Author Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Reviews give me the warm fuzzies. Apologies to everyone awaiting the epilogue of 'Blue', been having some problems with it but I'm working on them. And series 3 of TMNT is beginning on Sunday, so SS is doing the happy dance all over the house!

It's been brought to my attention that the rating for this fic might be too high. What do you all think? It's gonna get more violent from here on in so I'm not sure about changing it but I've been wrong before - many, many times!

&&&&&&&&&

Michelangelo sat on his bed, trying to force the confused tangle of thoughts in his mind into some kind of coherence. There was no way the prisoner could have known his name, yet he had called him by it. He knew about the other turtles. He even knew what had happened to his face – although the shape of the scars matched Master Saki's weapon of choice, so maybe that wasn't too hard to figure out.

Master Saki had told them all the story of how they came to be years before; he had found them at the lab of an enemy who had been planning on using the young mutants in some kind of unspeakable experiment. So maybe this person was the enemy from whom they had been rescued. But it was their Sensei who had named them after their rescue, so how could their former captor know his name?

Or maybe Master Saki lied to you.

"No he didn't," Mikey muttered to himself in response. "This prisoner's the one who's lying."

Then how does he know about you and your brothers?

"I don't know! Maybe he overheard someone talking about it. I'm not exactly hard to mistake for someone else."

So you're just going to blindly trust in Sensei.

Mikey sighed. Nothing about this situation made any sense. He wanted desperately to ask one of his brothers for their opinion, let them worry about it for a while. But which of them could he tell?

Leo. Unlikely. He would be mad at Mikey for speaking to the prisoner in the first place, the rules in solitary were clear, be it for an incompetent Foot ninja or a dangerous captive. He would tell point out the numerous ways the prisoner could have discovered the information and make Mikey feel like a moron.

Donnie. No. The previous night he had been so wrapped up in whatever the problem with the mousers was that he had barely noticed his three brothers in the same room. And Donnie would favour the logical approach to the issue, assuming he took Mikey seriously, finding out as much about the prisoner as they could and that would mean hacking into Foot computers or asking around. Both solutions were likely to get them noticed.

Raph. Maybe. He was more understanding about Mikey's transgressions than the other two and would know the need to keep the discovery a secret. Assuming of course that he didn't call his brother an idiot and laugh at his gullibility, falling for some stupid line a prisoner had spun.

The door banged open, causing Mikey to jump. Raph strode in and stopped in front of the bed, arms folded.

""You're still in bed? Don't tell me you forgot the time. We're due in training in five minutes!"

Mikey considered telling Raph that he had been awake for hours but a glance at the clock changed his mind. Master Saki took a very dim view of them being late for training and Mikey was always careful not to anger his Sensei if he could help it. Not that his caution seemed to make a lot of difference. Master Saki seemed to hold Mikey in contempt that he tried not to show. Now might not be the best time to make any decisions about telling his brothers what the prisoner had told him.

Climbing off the bed, Mikey followed Raph down the corridor toward the large dojo where Sensei spent most of his time meditating, managing his business interests or sparring. He knew he needed to focus, that Sensei would notice if he were distracted, but the words of the mysterious prisoner kept echoing in his mind.

"Raph?"

"What?"

"What's your first memory?"

Raph stopped briefly and gave Mikey a curious look. That was an odd question, even for him. "Why do ya wanna know?"

"Dunno. Just curious."

Raph considered for a moment. "I can remember being in the dojo and thinking it was the biggest room in the world. I guess that's it."

"Oh."

Conversation apparently over, Raph continued to the dojo with Mikey trailing behind, debating the truth of his statement. The dojo was the first thing he could remember seeing, but there was something he'd neglected to mention to his brother. He could remember an auditory memory with no images to go with it, Mikey shouting his name and something else…

"Sp'inta!"

…Something he'd been shouting. But it made no sense and he dismissed it. If he told Mikey his first memory was of voices he'd never hear the end of it, his wise-ass brother joking about how he'd always been a psycho or something. And this close to the dojo, he didn't want to risk it. The memory of Mike's face pouring with blood and his shocked expression had been with him ever since the day it had happened and although he had been unable to do anything about it at the time, he was determined that nothing like it would ever happen again, not if he could prevent it. And if that meant curbing Mikey's exuberance, then that's what he'd have to do. No matter how much he missed it.

&&&&&&&&&

Oruku Saki sat in front of a low table, paper strewn over every surface. In the two hours since he had dismissed the turtles, he had gone through every last one of them and found the thing he had been looking for all these years.

The sword of Tengu.

It had been lost over the years, before he had relocated to America. A rogue Foot ninja whom he had foolishly trusted had taken the artefact and sold it. It had taken Saki three days to catch up with the traitor, less than half the time it had taken for him to die, the profit made from the sale not helping him escape his fate. The sword had seemingly vanished, the address the ninja had given them vacated. For too many years there had been no word, no sign of the mystical object and Saki had feared that his enemies had been able to get it into their possession. Without the sword, he might never find them. They had hidden themselves among the humans too well.

And then, finally, some good news. Donatello had been keeping an eye on the internet for him, a rough drawing of the sword to work from. The previous week, he had presented Saki with news of a Japanese exhibit to be displayed in a New York museum and featuring a sword similar to the one in the picture. There was no way he could be sure of course, but maybe it was what his Sensei had been searching for?

There had been only a poor quality photograph of the sword on the website and Saki had ordered his lackeys to search out more information. The hunt had paid off. There was no doubt that the sword in the exhibit was the sword of Tengu. And the best part was that he wouldn't have to go anywhere to retrieve it. The sword would be in the city in a few short days and then the Foot soldiers could go and take it…

No. He had a better idea. Let the turtles earn their keep. He would send them to get the sword. Although he would never admit it to them, they were among the most skilled of his warriors, perhaps even as good as the elite guard. There should be no real test of their skills with a simple break in and even if there was a night watchman, they could take him down easily. And it would further bind them to the Foot clan, appeal to Leonardo's pride, Raphael's taste for danger, Michelangelo's adventurousness, Donatello's inquisitiveness. They were the perfect candidates for this mission. All he had to do was wait.

&&&&&&&&&

Time passed differently in captivity.

Splinter had known it had been a long time since the night the Foot had taken the five of them prisoner. He had been beaten by the same monster who had murdered his Sensei and thrown into the tiny cell where he had been ever since, with only the most rudimentary facilities and no windows save the hatch through which food would be pushed. The door had been opened rarely since then and every time it was Oruku Saki who entered.

It had been years before the first visit. Years in which Splinter meditated, practiced his ninjitsu skills as best he could in the confined space. He tried not to let the taint of hatred infect his soul, but that had been hard. He had no idea if his sons were alive or dead. There was never any news. On the occasions he had swallowed his pride and asked the ninja who brought his meals, he had been ignored. So he spent his days worrying that his family had been killed by some whim of the Shredder.

The first time the door had opened, he had been taken by surprise. The Shredder had looked different to the night he had killed Master Yoshi, without his armour. But the Hun was behind him and Splinter could sense the presence of other ninja out of sight behind the door. Much as he wanted to attack with everything he had, he knew the attempt would be futile and may hinder any plans he was able to make in the future. So he had stilled his hand, much as it pained him to do so.

"They call me Master now, rat." Saki's face had been gloating. "They think of me as their father."

Splinter felt his spirits rise at the news. His sons still lived! Although the Shredder had hoped to crush him with the reports of the turtles' allegiance, it was enough for him that they were alive. The Shredder's evil could only corrupt them so far; he had no doubt that his sons retained their good hearts and their bond with each other.

"They will make good Foot ninja," added Saki, laughing maliciously before turning and leaving, the door slamming shut behind him and leaving Splinter a prisoner once more. But now he had something he hadn't had before, a gift from Saki that he hadn't even known he was giving. Hope.

Splinter had redoubled his efforts, training in ninjitsu and pushing himself to his limits in preparation for the day he was able to escape this room. But more years had passed and the chance never arose. Again, a thread of fear had entered him that meditation could not always quell. Had his sons been seduced by the evil that Shredder revelled in? Did they even remember the things he had tried to instil in them, honour and family?

Did they remember him at all?

And today he had gotten his answer. He had recognised Michelangelo's voice, changed as it was over the years from the babyish attempts at mimicking his speech to the deep tone it now carried. He could sense the forced cheer and known immediately that he had to see, to lay eyes on his son for the first time in over twelve years.

It had gladdened him to see that Michelangelo seemed healthy, strong from years of training. But there was so much that troubled him in the brief glance at his son. The dim corridor had not been able to hide the look in his eyes, the worry and pain that seemed to cry out at him. And the scars of course.

Splinter clenched his fists, unable to keep the anger away. The scars were broken in places, suggesting that Michelangelo had grown since they were inflicted. And as soon as Splinter had mentioned Oruku Saki, the turtle had reacted in fear and fled. Shredder had trained the turtles and given them a home, but he was keeping at least one of them in a thrall of terror. How was he behaving toward the others?

He knew he should meditate, clear his mind of these distractions, but for the first time in a long time he had no desire to. Michelangelo had claimed not to know him, but there had been something in his eyes, some form of recognition. Splinter had to hope that he would turn to his brothers with the information about the prisoner who knew all about them and they would take it upon themselves to investigate. He would tell them about their origins and how the Shredder had kidnapped them, using them for his own twisted purposes. And if he could make them believe, then maybe they could free themselves from his evil influences, even if they could not save the rat that had fought so hard to protect them.

&&&&&&&&&

Baxter Stockman scowled as he surveyed the computer readings. April was dead, he knew it…but half the mousers he had sent after her had not returned and the ones that had showed no signs that they had attacked her. He was beginning to be concerned.

"Something wrong Dr Stockman?"

Stockman shot a look of dislike at Donatello, who was at work on an electronic cloaking device and missed it. He had been hoping that Saki would come to his senses and let him dissect the creature or one of the brothers he had mentioned, but his instructions on that had been clear. Donatello was a valued member of the Foot clan and wasn't to be injured in any way. Saki had hinted at another of the mutants that might be available at a later date, but so far nothing had been forthcoming. Saki didn't seem to realise that Stockman could use the information to genetically engineer a new breed of stronger, more capable mutants. The argument had revolved around another scientist, Stockman's predecessor, who had been murdered by his own genetically engineered experiments, but the man had been an idiot, using mutated humans rather than growing his own. Admittedly it would take many years for the new breed of mutants to be viable but surely it was in the interests of science to let Stockman do his experiments. But no; Saki had proclaimed that he had no patience with such things, not when he had four of the creatures already.

"I sent some of the mousers on a test run last night and they have yet to return."

Donnie tensed, Stockman fortunately too preoccupied to notice. "Uh, maybe they got caught in another cave-in, like the ones we sent out the first time."

"Perhaps." Stockman went back to scowling at the computer and Donnie tried to look absorbed in what he was doing, his mind racing. Had he covered his tracks well enough? Or was April going to go to the police with what she suspected about Stocktronics?

A while later Stockman went to the upper levels of the building to check on some of the other scientists working for Stocktronics and Donnie took his chance. Listening for the elevator, he went over to Stockman's computer and looked up April's address, memorising it and then putting the computer back on the screen it had previously been on, covering his tracks. He'd have to check it out, see if she was still there or if she had taken his advice and blown town.

Donnie couldn't wait to leave the building at the end of the day, shrugging on a trenchcoat and fedora and going back to Foot headquarters via the back streets, walking slowly as he considered his options. There were depressingly few of them. The only thing that he could do was to hope that April kept quiet and Stockman didn't find out that she wasn't a snack for the mousers. He knew he ought to go and check on her apartment, find out if she was still there or not, but he felt reluctant. If she was there, then what? He didn't have a clue what he would do if she was still in New York…

"Hey there."

Donnie glanced around as two thugs fell into step with him and sighed. Purple Dragons. Great.

"Back off." He pulled up his fedora briefly and showed them his green skin. The pair widened their eyes and held up their hands in a placatory gesture.

"Sorry Raph. Didn't realise it was you."

Do I look like Raph? Donnie thought, irritated because he already knew the answer. To most people, the four of them were more or less identical save for the slight differences in their skin tones. Do I SOUND like Raph?

Ignoring them, he strode off down the street and began to hurry. Loitering around wasn't going to help anything. He had to go to April's place and find out if she was still there, if only for his own peace of mind. He knew approximately where the address was and grateful for the oncoming night, took the back streets to get there.

He found the address eventually, having some trouble. He had expected an apartment block, but April lived above an antiques shop that looked like it hadn't been open for a while. The window above the shop had a light coming from it and Donnie cursed silently. It could be that there was someone else living there or maybe he had the wrong place after all – but he suspected that April was still there and advertising her presence to anyone who cared to look. Going into the alley beside the building, he found a fire escape and crept up it, planning just to check that it was her and not someone else.

Taking pains to make sure he couldn't be seen from anyone within the apartment and trying to ignore the little voice in his head that told him he was behaving like a stalker, he peered through the window. He found himself looking at an open plan room, the kitchen directly ahead of him and beyond that a dining area and then the main part of the apartment. April was fussing around near the sofa, arranging a bowl of Doritos on the table beside it with some dip and grabbing the remote control to start a DVD before going over to the light and switching it off. She went back over to the sofa and sat down, apparently ready for an evening in front of the television.

Great, thought Donnie irritably. She nearly gets eaten by mousers and instead of leaving town; she's watching some damn chick flick!

The window was easy, sliding up silently and Donnie scowled. Even an amateur could break into this place. What was she thinking? The trenchcoat gave him a couple of problems but nothing he couldn't handle and in moments he was in her apartment unnoticed. It didn't hurt that she was totally engrossed in the film. He leant on the kitchen counter and regarded her for a moment before deciding the faint light from the television wasn't going to allow her to see him very well and cleared his throat.

April shrieked, whipping her head around to look at him and making as if to scramble off the sofa. Donnie held up a placating hand. "Don't move."

She stared at him for a moment, her mind spinning. She recognised the voice, the same guy who had saved her from the mousers – but what the hell was he doing in her apartment?

Remembering her initial impressions of him, that there had been something essentially wrong with his silhouette, she again tried to make some observations about him and once again was thwarted by the lack of light. But she thought her original concerns may have been the result of her run-in with the mousers. This time he wore a long coat and an old-fashioned hat and he although he seemed bulky, there was nothing especially odd about that.

"Wh-why are you here?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Why are you?" he countered. "I told you to get out of town. Do you want Stockman to find you here?"

"I'm not going to be chased out of my own apartment!" April glared at the shadowy figure, cursing the urge to enjoy the movie in darkness. She could barely even see him. "And I won't be intimidated, not by Stockman and not by you either!"

The – man? Boy? – seemed a little taken back by her outburst. "I'm not here to intimidate you, but you have to understand, Stockman's beginning to suspect that something went wrong with his mousers and this is the first place he'll look if he thinks you're still alive. I got in here without even trying; you think this place could stand up to some of those mousers?"

"Don't you think a hoard of mousers chewing through the antique store might attract some unwanted attention?"

"It's not just the mousers. Stockman has some powerful friends. He doesn't need the mousers to make you disappear."

April scowled. "I won't be driven out of my home!"

With a sigh, the figure rubbed his forehead and April widened her eyes. Did he only have three fingers? No, couldn't be. It had to be the lack of light making it look like that.

"Have you told anyone what happened?"

"Huh?" April dragged her gaze away from that odd-looking hand. "No, I haven't said anything. Who'd believe me? I was chased into the sewers by glorified rat-catchers that my boss set on me because I was looking at his computer? The police would probably lock me up."

"In that case, he might leave you alone." But the figure didn't sound convinced. "I still think you should leave town, for a few weeks at least. Then you can come back."

"I told you already, I'm not leaving."

Another sigh. "Then at least get your locks sorted out and keep a low profile. I'll do what I can to keep him off your back."

April had a ton of questions about why he was choosing to help her and how he knew so much about Stocktronics, but he was already moving to the window to leave, climbing onto the sill with ease. She stood up and made her way to the kitchen too late. He was already gone. She leaned out of the window and looked around – no one was that fast, he had to still be around somewhere – but she couldn't see any sign of him. It was as if the darkness had swallowed him.

Donatello could see April leaning out of the window and shook his head. Hadn't he just told her to keep a low profile? Couldn't she just listen to him? Still, he had done everything he could do here. Sticking to the shadows he went back to Foot headquarters. He had no wish to see his brothers that night and avoided the places they might be, heading to his room and closing the door behind him before ditching the disguise and turning to his computer. Hacking into Stocktronics wasn't easy, not with Stockman's genius and computer encryptions but he wasn't exactly unskilled in that department himself and he had done it before. It took some time, but he was able to get into the system and from there found employee records. April's details appeared on the screen and Donnie quickly changed the address, an abandoned shop he had seen close to her apartment now reading as where she lived. If Stockman were to check, he would go to the wrong place and find that no one had been there for a while. Or so he hoped. If Stockman could tell that the records had been tampered with…but Donnie didn't think he would be able to. He had covered his tracks as well as he could.

Turning off the computer and collapsing in front of his television, Donnie turned on the news and tried to take his mind off mousers and Stocktronics and crazy redheads who wouldn't do what they were told. If only he could ask someone if he was doing the right thing.

The news was the usual depressing tales of muggings, robberies and murders. Donnie began searching for the remote to change the station when something on the screen caught his eye. Footprints. Mouser footprints. He turned the volume up high so he could hear the report.

"…Was the scene today at the First National Bank…"

Oh shit, thought Donnie, resting his head in his hands and wishing, not for the first time, that his life wasn't so complicated. He'd been expecting this move by Stockman for a while, alerted to the alternative uses the mousers were to be used for by his Sensei, but he had conveniently managed to push the thoughts to the back of his mind. If April saw the news reports, she'd have something on Stocktronics to go to the police with, something that they could believe. Stockman's ego had led him to appear on an earlier TV programme advertising his mousers as the solution to the city's rodent infestation – and April had appeared on the screen with him. If she was able to convince someone to take a closer look at Stocktronics, there was going to be problems. The company was screwed due to the investigation, April was screwed for coming out of hiding and attracting the wrath of the Foot, or he was screwed for aiding her escape.

And I thought my life was complicated enough, being a mutant turtle trained in ninjitsu, working for a secret and ancient Japanese clan. But now? Complicated is an understatement.

Standing up, he began pacing the room, pausing occasionally to glare at the TV as if it were the cause of all his woes, taking out his naginata and spinning it around. He was worried, confused and anxious and for once all his knowledge was doing him no good. He just didn't know what to do.