There were candles lit all around the small room, as well as a soft pad in the corner she figured was used as a bed. There were Japanese-style paintings all over the room, as well as a few tapestries. However, Emerson really was focused on any of that. She was to bust look at the person in front of her, who happened to be a giant rat. He sat on the floor, with a few candles, a teapot, and cups surrounding him. His eyes were closed, and Emerson realized he was probably meditating. Unsure of what to do, Emerson stepped into the room, letting the curtain fall back to its original place, and waited for him to speak. Just when she was starting to think that maybe he had actually fallen asleep, a deep voice erupted from him.

"Please, sit." He said, lightly gesturing to the spot in front of him. Emerson made no hesitation in sitting. His eyes were still closed, and Emerson wondered if maybe he was waiting for her to speak now. She was about to, but yet again his voice caught her by surprise.

"Tea?" He asked, obviously referring to the kettle between them. Emerson slightly grimaced. She had never been a tea person, always insisting it tasted like leaf water. "You don't like it?" He asked before she could answer, and Emerson wondered if he was purely guessing or he already knew.

"Yeah. I've tried, but it never goes down easy," Emerson said softly, feeling like she was walking on eggshells. She saw his chest move and realized he was silently laughing. He finally opened his eyes.

"You are like my youngest, Michelangelo. His older brothers never had a problem. But from the very first day, he would spit out any tea I gave him." He said, smiling. It was all too easy for her to imagine a young Mikey throwing a tantrum over a cup of tea, spitting it out in his father's face. The mental image made her laugh as well.

"That sounds like Mikey," She said through her quiet laughter. She thought for a moment before speaking again. "They're amazing, sir. All of them," She said, hoping she wasn't overstepping any boundaries. "What they've done for me, helping me and taking me in. I mean, most people wouldn't bat an eye. But they've done so much already." At first, all he did was nod. After a couple of seconds, he spoke.

"I wish I could take all the credit, but I cannot." He said, which confused Emerson a little. Hadn't he been the one to raise all of them? Alone, in the sewers? "It is like clay," he continued. "No matter how you shape it, bend it, or mold it, it will always be clay. You can make it look however you want, but at the end of the day, it will always be clay, through and through."

"That… is very thoughtful," Emerson said, a little stunned at his response. She had never met a parent that didn't want to take full credit for raising their kid. "But still. Some that credit belongs to you." He smiled again.

"And your family?"

"Hmm?" She mumbled.

"What is your family like?" He poured steaming water from the kettle into the closet cup toward him.

"Oh, well it's just my parents and me. My dad's a psychologist and my mom works for a design company."

"And how do you all get along?" Emerson was reminded of what Leo had said about his abilities and wondered if he was maybe using them on her now.

"Uh.. okay, I guess. My dad and I have always been close. My mom and I…" How could she even describe her relationship with her mother? It wasn't a perfect one by any means, but it wasn't exactly horrible either. "I love my mom, I mean of course I do, and she isn't bad to me, or anything. It's just…. We've never been.. close. You know, we've never had those special 'mother-daughter' kinds of relationships. Not that it really bothers me…" She was an excellent liar.

"Every family is different. What may be normal for some, may not be normal for you." He said it as if he had a stack of wise quotes memorized in his brain, ready to be dealt out at any given time. This guy really was an enigma. And she still couldn't figure out how he was able to tell she wasn't a threat without ever meeting her.

"Sir, may I ask you a question?" Well, it was easier to ask than just assume.

"Of course." He said, finally sipping the cup of tea he had poured minutes before.

"Earlier, I spoke to Leo. He said… that you knew I wasn't a threat. That you were able to sense it?" He only nodded, setting his cup down between them. Emerson didn't really know how best to ask what she wanted to know. "I guess I'm just trying to figure out what that actually means. Is it, like, mind-reading? Do you read people's thoughts? Can you see into their heads?"

"No," He smiled as if the question amused him. "At least not in the way you are thinking." Emerson furrowed her eyes, obviously confused. Were there multiple ways to mind read? Like different types of practices? "I am in tune with your emotions. I cannot feel anything you don't want me to feel, but if you project, I can sense it. Same with my sons."

This made Emerson think a bit. If she were being honest, it made sense (well, as much sense as mind-reading can make). For him to have gone through her thoughts to try and figure out if she was a threat or not would have taken a while, she was guessing. And, to be honest, him being able to read feelings rather than thoughts seemed to make more sense, in a way. "So… If I was feeling sad, and wasn't, like, trying to hide it, you'd feel my sadness?"

"In a way. I would be able to understand it, and where it was coming from. Like when you arrived." She looked up at him a bit, curious as to what she would hear. "A sleeping mind is an open mind, I like to say. When you were brought in, I felt many things. Fear, which was not surprising given the circumstances. Pain, from your injuries. Confusion as well, probably as to what had actually happened. But I never felt malice toward my sons, or hatred or disdain. Which is how I knew you were safe with us." Woah. In theory, it seemed very simple. You feel something, then pin that feeling to a certain event or reason. But Emerson was sure it was much more complicated than that, and this man had probably practiced this skill for years before he could become this good.

"While you were sleeping, I also felt other things, things that were not associated with the night's events." She looked back up at him, a little concerned now. "Emerson, my sons have many special talents, more than I can keep up with. And I would not be surprised if they can offer everything you need for a comfortable stay. However, I'd like you to know, I can do more than just read emotions. Specifically, I am very skilled at talking about them." As horrified as she was to know that this man had probably been able to feel very private feelings of hers, she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but gratitude right now toward him.

"My sons have taken a particular interest in you, especially Michelangelo. Could not get him to stop talking about his 'rescue' last night," he mumbled the last bit, and Emerson couldn't help but giggle. "You are a part of this family now, and this family looks out for each other. So, if you ever need talking, we are always at your disposal. All of us." She was fighting back the tears hard now. She hadn't even known this family for more than a few days, yet here they were, all accepting her in with open arms. She had a hard time processing the idea that this family wanted her to be a part of theirs.

"I.. I don't know how to thank you. For everything you and your family have said and done for me." She meant it. No one in her life had ever gone to so many lengths for her.

"No need. It is what families do." He smiled, and Emerson had a very strong urge to reach out for a hug, but she managed to keep the feeling at bay. She smiled back and could feel the acceptance in the air. "Speaking of our family, I believe Mikey should have some food ready by now. You should probably get to it before it's gone." Emerson nodded and stood up. As she walked to the curtain again, he called out to her. "And Emerson?" She turned around. " You are always welcome to our home. In need of medical attention or not."