Priority One

DONATELLO:

I couldn't sleep. That wasn't surprising. I brushed a few strands of hair away from Amy's tear-stained face and stood up slowly. I sat down at my desk again and stared at the computer screen for a few minutes, trying to determine what to do with myself. I'd been doing something before Amy had woken up. Oh yeah, calling the hospital.

I dialed the memorized number, struggling desperately to force the visions of Amy's humiliation out of my mind. A tired voice answered the phone, and I put up my best "cheerful" front. "Hi, this is Don Cross from Channel Three," I greeted. "Can I speak to your house supervisor, please?"

A moment of silence, and then a woman picked up. "This is Andrea," she said.

"Good morning, Andrea," I answered, trying to sound happy. Joy was about the furthest thing from my mind right now. "This is Don Cross from Channel Three. How are you doing this morning?"

"I'm doing fine," she answered, immediately at ease. They were so used to hearing from me, they never thought to check and see that Don Cross, who actually was a Channel Three employee, worked an afternoon shift and would not be calling for information at six in the morning.

"Good," I replied. "I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the six-year-old boy who came in on… last Thursday night? An attempted homicide?"

"Yes," she replied. "He's been upgraded to fair condition and he's breathing on his own now."

I was careful not to get excited about that. It didn't mean anything. He could be physiologically alive, but if there was no brain activity, he was dead. "Has he come out of his coma, can you tell us?"

"No, he has not."

Damn.

"Now, is he under police watch?"

He'd better be, since he was considered a witness to a murder.

"Yes, he is."

"Okay, well, thank you very much, Andrea."

"You're quite welcome."

I hung up the phone and leaned back, resting my chin in my hands. I glanced at Amy, asleep on top of the blankets. It had taken her three hours to get back to sleep. And even after that time, I wasn't tired. I still felt disgusted, not at her but at the simple fact that there could be such evil out there, that would cause a father to do that to his daughter.

She moaned softly and tossed her head, tensing. I cringed. Not another nightmare. Please not another nightmare. I stood up and walked over to her again. She was breathing hard, her closed eyes fluttering. Dreaming. A nightmare. Damn it. I brushed her auburn hair off of her forehead, running my fingers lightly down the side of her face. Her skin was soft and smooth under my fingertips.

She moaned once more and suddenly relaxed. She breathed deep, the pained look fading from her face. She was just a child, alone in the world and scared to death of what she might encounter. I remembered being fourteen. God, it seemed like an eternity ago, even though it was really only seven years. I couldn't imagine trying to live through that time alone. I sighed and glanced at the computer again, then at the door. Finally, I stood and walked out of the room.

MICHAELANGELO:

"You okay?"

Donny looked up and forced a smile. "Yeah, Mike, I'm fine."

"Something dangerous about that coffee?"

A confused look crossed his face. "No. Why?"

"Well, it's just that you keep studying it like it's an enemy you're trying to figure out."

He stared at me for a moment, seemingly confused, then looked away. "What's on your mind, Don-san?"

He shook his head. "Nothing." He took his hands off the mug and hid his face. "I don't want to talk about it," he quickly corrected.

"You haven't been yourself the past few days."

"I got a lot on my mind."

Amy walked into the room. "Hey, babe," I greeted. "Sleep well?"

Amy forced a tight smile. Donatello looked up and they exchanged tense glances. I noted the look, and waited for her response. "Yeah," she finally answered. "You?"

"Yeah."

She looked around the kitchen. "Need something?"

She stopped and turned to face me. "No," she sighed. "Just… bored."

I smiled. "That seems to be the general consensus around here," I agreed. "There's not a whole lot to do."

She nodded, but said nothing. "Hey, guys." Leonardo poked his head into the room. "Either of you interested in a workout?"

That was one way to solve the boredom problem.

CHRIS:

The woman was dressed professionally, in a black business suit with flat shoes and her long, dark hair pulled back. Her firm handshake immediately told me that she was not the type of woman to sit back and watch life pass her by. She'd probably put herself through medical school, and had somehow ended up here, in inner-city New York, investigating the crimes that most people hated to think of.

"There were traces of a drug in her bloodstream, and also in her brain, which is odd. I think it was breathed in."

"What, like cocaine?" I asked.

She shook her head. "It's nothing like I've ever seen before," she clarified. "And it was inhaled. Fully breathed in."

"Isn't cocaine fully breathed in?"

"No," she explained. "Cocaine is absorbed through the tissue in the nasal passage. It doesn't usually make it all the way to the lungs. But I found traces of a toxin within her lungs. To get there, it had to have been a vapor, not a finely crushed powder."

I stared at her for a moment. "So she used a drug you're not familiar with," I paraphrased.

She crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly annoyed. "You don't seem to be hearing me, Lieutenant," she shot at me. "I think that whoever killed her did it with a drug that we are not familiar with and I would be willing to bet that the same drug is present in her son's bloodstream."

Suddenly, I was interested in the woman's theory. "How did it kill her?" I asked.

"From what I can tell, it's a type of drug that enters through the lungs and transfers into the blood, mistaken by the body for oxygen. Somehow, I'm not entirely sure how, it causes an increased level of a chemical in the brain that keeps the victim asleep. But as for how it actually killed her? I couldn't tell you that. But my guess is that if she hadn't been exposed to such massive doses, she'd probably be in a coma like her son."

I nodded slowly. "So, off the record, do you predict her son will die too?"

She sighed. "I've never seen anything like this. I can't offer any kind of antidote. I honestly don't know. He obviously wasn't exposed to as much of the toxin as she was. But I don't know if it multiplies, or if there is some kind of trigger factor to it that she had and he doesn't. I can't offer any analysis whatsoever."

I stared down at the desk. "Thank you, doctor," I mumbled.

She left. I turned to my computer and e-mailed Don.

KATARINA:

"I'm sorry."

He looked up, and said nothing. I sighed. "You know there's nothing I can do about the way things are right now," I mumbled. "But I'm sorry about what I said the other night. I shouldn't have treated you like that."

"Forget it."

He looked away again. I walked around the front of the couch and stepped between him and the TV. He looked up at me, annoyed. I positioned my knees on either side of his thighs and held his shoulders as I lowered myself onto his lap. He eyed me suspiciously. "I mean it, Raph," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

The hardened look on his face softened and his arms raised to slip around my waist. "Don't worry about it," he answered, sincerely this time.

I leaned down and pressed my lips to his. His arms snaked around me, pulling me to him. He kissed me hard, desperate desire electrifying what little space was between us. I felt his fingers brush my skin as he raised the back of my shirt slightly. God, I didn't want to make him stop. But I had to.

"Raphael," I whispered, pulling away slowly.

"Yeah, I know you have to leave again," he answered cynically. "Late for work, right?"

I raised my hands to the sides of his face. "Hey, look at me." He shifted his eyes to mine. "I considered waiting until tomorrow to say anything, when I could stay a while. But I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't lose my nerve. And I'm not for putting off until later what needs to be said now."

I ran my fingers over his skin gently. "Tomorrow morning, though," I promised. "When I come home."

He studied me carefully, as if he didn't quite believe me. I sighed and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling close to him. I rubbed hard against him and leaned down to breathe on his neck. He laughed. "Okay, okay," he chuckled. "Don't tease, come on."

He grabbed my arms and twisted away from me. I pulled back and smiled as he held my arms at my sides. Over his shoulder, I saw the clock. I had about ten minutes to get to work. I was going to be late. "You'd better go," he sighed.

"Yeah," I agreed quietly.

His hands raised to the sides of my face and pulled me into a kiss. "I love you," he whispered, just barely breaking away.

"I know."

He ran his tongue over my lips once more and his hands trailed down my sides. "You should get out of here now," he smiled. "Before I decide I'm not going to let you leave."

I kissed him once more, quickly, and reluctantly pulled myself to my feet. "I'll be back," I promised.

"You'd better."

DONATELLO:

I stared at the e-mail, reading it for a third time. A drug that caused an increase in the body's production of acetylcholine. That could certainly result in a coma. But how had it killed her? I felt someone approach behind me. Michaelangelo. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Just got an e-mail from the police about how Amy's mother might have died."

"Really?"

"Mmm."

He read over my shoulder. It was quiet for a moment. "So exactly how did she die?" he finally asked.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

He stood beside me and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't think they know."

"I don't think so either."

I read over the words a few more times, then turned my attention to Mike. It was obvious that he was waiting for me to be through. "Something wrong?"

"You tell me."

Uh oh. Michaelangelo had a serious tone to his voice, and that was never good. I leaned back, raising the front two legs off the floor. "What's on your mind?" I questioned.

"Amy."

Oh. That. "What about her?"

He sighed. "Donny…" he started, looking away. "I know it's really none of my business but…"

"Mikey, I already told you I'm not serious with her," I interrupted, knowing exactly where this was going.

He glanced back at me. "Are you anything with her?"

I leaned forward, dropping the chair to all fours again. "We've been over this," I reminded him. "She's fourteen."

"Yeah, Donny, I know that," he sighed. "But I…" He struggled for words. "I'm not accusing you or anything, bro. It's not like that. I'm just curious." Our eyes met. "Because it's obvious that something is going on between you two, even if it's not sexual or anything."

I eyed him suspiciously. He was looking for a confession. But I had no confession to give him. "Why do you want to know?" I questioned, curious.

He shrugged. "I dunno, Donny. Maybe just because I've never in my entire life seen you make an attempt at a friendship with someone from the outside."

I smiled at him. "That's not entirely accurate."

He considered that for a moment. "Well, I mean, April and Casey. But that's different. You never really had to make an effort with friends of the family. If anyone stepped out on a limb to bring them into the mix, it was Raph. But really, I think they made a lot more of an effort than any of us did."

I studied him carefully. "And even with Kat, you just never made an effort," he continued. "And that's fine. I'm not saying you should have. I'm just saying that it's weird now, with you and Amy. Because…" He laughed at his thoughts. "… let's face it, Donny. I never expected to find out you guys were sleeping together."

I shook my head and looked away. "It's not like that," I informed.

"Well, whether you're having sex or not, you're sleeping in the same bed. That's significant."

I sighed and looked back at him. "Why are we having this conversation?" I asked. "What is it you want from me, Mikey? I tell you the truth and you don't believe me so what do you want me to say?"

He shook his head. "It's not that I don't believe you. I do. I'm just…" He looked away. "I dunno, Donny. I keep getting the feeling that somehow or another, you're gonna get hurt by this."

I was already hurt by this. More than he could possibly know. But I knew that wasn't at all what he meant. "Hurt by what?" I challenged.

He stared down at the floor. "I haven't figured that out yet."

KATARINA:

The cars outside told me the night crew was still here. It was storming, and that was probably why. Great.

The newsroom was a storm in and of itself. Five phones were ringing, three producers were already holding phones with their shoulders and typing furiously. A camera in the room had a lit tally light. Our local news reporter was speaking to it. I glanced up at the wall of monitors and saw that the camera was indeed live. On the other two network stations, multi-colored radar covered the screens. I sighed. It was going to be a long night.

I wandered over to an empty desk and sat down, immediately reaching for the phone. "News Channel 3, this is Kat," I greeted, trying not to sound as tired as I felt.

"Uh, hi, can I talk to your weather department?"

I sighed inwardly. Yes, it was going to be a long night. "I'm sorry, sir, I can't transfer you back there while we're on the air. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Not unless you're a meteorologist."

Anger stirred in me. Calm, Kat… Be polite to the viewers, they pay your salary… "Well, I can't transfer you back there right now, but if you stay tuned to Channel 3, we're on the air now and we'll keep you advised."

The next caller was not quite as rude. "I'm heading to Detroit tomorrow morning and I was wondering if this weather was supposed to be cleared up by then."

I looked over all of the storm warnings and watches listed in our database. They all expired before four a.m. I relayed the information and hung up. Then I promptly answered another ringing phone.

"News Channel 3, this is Kat."

"Is there gonna be a tornado?"

I cringed. Watch the damn newscast, people! That's why we're on the air at 12:30 at night! "No ma'am, there are no tornado watches or warnings right now, just thunderstorms."

I felt a hand squeeze my shoulder as someone passed behind me and I turned. April waved as she walked by. "Hey, what're you still doing here?" I questioned, glad to see a friendly face. I set the phone back into its cradle.

"It's the weather, Kat. I'm tellin' ya, it's nuts!" she smiled, walking backward.

I looked at the rundown for the first hour of the show. Nothing was done. Great. And Christie had been here for over an hour. That spelled "long night".

I answered more calls, talked to more people. Some complained because we were covering their regular program. Some complained that we weren't providing enough information. And some people couldn't seem to get it through their thick skulls that I could not transfer them back to the weather center when our meteorologist was on the air. One woman in particular called four times in a half-hour. I was on the phone with her when April and I crossed paths again.

She sat on the desk, legs crossed in front of her, and kicked her shoes to the floor. "No, ma'am, I'm sorry, but he can't answer the phone while he's on the air."

"Well, I can wait if you'll put me on hold."

I felt a low growl start in my throat as I seethed with anger. Was this woman really this stupid? How many times did I have to tell her no? "I'm sorry, ma'am, there's nothing more I can do for you."

I hung up the phone, making a conscious effort not to slam it down. "You okay?" April asked.

I leaned back in my chair and buried my fingers in my hair. "I'm exhausted," I mumbled. "And this night is just… god, it's crazy."

"I hear ya," she smiled.

Suddenly, a thought struck me. I snapped forward. "Oh my god, what is today?"

"Thursday."

I looked at her. "No, I mean the date."

She checked her watch. "The fourteenth."

I groaned, dread washing over me, and leaned forward. I buried my face in my hands. "Crap," I moaned. "I promised Andrea we'd work on our psychology presentation this morning."

When I looked up, April was smiling and shaking her head. "When do you sleep, girl?"

"What's sleep?" I mumbled back, sarcastically.

I glanced at the clock, considering calling Andrea to reschedule. I really was tired. And I was going to be exhausted by the end of the night. Except you can't call her at three in the morning.

"When's the project due?"

And then there's that. "Tomorrow."

"Putting it off to the last second, are you?"

"Yeah, I'm good at that," I sighed. "It's just that when there's so much to do, everything gets done at the last second."

"You know, I could really use some help on my show," Christie informed me. Her voice had a threatening, snotty edge to it. I held back the urge to get angry.

"Help with what?" I shot back. If she wanted me to write something, all she had to do was tell me. But at the moment, I had no clue what to write. There was nothing to write!

"Just whatever needs to be written; there's a whole bunch of stuff."

I bit my tongue as I looked over the rundown. What the hell was she talking about? The only thing in her rundown was teases, headlines, and traffic and weather hits! And I couldn't write any of that without the basic news stories being done!

"I'm gonna go," April sighed. "I need to get some sleep."

"'Night," I mumbled as she walked away.

I wrote a few bits and pieces of the top stories. A message flashed from Jess. If you have time, I'm really behind… Could you write page 34 for me?

Gladly. I got into the other show and looked at the story. It was a rape story. Easy. I worked on that script for a few minutes before Christie realized I wasn't helping her. "If you could get tease seven I'd really appreciate it."

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and I had the serious urge to shoot something back at her. "I'm working on something in Jess's show right now," I informed her, taking a slight hint of satisfaction in politely telling her to shove it up her ass. "It'll take me a minute to get to it."

I took my sweet time. The damn tease was written by the time I got around to it. Good. Jess messaged me again. Cool. Thanks a lot for the help.

I smiled wickedly. Anytime.

RAPHAEL:

You didn't come home. I tried calling you, but you didn't answer your cell. Your co-workers informed me that you'd left at your usual time. It wasn't until April paid us a visit that I found out where you'd gone. I think that's when I started to not care anymore.