taking over. This space, this gym floor, this bland room, with a basketball hoop shoved in a corner, and folding chairs lining the walls, this space had been just a gym. Even with Yuuta there working out with her. He'd been a stand-in. A training partner. But now, now, it was about to be something entirely different.

A room was just a room... until your Sensei walked in. Then, no matter where you were, when he was teaching you, it became a dojo.

A space with an entirely different relationship than father, daughter.

It became teacher, student.

Scout swallowed hard.

Different rules applied here.

Communication was essential. Respect mandatory. Discipline, both self and applied, a priority. Honor and integrity, paramount.

This changed everything.

Mikey watched panic on Scout's face war with her training as her body automatically fell back into familiar routine. For the first time in a while, he felt a flicker of hope. Yuuta was a genius.

Time for the next item in his literal bag of tricks. He reached into the canvas tote he'd brought with him. The bag that had resulted in so much searching and examining by the powers that be that he'd ended up late, rather than the early he'd intended.

Scout's eyes grew big and round, eerily reminiscent of his own rather than the mother she almost identically resembled, as he withdrew her gi and presented it to her. She hesitated a fraction of a second before accepting the offering, running her fingers over the familiar cloth.

He waited, with uncharacteristic patience while she silently stood and slipped the gi on over the yoga clothes she'd worn into the gym, tying her belt in place with a tight jerk. Not a color-coded belt that was the custom in other schools, but one that was a testament to her skill and work by virtue of its discoloration and frayed edges, the product of time and use. It was the belt she'd first received at the start of her training, comically long for her then. It suited her now.

"Yuuta said you were ready to move on from what's he's been working on with you?" He spoke and signed as she respectfully knelt once more, eyeing him with a combination of wariness, curiosity and fear.

He reached into the tote once more and pulled out her nunchaku.

Scout's mouth fell open at sight of her beloved chucks. Not even one of her practice pairs, but her best set. Gifted to her, by her dad when she was nine. A slightly expensive birthday present that he'd been picked on by his brothers for. They thought she was too young, too immature for a pro set. But he knew. Somehow, he always knew.

Her heart fluttered as she accepted them with trembling fingers. She could still picture him beaming when she'd proved her Uncles wrong. She'd won two junior tournaments that year.

With five training pair, her competitive set, and two special sets, one traditional wood ball bearing set and one convertible kusarigama set like her father's, both of which were only to be used for actual fights (aka; never) or when training with him, all completing her arsenal, it was clear in his selection that he was pulling out all the stops.

"Hai, Sensei," she answered him.

She clamped her eyes shut as she felt the words leave her mouth, uncertain as to how they sounded. Which was likely wrong, maybe more so than usual. She hadn't bothered trying to speak in three weeks, depending entirely upon sign. It had given her an excuse not to befriend the other residents. She was too difficult to converse with. Devon interpreting everything got old quick when most rehab conversations were deeply personal, and a lady constantly waving her hands around drew attention.

She looked to her weapons, her brow knitting. How? They were against the rules. How had he managed this? She wanted to look at him, ask him. Yet at the same time she was so horribly ashamed of where she was and what she'd done to be put there, and low, low beneath that she was still mad that he'd left her there. Even though now, with a clean mind, she knew he'd done the right thing. Tears threatened her eyes, a lump forming in her throat.

Avoiding direct eye contact with him, she looked to his hands for instruction. She'd answered him honestly, Yuuta had done what he could with what he was permitted.

Yuuta.

Her dad being here had to be his doing. Not because he felt she needed a proper challenge, but to put her in a room where her dad wasn't just her dad, but also her teacher. He knew she'd follow the rules here. That the dynamic would shift. And while she wanted to be angry at him for that, she also felt relieved. Here, she didn't have to explain herself... unless he required her to.

Mikey took his own chucks out of the now empty bag and carelessly tossed it out of the way before hopping to his feet. He'd never quite mastered the whole enigmatic seriocity thing that his dad and Leo had going on, but he'd always thought his students preferred the enthusiasm.

Scout shakily took to her feet.

"You ready for the this?" He spoke and signed, not an easy feat while holding his chucks.

After a moment, she nodded, that old competitive gleam sparking in her eyes despite everything else that must be going on in her head. Awesome.

They bowed in and he immediately started with his usual splurge of unnecessarily flashy spins and weapon maneuvers. Sure, while not directly combative they had the benefit of confusing an opponent and camouflaging when and where a strike might come from, making him un-pre-dictable, but they also looked really cool, which was just as important.

Likely knowing what he was thinking, Scout smiled despite herself and joined the fight.

But her moves were uncharacteristically cautious, full of second-guessing and self-doubt. When she did attack, what should have been fluidity came across with rigid forcefulness more characteristic of Raph-style.

She was angry. She had a right to be. He'd next-level screwed up after all. Unfortunately, the comic books that had been his life guide through alien invasion, fending off nightmares of mad science, and putting down horrors from beyond rational comprehension; fell a bit short on the topics of responsible parenting. He really ought to contact the publishers about that.

Well, disaster-dadding aside, she was here now. This, her art, had always been her safe place. It was, ironically, where she went to lick her wounds and recover when hurting. And it could be again. He just had to show her how.

"Booyakasha!"

Reading her father's battle cry on his lips brought an onslaught of memories. When he taught classes, especially with her preschool and kindergarten, then later first and second grade levels, he began and ended every lesson with that cheer. It was also present at every competition she'd ever won. Every good report card for anyone in the house. Every success in either his or her mother's lives, and for every victory however big or small; from winning a game of Mazes and Mutants to the announcement of the next Crognard movie. It meant he was happy, which brought warmth and hope to her heart.

Beneath blossoming promise came a jolt of regret, because he would forgive her everything, and maybe she'd known that from the beginning. It's who he was. Her dad. Her hero.

And she didn't deserve him.

"Booyakasha!" He shouted again, launching into another of his glamorous displays, before slipping in an inviting tap with his chucks against hers.

She smiled, accepting his challenge, joy filling her, with every extension, leap, kick, twirl, and toss, her muscles remembered their job, her body its movements. Booyakasha, Daddy.

She wished she could hear him say it.

Then somewhere deep inside her a voice whispered, you could hear it. With Essence.

Her nostrils flared, a snarl breaching her lips. Never again. Never. Her heart quickened, her hand sliding from the top of her weapon down to the end. No more drugs. As her arm extended their chucks clashed. No more detox! His expression changed, a flicker of confusion. No more rehab! His eyes darted to her hand and she feigned left, distraction with her right chuck- attempted strike to the left side.

Blocked again, but barely.

Fire bloomed in her chest amid a jolt of defiance. I will get out. I'm better. I'll have my life back!

Screw Essence! Screw addiction!

Her eyes rushed hot. She'd screwed up. Let her parents down. Hurt her dad. And for what? Springing back, she exhaled her fury in a shout, launching her attack. She spun her left weapon, launched it into the air and caught it while attacking with her right.

Blocked.

Essence was a lie. False hope. One that she'd bought into like a chump. She cried out again, stepping right into a combination. Never again. Three chances this attack, one bonus if she got as far as her roundhouse.

Strike right. Block. Roll back. Spin left, strike right. Tripp's face taunted her. Zeke. Drake. Jake. They didn't give a damn about her. She shouted again, rage boiling in her gut. Strike left, strike right, distract right, strike left.

Her chuck connected with his carapace, sending a vibration through the chuck into her hand. And someone, someone at that club had hurt her on purpose. Why did she ever say yes in the first place?

To hear.

And it wasn't worth this.

This. Hell.

I hate who I've become! Another battle cry as she launched into her kick, her body rotating, weapons spinning as her foot flew. Damn the terrible things I've done. Her target was blurry. And I HATE being here! She blinked as her extended leg came down, her father's surprised face right in line of strike. Images of his black eye flickered above his shock. No! She drew her leg in, his eyes widening as she drew up short abandoning her attack, too late to land it safely.

The coaxing worked. Maybe a little too well. She was coming for him, guns blazing.

Normally, when sparring, there was always a little holding back in order to not actually break your fight-buddy. Not right now.

Burning with a fury that would've made Raph proud, she was in full on take-down-the-squirrelenoids-before-they-eat-our-brains mode. Only his intuition and natural speed was keeping him off his shell, bones unbroken.

Until a particularly enraged battle cry, laced with pain, caused him to hesitate, just a tiny fraction of a second, but that's all it took.

He was already dodging but, to his immense surprise, he was not going to get his face completely out of the way of the incoming kick in time. Uh oh.

Scout knew it too, seemingly coming back to herself in time to make the realization. Trying to correct course, it was too late. She'd already committed everything to the attack.

Then instinct kicked in and his head involuntarily began retracting into his shell giving him the few precious inches that maneuvering his body couldn't and her strike hit the air where his head should have been.

Thrown completely off balance by both her efforts to stop and her kick meeting no resistance, she toppled forward.

He caught her as she plowed into his plastron, knocking them both to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

She scrabbled upright, calling out in her adorable Scoutish, "Dad! Dad!"

Propping himself up on an elbow, he smiled and gave her a thumbs up. Then pushed himself the rest of the way up, signing with a wink "I sure do love being a turtle."

Scout sat up, panting, blinking as her dad signed his love for turtle-dom. He was okay. Exhaling a great breath, her entire body began to shake as relief flooded her. His smile was genuine, eyes open and forgiving. She flopped onto her back, a giddy laugh erupting. He was okay. Tears filled her eyes, her heart pounding. Before, they would've shared a laugh over this. It happened. Part of the practice at her level. But now-

She didn't know where it came from, maybe the ocean of turmoil inside her. But tears spilled down her cheeks as her laugh tumbled into a sob. Still trembling, she rolled to her hands and knees before slipping into her formal posture. "I'm so sorry, Daddy." The words tumbled from her lips as the floodgates opened. She turned her head, shamed, blurry eyes meeting his as all her pride became a fading ignorant thing that no longer mattered. "I'm so, so sorry."

Slipping back into seiza to mirror her position, he took her hands and gave them as squeeze as her outburst of tears triggered his own waterworks.

"I know." He spoke and signed. "I'm sorry I didn't do such a good job of protecting you. But I'll be better. I promise. So that you know you can always come to me with anything. No matter what. I'm here for you for-alls and evers."

Scout drew her lip into her mouth, chewing furiously. His regret hurt. He had nothing to be sorry for. This was all on her. As she choked back a sob she signed, finding it hard to look at him but knowing she should. She owed him that. "I don't understand why you think you messed up. This, this was all me. I lied. Deceived you. Swung at mom. Hit you. Scared you both." She looked away, swallowed and made herself finish. "I couldn't see you or mom because I-" She closed her eyes, willed trembling fingers to work as she opened them again. "I knew you'd forgive me, but you shouldn't. I don't deserve it."

He smiled. "Of course, you deserve it. Everyone who is sorry does. And I messed up because I'm your dad and I'm supposed to take care of you, even when you do your best to try and stop me. You don't have to hide from us. All we want is our Cubs back, safe and sound."

Fresh tears choked her. He may have forgiven her but that didn't mean she'd forgiven herself. She had to do better. Her best. Unable to form words, she threw her arms around his neck. They wanted her back. Well then, they'd have her. The very best of her.

As her dad squeezed her, the gym door opened. Scout caught glimpse of Pria over the ridge of her dad's carapace. Devon right behind her, signing as Pria spoke.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. But you've actually had the gym for quite a while now. It's time for group, Scout. And, Mr. Hamato, if I could have a word with you in my office please."