Nirvana

AN: Thank you to Scribe of Turesa for reviewing so soon. I hope people follow your trend :). But I'm glad you like it! I'm happy to write it.

Since her body was deemed 'untouchable' due to the obvious fact she was breastfeeding the job of dressing the rescued mutant fell to Maeleyn, who took it with apprehension. This wasn't what she'd been planning, to dress another naked woman, but she couldn't just very well leave her to catch pneumonia on the family couch. Maeleyn had to lift her alone, but the task wasn't hard, and she handled the unconscious body with the utmost care. Draping like a limp damsel the unconscious mutant was carried carefully, her tail tossed atop her body (across the bell button, since it seemed to run from two inches above her buttocks to the bend of her knee) to prevent tripping falls. She wasn't sure when, or why, but Maeleyn assumed after they rescued April the guys (and Master Splinter) decided to stock up on dry clothes for anyone else they encountered.

To dress the mutant Don had given up his lab table, as it was the easiest, flattest surface to use. If the supplex-wrapped mutant stayed on the couch any longer the cushions would stink and likely deteriorate worse than what they were. Using her ridged tail Maeleyn hooked the armhole on the right side of the bathrobe and swung it onto Don's lab table, smoothing it out by patting it before she laid the body down. Perhaps a bodily reflex, the second the new mutant hit the table her body relaxed, unsupported, and her legs flopped open, showing her thighs. Maeleyn dropped the sleeve of the bathrobe, no longer trying to slide the arms into it to cover the bare fur-skin.

She knew that tattoo. There's no way anyone could replicate it because it was an original design, and she'd drawn it for only one person. The original sketch was never given to the tattoo artist, either, it was brought back to her the day after the person got it, displaying it gleefully, the protected skin shimmering under a square of film-like plastic. It was one of the things she had pinned up in her room…one of the things Kier had brought back with him from the old house at her request. Maeleyn pulled the left leg out full, laying the flexible limb flat on the table to confirm if the tattoo was the one she remembered from so long ago.

There was no mistaking it…she wasn't seeing things. The black pitchfork, Satan's pitchfork, was elegant, thin, and running diagonal across the sensitive thigh area, about three inches in length, pointing in towards the back of the other leg but still visible from a side view if the person in question…if this was her…wore shorts and put her legs shoulder's width apart. Not too long, not too short. Maeleyn had redone the tattoo sketch eight times—she remembered!—because she didn't want it too long to where it would stretch, or too short where it would look stubby and the blend lost.

Hanging off the first triangle-pointed tip was a halo colored gold against the black. White angel wings—wings made of three tiny feathers each—were to either side of the dead middle of the pitchfork. It was her. It was Jezebelle. "Oh my god…" Maeleyn's heart thrummed fast in her chest, and she felt like she couldn't breathe.

She was alive! Jezebelle! Jezebelle was alive! Her hands shook wildly and Maeleyn panted, this was…this was unbelievable! No wonder she couldn't be found, the DNA experiments were top secret, and the only reason she'd ever escaped was because of Rilien.

Had it not been for him she would've spent the rest of her life in an underwater base…and no one looked underwater for her, not when her enemies had gone to such great lengths to camouflage the base. Maeleyn couldn't leave her like this…not her friend. Dressing the limp, doll-like cat up quickly she gently tied the robe to hold the two sides together and lifted her; renewed with hope and that impossible adrenaline given to those who rediscovered something lost. Maeleyn lifted her and put her back on the couch, clasping her hands happily against her closed mouth as she blinked the oncoming tears out. "Maeleyn, are you okay?" Mikey was walking by the couch, half-analyzing the new mutant, and intending to catch some noontime TV before seeing his "sister" crying.

"It's her Mike…it-it's really her." he walked over to the unconscious body now, staring at the brilliant, clean, white cotton over the blanched almond body.

"Her who, Mae?"

"Stay here, I'll show you." she ran to her room and flipped through her drawing book, a folder museum of all her sketches. Before turning turtle and having to relearn to do things by hand she'd been able to freehand easily. Drawing had been her talent. The tattoo design and the little cursive note 'for Jezebelle' was dated two years and four months ago to the date. Running back to the living room she thrust the removed page into his hands, lifting up the robe, which made the male turtle blush and scuttle away slightly (how did he know what she was doing? For all he knew she could be paranoid and think this was her!) to pull the left leg down and let him compare drawing to leg.

As she knew it was, the paper and the tattoo matched to every little detail, even the white shading on the three-feather wings. "Dude…" Mikey slowly lowered the paper, letting the information in. "So all this time she was really…experimented on. She wasn't missing without a clue. She was taken."

"I wonder how she's fairing mentally. To imagine being under what I would assume Bishop's control for a year is just…it would make any sane person go crazy." Mikey nodded in agreement. The first time Bishop had captured them he immediately grabbed the world's worst pizza cutter with the intention of cutting him open, alive. Leatherhead had certainly suffered from it, as seen by his intense stints of rage. Her ear twitched and Mikey couldn't help but grin a little bit; it was like looking at a large Klunk but bipedal like them, pretty…less furry.

"Her ear twitches just like Klunk's! Dude…just how cat is she?"

"I don't know Mikey. She's not in the condition for me to test. Don't mess with her, she needs to rest."

"But her ear's moving, so she's awake…"

"No, the normal cat's ear just picks up, by nature, noises in and around the ten thousand cycle range which is the animal equivalent of a mouse squeak. Her twitching ear just means she hears you, it doesn't mean she's awake. Cat's naturally lay themselves in a position where they can hear their environment so they're not surprised."

"She's not a cat Don, she's a person." Leo had been polishing his katanas in the kitchen and couldn't take it anymore. They couldn't talk about her like an animal, not when she looked too human. He knew when she woke up she wouldn't want to be called animal…she'd want a name, and someone to call her by it so she knew she mattered. That she was still human, despite how she looked. Leonardo didn't believe in letting people call him an animal, not the criminal humans; they always called his family by the species or by another animal. Never 'animal'.

Animal was an insult. He and his brothers were so much more than the usual animal. They bled, they felt, they cried, laughed, spoke, walked, thought…they weren't animals. They were just as good as those people, with better morals than most. Animals couldn't have morals. Animals couldn't have such a will to live like he and his brothers did, because they didn't have complex thought. On that thought, she couldn't be called animal, because she was like them.

A chattering, clicking sound emitted from the couch and the three brothers looked at the unconscious guest. Her teeth and jaw were quivering, making that clicking sound. She almost sounded like she was chirruping, a sound the turtle species often made. "No, no! Don't touch. She's having a dream. Chattering usually notes seeing something they can't have or the sound they imagine their pray to make when they bite them…" Don gently pushed Maeleyn's hand away. Her eyes fell slightly, and she looked at her friend sadly.

Just what was she thinking about? What kind of memories did she have? Claws slipped out of her…hands and began to grip at the couch. She looked to be running, or fighting. Her claws were deep set and gripping hard at the material. Ripping sounds soon followed.

"Wake up. Wake up. You're alright. Please stop tearing up our couch, it's kind of hard for us to go into an Ashley's store and get another one." Donatello told the cat female as she fluttered her eyes and immediately scrunched her shoulders so her neck seemed to completely disappear; her yellow eyes large and wide, the proper dilation size to match the expansion of the pupil. She was scared. Her fur, once thought to only be a quality or an illusion of her skin, became needle-stiff and she took on the rigid, fluffy look of a startled cat true to the breed. An alto-sounding purr began to rumble, soft at first, taking seconds to become loud, obvious.

"Hey…she likes us!"

"No, Mikey, she doesn't. Cats also purr when they're scared."

"Jezebelle? Is…is that you? Tell me that's you…"

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" she continued to purr as she spoke, something the three male turtles found fascinating. Her voice was weak and soft. Obvious fatigue, obvious confusion, and obvious fear. Ears pressed back tight against her curly hair she continued to study the four figures, Maeleyn and Donatello especially since they had spoken to her.

"Please…you've been gone for so long. We…everyone thought they lost you…"

"Where's my baby? Do you know what they did to him? They took him somewhere! Where did they take him?"

"Slow down, slow down. Please, relax. You're safe here. We pulled you out of that sack they put you in." the blue bandanna-wearing turtle motioned for her to slow down and she blinked, going quiet, purring loudly.

"We know you're scared," Don told her, "but Leo's right. They can't find you here." Raphael came out, having heard the odd whirring noise that turned out to be the awake victim they'd saved. He happened to catch Donatello's reassuring statement and crossed his arms, coming to stand next to his girlfriend.

"And they don't come lookin' for us 'cuz we kick their ass. So you ain't got nothin' to worry about." Jezebelle backed up over the back of the couch and compacted her body together.

"Get away from me. There's too many of you. Quit coming into my space. I don't know you, didn't do anything to you. Don't come near me!" her back was arching and—if they could see beneath the robe—her fur was bristling again.

"Okay, okay. We're not moving. We'll be still. We just want you to relax. I'm Donatello…I was one of the lookouts to make sure those men weren't coming back for you. Who were they?"

"Men?" Jezebelle blinked. Wait…no, it was coming back. Her ears flicked wildly from left to right, stirring up her hair, and her claws tightened in the material of the couch. Yes…those men. One of them took her baby, was shaking him, and he was scared. The other one beat her.

"What happened? I…I don't remember. I just…I just…"

"You probably don't remember anything because when we peeled you out of that bag you were unconscious. It could be a shock-induced coping mechanism. We'll come back to the men another time. It's alright; you don't have to remember it now. Let's just get you calmed down."

"Yeah, dudette. We really like our couch. Had it since we were kids. That's over twelve years of a loyal couch. It's part of our family…and the reason it's the family couch." Jezebelle looked to Michelangelo and her eyes glistened with oncoming tears. His bandanna was orange, just like the fur on Orion's head. She remembered the sensation of his warm, fuzzy face against her bare breast and frowned. Her baby…they took him.

He wouldn't eat for those people…what if he died? What if they got mad at him and killed him? She couldn't help but cry, unable to help imagining what they were doing to her little one. Where was Tigger? Was he stopping those men?

God she hoped so.

"Woah! Woah! It's okay! Tear-tear up the couch! We sew, I don't think we care! Right? Guys, do we care? Just…just don't cry!" Mikey looked frantically to his brothers. Maeleyn cried on him once, once but she was alright to hug. She wasn't in utter hysterics. This…person…apparently lost a kid and got tossed in the ocean! She wasn't exactly wanting hugs!

"I know it's hard but we need you to calm down so we can help you." Don said softly, sitting down slowly on the couch, his empty hands raised so she knew he meant her no harm.

"Y-you can't ju-just calm d-down! I lo-lost a ch-child! My c-child! M-Mothers don't le-let their ch-children go m-missing! I ha-have to find my O-Orion! It's m-my job. I'm his m-mother!"

"Breathe…you're going to hyperventilate and then we're right back where we started. Let's do something nice, calming. Introductions. I'm Donatello Hamato."

"Michaelangelo Hamato, dudette. You okay now? Want something to drink?" she shook her head, mouth closed tight as she continued to purr, a clearly displeased look on her face. Tear trails shining like weak diamonds in the light stretching and washing over from the kitchen behind the couch.

"Raphael Hamato."

"Maeleyn Spector…do you remember me?"

"Should I?"

"Yes…yes you should." Maeleyn said nothing else, her eyes soft with pain. How could she not remember? Just what had changed? Who was pulling the strings now? This was personal. They messed with her friend!

"I'm Leonardo Hamato."

"I've heard that name before." her right ear flicked and she looked at him, finally able to put a face with the name.

"How have you heard my name?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Jezebelle slipped fluidly from the back of the couch and for the first time in a long time stood up without an electric prod in her back convincing her to do so. She came up to his chin and crossed her arms under her bust to mimic his pose. No wonder why the cage was reinforced…he looked terrifying in his own way, and looking at two of the brothers, Raphael and Michelangelo, they had weapons. What were his, she wondered. He had none on him.

"It's on the tank in the lab. I went there a couple times, and I don't intend on going back. I don't know if you came from there or if they intend to make you go there but you fight. Don't let them take you willingly. It'll be the worst thing you'll ever do."

"Have you maybe heard anything as to why they would want our brother?" Don asked, leaning against the couch arm. Jezebelle shook her head no.

"There's only one rule in the hole, the boss gets what the boss wants. And if you're smart, no matter what species you are, you don't get in the way of the boss."

Deedle-leedle-le. Deedle-leedle-le. Deedle-leedle- "Hello?" Miranda Lincoln picked up the phone and gripped it wearily. Jezebelle played outside on the swing and she smiled, waving from behind the screen door, up from the shaded swing outside the house to answer the phone.

"Hello again, Miranda. It's been a while…" she knew that voice. Her eyes widened and Miranda gave a tiny swallow, glad her large eyes weren't visible to her little girl who was laughing, auburn hair gorgeous and lustrous in the sunlight and against the white puffy coat she wore. "Not going to talk, Miranda? Why? We used to be so close. I have good news."

"What is it?"

"Ah…you speak at last! Well, I moved closer to home. The old Spector house. I'm all moved in…cozy."

"And what? What do you want from me?"

"Oh 'randa…you always think I want something."

"You're an opportunist. We've been over this."

"But Shadow makes good on what he uses. I don't forget, do I sweetheart?"

"No…no you don't."

"That's right. My last present was pretty wild. You loved it, didn't you."

"I made a mistake. I was stupid N—"

"Shadow. You call me Shadow."

"I was stupid, Shadow…ignorant. Jealous."

"Well, if you want to make up for the flop I have something to ask of you."

"What?"

"Shadow needs his Black Widow back. I have loose prey."

"So what do you want me to do about it? I don't understand!"

"You just wait, my Black Widow. Wait and keep your eyes open. I'll be visiting soon to give you more information. Goodbye, Miranda."

"Who was that, hon?" Heinz Lincoln asked curiously, coming through the backdoor with his snow-encrusted boots. Miranda smiled, her loosely curled blonde hair spilling past her shoulders as she turned to face him. The third-generation German man grinned back at her, his salt-and-pepper stubble thicker than ever for wintertime.

"Just Neil from accounting. He hasn't let it go that I put that comma in with the pen after I messed up on Microsoft Excel."

"Oh…" he took off his blue beanie and nodded, ruffling his hair with his hands, his mane of hair matching his beard in age streaks. "The one you're neck-and-neck with for the promotion, right?"

"Mmmhm."

"Don't worry, you'll beat him."

"I didn't spend all that money on creams not to look good at forty. I'm a fierce competitor."

"And a looker." he gave a crooked smile, a smile that slanted upwards towards the right side of his face. She flinched. Miranda hated that smile. It reminded her of what happened. It reminded her why he was calling her up again.

Time to return the favor.

She should've never recommended him. She never should've played cute with him. But how could she know, back then, what he'd become? It certainly wasn't for her that he did what he did. No…once he realized how to use his little doll he spiraled down deeper and deeper, and as he spiraled she changed. The little doll was no longer the doll Miranda had wanted.

All at once, in the span of a blink it seemed, the Shadow had stretched far too long and gotten far too dark. And when it receded, there was nothing left. Nothing but her, the memories, and Heinz.

"Are you alright?" Leo asked, he hadn't been able to meditate since she'd woken up. Everyone had their own opinions, their own worries, and their auras were like bright, busy hornets. Their bodies weren't at rest, and he couldn't be at peace or even block out this level of spiritual excitement. Donatello's face was creased up with worry and rapidly flying thoughts, he was trying to make a large, elaborate puzzle out of only a handful of pieces, and trying to solve the gaps without any official, credible evidence was hard. Trying to motivate a technically amnesiac cat for those missing pieces was also proving bad.

Don, the natural doctor of the group, quickly discouraged pressuring her. He said it could influence "PTSD" which was an acronym for "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder". Donnie putting too much thought on diagnosing her rather than just checking on her. Raphael, his poor immediate little brother, his face was hard and his fists were tight. After what they'd been through last year he needed to be his craziest, trust his instinct the most, because last year they'd almost lost Maeleyn.

They had a new person to protect now, and Raphael wouldn't stiff the new guest on that treatment. Not when they all knew she had a child. That was their honor kicking in. They had to take care of her so she could eventually see that child again, if it was even alive. Don said there was usually two days before hope was lost on endangered holding cases but that was easily disproven with Jezebelle standing there.

Mikey was sitting on the couch with her; he could hear them through the fully-open dojo. In the dojo he could have the serene aura of the room comfort him, but with the door open he could watch the family. See how they acted in this new disturbance, and reflect on the possibilities they may soon face heading into battle so quickly. It had only been a year, after all.

But a year was all it took.

Enemies got smarter, deadlier, cultured their old tricks. Made new connections. It was all too unknown, and Leo hated not knowing the enemy, not being able to predict them. Him…her…whoever they were. It just didn't sit right with him; and a wise warrior never went into battle blind.

His little brother spent the most time with Klunk and—as bad as Leo thought the idea was—he just sat so she knew someone was near in case she wanted to talk. Anything. Mikey was good with things like that. Leo was an 'aloof' type; he'd rather watch from a distance so he could see a bigger picture, ensure safety, whereas Mikey liked to get in close and personal, and establish a quick, fond relationship. Something was going to happen between those two, he could see it already.

She wouldn't have looked at him and cried if he didn't remind her of something, maybe her child. His father had yet to meet her. Donatello went in to talk to Splinter and advised against it seeing as how she was part feline. Her hormone levels were too wonky to accurately test the DNA. Leonardo sighed, taking both of his hands and rubbing his temples and large circles.

That was helping the headache…but not much else.

He was so absorbed in watching his siblings, reading their faces and observing their worried minds not to hear the light padding on the dojo floor. His chest tingled, the tingling racing up a nerve in the side of his neck until his eyes jumped into focus; the famous sixth sense. She padded lightly into the dojo, on all fours like a true cat. He'd noticed from watching her back up over the top of the couch that she walked like a true cat, and it made him wonder if she'd been trained that way, or rebuilt that way by force. The idea that she may have been trained (forcibly or not) made him wonder what else they were teaching the new, surviving mutants.

The new ones could be enemies, or friends. Lethal or harmless. He would just have to be careful, and probably suggest more training sessions just to keep his mind at ease. "Sorry." her eyes were large, and it was obvious she was still at odds with the underground home; her fur bristled into a thick, ruffled wall unable to lay down. "I just…I can't be in there. Not with him…not now. Too much noise."

"He reminds you of your child?" she nodded, her face pressed against the floor, her hair effectively shielding any angle she gave her face as she stretched out fully on her stomach.

"Orion's only nine weeks…his fur's still coming in. It's orange. My baby's half tiger." there was a dreamy look on her face, one that told him she was lost. She was probably holding that baby now, in that dream, and not worrying a bit. He could partially relate. When one of his brother's were hurt he couldn't sit still, and it couldn't get too quiet or he'd go crazy, and dreams did nothing for him. He parked it right there with the injured kin until he saw them open their eyes and ask for food, for anything.

Jezebelle gave a small groan, scrunching her hair as she rolled her body in one lazy motion to sit up with her feet curled in close to her pelvis, hunched over to the slightest degree with her hands planted on the floor between her feet. He found it amazing she could sit like a real cat, almost exactly like one of those solid-gold cat statues from the Egyptian era Don babbled on about when April took them to the museum months ago. Human bones shouldn't be able to do that. "This room is quiet…" she whispered, curling her wrists under in what should be a horribly painful position for a human and tucking them under her sternum as she lowered everything from her head to her torso down to the floor. Mikey let her cut a tail-hole with a pair of scissors, and Leo watched the tail curl around the ankle of her left foot.

"Do you like the quiet?" he asked curiously, getting her to talk was the first step. They could help her after she opened up.

"It's just nice not to hear the screams…" she looked so tired…Leo closed his mouth. He may have a lot of questions but now wasn't the time for them. While she didn't look old per se, what with her odd fur-skin, she definitely had signs of fatigue. Among them were circles beneath her eyes, and her mental status. He knew just from prying Donnie off the computer those days or weeks in a row living on coffee fatigue could cause forgetfulness.

Rest was what she needed. Rest was what the enemy was taking. He could feel it in his bones. Right now they had the upper hand; they thought she was dead, so for a little while his family would be safe. She would be safe.