Note: Thanks again for all the kind reviews! Finally I'm out of the rut that I got myself into with this story, so updates should be more frequent. Hope you like it.
Chapter Three
Raphael, Leonardo and Donatello were awake and had almost finished their breakfast when Michelangelo eventually stumbled out of his bedroom. He clutched at his head and looked somewhat green, at least more than usual. He considered going to eat some breakfast, but thought better of it and headed straight for the couch, upon which he laid and groaned. Raphael rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.
"Morning, Mikey," Donny said cheerfully, ignoring Raph's comments. "How're you feeling?"
"Man, what'd we do last night?" Mikey asked, using his arm to shield his eyes from the light. At that moment, his head felt like it was going to implode, his tongue felt like a cashmere sweater and his stomach felt like it had just experienced a trip in the van with April driving.
"We were hoping that you could tell us," Donny said, getting up from his seat and moving to his workbench. He was somewhat troubled by Mikey's lack of memory, as even people who ended up being sick and passing out following their night at least remembered actually getting to the bar.
"Huh?" Mikey uttered, thoroughly confused.
Leo explained, "You went out alone last night, and Casey found you. He brought you back to the sewers and you were, uh..."
"You were drunk as a skunk," Raphael finished for him in a blunt fashion.
"What?" Mikey asked in disbelief.
"Wasted, smashed, nissed as a pewt..."
"Alright, okay, I get it. But how? I never went to any bars, and I definitely don't remember drinking anything." It had to be a joke, Mikey thought to himself; a practical joke most probably set up by Raphael. He could not have seriously gone topside and mixed with humans, drinking to the point of completely losing his memory. Could he?
"Michelangelo, can you remember what you did do?" Splinter asked quietly as he walked into the room. He was of a much calmer temperament than last night, when the turtles had last seen him, and Mikey's brothers secretly guessed that he had been meditating long and hard over the matter concerning the orange-clad turtle.
Mikey opened his mouth to speak, but he soon shut it again. "I can't remember," he murmured, sitting up on the couch to face the others. "I can't remember anything after I went to bed last night. All I know is, I went to bed and I woke up with a head that feels like a truck ran over it." He swallowed, knowing the answer anyway but still asking, "Are you, like, serious about me going out to bars and stuff?"
"We don't know where you got the alcohol, but when Casey got you home last night, you were seriously drunk," Leo said, remembering the events. "You couldn't walk or talk straight, you didn't have a clue what you were doing. Whatever you had, you had a shelluva lot of it."
"Michelangelo, I hope you realise the consequences of your actions last night," Splinter said evenly, advancing to the couch. "Whilst on the surface, you could have done or said anything to anyone, even though you may not remember it now. You could have given away yourself and shown your true identity, which will lead the humans to begin to ask many questions." He turned to the other turtles and said, "for a while at least, I suggest that we do not go to the surface, in case there are repercussions following Michelangelo's adventure last night."
"But, Sensei, we promised to go to April's apartment this morning, to clean out her basement," Leo said as he remembered the task of that day.
Splinter thought this through for a moment, then nodded and said, "Do not break your promise, just do not venture too close to where the humans dwell, and stay inside Miss O'Neill's apartment at all times. But," he added, "Michelangelo will stay here with me. He will perform extra training, as a punishment for his actions last night."
"Training?" Mikey groaned, thinking that if it hurt his head to merely breathe, then a session of ninjitsu training would do nothing to help it.
"Yes, Michelangelo," Splinter said sternly. "Perhaps the pain in your head will remind you in future not to be quite so thoughtless and reckless with your actions. I think also, it will show you, all of you, that extreme consumption of alcohol results in disastrous consequences for us, which is why I have forbidden it before. Do you all understand?"
"Yes, Sensei," the turtles said, nodding in agreement.
"Hi, guys," April said as she let the turtles through into her apartment. "Thanks for coming, I really appreciate the help... hey, where's Mikey?" She suddenly asked, seeing that one turtle was missing.
The turtles threw each other looks of unease, unsure as to whether they should disclose the details of the previous night's events or not. Eventually, Donny decided that Mikey deserved the embarrassment following his actions, and in any case Mikey would most probably tell April when he next saw her. "Erh, it's a long story," Donny said finally, "we'll explain when we're doing your basement."
"A long story? Guys, what happened exactly?"
"Exactly?"
"Well..."
"Erm..."
"You see..."
"We don't actually know..."
"Come, Michelangelo, you must finish your breakfast before we begin training," Splinter said impatiently, tapping his furry foot on the ground as he waited. "You need your energy for the work you are about to do."
Michelangelo was only half listening. Along with the pounding headache, the information he had been told this morning weighed heavy on his mind. He could not believe that he had gone and done what his brothers had said he had last night. But then, his brothers and his Master would not lie about something that serious, and the symptoms of his hangover were certainly not lying. But he did not feel that it was in his character to go out on a whim and get drunk like that. In fact, he'd never really had the urge to do so.
He tried and tried to remember how he got drunk that night, but everything was a blur to him. He could not even remember leaving the lair. He claimed to his brothers that he couldn't remember anything, but there were a few moments had been implanted in his mind. One was the royal rebuke that Raphael had given him in the sewers when he had been found. Leonardo was wrong; Michelangelo did remember it. His thoughts were not altogether clear at that time, but he could definitely feel Raphael's anger. He felt it, but for some reason, he did not feel as though all of it was directed at him. Anger or not, Michelangelo knew that Raph was right; going out and getting drunk was a truly stupid thing to do. If only Mikey could remember actually doing it, and why!
Splinter too was wrong when he said that he would not remember the talking-to given to him by the rat β he remembered every word of it. They had been drummed into his head like the drumming that was taking place within his skull at that moment. He could also clearly recall the last thing he saw before he passed out, and that was the disappointment in his Master's eyes, and the way he could not even bear to look at his son. Mikey had never seen a negative emotion so clear and strong before, and wished he had blacked out before he had seen it in his Sensei's eyes.
Mikey shook his head, snapping himself out of the daze as he stared listlessly at his toast. The food was looking less and less appetising by the second, sitting limply on his plate as time took its toll. He had chewed on some of it, but it tasted like soggy cardboard to him. His stomach began to protest at the intake of the food and so he slowed eating to a stop, but unfortunately for him Splinter was, quite rightly so, not in the greatest of moods with his son, and was not standing for any nonsense that morning.
In reality, Splinter was slightly concerned by Michelangelo's lack of interest in the food. Mikey was renowned for being a walking, talking bottomless pit, eating anything within range. For him to sit there and barely touch the food was out of the ordinary, and Splinter wondered whether his son was well enough to train that day. But no, Splinter would not go back on his word. It was Mikey's own fault for drinking that previous evening, and therefore Mikey would suffer the consequences in the hope that he would learn for the future.
Mikey contemplated somehow getting rid of the food, perhaps hiding it beneath his plate and disposing of it as he washed up, or even throwing it towards the trash can in the corner. Unfortunately, Mikey knew that Nothing, and that was Nothing with a capital N, got past Splinter. It was like the rat had developed a sixth sense over the years; able to pick up on any occurrence, no matter how small or how discretely an action was done.
Eventually, Mikey forced the toast through his mouth and down his throat, ignoring the indignant, gurgling complaints from his stomach once he had finished. He wearily followed Master Splinter into the dojo, sensing that his Sensei would not stand for it if he complained of being ill. As he had been told, he had brought it all on himself, even if he could not remember actually doing so.
Once in the dojo, the lights flicked off and Mikey looked around sharply as was plunged into darkness. The dark was a small relief; the light was beginning to pain his eyes. Splinter walked over, holding a candle that provided the only light. Shadows flickered eerily over the rat's stern visage, and Mikey gulped.
"We will begin by addressing your awareness during battle," Splinter said, thankful that the training session was finally going to commence. In a way he was glad that Michelangelo was to receive extra training, as he had noticed that something had discouraged him in the session that previous evening. Perhaps the punishment could be put to good use, to build his spirits.
Splinter continued, "you should be aware of presences around you, even if you cannot see them. In this darkness, I will try to attack you, and I want you to detect my presence in time to defend yourself adequately. Do you understand?"
Mikey nodded, and Splinter blew the candle out, leaving Mikey in pitch black. He stood, preparing himself for an attack as his Sensei crept away into the darkness. For five minutes Mikey stood, becoming more and more relaxed as time passed. He folded his arms, still holding his nunchucks, and tapped his foot impatiently. "Come on, Sensei, anytime toβ" he called out before he was cut off by the familiar walking stick making contact with the back of his shell with great force, knocking him to the ground.
As Mikey struggled to get back up, Splinter appeared out of the shadows. "Never let your guard down for a moment, Michelangelo; your enemy will take great advantage if you do."
Mikey nodded grimly, knowing that he had already managed to displease his Master, even on the first practice of the session. Something told him that it was going to be a long day.
"So, you're saying that Mikey just randomly went out last night and got drunk?" April asked in disbelief. She'd heard the whole story, told mostly by Leo with the other two chipping in occasionally. Well, Don chipped in with parts, whilst Raph made cutting remarks about Mikey and his actions.
"It sure looks that way," Leo said dubiously. He had seen the proof last night, as Mikey was definitely drunk, but he was not altogether sure about the entire thing. It was not Mikey's style to go for such an extreme escape, as he had so many other 'clean' ways to have fun, like watching the TV and playing his computer games, and he did not need drink. It all seemed too weird for his liking, but until his brother remembered anything, the puzzle could not be pieced together.
That's not the Mikey I know, April thought to herself. "But why?"
"We don't know, he couldn't remember anything after he went to bed last night," Donny explained.
"He wasn't acting like himself," Leo murmured quietly. "He just went straight to his room after training."
Raphael sat on a cardboard box with his arms folded, saying nothing. He was still angry with himself for not apologising to Mikey before he went out and did something stupid. If he hadn't been so stubborn, he could have possibly prevented the entire business, but he did not share this with the others, for fear of being right. It was partially his fault, but still he had yelled at his brother in the sewers. The angry words were still ringing in his ears as he replayed the scene over and over in his mind.
"Are you sure he was drunk? Just because he looked like it, doesn't mean he did it? I mean he can't remember doing it," April stammered, unable to believe that Mikey would really go out to get drunk beyond recognition, as she had been told.
"All the signs were there, April," Donny said, shaking his head. "He couldn't stand up straight, he was slurring, and he didn't know what he was doing when we took him home. This morning, he woke up with a splitting headache and generally feeling way under the weather β the classic hangover."
"You said that he took a knock to the head, couldn't they have caused all of that? Like a concussion of some sort?"
"We would have heard Mikey complaining no end if the blow had been powerful enough to cause slurred speech and lack of co-ordination," Donny explained to her. "He didn't complain of any kind of pain last night, meaning that the drink had numbed any kind of pain caused by that wound. Plus, he reeked of the stuff."
"Jeez," April murmured to herself. "I wonder what made him do it. I mean, he's never made any kind of indication of doing something like that before, has he?"
"They all gotta start somewhere," Raph muttered darkly. "Today, an alcoholic. Tomorrow, a junkie."
"Oh, come on Raphael, that is just dumb. Have you lost it? Mikey won't reach the stage of being an alcoholic, let alone beyond," Leo said firmly, rolling his eyes at the wild suggestion. He silently added, not if I have anything to do with it. "All he did was, uh, experiment, and now he knows the outcome he won't go back for a second round."
"You hope," Raphael muttered. He paused for a moment and continued, "We've all seen it before, you know. We live in New York, it happens all the time. Kids go out for a drink because they think its cool, and they like what it does to them so they go back for more, just to get that high."
"We're not exactly normal New York citizens, in case you haven't noticed," Leonardo snapped. "He might have problems hooking up with dealers, don't you think?"
"He apparently managed to get his hands on some booze last night, so there's ways he'd get drugs," Raphael argued.
"Raph, it won't come to that," Leo said firmly.
"Considering that Mikey can't even remember what happened last night, and what he felt like this morning, do you really think that he'll want to go back for more?"
"I'm just saying it's a consideration," Raph said. "Just watch out for him, is all."
"Fine," Leo said, declaring the subject closed. The whole affair had been bugging him from the start, from the mood that Mikey had been in the previous evening, sullen and morose. Leo suspected that he may have gone out to drown his sorrows, but he hated to believe it. He cursed himself for not talking to Mikey that evening when Raphael did not, and maybe giving him the encouragement he needed.
"Guys, everyone has to learn," April told them. "Mikey just did it his own way, by going out and trying it. It doesn't mean he'll go and do it again and again like that."
"April's right," Donny said. "You know Mikey, he has to see it or experience for himself to believe it. Let's just hope he's learnt the lesson and let life carry on as usual, agreed?"
"Agreed," Leo said firmly, before turning his glaring eyes to Raphael.
Raph sighed and rolled his own eyes. "Agreed," he said reluctantly, his voice forced.
"Again," Splinter commanded shortly, before disappearing into the dark shadows to plan his attack.
Mikey straightened up quickly and drew his nunchucks from his belt, determined not to be beaten again. He had performed the exercise six or seven times, and so far he had failed each practice. This time, he thought to himself with gritted teeth, he would not mess up. He became ready, turning occasionally to face different areas, eyes dancing around the darkness to try and spot anything that could have been a probable attack.
He sensed something behind him, and quickly turned, ready to defend. He only had a split second to register the stick travelling towards him at a frightening speed before it struck him, this time on the head.
Mikey staggered backwards at the force, unable to keep his balance. He tumbled to the ground, the world around him still moving even after he lay still. He closed his eyes tightly to relieve the pain, when suddenly they snapped open and he saw once-blurry images sharpen before him.
He was running along the city rooftops, bounding and bouncing from building to building. It was pitch dark, with the moon providing the only light. It had started to rain, hard. His bandana ties were soaking and stuck to the back of his head, and he could barely seen ten feet in front of him.
"Got to do this, got to train, got to get better," said the same voice reverberating through his mind.
"Michelangelo," Splinter said with concern, switching on the lights and hurrying over. He knelt by his son.
Mikey shook his head, snapping himself out of his memory. He remembered now why he went out that previous evening. He went out secretly to train, to try and improve some of his skills. He blinked again, trying to relieve the dizziness.
"I'm okay," Mikey said in a gruff tone that did not suit him at all, a tone that struck his Sensei like he had struck his son a moment ago. Mikey struggled to his feet and stood, albeit unsteadily, awaiting Splinter to attack him again.
Splinter sighed and said, "we will resume training later."
Mikey shook his head, more vigorously this time. "No," he said firmly, "I'm fine. I'll do this."
Splinter was at a loss. It had come to the point where the Master was not sure whether his son was fit to fight. Splinter was stubborn and he wanted to see that Mikey learned from his punishment, but at the same time he did not want to endanger the health of his son. Unsure of what to do, he decided that if Mikey said he was able enough to fight, then he would continue the session. "Fine, we will continue. We will work on your balance during battle."
Mikey nodded, and drew his nunchucks as Splinter readied himself with his cane. Splinter moved to attack Mikey first, and for a moment the two were engaged in intense fighting. Mikey did his best to ignore the blinding pain radiating through his skull. He gritted his teeth in an attempt to disregard his aching muscles. And he did what he could to forget about the burning sensation creeping up from his stomach to his chest. He narrowed his eyes and tried to focus on his battle, blocking out all other sensations. Yes, he thought to himself. It's going to be a very, very long day.
