Title: One Hand Clapping
Author: Stormy1x2 (travelingstorm)
Words (fic portion) for chapter 2: 6762 words (approx 16 OpenOffice pages) -- See? It's a little shorter this time.
Rating: PG13 for language
Pairing: Mention of April/Casey, Casey's mom/dad
Summary: Book 1. Casey learns not all battles can be won with a hockey stick, and April, and the TMNT learn there's more to their so-called 'simple' friend then they ever dreamed.
Notes: Here's where some new discoveries are made. Please keep an open mind on some of the ideas I'm introducing here – they can work, even with what we know as Canon!Casey, but the details on how won't be evident until the next chapter and so on. Here's hoping you enjoy!
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April waved as her last customer of the day left the store, the chimes in the doorway ringing out cheerfully. With a look of satisfaction on her face, she followed his tracks over, flipped the 'Open' sign over to 'Closed', locked the doors, and activated the metal safety shutters Donnie had installed over her windows.
Another day done. She reached her arms upwards, stretching as high as she could, letting out a soft moan of pleasure as her spine snapped and crackled its way back into something resembling normal.
"Mmmm..." That felt good. Whistling a nameless tune, she turned and ambled back to the register to count the days take. After a second count, she made a mark in the ledger she kept under the counter, and then put all the money in a zipped pouch before stashing it in the safe at the very back of the store. Tomorrow, she'd take some out to provide change in the register, and then she'd make a bank run around lunchtime.
April smiled contentedly at the thought. If someone had told her a few years ago at her graduation ceremony that instead of working at a high-tech lab, she'd be happily selling antiques, she probably would have called that person a liar.
Then again, at the time of her graduation, there would have been no way to know to factor in mutant turtles trained in ninjitsu, aliens that looked like talking brains in the stomachs of android bodies, mad scientists with no bodies, talking crocodiles, killer robots, turf wars, intergalactic battles, pissed-off dinosaurs and a murdering psychopath on the hunt for immortality. Being an antique shop proprietor was turning out to be wonderfully relaxing. It had the added benefit of being able to set her own hours, which came in handy when the aforementioned ninja turtles got caught in battles and needed her special touch to help them fight, or to make them feel better.
April walked out of the store through the back door, locking it behind her as well. She still didn't have a tenant for her basement apartment, though a few people had contacted her about the available space. With any luck, she'd have someone soon, which would mean some extra money.
A quick glance at her watch revealed the time, and she hurried up the stores, muttering under her breath. She was due at the Lair in an hour for her training with Leonardo and Splinter, who was supervising his son's fledgling teaching skills on his very first pupil. Maybe it was odd to be so excited, but she liked the workout it provided her with. Nature may have blessed her with her mother's looks and a good figure, but what nature giveth, junk food can taketh away. Since meeting the turtles, she had noticed a distinct increase in the amount of fast food she ate.
Besides, since Casey had left for upstate New York, it wasn't like she had any other plans. If not for her new-found 'family', April might have been depressed at the fact that she was twenty-four and practically friendless, in terms of what she considered 'normal people.'
Instead, she had four turtles, a rat, a crocodile, numerous homeless people, countless superheroes, some grateful 'rescuees' of the guys, space aliens, and a professor who had once been a robot who was now a computer program on Don's palm pilot, to call friends.
And of course, her vigilante, not-yet-completely-a-boyfriend, friend.
At least I can't say my life is boring.
Speaking of the semi-boyfriend...April frowned as she changed into a loose pair of pants and a fitted t-shirt, the clothing she had adopted as a standard practice uniform. She had wondered about purchasing a gi, but both Splinter and Leonardo had waved her off on that, stating that it was best she learn to fight in the clothing she was most likely going to be caught wearing. Bad guys would not wait for her to change before attacking. Casey had agreed with the turtles, but then, he'd also admitted he liked watching her move in just about anything. Her frown turned into a rueful smile.
She wondered how he was doing. Ever since he'd called her the day after he'd turned her down for a lunch date and told her he was taking his mother up to the farmhouse, a faint niggling tendril of worry had been eating away at her.
He'd sounded so...distracted on the phone. And asking him why he was going yielded only a few stammered excuses that ranged from business, to vacation to 'stuff I gotta do'. Not exactly reassuring words.
If Casey was in trouble, he'd mention it. Right? April wondered about that. If it were a fight, then of course he would. Casey loved a good fight, and was always happy to have the guys at his back.
"He can't be in too much trouble," she thought out loud. "His mother's with him – I doubt he could get away with much around her."
So if it wasn't fighting-based, what did that leave?
Financial problems?
Casey didn't work, outside of a few repair jobs that she knew about, and most likely many that she didn't. Still, that wasn't enough to pay for rent in New York, yet Casey never seemed to worry about money. Granted, his place was a dump, but it was a dump within walking distance of several major tourist attractions, which automatically drove the rent up.
She was curious to know if Casey's mother played a part in that. After all, the one consistent statement Casey seemed to come back to in all their conversations since the night his mother had arrived, was that she was conducting some sort of business. Did Casey work for her? Sporadically work, she amended. Casey was definitely not your typical, nine-to-five kind of guy, and Adelina definitely didn't seem like the kind of mother to pay all of her adult son's bills.
Closing her apartment door, she headed downstairs and out the side building door, keys to her van already in hand. Maybe she'd do a little background snooping later on and see if she could figure out what Casey was trying to hide. Donatello would probably help her – both of them enjoyed a good mystery.
She got into her van and started it up, checking her favorite radio stations until she heard something she liked. Then, turning it up, she headed for the 'abandoned' warehouse a few blocks away, singing as loud as she could, determined to put aside all negative thoughts for the time-being.
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Raph slammed his fist into the punching bag, over and over again. Sweat was freely flowing off him, his arms and legs humming with adrenaline. The thought of going on patrol and maybe kicking some Purple Dragon butt again in a few hours had him eager and on edge, and for him, this was the best way to take it off.
He leaped up with a twisting jump kick, sending the heavy bag spinning away wildly, meeting its return with a hard right cross, before catching the heavy weight with both hands, settling it. He knew the other reason he was so worked up. It had to do with a certain, fellow hot-head. It would take an act of divine interference to ever get him to voluntarily admit concern over his family and friends, but that didn't mean the feelings weren't there.
Raphael wasn't stupid. He knew Casey was hiding something from them, and part of him was pissed off that the hockey-faced goon gave them the slip without telling them everything.
From years of practice, he was able to ignore the little voice inside of him that said another part of him was worried about his friend.
Worried? Me? Raphael snorted and struck the bag again, half-heartedly this time. When that feeb gets back here, I'm gonna beat him black and blue for--
'Scaring you?' the little voice piped up again. Raphael growled and envisioned wrapping his hands around the voice, throttling it until it squeaked out its death throes and vanished into the background of his mind for good.
A shout of laughter erupted from the mats in the main room, and Raph turned his to see April attack Mikey, hampered by laughter as his irrepressible brother gave his famous girly-scream, dodging the attack with a look of panic on his face.
Raph rolled his eyes, a faint smirk curling his beak. Who woulda' thought Mikey'd be the perfect sparring partner for April?
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April couldn't stop giggling. Her workout with Leonardo and Splinter had gone really well, earning her some well-deserved praise from her instructors. Then Mikey had stepped up to spar with her, grinning cheerfully and letting her hit him. The clown in the turtle's body would pretend to yelp in pain every time she connected, and the exaggerated faces of horror were enough to make her double over in laughter.
It was exactly what she needed.
Leonardo was a great teacher, and of course, Splinter was the best to supervise. But when it came to sparring, Leo had a habit of trying to correct her in mid-attack, which wound up confusing her more then helping her.
Raphael had sparred with her once but he was too competitive, and wouldn't allow her to lay a finger on him if he could help it. He rarely attacked her either, preferring to dodge and use her own momentum to drive her away, which frustrated her to the point where she wanted to grab the closest frying pan and whack him a good one. Donatello might have made a good sparring partner, but he was always wrapped up in a project or three, especially since obtaining the samples of Utrom technology that he hovered over as protectively as a mama bear and her cubs.
That had left Mikey to be her training partner, and it wound up being the perfect choice. Mikey wasn't a perfectionist, and he was secure enough in his abilities that he didn't need to compete with her. He let several attacks go through, and when Leo called him on it, he explained that the average street thugs and muggers – the only kind of opponent April planned on defending herself from, if she had no other choice – weren't as trained as the four of them. April's attack, while not enough to beat a trained ninja, was more then enough to strike down an untrained opponent. Before Leo could protest, Splinter had nodded in approval.
It had made a real difference to April's confidence. Whenever he let an attack go through, she knew that meant she had just prevented a mugger from trying to take her purse, or stopped a thug from hitting her. As a result, her fighting ability was growing in leaps and bounds.
When she had come in for the night's practice, despite the enjoyable ride over, a part of her was still missing Casey, worrying about him, wondering what he was up to. It was almost as if Mikey could sense her mood, despite his insistent claims of not being sensitive, and was doing his best to cheer her up.
Instead of their usual semi-serious spar, Mikey was being extra-campy, staggering back in mock-pain every time she hit him, screaming and pretending to run away whenever she launched an attack. Their 'fight' had deteriorated into a giggle-fest, and at one point, Mikey started waving his hands at her in a bad imitation of a girls', slap-happy cat-fight. She played along until she couldn't control herself any longer, and doubled over laughing, tears beading the corners of her eyes.
It took her a minute to recover, but when she did, Mikey was grinning happily at her, nodding his head as though something that had been wrong, had been set right. Maybe something had - she did feel much better than she had when she'd first arrived. Standing up, she moved in front of Mikey and bowed at him in thanks. Mikey returned the gesture, and before he could straighten up, she had him wrapped in a hug, pecking him on the cheek.
"Thanks Mikey," she said sincerely. She had needed that.
"Anytime April," Mikey said, a faint blush on his face. He winked at her, rubbing the spot where she had kissed him lightly. "Really, I mean that." He waggled his eye ridges at her.
She swatted him. He yelped, and then Splinter cleared his throat, calling their attention. A final bow for her instructors, and then practice was officially over. Mikey bounded away, intent on catching the last of the Jackie Chan marathon on the action channel, and April headed over to Donnie's work area, toweling off the last of the sweat she'd worked up.
A flying wrench nearly took her head off.
"Whoa!" she yelped, ducking for cover. Donatello popped up from behind a big metal contraption that was apparently his latest project. His goggles were hanging askew, grease was splattered all over his face and coveralls, and he was blinking rapidly at her, a screwdriver dangling from one hand.
"What? What?"
April managed to keep from grinning at the sight of Donatello in full 'work' mode. "Wanna watch where you're tossing tools, Don?" She retrieved the wrench and twirled it between her fingers, one hand on her hip. "You almost hit me."
Donatello looked appropriately contrite as he accepted the tool from her. "I'm sorry April. I didn't hear you come in. I was working on the engine of this Triceraton anti-gravity device I recovered from one of the crash sites the Foot missed when they were doing Saki's salvage operations. Apparently this was too damaged for them to attach any real value to." He rubbed his head sheepishly. "I guess I wasn't paying attention."
April studied the machine with interest. "I thought it looked familiar."
Don grinned. "Wanna give me a hand with it?"
"Sure. But I need to ask your help with something first." April told Donnie what was going on with Casey – well, what she knew of, at any rate. Donatello remembered the night of April's unofficial 'dumping' but he'd had his head buried too deeply in his inventions in recent days, to hear much of anything else.
"Casey's gone? And he didn't say when he was coming back?" That didn't sound like the vigilante.
April nodded, and folded her arms, staring at the ground thoughtfully. "I'm getting a bit worried. I mean, he blows me off twice, takes off with hardly a word to anybody, all of a sudden his mother's in the picture, but he won't tell us any details." She scowled. "The only thing I know for a fact is that he's definitely trying to hide something – I can't get a straight answer out of him whenever I try to ask him directly."
Donatello blinked. "So where do I fit in?"
The redhead looked at him. "I was wondering if you wanted to help me do a 'net search. Two hackers are better than one, after all."
The purple-banded turtle shrugged. "Sure, I guess. But what would we be looking for?"
April sat down on a sealed metal canister amid the rest of Donatello's spare parts and junkyard treasures, cupping her chin in one hand. "I was thinking maybe starting with his mother," she mused out loud. "Casey said she was in town on business, but he won't tell me what she does for a living. He started acting weird the night she showed up, so she has to be a part of it."
Donatello nodded slowly. "That sounds like as good a place to start as any." Then his eyes flicked back to his abandoned anti-gravity device, a hint of longing lurking in the depths. "Umm...any particular time-frame you're looking at?"
She glared at him. "Donatello!"
He 'eeped. "I'm just wondering!" He protested.
April sighed. "Sorry. It's just...I'm starting to get worried. He's hiding things, and we've all seen how well it works out when we start hiding things. He's a part of this family, whether he wants to admit it or not, and that means he can't start disappearing and being all cryptic whenever he feels like it!"
Donatello blinked at her again. "...okay then." He set his screwdriver back in his toolbox. "Just let me clean up a bit before I touch my computer, okay? I've lectured to Mikey so many times about not eating at my desk for fear of spilling something, that it would make me a hypocrite to cover the keyboard in oil."
April smiled and reached out, drawing the shorter mutant into a hug. "Thanks Donatello. I appreciate the help."
Donatello returned the hug warmly, watching the redhead intently when she pulled back. "You're really worried, aren't you?"
She nodded.
Donatello echoed her gesture and then stood up, dusting his hands off with a firm clap. "So then let's find out what our resident vigilante is up to."
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Casey was very thankful that the turtles, April and himself had made it a habit to come to the farmhouse every couple of months since the first time they'd made it a place of refuge during Leo's recovery a year and a half ago. Each time they made the trek up, they spent a day or two making it livable, mopping, sweeping, polishing and dusting. Other repairs took place over the course of the entire stay – like Mikey cleaning the chimney one day and winding up covered head to toe in soot. Or the time Donnie had tackled the hot water heater, fixing it so well that he wound up nearly boiling Raphael in the shower when he couldn't make it cold again.
Leonardo and Raphael had patched up the roof over a period of two visits, while Mikey and Donnie had taken the same amount of time to reinforce the front and back decks. The warmer months had seen them all taking turns on the riding lawnmower, tending the acres of land where the grass had been left to grow wild, making parts of the yard resemble an Asian jungle. Of course, it had only been a matter of time before Mikey and Donnie had been banned from the mower – Mikey, for crashing it into every possible obstacle he could find, and Donnie, for tampering with the engine and trying to add a fifteen speed on a machine designed for five.
Anyway, as a result of all their efforts, his grandmother's farmhouse was looking better than it had in years. Even though his mother had seen it briefly last year, she had still exclaimed over the changes a few months had wrought.
After opening up the bedroom windows to let in some fresh air, not much had been left to do but unpack the stuff they had brought, make the beds, and do a quick, cleaning touch-up. There was plenty of wood still stockpiled, leftover from the summer vacation wherein the guys had tried to outdo each other in wooden log production, and since the weather was so warm for early autumn, he didn't need to add to it.
Casey was shaken from his reveries when his mother called him.
"Arnold?"
"Yeah, ma?"
"I'm going to make a grocery run. We're almost out of everything we brought up. You want anything, dear?"
Casey stuck his head in the kitchen. His mother was at the table, one hand scribbling things down, the other massaging her temples. Another headache. The doctor had said that accumulated stress added to the symptoms she already had could cause migraines.
"I can go to the store, ma," he offered. "You can go lie down or somethin'."
"There'll be plenty of time for me to lie down when I'm dead," she muttered automatically, and then she froze. Her pen slipped from her fingers, clattering against the Formica top. Casey was there in a heartbeat, but then she shook her head, waving him away.
"Sorry," she said wryly. "I guess that was a poor choice of words, huh?"
Casey didn't know what to say. His mother had probably uttered that statement a thousand times over the course of his life, but never before did the words have quite the same meaning as they did now. Or the same impact.
All this time he'd been wondering why he wasn't screaming or crying, and he'd come to the conclusion that it didn't seem real yet. His mother looked tired, but not as sick as she was, and it was easy to pretend that maybe there had been a mistake, even though he knew full-well there hadn't been.
Looking at her now, he thought that maybe he wasn't the only person playing the denial game. It was going to catch up with them sooner or later.
His mother pushed off against the table, standing up, list in hand.
Apparently, it wasn't going to hit just yet.
"Ma, I said I'd go." Casey leaned over and tried to swipe the list, but Adelina Jones hadn't survived in a household with two males for nothing. She moved swiftly out of the way, smacking his fingers.
"When I'm ready to lie down, then I'll lie down. Right now, I'm going to the store while it's still open. This is your last chance to add something to the list before I choose your junk food for you, and I'd like you to keep in mind, that boxes of spinach crackers are on sale this week."
Casey plucked the pen from the table and wiggled his fingers at her. "Gimme," he said. He added chips, cheese crackers, Lucky Charms cereal, Twinkies and beer. Adelina read over his additions and rolled her eyes, but she didn't cross anything off.
"You're gonna end up with a gut like your grandpa's," was all she said as she left.
Casey watched her leave, her little blue Volvo stirring up the dust and gravel in the driveway, and then looked down at himself, patting the six-pack he felt under his tank top. Everything seemed in order – his mother was mistaken, obviously.
The phone rang, and Casey strolled back inside. "'Yo!"
"Mr Jones? Hi again! This is Bianca from the hospital calling, remember me? Is your mother available?"
Casey could almost swear he could see little pink hearts floating out of the receiver, accompanying that syrupy-sweet voice. "No, she just left. Can I give her a message or something?"
"I'm sorry to be calling this late. I was just calling to remind her of her first appointment with us tomorrow morning."
Casey choked. He'd almost forgotten, though how, he wasn't sure. His mother was going to begin her chemotherapy treatments. It was to be a weekly procedure, to allow her body time to recover from each round. Of course, that was if she responded to what they prescribed for the moment. If it didn't look like the treatments were doing any good – they'd be able to tell after a few weeks – then she'd be switched to something else.
"She needs to be here for ten o'clock. She'll be here for a few hours, so tell her to bring a book or something. We do have magazine subscriptions, but new issues never seem to stay with us very long before growing legs and walking away," she giggled.
Casey nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I'll tell her."
"Will you be accompanying her, Mr Jones?" she asked, her voice going a bit breathy. Casey rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, I'll be there. Ten a.m, got it. See you then."
"See you soon!"
Casey hung up the phone a little harder than what was probably necessary. Normally he'd be flattered by the attention of a pretty lady, but ideally, the pretty lady wouldn't be reminding him about his mother's illness. Flirting under these circumstances just felt wrong.
He wandered over to the sofa and flung himself down, stretching his legs out along its length, stuffing a pillow under his head. A stack of papers had been piled up next to the end table, and he reached down, pulling them towards him for easy access.
The doctor had given him a ton of papers and pamphlets to help explain what his mother would be going through, and how he could best help her and himself. Casey had initially thought it odd that he would need help – until the doctor had gently pointed out one brochure in particular.
The Five Stages of Grief
In the near week they'd been up there, Casey hadn't even opened it yet. He glanced over at a second stack of papers – his mother had her own – and saw the same pamphlet peeking out from within the pile.
She hadn't read it either. Casey wasn't surprised.
Well, someone had to get the party started. Casey took a deep breath, put on his game-face, and opened it up.
Stage 1 – Denial.
In this stage, people deny that a loss has occurred, or is going to occur. The victim and the victim's family ignore the signs and symptoms and treat their lives as normal. Denial methods can include the Excessive Fantasy Believing that nothing is wrong, and that everything will be okay when they wake up.
Casey rubbed his eyes, feeling the tension building again. Certainly sounded like them, though after that phone call, it was decidedly harder to dismiss what was happening.
He skimmed through the rest of the section but found it hard to concentrate on the small print. His head was aching, and his eyes were starting to see double. He still wasn't sleeping well at night, so perhaps a nap was in order. Dropping the pamphlet back on the pile, Casey squeezed his eyes shut and threw his arm over his head, letting the other dangle to the floor. As he was drifting it of, it occurred to him that despite fitting the fantasy believing profile, he didn't have any delusions about everything being okay when he woke up.
Watching his father's store burn as a child had pretty much driven those pretty, hopeful thoughts away permanently.
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It was his mother slamming the door an hour or so later that woke him up. Casey jerked upright on the sofa, eyes wide, heart pounding. "What? What! I'm up!"
His mother eyed him with amusement. "I can see that." She pointed out the door. "Go unload the car, dear. Half of that junk is yours, anyway."
Casey swallowed, firmly shoving his heart back down where it belonged. "You tryin' to give me a heart attack?" he groused, getting to his feet and slouching past her. She swatted him on the rear as he went.
"You're never too old to take over my knee, mister," she warned him, light glinting off her glasses almost malevolently. "Stow that lip and get to unloading."
Casey rolled his eyes and started pulling bags and boxes from the open trunk. It took three trips to get it all inside, piling so many on top of each other that it was a good thing he could pretty much navigate the house blindfolded if he had to. By the time the last box was deposited on the floor, his mother already had two bags unpacked and put away. Casey opened another one to do the same.
"Oh, ah, you got a call, ma," Casey suddenly remembered. "It was the nurse, to remind you that you got an appointment tomorrow for your treatment."
His mother had been putting cans of soup and vegetables away on the bottom shelf, and she paused midway, one hand resting on the shelf. "Oh yeah..."
Casey waited but his mother suddenly resumed her actions. He cleared his throat. "Ya gotta be there by ten."
"I know, dear. I have the reminder card on the fridge."
"Oh yeah. Okay then." Apparently there was not going to be a discussion about this. Casey could do avoidance – no wait, the paper said it was denial – he could do denial with the best of them. "We gotta leave around eight or so then, yeah?"
His mother suddenly stood up. "Can you get the rest of these dear?" She gestured to the rest of the supplies, and Casey nodded. "Good. I think I'm gonna go have that lie-down you mentioned earlier."
"...okay, ma." He watched as his mother slowly walked out of the room, one hand absently rubbing her chest just under the collarbone. He wanted to go after her and make sure she was okay, but he had the feeling his presence wouldn't be welcome at the moment. If it was him, he wouldn't want anyone to see him in a moment of what he saw as weakness. When it came to downplaying injuries, he was the king (unless it involved pretty redheads rushing to soothe his fevered brow). He also knew the rules of the game - how to tell when someone else was playing, when to offer comfort, and most importantly, when to back off.
Casey Jones had learned that particular game at the knee of the undisputed champion who had just left the kitchen.
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Mikey couldn't stand it. There was nothing on T.V, his controllers for his Play Station were still burned out from Raph and Donnie's last Space Pod Invasions marathon, and Leo and Master Splinter were meditating and wouldn't let him play his stereo. He thought about playing with Klunk, but a quick look revealed his kitten sleeping in the cat-tree Donnie had helped him build. He'd run out of batteries for his MP3 player the day before, but he didn't feel like making a surface run, he'd watched all of his DVD's a thousand times before, and his GameDude was lost somewhere in the black hole that was his bedroom.
Mikey scowled. Just because things had a habit of disappearing into his room, never to be seen again, was no reason to give it such a lame label.
Still bored, he flipped himself upside-down on the couch, letting his legs dangle over the back, and his head hang over the seat, staring at the blank T.V screens. He thought about grabbing a comic, but he'd read them all about the same number of times that he 'd watched his DVD's, and new issues weren't due out for another week. He couldn't even annoy Raph because his hot-headed brother had made himself scarce, going out for a evening ride on his cycle. He crossed his arms, scowling at the wall.
In the midst of all his dramatic sighing, low murmurs could suddenly be heard, and he let himself tumble off the couch, turning and clambering up it on his knees, peering over the top. April and Donatello were huddled over his computer, intent looks on their faces as they pointed out something on screen. Mikey grinned.
Potential boredom alleviation, dead ahead!
Placing his hands flat against the sofa back, he flipped up and over, landing softly, and waltzed over to the two resident egg-heads.
"Whatcha doin'?" he asked in a sing-song voice, draping his arms over Donnie's shoulders and sagging against his brother, letting the seated turtle take all of his weight. The unexpectedness of the move made Donatello fall forward, and he slammed a hand against the desk to keep from whacking his beak against the monitor.
"Mikey!" Tilting his head back, Donnie glared at his younger sibling. "Was that really necessary?"
"Maybe, maybe not." Mikey snickered. He pushed off against Don's shell, and straightened, snatching a milk crate next to the table that had previously housed some spare parts – spare parts that were now scattered on the ground as Mikey upended it and plopped himself down next to the two 'net surfers.
"Pull up a chair, why don't you," Donnie muttered, rolling his eyes. Mikey grinned and knew he was safe. There was no point in Don getting angry – Mikey would let it roll right off his shell and nothing would be accomplished except the rising of Don's blood pressure. I know him so well, he thought happily. April leaned around him and shook her finger at the rambunctious interloper.
"Behave Mikey, and we'll let you stay."
Mikey opened his eyes as wide as he could and crossed his entire chest in a huge 'X' as he nodded. "I always behave," he added on to the action. "I'm the good one."
"I thought you said you were the pretty one?" Donnie shot him a sly look as he typed furiously.
Mikey nodded solemnly. "That too. I'm a turtle of many talents." He leaned over. The milk crate was considerably shorter then Donnie's desk, so he wound up resting his head against his brother's arm, watching with interest as his brother's fingers flew across the keyboard. "So what are you two looking for?"
There was no immediate answer, and Mikey looked up curiously. Donatello had a sheepish expression on his face that was echoed on Aprils' – though her face also had a faint hint of red on her cheeks. Mikey grinned.
"I finally caught Donnie looking up porn!" he crowed. "And April, you're helping him? Geez, and no one invited me?"
Donnie spluttered and April reached around, giving Mikey's head a very Raph-like smack.
Mikey gaped at her. "You hit me!"
"You deserved it!" she retorted, one lip quirking upward in a reluctant grin. He caught the smile threatening to emerge, and leered at her playfully.
"Do it again!" he entreated, waggling his eye ridges. "Ooh baby!"
Donnie was almost turning purple – an impressive feat, given his natural, olive-green complexion – and April had given up, trading scowls for giggles.
Satisfied, Mikey looked back at the monitor. One of Donatello's own search engines was up, and the name Arnold Casey Jones was highlighted in the search box. The orange-inclined turtle blinked in surprise. "Why are you looking for things on Casey? Isn't he at the farmhouse?"
"Yes, but we don't know why," April sighed, chewing her lip idly. "He's hiding something from us, and I want to know what it is."
Mikey frowned. "Guys, that is a gross invasion of privacy. Casey has every right to downtime of his own, and he doesn't deserve to have people snooping into his life and spying on him – especially people he considers close friends and family!"
April and Donatello gaped at him in astonishment, jaws hanging open.
Then Mikey smiled. "Okay, so the Leo-rant is officially concluded." He rubbed his hands together, smirking in anticipation. "So what have we found? Any embarrassing photos or stories we can use for blackmail purposes?"
The two web-savvy techs exchanged looks and rolled their eyes simultaneously, Donatello, apparently resigned to the fact that Mikey was now a part of the info search, pointed at one of the links that had popped up in the search engine. "That might be something interesting."
"Fiametta Esposito Passes Away from Heart Attack," April murmured, reading the headline. She read the article out loud. "The widow of business tycoon, Dominic Esposito died at 'Our Lady of Mercy Hospital' at age 61, attended to by her daughter Adelina Jones, and her grandson, Arnold Jones. Fiametta Esposito was named Chairman of the Board of Esposito Communications after the death of her husband in a car accident in 1994. Control of the company is speculated to be turned over to her daughter, Adelina Jones, whose own husband passed away in a gang-related incident in 1993."
"Esposito Communications," Donnie mused thoughtfully. His fingers fingers danced across the keyboard. "Let's see if they have a website."
They did. Finding a list of board members was easy, and a quick scan revealed Adelina Jones listed as the past Chairperson, but not the current. Donatello found a link marked 'For Media Usage' and clicked, bringing up a page full of newspaper articles that Esposito Communications had appeared in.
There were several articles of awards being given, or scholarships donated, but about halfway through the second page-down, Donatello spotted something. The article was entitled 'Esposito Communications Chairperson Steps Down.' He clicked again.
Adelina Jones, Chairperson of Esposito Communications, has stepped down from her position, and Richard Paxton is stepping up.
"I believe this is best for everyone," Adelina spoke at a press conference at the EC building. "Richard is the best choice to take the company to the next level, and I wish him the best of luck in his new position."
Adelina took over the position from her mother, Fiametta Esposito, who died less than two years ago from a heart attack. She was the widow of Dominic Esposito, who created the company over thirty five years ago, at the age of 27. One of the principle heirs, Adelina retains 15 percent controlling interest in the company, as does her son, Arnold Jones. Her son's shares, as well as his inheritance from his grandmother remain in trust controlled by his mother until the age of 21.
"Casey owns stock options?" Mikey blinked. "Is it just me or does he not seem like the portfolio type?"
Donatello and April ignored him. "All I know about Esposito Communications is that they have a sub-group working with phone service providers to deliver services like web-based conference calls and video conferencing," April said thoughtfully.
"It says here that EC was instrumental in helping develop the vid-screen technology that a lot of companies use," Donatello pointed out, reading further.
Mikey scratched his head. "You mean like in Star Trek when they used to say 'Put it on screen'?"
Donatello nodded. "That's right, Mikey. You know how people talk through TV screens and monitors in a lot of the companies we've been in? Like Stocktronics, or when we went through the Shredder's building? That's actually new technology – well, old, by computer standards – but it's essentially video-conferencing on a large scale." He held up his Shell Cell. "Kind of like how we can see each other when we use these."
Mikey thought he understood. "You mean the Shell Cells are complicated tech stuff?" Considering Donnie had built them from spare parts, Mikey thought that gave him a pretty good understanding on just how smart his brother really was.
"Sort of. I mean, do you see everyone using this kind of video-screen for everyday phone calls?"
Mikey frowned. "Umm...no?"
"Right. The technology is here, but not everyone can afford it, and not everyone has the capability for it. Bigger companies tend to have bigger computers with tons of power and better video streaming. What Esposito Communications is trying to do, is bring the same technology used in the Shell Cell, to everyone who has a land-line."
This was getting complicated again. He blinked wide-eyed at his brother. Donatello rolled his eyes.
"Let's just say, it's a good market to be in, and EC has been doing very well financially for the past few years." He clicked on another link, and his own eyes widened to Mikey-esque proportions. "Very well."
April and Mikey looked at the figures on the screen. Mikey whistled appreciatively, and April gasped.
"Casey's that rich?" Michaelangelo exclaimed in shock. His brother shook his head.
"Not necessarily. These are the annual earnings of the entire company. But he has shares in the company, so he's definitely better-off then we thought. Not to mention that apparently he inherited funds from his grandmother, who was the wife of the founder, so who knows how much he really has?"
"Well, she did donate most of her money to charity," April noticed. "And says here that Casey's mom and he are two of the heirs, which means there are likely to be more. Still, I guess I don't have to worry about Casey being in financial trouble. And I suppose his mother could be here about business, even if she's not actively involved in running the company." She threw up her hands. "For all I know, she's here reviewing her stock portfolio and making Casey do his at the same time."
"You thought the Case-man was having money problems?" Mikey looked at them quizzically. "Why'd you think that?"
"Well, he doesn't work, yet he has that classic car, his motorcycle, that apartment, his leather jackets, and...well, I guess I don't have to wonder how he's paying for everything anymore, do I?"
"Guess not."
April gazed at the numbers on the screen again, and echoed softly, shaking her head. "No, I guess not."
9696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969
End Chapter 2
End Notes: No, Casey is not a billionaire in hiding! But he does have money. Why he's never said anything...well, I guess you'll just have to tune in to the next chapters, won't ya?
I hate and detest the way FFNet keeps removing my formatting for POV changes. If not for the convenience, I would refuse to post here anymore. Oh well. We must learn to live with what we cannot change. . ;
Special thanks to those who have reviewed thus far. It's very encouraging and makes me want to write more. As a result, chapter 4 was finished last night (needs to be beta'd but it IS finished) and chapter 5 is halfway done. See what happens when you review? You INSPIRE!
Again, while I am attempting to remain true to the bulk of the series, we are going to now see some...modifications. Creative licensing, if you will. I hope you enjoy the next part, and please, as always, let me know what you think.