Title: Moth and Flame – The sequel to the 'Cat and Mouse' series
Author: Jayde
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Seven years have passed since the events of 'Rest in Peace'.
Credits: Thanks to Sassy, once again, for the excellent and timely beta.
Disclaimer: I do NOT own the turtles. I borrow them only for entertainment purposes. No profit or harm intended.
Author's Notes: You know, I could make a little speech here, but I just finished Sassy's 'Drowning', and I'm all emotional and bummed out. I totally admire her for writing it, though. It is the one thing you will never see me write – I just can't bring myself to kill the guys. The good news is nothing too terrible happens in this chapter. The real angst is still ahead.
Chapter 4:
Four years earlier …
"I cannot believe you made us drag a piano down here," Leo complained, massaging his aching shoulder.
This was met with a chorus of groans as everyone took a break from moving the unwieldy instrument into the lair. Casey leaned against the wall and took a breather, while Don ran his fingers over the dusty keys.
"At least we didn't pay anything for it, but it needs repairs," Don noted. He tapped a couple of keys, and winced at the sound. "And it needs to be tuned."
"Aww, it's nothing you can't fix, Donnie," Mike cajoled, batting his eyes at his brother hopefully. Don cast a sour look in Mike's direction.
"Mikey, I don't know anything about tuning a piano," Don explained, but he could see that any excuse would be met with stiff opposition in the face of Mike's determination.
"Noelle wants to learn to play piano, Donnie," Mike insisted. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
It was New York City, but even so, you would think someone would stop when they saw a body in the middle of the road.
Sam winced as the coroner attempted to peel the victim off of the pavement in the center of the Holland tunnel. Apparently, the body had been run over a few times before anyone reported it. Even so, it was apparent that this was number four to add to her wall of related murders. From what she could identify, this was a young man in his early twenties. No clothes or other identifying items were around, and the body had been beaten to a pulpy mess – helped along by the vehicles that had run him over.
Moving away from the body, Sam scanned the small crowd that had gathered to watch. Even here in the tunnel, there were gawkers. She signaled to the CSI crew to hurry it along – they were, after all, blocking morning traffic.
Leaning against the passenger door of a black and white, Sam let her mind drift for a moment. It was highly unfair that she had to be rousted out of bed this morning, and that Don had to rush off to the university. She reminded herself that the weekend was approaching. Surely she would catch a break at some point, and be allowed to savor her time with him.
A car pulled up, dragging Sam from her ruminations. It was dark blue, utterly plain, and screamed FBI. It perfectly matched the bookend agents who climbed out a moment after it parked. It was procedure to contact the FBI in cases where a serial killer seemed to be at work, but it chaffed to have the bureau leaning over her and interfering in her work.
"Gentlemen," she greeted with a less than pleased drawl.
"Detective," the taller of the two replied, glancing around the scene. Sam frowned deeply.
"It's Lieutenant, Agent," Sam reminded him. He nodded distractedly.
"You sure this is another one?" he questioned, his tone doubtful. Sam clenched her jaw, and fought down her innate desire to tell this guy where to go.
"It matches the description of the other victims, yes," Sam replied tightly. The agent signaled to the coroner, who continued to scrape up the body.
"We'll want to be present for the autopsy, and we'll be bringing in a profiler from the local office," the agent informed her in a monotone. Sam made a sour face, and watched the clean up continue. "You will share any information you have promptly, will you not, Gallagher?"
"Of course," Sam agreed,even if her tone of voice would have frozen a great lake.
Walking the streets this early in the morning was something of a pleasure. Before everything changed – before when they had to stay in the darkness – it was unheard of for him to walk the sidewalk at dawn. Now, he could stroll towards the school at a relaxed pace, but still with his guard up because of the neighborhood.
He dug out his keys, and on reaching the door, started to unlock it. Something odd reflected in the glass, and he spun around. There was a bookstore across the street that had just opened up the week before. The front windows were coated with violent orange paint spelling out three words. 'Go home freak.' Seeing a light on inside, Leo relocked his own door and crossed the empty street. He knocked on the front door, and waited a moment for it to open. When it did, he gaped for a moment before recovering.
"May I help you?" the proprietor questioned, her voice so soft Leo had to strain a bit to hear her.
"No, but I thought maybe you needed some assistance," Leo replied, looking up into silvery eyes surrounded by a pale blue face. "I saw the vandalism …"
She nodded a little, and stepped back to open the door wider. Leo, taking this as an invitation, moved inside. The shelves were filled with both paperback and hardcover, and the aisles were narrow but tidy between each high shelf. He noted two large cartons sitting next to the counter that had just been opened.
"You own the martial arts school?" she asked, and Leo gave her a brief bow.
"I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself immediately. I am Leonardo," he said, straightening and smiling up at her. The corners of her mouth quirked up a bit.
"I am called Sen," she replied, offering a bow as well. The gesture did not seem unfamiliar to her. "I would offer you some refreshment, but …," she paused to look at the painted windows. "I am having some difficulties today." She shrugged her shoulders a little. It was impossible to say what her emotional state was from her flat silver eyes and eerily even tone of voice, but to Leo, she looked distressed.
"Would you like some help?" he asked, indicating the window. "Cleaning it off?"
"It is not your problem," she demurred, taking two steps back.
"No, but I offer my assistance just the same," he returned formally. He waited as she considered this.
"Yes, your aid is appreciated," Sen decided. Less than fifteen minutes later, they were out front and working on the windows. Sen offered Leo a pair of gloves obviously purchased locally, and then grinned as he held up his hands.
"They don't fit me, either," Sen noted, holding up her own four fingered hands. Leo cautiously wetted a rag with solvent, and began scrubbing at the paint. Sen labored alongside him, and they fell into an easy conversation. "I purchased this store, thinking that other off-worlders might be starved for literature from their home planets," Sen explained, wrinkling her oddly small nose at the smell of the paint. "But I also stocked the writings of Earth. It seems, though, that humans do not read much."
Leo's mouth turned up in a rueful smile. "My brother, Don, would probably agree with that."
Glancing over her shoulder, Sen noted that someone was watching them from across the street. "You are fortunate to have family here with you."
Leo looked over at Raph, and offered a nod acknowledging his presence. "You're here alone?" he queried, looking up at Sen.
Sen sighed, and nodded. "I was to run this store with a friend of mine, but she was afraid of the humans. They are not all … accepting." She studied the remaining paint uneasily. "They will come again. I do not know why I fight this battle." Sen turned to Leo, curious. "Your business is not set upon by vandals. Why is this?"
"We had some trouble early on," Leo replied, halting his work as he remembered that time nearly two years before. The building had been messed up one night, but it hadn't taken much to track down the vandals – and he and Raph had talked them out of any further damage. Well, Leo had talked, and Raphael had spun a sai repeatedly while sneering at the boys responsible. Since then, there had been no problems at all. "Maybe I could help you with that, too," Leo offered, glancing up at the slender alien. She smiled back, and for a moment a pale color swam to the surface of her strange eyes.
"Yes, I believe I would like your help, Leonardo."
"I'm just worried about her."
Mike leaned forward in his seat on the small sofa, and listened to the concerns of Noelle's piano teacher. She had called him first thing this morning to discuss Noelle, but he had thought – maybe even hoped – that it was about the approaching recital.
"She seems so …," Amber waved her hand in the air briefly, struggling to find the word she wanted. "Depressed," she said finally, and her eyes flickered away from his. "I know there are problems at home …"
Mike lowered his eyes to the carpeted floor, and away from the young blonde woman seated on the other side of the coffee table. The apartment was about the size of a postage stamp, but neat and tidy and nearly overpowered by an upright piano along one wall. He was embarrassed that his marital problems seemed to have become common knowledge.
"I'm sorry," Amber offered gently. "I know it probably isn't any of my business, but I care about Noelle. She's so unhappy right now. If there's anything I can do …," she went on anxiously. Mike looked up, and saw only compassion in her expression. He toyed with a crease in his jeans near his right knee, and wished for his 'chucks, if only because it gave him something to hold on to.
"There's nothing … Really, I appreciate your telling me this," Mike said, stumbling a little over his words. "I'll talk to Noelle," he added. When and how and what he was going to say was a mystery in his own mind, but he would figure something out. He found himself staring at a framed print on the wall behind her left shoulder of an outdoor café at night. The silence stretched for a few minutes as his mind wandered to his future conversation with Noelle. He started a little when he felt a hand on his arm. Amber had crossed the room, and was now sitting next to him.
How he hadn't sensed her, he wasn't certain. But Leo would kick his ass for letting his guard down like that – even around his daughter's piano teacher.
"I really do want to help," Amber said, shifting her hand from his forearm to his shoulder. "Just let me know what I can do."
Blinking, and trying to get his bearings, Mike stood up quickly. It probably seemed rude, but right now he just needed to get out of here. Right now.
"Sure. Thanks," he replied, a little stunned. He backed towards the door as she watched him.
"Please call me if you need anything," she added, and Mike paused to weigh the inflections in the words. There was something beyond Noelle going on, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Instead, he nodded and smiled blankly, and got the hell out of there.
Once on the street with the mid-morning sun slanting through the trees that lined the street, he shook his head at his own foolhardy reaction. It was nothing lack of sleep or stress or something.
The piano teacher was not coming on to him.
No way.
Author's Notes: Thanks to all the reviewers. You make it happen really. I'll be posting more soon.
