Another thing that's changed while I was away is a surge in crime activity. It's to be expected here in New York, but I guess things got really crazy after a while. Some mornings I overhear the news while Splinter tries to catch up: 1 killed, 2 injured in drive by shooting, woman raped and mugged, young adult struck by drunk driver. Four months ago, someone actually was set on fire in what police believe is a hate-crime. The man died. I think he was around our age. It honestly blows my mind that people can do these types of things to one another, and the kicker? It's not just happening here: it happens all over the world. What's even more insane is the fact that this is just something that happens now, like missing your bus or oversleeping or overcast skies. Seems like it takes something truly sick to really capture the public's attention these days.

Tonight has been a good night. Slow, uneventful, aside from a band of bikers zipping through the streets like a herd of buffalo.

Donatello's shadow flies over me, followed by Michelangelo's. I hop out of my own head and heave myself from one building ledge to the next, picking up speed but still hanging behind. We've been out about two hours now, canvassing, stretching our legs, and just letting loose. I gotta say, it's nice, despite how drop-dead tired I am. There's no official game going, but Don and Mikey are fighting for first place, and it seems like Don's winning. The race dies out just as I catch up, at the top of a four floor apartment building for seniors. It's been one of Mikey's favorite spots for the last few years, mostly due to the 76 year old woman we call Ms. Hattie. Ms. Hattie collects cats. Lots and lots of cats.

"Hi Noodles! Hi Buttons! Hi Captain Marsh-mellow!" Mikey greets them in this intolerably cute baby voice, crouched next to the apartment window on the fire escape. Three cats sashay back and forth, fighting for the spotlight. A fourth one pushes past the others and paws the glass repeatedly. "Ohh, hi Senor Flapjack!"

I cock an eyebrow and glance at Don. Ordinarily I would be uneasy of any one of us being so out in the open, but we're all pretty sure Ms. Hattie is legally blind. One time she snored herself awake from a nap and looked right at Mikey and didn't even so much as flinch. Maybe she's afraid she's starting to lose her marbles and just thinks she's seeing things. "Senor Flapjack? That's a new one."

Don shrugs, squinting at the building next to us. He's trying to see into someone's window. How very un-Don-like. I lift my chin and try to peer over his shoulder-oh, a computer screen. Figures. Inside a man in his 40s hunches over the screen, yelling into his headphone mic. "Yeah, Senor Flapjack is new. I think that makes 8 now."

"I wish we could have a cat," Mikey laments sadly, hand pressed against the glass. "Or a dog. Or any pet, really."

"We could order you a Tomogachi, remember those?" Don chimes in absently, producing a pair of binoculars. "Ooh."

I smirk at him. "You sound like a pervert."

"Not a pervert," he replies, holding an explanatory finger in the air. "Just a little envious of his set up. This stuff just hit the market. This guy must be loaded. Wonder why he lives here?"

"Probably because he's blowing all his money on a video game set up," I suggest.

"Well, regardless: if he didn't want people looking in, he'd close his blinds."

Valid point...I guess.

"Later, cattos." Mikey says to the feline entourage. He swings himself up the fire escape to the top level, joining us.

"Do you think Master Splinter would let me get a guinea pig or a hamster? Something small?"

"Doubtful," I say.

"Why not? Raph had Spike, and he wasn't any trouble at all."

Don visibly tenses, but continues to stare out the binoculars, his mouth a thin line.

"I really miss Raph," Mikey murmurs.

I wait a beat, watching Mikey pick at his wristband, obviously aware of the mood shift. An awkward amount of time passes before I say, "yeah me too."

Don lowers the binoculars and sighs. "Can we please not talk about this right now?" he pleads.

A deep scowl spreads across Mikey's face. He keeps his eyes low, asks, "why don't you ever want to talk about him, Donnie?"

"I just don't!" he snaps. From the quiver in his voice, I expect to see tears in his eyes, but I don't. I study his face, but as far as he's concerned he and Mikey are the only ones here, and he looks right through me. "Why do you?" he challenges bitterly.

Donatello doesn't give Mikey a chance to respond. He hides the binoculars away, shaking his head in frustration. As he moves past me, I reach for his arm.

"Don't touch me, Leo," he orders, shoving past me. "I'll be at home."

Mikey and I watch as he disappears into the night.


"So that's it? I'm just never supposed to talk about him again?" Mikey angrily cries. He sits, beating his fists against his legs in frustration. "Sometimes I just want to punch Don in the face, you know? Ever since Raph died, he's been so...I can't even find a word for it!"

"He's not being like this on purpose. He's grieving."

Mikey expels a harsh laugh. "Yeah, well, he's not the only one grieving. I'm tired of pretending Raph never existed."

Mikey makes a fist and releases it, looks up at me, and for the first time I see the immense and unfathomable pain behind his eyes. Don's voice plays in my head, reminding me 'Mikey found him.'

"Do you hate me?" I blurt out of nowhere.

Mikey blinks in surprise. "What? No! ...I mean, I was really angry for a while, but I got over it. I knew you'd be back when you were ready."

I smile warmly, feeling a weight removed from my shoulders.

"How did you know I would come back?" I ask.

Mikey looks at me as though I've grown two heads. "Because I know you, Leo," he says simply. "And you'd never abandon us."

I swallow thickly. "But..."

Mikey climbs to his feet and waves his hand dismissively. "You did come back, though. And I forgave you ages ago." he flashes me a gentle smile. "I didn't want to be angry anymore. It's so exhausting."

It really is exhausting.

My brother has always been a kind soul. He's the kind of guy who feels bad when someone kills a bug, and wants to rescue every stray dog or cat he sees. He's also kind of known for being a goof, so I can pretty much count on one hand the amount of times he's been angry, or serious. This side of him is kind of a shock. Honestly, I'm proud of the person he's become.

"Do you think Raph...?"

It wasn't a question I'd ever actually asked myself before. Sure, Raph always wanted to do his own thing, to be in charge, and I know it really rubbed him the wrong way, me being the leader, but when we weren't butting heads in the dojo or in the field, we were actually pretty close. Did he die thinking I'd never come home again? That I'd abandoned them? Did he die hating me?

"I don't know," Mikey answers gradually. I can see it in his face: he doesn't want to lie to me, but he doesn't want to hurt me, either. "He might've thought he did, but I don't think so, not really. You know Raph...stupid simple to read sometimes, crazy complex others."

I nod solemnly. "So what actually happened? With the, the Night-" I grasp for words.

"The Nightwatcher," Mikey supplies. "I knew way before Donnie did. Raph made me promise to keep my mouth shut. Actually, he threatened me, but you know." He smiles a little and shrugs. "He'd be out nearly the entire night and when he'd come home he'd be black and blue and there'd be blood on his hands. I'd ask, what the heck are you doing, man? And he'd tell me to mind my own business, so I started to follow him."

"Why am I not surprised?" I remark.

"At first it was legit, you know? Actually helping people who were being mugged or whatever, so I backed off. This was before the Nightwatcher officially existed. Don was working, I was working. Raph was too, I guess, in his own way, in the background."

"So what happened next?"

He pauses, choosing his words thoughtfully. "In the end, I think he wanted to fight ...just to fight. I think he was running."

I manage a sneer and shake my head. The Old Me wouldn't have been able to understand it, but The New Me completely gets it. I feel this rush of white-hot anger sometimes and I wonder, is it the same anger that often consumed my deceased brother? Was this what he battled every day? And did me leaving affect him so badly that he sought release up here, in violence? "I wonder if he was trying to numb himself, or trying to feel something?"

"I have no idea. He was pretty much a loose canon by the time he donned the suit. I tried to tell Donnie, but..." he trails off. "Even Master Splinter confronted him eventually."

I grimace slightly, trying to envision how that went down. Not well, I imagine. "He did? What did Raph say?"

"He said he'd stop."

"Just like that?" I blink. "Did he?"

"Yeah... I really thought things were getting back to normal, too. He stopped. He started coming to practice again, stopped leaving the lair all the time. He would even meditate with Master Splinter. It was weird. It was the first time in a long time Master Splinter actually looked relaxed. Donnie, too." Mikey smiles and starts picking at his wristband again. He looks away, rolls a shoulder like it's bothering him. "Then when your return date came and went, things got really bad. Wasn't long after that before I... before I found him. Maybe a month."

Pulse quickening, I wait hungrily for more, but Mikey's story seems to end there. I want to grab him and shake the rest out of him, but I force myself to bite my tongue. I take in the glazed expression on my brother, see the rings under his eyes. I can practically see him start shutting down.

Neither of us speaks for a while. A light flicks on in the building across the street from us, then a moment later cuts out. A car alarm whines in the distance. I follow Mikey's gaze over the edge, down into the street, where three teenagers walk by, talking excitedly. They look about 16 or 17. "Shut the fuck up," one demands, shoving another. Two of them explode in a fit of laughter. Mikey and I watch until they enter an apartment complex a little further down the street. A cat meows.

Mikey looks at me again, head tilted. He seems to be coming out of his zombie-like trance. "Hey Leo? Some pretty bad stuff happened to you in Central America, didn't it?"

Now what I wasn't expecting. I'm suddenly extremely self conscious of the ugly scar on my shoulder. "Yeah," I answer slowly, not sure how much I want to reveal. I think this conversation has enough weight already, and decide to keep my answer vague. "Some pretty bad stuff happened. Why?"

"You seem different than before. Different, but in a familiar way." He frowns, not looking pleased with his explanation. "Anyway, thanks for letting me vent, and talk about Raph. Should...we head back now?"

What I really want is a cigarette, I think, fighting the urge to light one up. Instead, I glance at my phone and note the time. "Yeah. Let's head back. I'm sure Don's cooled off by now. And Mikey? You can talk to me about Raph any time."