MIKEY/SCOUT/JEM/PHOENIX/DENIM

Mikey paced the room as his mom examined his daughter, burning with nervous energy despite his exhaustion.

Jem sat, sullen and quiet, in the office chair in front of Horace's desk and drafting table, the only human-specific set of furniture in the large space.

While Horace had never fully given up his shop of neato-weird stuff, he'd mostly handed off the day-to-day to employees so that he could focus on his expanded interests, designing custom furniture and clothing for mutants.

Mikey had to admit that the turtle-friendly stuff Horace made sure fit a lot better than oversized human clothes. Especially once they got him to make them regular instead of fancy-phantom-of-the-musical-dinner-theater style. Plus, Dus was way less of a grump in the winter with the battery-heated suits he whipped up for her, even if she did look like she was wearing a giant, wool sock.

The room was full of his influence. To afford his sis as much movement space as possible, all shelves and drawers were shallow and flush to the walls, making up for the space by going all the way up to the ceiling, where Dus, at least, could reach. Horace's clothes were on rolling racks that moved to wherever they weren't in the way at any given moment.

They also had long drawers under the sides of their large, square bed, perfect for Dus to coil on, with heated mattress pad and blanket and heat lamps built into the ceiling above because, yeah...Dus and winter. Not friends.

Scout lay on the edge of the bed, her head on the one fluffy pillow, presumably Horace's, while mom looked her over. He really wished she'd hurry up and say Scout was all good. He felt like he was crawling out of his skin.

Phoenix had reached the limits of her power. The bumps, bruises, cuts and even one deep stab wound in her leg were in the clear and she finished up the emergency patch job on her back injury from earlier. She'd even stopped the bleeding in Scout's ears although they were now and always would be a right mess.

As far as she could tell, with each mutagenic transformation, they'd come back a little more wrong, twisted and deformed. What remained wasn't even recognizable as eardrums anymore.

"I'm afraid that's the best I can do." She spoke and signed.

Before Scout could lift her hands a gust of nervous energy, that near matched her dad's, burst into the room carrying a tray of food. Her mother, in rare form, placed the tray on the empty corner of Horace's drafting table, then spun around wringing her hands.

Her dad stopped his own pacing to do a double-take, then what almost was a smile wobbled into a fresh mask of worry as Mom reached for the wastebasket and pulled out the liner to empty it.

Scout grimaced. Mom and stress cleaning could go on for hours. The room was tidy and it wasn't even theirs! Dad stepped in quick, dropping the garbage bag outside the door then taking Mom's hand in his. Only he had to let go to sign. "How ya feeling, Cubs?"

What did she tell them? Everyone, even Jem all angry and scowling from the chair, looked her way. Her eyes went to her Grandmere who she respected. She signed her thanks for helping her, then exhaled a sigh as she pushed herself to sit up. The truth wasn't pretty. Not at all. Everything was still achy. Fine. It was no different than training. But she had a bigger problem... the beast was calling.

Well, maybe everything would go a little easier if she was honest. After all she'd promised her dad she would be. And he agreed not to send her back because he believed in her. Despite everything, he still believed. She'd not make him sorry for it. At least she hoped she wouldn't.

Frowning, she hesitated, then tried to explain. "I- I don't want to let anyone down. And I haven't changed my mind here." She pointed to her heart. "I want to be clean and focused. Happy with who I am. But here," she pointed to her head then motioned toward her ears and body. Shame joined the tears in her eyes as she fought with herself not to look away as she signed. "I don't want it. But my body is screaming for it. It's like a voice chanting, my blood itches, my stomach is in knots, it's in me dying and asking me to save it, to give it life." Her shoulders slumped, but she kept her hands up. "I-" Her brow furrowed. "I- I feel- dirty. Like I deserve to suffer. I've done terrible things, things that I can't take back. I should feel sick like this. I deserve it."

Jem jumped to his feet before Grandmere, Mom or Dad could respond. "No!" He signed in such a sharp, biting way that Scout felt the vibration off his hands every time they connected. "Those jerks that drugged you, that's on them, Scout. Not. You. But, killing people that's on us."

He pointed to their parents without looking at them. "And it's on them for teaching us how to do it. I am through. I will never step another foot in a dojo ever again, and screw the art. It's the damn art of murder and I want nothing more to do with it." He shifted his body to glare at their parents, still signing as his gaping sister watched her beloved twin say impossible things that he just couldn't mean. "I hate who I am tonight because of choices I made with knowledge I should not have and wish I didn't know. And I've got to live with this for the rest of my life. No thanks to the two of you."

Denim's eyes were wide and blurry, her hand gripping Mikey's arm. "Jem-" She swallowed hard, quickly signing as she tried to form some semblance of a response. But what could she say? Where were all her words of wisdom? Her fifteen-year-old twins had killed people.

She took a step toward her son as he held up a hand and backed closer to the bed Scout sat on. "Jem," she tried anyway, "You're tired. Were you hurt? Does Grandmere need to heal you?" Her eyes darted over him, uncertain of his injuries because he was covered in blood. They should've gotten him cleaned up right away. What were they doing? They weren't moving fast enough and now- "You could take a shower, rest, we can talk in the morni- "

"No!" Jem scowled, his hands smacking together. "No. I'll take a shower. But I'm not getting healed. I deserve these cuts and bruises. I deserve to hurt. Somewhere out there people are hurting for their loved one that's not coming home again, ever. Because of me."

"Jem-"

"Shut up, Mom! Stop lying! I don't want to hear your lies!" Jem shouted, slapping his hands together as his eyes flickered white then blue again.

Mikey stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed in the face of his son's rage. The first kill was always the hardest. But he'd gone through it. He'd internalized it rather than lashed out, struck by sudden crying jags that came without warning for weeks afterwards. Being more pain than anger, it never occurred to him to blame Master Splinter.

"Enough." Phoenix's voice was quiet but held an unmistakable edge.

Focused on poor Jem, who was still too furious to notice the icy vibe coming off his Grandmere, she had no attention to spare for anyone else so Mikey signed for her.

"Angry or not, you will speak with respect to your parents." Phoenix stood to face Jem.

"But..." He started.

"No." There was a finality to the command that Jem caught, even in his enraged state. Phoenix's wrath always felt like the calm before an approaching storm when first roused. "If you do not wish to be healed that's fine, but you are going to listen."

His mouth clamped shut, jaw tightening and he wrapped his arms across his chest, refusing to look at her.

"Lies? Even with details left out, you knew we fought in a war. A war to ensure you and the other bébés didn't need to live off scraps, hiding in condemned buildings or sewers, afraid to be seen lest you be killed on sight. What do you think war is? Some sitcom with a happy resolution in thirty minutes where everyone makes it through just fine? You even knew your mother was a sniper. If you felt ignorant of what they've done, then you were willfully so.

"And what did you think you were learning?" She stepped towards him. "With techniques that you were explicitly barred from use in sparring because you were told they would maim, cripple, kill. Did you think that was exercise? Because it has always been insurance for your survival. If you refused to see it for what it is, you have only yourself to blame."

Jem jumped to his feet, hands balled into fists. "Great. So, they're monsters and they made me one too. How is that ok?"

Phoenix didn't even blink. "They taught you these skills, but you and you alone chose to use them. If you were so averse to killing, then you could have chosen to stay your hand. No one made you kill those men."

Jem gasped. "What? If I hadn't then..."

"...you and many of your cousins would be dead, your sisters on their way to the men who purchased them." Phoenix finished. "Yes, that would have happened, but you would not have had any blood on your hands. You could have chosen that."

Jem scowled. "That's not a choice."

Phoenix raised a brow. "Isn't it? Just because it's a bad one, doesn't mean it's not a choice."

She sighed. "The only lie you've grown up with is this veneer of civilization. The belief that you are safe. The world is a dark, cruel place, full of dark, cruel people who do terrible things for greed, lust, amusement, selfishness, hatred. Your training did not bring this violence down upon you. Your sisters were not targeted because they were ninja. It's because they were perceived as vulnerable. And not having your skills would have done nothing but rob you of whatever poor choices you had. Being helpless never saved anyone from horrific things happening to them."

"I've seen it enough on my rounds. Homeless beaten...stabbed...murdered for what little they possess. Girls...sometimes children...assaulted and abandoned with no care for whether they lived or died. What's left of mutants and hybrids that have been cornered by mobs of hateful people. Powerless to defend themselves and yet they still suffered."

Jem was looking at his feet now. "But...to kill..."

"Once, I believed in avoiding violence, as if such a thing can be done. My children, before I met your Sofu, had a chance to learn to fight and I refused, believing that I was keeping them out of a dangerous life. Fool. My mistake cost my daughter her life, stabbed more times than I could count while walking home from visiting her friends. Because she was a mutant and because her killers could. If I could go back and give her the skill to trade her life for theirs, I would in a heartbeat."

Jem cocked his head in confusion. "Aunt Medusa...but she's not...?"

"No, her sister, Ailurosa." Phoenix explained sadly, tears burning the edges of her vision. Time never did make it any less painful.

The fire guttering out of her, she sank down onto the corner of the bed, pulling out the old photograph that she kept in her pocket, frayed, creased and starting to disintegrate around the edges. Her four children looked so young. One never would have the chance to grow old.

"She was almost as old as you are. In love. With big dreams despite how we had to live. Everything that might have been gone because I believed I could insulate us from the violence around us." Her shoulders sagged, the sorrow weighing her down.

Jem reached out, put a hand on his Grandmere's shoulder as he sat on the bed beside her. "Can I see?"

Phoenix held the picture up so he and Scout, peering over her other shoulder, could look.

"She was beautiful." Scout signed.

"She was." Phoenix agreed.

Jem glanced at his sister, then to his mother, wrapped in his dad's arms as he rubbed her back. Would they all have made it home if he hadn't done what he had? If he could do it over how would not killing have played out? Would he have had to kill less if he was a better ninja? Could he have taken more down, just not permanently? He'd never know. Unless it happened again and he didn't train harder, become better.

It really was a nonchoice. If it came to his family or a stranger trying to hurt them, he had a terrible decision to make, but his parents had given him the option where others had none. How did things turn out for those who couldn't fight back? They simply lost. Sometimes, maybe most, they paid the ultimate price. Yeah, that would be worse than what he'd done. Grandmere was right. He had been living in a fantasy world.

A lump rose to his throat as he rubbed his face, swallowing repeatedly in a desperate attempt to keep it down. Now he knew how Scout must feel after the whole drug thing. He'd hurt his parents. It was hard to look at them, his mother completely distraught, his father at a complete loss for words. And that seldom happened.

How many lives had they taken? How did they go on? Was this why Mom and dad had nightmares? Because he knew they did. And they sat up with each other at crazy hours when they had them. They'd woken him up enough times with their weird habits. Maybe this- awful feeling explained some of that. Dad did say that Mom was how he lived with it. But what would do that for Jem? He liked Mimi, a lot, but this- she couldn't know this. No one outside their family could.

Scout hugged Grandmere then tapped Jem on the shoulder. He signed to her. "What?"

"You're not alone in this." Her hands moved in shaky sign. "I did it too, so did Shen, Alli and Nellie. I don't know about Nik. There's enough of us knowing how it feels to be able to help each other through." As Scout's hands moved her color went kind of off like she felt sick, and Jem knew she needed sleep.

None of this was going away anytime soon... maybe ever. But there was one thing he could do, should do, right away.

He stood up, walked over to his parents and looked his dad in the eye. "I'm sorry." His throat started to get real tight, making it hard to get the words out. "Grandmere's right. If I didn't have a choice we'd be dead and my sisters gone. So, thank you. It may suck royally, but at least we're alive." He shook his head, his eyes brimming as he blinked, desperate to keep himself together. "I'm sorry. I- i- i didn't mean it. I'm sorry- "

"It's okay." His Mom and Dad said in unison, his dad pulling Mom closer and giving her a one-armed hug as they exchanged a knowing smile.

Then Mom reached out, cupping his chin. "We understand, and we'll get you, your sister, and the others through this together."

Scout's arms were suddenly around him, his mother reaching out at the same time his dad did, pulling them all into an embrace that began inching toward the bed. Then Scout and Dad grabbed Grandmere, pulling her into the hug-pile.

Jem clung to his family, grateful they were all alive. Together. And home. Maybe for him, it wasn't one person- but many that would be how he coped. He flashed his twin a teary-eyed smile, one she warmly returned. Yeah, this was way better than the other option.

Uncle Leo's voice rang out then, with ever familiar authority. "Family meeting! Everyone come out to the living room, I want to keep this short so we can all go to bed."