Leo watched the dust motes dance in the bars of light as they filtered through the balusters. Living in a room on the second floor had its perks - distance from the little brother who snored like a freight train, tactical advantage when diving for the last slice of pizza, and not being kept awake by Raph's thundering footsteps when he paced at night. But this was one of his secret favorites.

When he couldn't sleep, Leo liked to crack his door open and let the glow that pierced the walkway railing seep into his room. It laid bars of black and pale blue across his ceiling. They melted down his wall into a puddle of light and shadow on the floor. And the dust would tilt and swirl like the sparkles that clouded his vision when he got the wind knocked out of him during a sparring match.

Tonight, though, the particles failed to lend the peace to his racing thoughts that they normally did. He swiped his hand through the air, agitating their lazy circles until they spun like a storm of glitter in the dark.

He didn't like this girl. He couldn't say for certain why, but there was something about her that seemed... off. No one they had ever met was just okay with the fact that there were four walking, talking, giant turtles running around in the sewers playing ninja. Even if two of their own had just saved her life.

Even April was proof of that. She'd run screaming away more than once when they'd first met. And honestly, if it hadn't been for Donatello's infatuation with her, they probably would have just let her run. They'd had no clue about the Kraang, or any other incarnation of enemy that would follow in the nearly 10 years after their meeting.

And without fail, it always seemed to be Donatello bringing these women, these humans, into their midst; exposing them and their secrets with little thought of the consequences. Maybe it was his curious nature. Maybe subconsciously, he needed to know about the one thing that would forever be forbidden to them. For being so aggravatingly intelligent, his younger brother couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that they had to keep all of these humans at a distance. If not for the sake of their secrecy as ninjas, then for the safety of the people themselves.

Leonardo sighed, sending the dust into a dizzying spin. With the number of enemies at their door building on a near-daily basis, it was much too dangerous to invite any more innocent people into their lives. Secrecy wasn't such a big deal anymore. The turtles had become something of an urban legend. People would claim to have seen "flying lizard men" and "warrior reptiles" whether or not they'd actually been present. They even made a little side money by letting April submit blurry, out-of-focus shots of them to tabloids. Every now and then, Michelangelo would ghost-write an exposé column called "Monsters in Manhattan."

But this, bringing people into the lair, getting caught on camera... Whether or not Donatello was able to destroy all the evidence, it never should have been made in the first place! It was too risky, too far exposed. And Raph, deliberately giving a normal human mutagen. No matter how noble the cause, it only reinforced that neither of them had given any thought to the long-term possibilities of their actions.

And now they were stuck babysitting this girl until Doctor Donnie decided she was "all better." Leo had to admit that he was surprised when Master Splinter had nearly ordered them to err on the side of caution by keeping her in the sewers to watch her. It would have been easy enough to take her home and put some regular surveillance on her until they decided she was in the clear.

So what was Master Splinter thinking?

He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. There was just something about that girl - Aubrey was her name - that rubbed him the wrong way. And Leo had never been misled by his gut feelings before. Many times, in the heat of battle, it had been the difference between life and a knife through the eye. He'd come to rely on his feelings to warn him away from danger.

And danger seemed to coat Aubrey like a second skin.

No, Leonardo didn't like her being there. He didn't like her at all.

"Excuse me?"

Breakfast had been silent and tense. Leonardo had already dismissed himself to "the dojo," wherever that was. Raph had been stabbing his eggs with a focused vehemence that made Aubrey wonder if there was a chicken who slighted him in another life. Donatello was markedly absent.

Only Mikey seemed normal, humming loudly to himself as he brought another plate with toast and bacon, and a decanter of orange juice to the table.

"What's up, sweetcheeks?"

Sweetcheeks? Wasn't baby cakes enough?

Aubrey shook her head slightly. "Ah... if I'm going to stay down here with you, there are some things I need from my apartment." Splinter turned his whiskered nose toward her and considered for a moment.

"If you make a list of the possessions you wish to have, one of my sons can retrieve them for you tonight."

Aubrey shifted nervously.

"A-actually, I'd like to retrieve them myself, if that's okay." Raph was staring her down as if she were a new plate of eggs to be destroyed. Mike's expression had turned wary.

"You're not gonna go running off on us, are ya?" he queried.

Aubrey grimaced and put her hands up in an attempt to dispel the suspicion in the air. "No, no. It would be rather ungracious to just disappear after ya'll've done so much for me. It's just that some of the things that I need are of a more..." she hedged, "ah... personal... nature."

She must've hit the word jackpot because all three males at the table looked away suddenly and Aubrey could have sworn she saw a dark green splotch rush across Raph's cheeks. He set his fork down on the table with a clatter and Aubrey was surprised to see that the tines weren't bent. Shoving away from the table, he stomped off, one broad finger looped through the handle of a coffee cup.

Michelangelo chuckled, and rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "Sorry, babe. We're just trying to be careful, ya know?"

A small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. "I understand, Mikey. No offense taken."

He huffed a sigh and grinned again, shooting her a conspiratorial wink. "I'll take you up tonight," he offered. "It's not every day that I get the chance to get sleeping beauty all to myself."

"Exercise caution, my son," Splinter warned. "It was only yesterday that the Foot attacked your brothers out in the open. If they know that Aubrey is with us, they may be searching for her as well."

An uncomfortable knot settled in her stomach. Aubrey managed a small, grim smirk. "Let's hope not."

Master Splinter only hummed in response, folding narrow, clawed hands around the mug of steaming tea.

Just before noon, Donatello called Aubrey into his lab. He'd be lying if he hadn't enjoyed the moment of surprise that flitted across her face. In his 23 years, it hadn't been very often that he could impress anyone, nevertheless a girl. This was his little world - the place where he made discoveries, created the things that made the mutant family's life a little easier, and kept vigil over activity on the surface.

Donnie watched for a moment as Aubrey's eyes roved over everything in mute fascination. Truth be told, it was a room filled with a miscellaneous assortment of broken computer parts and the bits and bobs they'd been able to salvage from trash bins outside automotive shops, tech stores, and research labs. But everything had been meticulously restored to some semblance of working order; had been given new purpose. He took great pride in it.

He cleared his throat, interrupting her examination. She jumped, as if startled by the sudden noise.

"Through there, if you would please," he gestured to a broad white blanket that acted as a divider and privacy screen for the medical center. It hadn't taken long for the turtles to figure out that they would need some dedicated place to fix the damage done by their enemies, or through their own carelessness. The Medicenter was the result of years of careful collection and research. And where Master Splinter was in charge of all treatment of emotional or spiritual wounds, Donnie had reign over allopathic medicine.

Given, it had come back to bite them in the scutes a time or two. Like when they'd learned that Mikey was allergic to ivermectin. Don shuddered. After that, he'd taken extra precautions to know the major drugs that could be used on reptiles in veterinary medicine.

"What's going on?" There was the barest hint of skepticism in her voice as she eyed the makeshift curtain.

"I need to check your wounds to make sure there's no infection forming beneath the bandages," he replied. Now that he looked closer, he could see the faint brown staining of old blood seeping through. "It wouldn't be a bad idea to change them all together, anyway."

"Hmm..." she hummed and, not for the first time, Donatello drew a line of comparison between her and Master Splinter. "You're probably right," she finally conceded. "They're starting to itch like the devil anyway. But is there anyway April can help me?"

Donatello stared at her for a full five seconds, completely uncomprehending her request before she filled in.

"You know... giant talkin' turtle or not, you're still a guy. And last I checked, my shirt was missing..." She avoided his eyes at the end, a tinge of blush suffusing her cheeks.

Donnie could feel his own face darken in embarrassment.

So much for being the smart brother... he thought sarcastically.

"Ehh... heh heh..." he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head with one broad hand. "Well April probably won't be coming back until tomorrow and we really shouldn't wait to check your injuries..." He cast his eyes around the room.

"Do you have anything I could at least cover up with?" She was looking at him now and, if he wasn't mistaken, there was an amused twinkle in her eye. Maybe it was just the light from the computer screens...

"Uh... maybe Casey left a t-shirt somewhere?" He spun around to dig through the toolbox that stood against the wall next to the door. After a few seconds shuffling things around, he found an old, worn Hooters shirt. It had a few oil stains on it and looked like it had been repurposed as a tool rag.

Donnie offered it to Aubrey with a grimace. "Sorry, it's the best we've got. We don't really wear normal clothes around here."

Aubrey chuckled and shook her head. "Nah, it's fine. I've borrowed worse from my brother before. Derrick was our resident grease monkey. If you couldn't find him under the car or tractor, it was because he was at The Yard, buying parts."

Don cracked an awkward smile as she slipped her head and left arm through the holes, letting the shirt drape over her injured shoulder. "Sounds like an interesting guy."

"He was," she laughed almost wistfully. "Couldn't fix anything worth a damn, but he sure liked to tinker..."

Donatello shuffled his feet uncomfortably, knowing full well what the past-tense verbs meant. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

He was nearly startled out of his shell when she started laughing. "Oh Lord, Donatello, whatever for?"

"I-I didn't mean to bring up -"

"What, Derrick? He'd probably be pleased as punch that I have anything nice to say about him s'much as he teased me." She turned suddenly. "And he'd love this place. Did you build it all yourself?"

Don knew a change in subject when he heard one, and was relieved for it.

She shot him an expectant glance from the corner of her eye and he realized that he'd spaced again.

"Y-yeah!" he chirped, almost too brightly. "We can't exactly walk into the closest tech store and ask for a desktop, so we made do with what we could find in junkyard and recycling facilities. Basically if it's down here, it's mechanical, and it works, it probably passed through my hands first."

He was babbling and he knew it but that glimmer of mild amazement had returned to her eye and he thought that maybe he could give himself this one time where he talked himself up a little.

She was looking at the things on his desk - mostly a pile of disconnected wires and pieces of circuit boards. But her gaze had lingered on a small, palm-sized dome in the shape of a turtle shell. A dim red light blinked at one end.

"What's that?"

Don grinned. As one of his first successful inventions, he was particularly proud of this one.

"That is a T-phone, or a Shellphone, depending on who you ask." She nearly had her face to the desk trying to examine it from all angles.

"You know, you can pick it up."

The look on her face was like someone had told a small child they could have a double scoop, chocolate-dipped ice cream cone even though they were grounded. For the first time in years, Donnie felt the urge to giggle at something besides finding a like-new motherboard in a trash heap.

Aubrey's fingers ghosted over the surface of the phone and she looked up at him guiltily.

"Are you sure? Me and technology have this long-standing disagreement over our mutual existence. It's only by luck that I've been the survivor so far."

"Pffft -" Donatello sputtered. Cheeks puffed, shoulders shaking. He'd tried so hard not to laugh but the way she'd said it was so blasé, so nonchalant... Another bout of laughter hit him light a Mack truck and he doubled over.

Aubrey looked like she didn't know whether to be pleased or offended.

"Oh come on, it wasn't that funny, Donatello" she huffed, folding her arms over her chest.

He regained himself after a moment. "You know," he sighed as he wiped an errant tear from his cheek. "You don't have to always call me 'Donatello.'"

"Yeah? Would you prefer Super-genius-turtle-extraordinaire?" Aubrey had hunched her shoulders over and begun wiggling her fingers together like a cartoon mad scientist. "Or perhaps Master-of-technical-ingenuity?"

Donatello leaned back and tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I like that last one, actually. You and Michelangelo should have a chat about changing my nickname."

"Oh yeah?" She cocked and eyebrow. "And what is your nickname?"

Like hell am I going to tell her that Mikey calls me 'Dorkatello.'

He grimaced. "'Donnie' is fine. The only person who consistently calls me 'Donatello' is Master Splinter." He shook his head. "Come on, let's get you checked out already."

They'd been able to get the outermost layers of gauze removed fairly easily, but the blood had dried on the lower layers and stuck to the skin. Any awkwardness had quickly dissipated with his concentration and her physical discomfort.

"Alright, stay still. I don't want to accidentally pull the bandages and have you bleeding again."

Aubrey nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. "Don't have to tell me twice."

She knew Donnie was probably trying to be gentle, but the scissors weren't as sharp as they could have been and every catch felt like she was back in ninth grade, when Mary Blanchard convinced her to use duct tape as body wax. Every little fair hair along her rib cage was being pulled in clusters. She could feel the swelling start all around the edges of the bandage and began to dread having to do this every day for the next few weeks. Bullet wounds didn't heal very quickly. She may be changing bandages for months! Aubrey shuddered.

Don paused in his ministrations. "Does it hurt that much?"

"No-no," she soothed. "How long did you say we have to keep doing this?"

"At least until it's healed all the way through. You may still need pressure bandages afterwards for your ribs and scapula - they were pretty cracked up last I checked."

Aubrey made a face.

Donatello frowned. "It's caked on pretty well. We're going to have to soak it off to avoid reopening anything." With a groan of mattress springs, he lifted himself from the twin bed that served as their treatment table. He reappeared a few seconds later carrying a shallow steel bowl and a white rag. The bowl was filled with water.

After settling down again, Donnie began soaking the cloth. But before he could place it against the blood-congealed gauze, Aubrey stopped him.

"Not to seem rude, but that's not sewer water, is it?" Aubrey hadn't been too terribly surprised when she learned that the turtles' hideout was in the sewers of the city. She could hear the faint rush of cars overhead and the air had a cool, humid quality to it that whispered of the underground.

But it had given her a healthy paranoia of where their water came from. Mutagen or not, she didn't think she'd be able to take on an infection caused by exposure to untreated waste water.

Donatello gave her a small, reassuring smile.

"We learned a long time ago that fresh water is a precious commodity down here. The filtration system is top-notch, and I flush it on a regular basis, promise."

"I'll hold you to that. If you think I'mma pain right now, you just wait until I've contracted some crazy super bug." She twisted her face into a scowl that she knew could only be comical. "I'll become your worst nightmare." Her brother's voice rang in her ears.

"I've seen wet kittens scarier than you..."

Apparently Donatello agreed.

"Trust me, after dealing with Raph's broken leg, treating a sick, pretty girl would be a daydream."

Aubrey stiffened and Donatello fumbled the rag. It landed in a wet splat on the bed.

"Not that you're pretty. Ah! No wait, I-I just meant -"

"Oooooh! Young love..."

"Michelangelo!"

The youngest of the brothers had been peeking around the edge of the curtain. It was drawn up to his chin, as he gazed dreamily at the ceiling. He released a lofty sigh and Aubrey giggled. She imagined that if he'd had eyelashes, that they would have been fluttering. Instead, he narrowly dodged a metal pan to the face.

"Whoah, bro!"

It hit the floor with a raucous clatter, the sound echoing in the confined stone space. Mike popped his head back in, winked at Aubrey, and took off like a bat out of hell. Donnie was close on his heels.

Where did he get that staff from?

She just shook her head and snickered, carefully pulling the oil-stained shirt over her shoulder. It was still pretty tender but nowhere near the level it had been the night before. There was a shriek and a cacophony of unintelligible shouts. Aubrey ambled out, unable to resist the urge to investigate.

Raph was perched on the back of the couch, whooping loudly as his brothers tussled on the floor. Leo stared down from the second floor, shaking his head is disapproval.

"Whatchya got, Brainiac? You can't tooouuuch this!" Michelangelo backflipped over the coffee table, landing neatly between the couch and the dining table. He had a small remote in his hand and with a quick click of the button, M.C. Hammer was blaring through unseen speakers.

Mikey strutted back and forth, bobbing his head and mouthing the lyrics as Donatello dove at him again. Aubrey sidled up next to Raph and leaned against the cardboard cushions.

"They do this a lot?"

Raph's grin was almost manic. "Nah... not as often as they used to. Donnie's kind of a spoil-sport when it comes to the antics of Dr. Prankenstein." He waved his hand in the direction of Donatello, who had managed to knock Mikey off his feet with a swipe of his staff. Raph finally glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"Are you wearing Casey's shirt?"

Aubrey glanced down at herself. The shirt was actually a pretty decent fit, given that it was worn soft and covered in grime.

"Yeah - Donnie found it for me. Is Casey his girlfriend or something?" There was a crash. When she looked back up, Raph looked like he was going to choke. She must have missed something good.

"Something like that, sure..." He chortled to himself. There was a wicked glint to his eye that made Aubrey itch to scoot away.

Suddenly, the music clicked off and a voice boomed out across the room.

"What is going on here?"

The two squabbling on the floor jerked straight to their feet, arms tucked formally behind their shells.

"Nothing, Master Splinter," Donnie murmured.

"We were just blowin' off a little steam." Mikey's grin was cheeky.

Splinter just grunted before leveling his gaze directly on the purple-banded son.

"Donatello, have you finished treating Miss LaRille's injuries?"

"N-not yet, Master Splinter."

"Perhaps you should finish the tasks set before you, before you begin horse play with your brother."

The younger brother snickered.

"Michelangelo!" The prankster sobered immediately.

"You should not bother your brother when he is tending to our guest. Your interference could extend the time of her recovery."

He ducked his head and grinned sheepishly at her from across the room. "Sorry, Aub..."

She waved the apology away. "It's fine. The bandages are stuck anyway, so I have to soak them off. You wouldn't happen to have a shower, would you?"

Splinter's nose twitched and he nodded. "We do. Donatello, you will show our guest to the restroom. Michelangelo, you must prepare to take Miss LaRille to the surface tonight. I sense trouble in the wind. Be on your guard."

Both boys bowed and spoke in unison.

"Hai, Sensei!"

Aubrey couldn't even begin to express her joy when she saw they had a toilet. She'd had to pee since she woke up the first time and it had only been an extreme force of will that had prevented her from reenacting her five-year-old potty dance.

"Now the temperature knob is a little touchy. It gets hot fast, so watch it when you step in." Donnie was leaned over the wide basin, twisting the knobs back and forth, trying to adjust the heat and pressure.

It was the largest tub Aubrey had ever seen, more like a small pool. The sides came up well above her waist, and she wasn't exactly a short girl. Fortunately, there was a small swinging door in the side. At least she wouldn't have to try to heft herself up onto the edge with a bum arm.

"Soap is on the side. Towels are under the sink. Be extra careful with your side. If you need anything, let us know." Without further ado, Donatello was gone and Aubrey was left to the slowly rising steam and the rubber ducky shower curtain.

She carefully pulled the work shirt over her head; her messy braid flopping against her back with a soft thunk. Despite the heat emanating from the shower, the air in the large room was still chilly. She wiggled out of her work slacks, only just noticing the rust brown splatters down the side and butt. She shuddered.

Aubrey didn't need the reminder that she'd lain in a pool of her own blood.

The moment of relief as she finally settled on the toilet was exquisite. She couldn't help but wonder, though -

If they live in the sewer, where does it go when they flush?

As she flushed, she wondered at the odd turn of her thoughts as she stepped into the shower. Despite Donatello's warnings, the water was pleasantly warm, if not just a little too cool for her liking. But the feeling as the clean water washed over her skin was like a baptism. The longer she stood there, the more she felt the stresses of the last 24 hours drain away.

Slowly, she began to unwind the disheveled braid, the curls slipping across each other as the locks came untangled. Aubrey ran her fingers through the knots, from tip to root, until her hair fell in a heavy, dark fall over her shoulder and across her breasts.

The matted wad of fabric at her side grew heavy. She sat down in the middle of the gigantic washbasin and began to peel away the layers. Every strip of fabric sent a spiral of old blood swirling down the drain. The color was almost startling against the pristine white porcelain and the paleness of her own skin.

Ever so slowly, her chest was revealed in strips. Dark bruises marred her ribs like distorted hand prints, radiating out from the bullet wounds. The wounds themselves were thickly clotted with blood. Aubrey swiped at them gently with the washcloth. But after a few minutes, the cloth dragged against solid skin.

She froze and stared down at her shoulder and chest. She could clearly see the marks - dark sunbursts on her pallid skin. But that was all they were - scars and bruises. It was as if months had passed. Not trusting her eyes, she lifted her arm experimentally. There was no crackle of broken bone in her shoulder blade, no painful shift of jagged ribs in her chest. A sudden sense of constriction bound her throat.

Aubrey shut the water off and nearly slipped in her haste to get out of the tub. She left the pile of bloody rags where they were as she scrambled for a towel. Without thinking, she threw the bathroom door open, leaving a trail of water as she bolted toward the lab.

"Donnie!"

He spun in his chair as she shoved the heavy door open. She nearly dropped her towel in the process.

"Donnie, I need you to look at this!"

He was unnerved by her frantic demeanor and jerked like he'd been shocked when she grabbed his shoulder.

"What? What's the emergency?"

"Look at this!" She jerked the right side of her towel down to show him her wounds. Never-you-mind that she also showed him most of the side of her right breast in the process. She was a little too panicked to worry about the social acceptability of nearly flashing a turtle.

He, however, let out a little "eep" and spun away.

"W-what are you doing?" he demanded.

"Trying to show you my bullet holes, which aren't really bullet holes anymore because they're almost completely healed, if you would stop acting weird about it!" She was shouting at him, she knew, but she couldn't seem to bring her panic or her volume down enough to care.

"What?" Don glanced back over his shoulder at her, as if not believing his ears. He turned on her so quick, she barely saw the movement. He grabbed her by the shoulder and nearly pushed her behind the Medicenter curtain.

Suddenly, he took a step back and put his hands up, as if only realizing that she was half-naked and still soaking wet. He gestured to her side.

"May I?"

Aubrey lifted her arm in response, letting the towel droop down to expose the remainder of the bullet holes. All that was left were the pinkish-brown scars of old wounds, stretched out across her skin like poorly-inked tattoos. He ran one broad finger across the lowest scar, from front to back, tracing the bruise. He repeated the motion with each blemish, the calloused pad of his fingertip leaving a trail of cool fire in its wake.

Suddenly he stood, face serious. "Wait here," he commanded and moved past the privacy screen.

She could hear Leo's voice from the door.

"Everything okay in here? We heard shouting from the dojo."

There was a mumbled response, then Leo spoke again.

"I'll let him know..."

Another second and Donatello was before her again. This time, he wore a set of thick, layered goggles with green lenses. Some electronic pack beeped and whirred at his hip.

"Sit on the bed and lift your arm again, please."

She complied without complaint. He sat down next to her, the bed sinking with his weight as it had before. He gently lifted and turned her arm, eyes trained on her back and shoulder. His head turned toward her ribcage.

Donnie peered down at her side while fiddling with a switch on the humming box of lights. He murmured and "oh"-ed for a few minutes, brow creasing as he went.

The initial wave of anxiety was beginning to ebb. Aubrey found the noises and thorough process of the examination oddly soothing, despite its strangeness.

When he finally clicked off his box and flipped the goggles up onto his head, he stared at her with a frown.

"This doesn't make any sense," he muttered, dropping his face into his palm. She watched as he massaged his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.

Aubrey tucked the drooping edge of her towel snugly under her arm.

"What doesn't?" Her nervousness returned as he shook his head slowly.

"Aubrey, I don't know how else to tell you this, but you're almost completely healed."

She brightened considerably. "Well, that's good isn't it? You said the mutagen would speed things up..."

He sighed and looked at her again. "Well that's just the thing. The mutagen speeds things up, sure. But we're," he gestured to himself as he spoke, "full mutants, and even we don't heal as fast as you have." Aubrey didn't think it was possible for his frown to be any deeper. "It should have taken you weeks, at least to get to this point, not hours or a day."

"So... what does that mean for me?"

Donnie was shaking his head again. "I honestly don't know. We need to run some tests. It could be that your body is just passing the mutagen a lot more quickly than we expected. If that's the case, you can go home sooner." He exhaled almost forcefully and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

She was almost afraid to ask. "And if that's not the case?"

He almost appeared to regret the words as he watched her from behind his mask. "We'll have to keep you here and run some tests. We'll need to make sure there are no... side effects of your exposure."

Feeling abruptly self-conscious, she pulled the towel tighter, covering herself as much as she could. Donatello was close enough to feel the gusts of his breath across her damp skin. And she was acutely aware of both his proximity and her relative nudity. The room felt colder than it had a few minutes before.

"What kind of tests?"

Donnie leaned back and placed his fists on his thighs as he looked at her. There was a critical sheen to his eye as he spoke. "We'll at least need to draw blood, so we can monitor the levels of mutagen present in your system. But with the facilities we have here, most of our "tests" simply involve watching you for signs and symptoms that we've seen before, so you don't need to worry. We're not going to play mad scientist with you."

Aubrey could feel the tension uncoil from her spine. Her shoulders sagged in relief.

"Good. You had me worried there for a hot second," she chuckled edgily. "The last thing I want is so become some kind of experiment..."

Donatello suddenly tensed and opened his mouth to say something. He was interrupted by a soft knock against the stone, and Master Splinter entered the curtained room. His brows raised when he saw her.

"It appears that you have surprised us yet again, Miss LaRille. Since you will be staying with us for a while, please allow me to show you to one of our guest rooms. I believe April left behind some clothes that you may borrow if yours have been ruined."

Aubrey felt her face flush.

Apparently all semblance of shame disappears when I freak out... she mused.

"Donatello," he continued. "You and I will speak momentarily." Donnie merely nodded in response, already slipping into his thoughts. Master Splinter turned on his toes and padded silently from the room

Aubrey shuffled awkwardly off the bed to follow. She cast one last glance over her shoulder as the curtain swung closed.

She could still feel the lines of fire across her ribs where he'd touched her.