Chapter 6: Patience

Raphael Hamilton woulda been the first to tell ya where to stick crap like patience. What the hell good was patience in a fight? You're patient, you get your ass kicked. Game over! And now there was this girl—this girl who was beat to hell, blind as a bat and talkin' murder and kidnappin' and all he could think was—get the hell on with it!

"They killed her."

The room had gone instantly still, like Adam Sandler had hit the universal pause button and the world just… stopped. Waiting. But the girl didn't elaborate; she just stood there looking almost as stunned as Raph felt—which only pissed him off more!

Who killed her? he wanted to shout at her. And who the hell was 'her'?!

Raph looked around. Was he the only one even remotely curious as to what the hell this girl was talking about? She said she'd been kidnapped! Now someone had been murdered? Who the hell was this chick?!

"Who?"

It was his father who spoke, breaking the oppressive silence in a voice barely more than a whisper.

Thank you! Raph thought in exasperation as Reckless clenched her fists, a fierce scowl cracking the dried blood on her forehead.

"I don't know wh-who—" she stuttered, her defiance flickering into uncertainty. "I don't—"

But his father just shook his head. "Who did they kill?" he asked just as quietly, his tone as tender as the day he had told Mikey that mom was never coming back.

Reckless raised her head and Raph caught his breath at the stark look of grief and fear in her open eye.

"My mother."

April gasped, blue eyes filling with tears.

"Ah man," groaned Casey quietly, shifting in the recliner behind him.

But it was Mikey's expression, that same somber expression he'd had the day they'd buried mom, that had Raph shaking his head and clenching his jaw, suppressing all those memories and emotions and fears.

He would never feel that helpless again!

Yorik briefly closed his eyes. He could sense his sons' restless curiosity, especially Raphael's. And while a part of him felt that need for answers, it was the part of him that was a father that saw a little girl who was hurt, afraid and alone.

Softly, so as not to startle her, Yorik pressed a warm, reassuring palm to the girl's uninjured cheek, gently brushing away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. He did not speak because he did not feel it was necessary. She was safe here and she would tell them what had happened when she was ready. For now, she needed care and rest.

"Donatello, if you would help our guest with her injuries."

His son, having already arranged several first aid items on the coffee table, nodded and Yorik felt a corner of his mouth curl with pride as Donatello gently guided the girl to sit. Just like his mother, he thought fondly.

"April," said Yorik, turning slowly, "Casey, it's getting late."

April sniffled with a jerky nod, still watching the girl with sad eyes.

Donatello paused and looked around at his friend in concern.

"Leonardo," said Yorik and his eldest son immediately stepped up beside him, "see April safely home, please."

"Yes, father," said Leonardo obediently. "Come on, April," he spoke softly, helping her collect her things.

"And take some pizza," Yorik added as an afterthought, shaking his head at the stack of pizza boxes on the counter.

Michelangelo gasped, scrambling over the arm of the sofa before hurrying into the kitchen.

"That's it?!"

Yorik turned to his second-eldest; at only fifteen, Raphael was nearly as tall as he was and it amazed him at times how much it was like looking into a mirror of the past.

"That's it? It's just Band-Aids and pizza and off to bed?" Shaking his head, Raphael pointed at the girl in mounting frustration. "Who the hell is she?" he roared. "Why'd they kidnap her? And what the hell'd they kill her mom for?"

"Raphael!"

Scowling fiercely and breathing hard, Raphael looked away.

Casey hauled himself out of the recliner and slapped his bloody jacket into Raphael's chest. "I want it back spotless," he growled under his breath before squatting down next to Donatello.

Donatello cast a wary glance at his older brother's friend from the corner of his eye.

Rolling his shoulders, Casey cleared his throat. "These're good guys here," he told the girl, his tone unusually gentle as he shot his best friend a sardonic look. "They gotcher back."

The girl's head turned slightly in his direction and Casey offered a rare, kind smile.

Donatello gaped at him in astonishment.

But Casey didn't look uncomfortable or embarrassed, he just waited and after another moment the girl nodded once.

Apparently realizing his mouth was hanging open, Donatello quickly shut it and returned to his task.

Yorik smiled as Casey nodded back before ruffling Donatello's hair and moving away to grab the slice of pizza Michelangelo was about to bite into. "Thanks, Mike-n-Ike."

"Who did they kill?"

It was as though admitting aloud her mother was—gone—had somehow made it all real; the running, the terror, the anger… the guilt.

"I hate you!"

Emma felt as though the world around her had dissolved into a whirl of incoherent sounds and smells. She was vaguely aware of the boy called Donatello gently tending to the cut above her eyebrow. Then the questions started; rapid fire and angry.

"Who the hell is she?"

Emma's eyelid snapped open, tension curling up her spine.

"And what the hell'd they kill her mom for?"

I don't know! she wanted to scream, clenching her fists. She didn't say! I didn't ask! She never—

"These're good guys here," said another voice, closer. Softer.

Emma steeled herself; it was her experience the calm, unassuming ones posed the greatest threat.

"Where is it, Miss Hughes?"

She waited for the barrage of questions she couldn't answer; the demands she'd refuse to adhere to.

"They gotcher back," he told her.

Emma blinked, heart pounding, and she nodded once. She didn't believe him, she didn't believe any of them.

Emma Hughes was on her own.

Raph watched his dad follow Casey, Leo and April out before tossing the bloody jacket at the recliner and folding his arms. "Ya got a name, Reckless?"

Donnie shot him a look and the girl frowned but didn't respond.

"No worries, chica!" said Mikey around yet another mouthful of pizza. "We're the good guys!" He glanced at Raph with a smirk. "Most of us, anyway."

"Shut up, Mikey," Raph snapped as their father returned.

Yorik cast a disapproving glance in Raphael's direction before turning to his youngest son. "Michelangelo, see if you can find a change of clothes for our guest to sleep in."

"Sure thing!" Grabbing another slice of pizza, Michelangelo hurried away up the stairs.

"Something clean, ding dong!" Raphael called after him.

"Raphael."

His son looked at him unrepentantly and Yorik raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "I do believe our young guest broke your nose."

Raph swiped at his nose and glanced at "their guest," who appeared to be fighting a smirk. He grunted. "Ain't the first time."

"First time it was broken by a girl," Donnie mumbled under his breath.

Raph scowled as the girl's smirk curled into a small grin. "Whatevah."

Yorik suppressed a smile as Michelangelo came barreling down the stairs with an armload of clothes.

"'Kay, dudette!" he shouted excitedly. "I wasn't sure if you'd want pants or shorts, so I grabbed a coupl'a both." He dropped everything in a pile on the floor beside Donatello before continuing, "And then I didn't know what kinda t-shirt you might want so I brought a whole bunch." Kneeling down, he started shuffling through the wrinkled, unmade selection.

Smiling, Yorik made his way to the kitchen to start a pot of tea.

Donnie grimaced. "Where did you get those?"

"My clean pile," his brother replied without looking up.

Raph snorted.

Donnie just rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

"I guess everything's gonna be a little big on you," said Mikey thoughtfully, "but this is my oldest, favoritest t-shirt ever!" He held up a ratty, red t-shirt with a barely-discernable logo on it. "Iron Man!"

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