Author's Notes: This chapter is split between April and Donnie POVs.

The last chapter cracked 200 reviews and I honestly can't believe it. Thanks to everyone who took the time to comment. You're awesome!


Chapter 26

April

He hurts. I can feel the pain coming off of him in waves. Every step is a struggle and a permanent grimace is carved across his face. We shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be doing this. He should be in bed resting, not hobbling through dark alleyways and fighting just to stay standing. It's cold enough to see my breath on the air and the temperature is only making things worse for him. Before we went above ground I convinced him to at least wear something against the cold, but even with the sweatshirt the air is causing a slight tremble to run through his body.

"Keep the hood up," I say quietly when he pushes it down onto his shoulders.

"It pulls on my shell," he murmurs with a pout.

I try not to smile. There isn't time for him to be adorable right now. "It's freezing out," I insist, standing on my tiptoes in an attempt to pull the hood back up. "You're shivering. You need to keep your head covered."

"April is right," Master Splinter says and I'm sure I look quite smug in response.

It's weird to have Sensei with us on a mission, but he had more than insisted. I thought for sure he was going to make Donnie stay behind when he came into the lab and saw the two of us packing away the print outs and computer parts. Instead he grew almost frighteningly quiet when we explained the situation. Now he lingered next to us, his own hood pulled up over his head with just his nose and whiskers visible beyond the shadow cast by the material. I feel better about our odds with him at our side.

The warehouse looms dark and foreboding across the street. There's no turning back now. I jump at the sound of Casey dropping ungracefully from the fire escape overhead. My nerves are shot and I hope the shadows kept anyone from noticing. He straightens his gear and pushes his mask up on top of his head, eyes wide and surprised at the sight of Master Splinter.

"So, we're in big trouble, huh?" he says and part of me wishes he would fake bravado like he always does instead.

"No, no we have a plan," Donnie says.

He'd be easier to believe if his teeth weren't chattering. He swings his backpack to the front, fumbling awkwardly with the zipper. I reach over and help. He pulls out a plastic bag with what looks like an over-sized vitamin, except for the fact that one end blinks with a dull, red light. He holds it in his palm for a moment before taking a deep breath a popping it into his mouth. He struggles to swallow and then sticks out his tongue with obvious distaste.

"Dude," Casey says and there's an uneasy laugh behind the exclamation.

"It's a tracker," he explains. "They're most definitely going to search me so I can't exactly wear one."

"That's hardcore," Casey says with an approving nod.

Master Splinter makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat and all other conversations come to a halt. "Where are your brothers?" he asks with a slow breath through his nose.

Donnie takes his T-Phone out of the front pocket of his sweatshirt and slides his thumb across the screen. He hands it over to Master Splinter and points to the two small dots among the complicated lines of the schematics.

"That's Mikey and Leo," he explains. "They're in the vents. That's why their position overlaps with the blueprints. Once I'm inside there should be a third light. Wait until my light stops moving before you rush in. We want to make sure they bring me to Raph first. Leo is on channel one of your communicator, but try for as much radio silence as possible. We can't be sure they're not listening in," he says, grimacing and looking nervous. "I mean…if you think that's best, Sensei," he murmurs, clearly uncomfortable giving any sort of order or direction to his father.

Master Splinter nods and rests his hand on Donnie's shoulder. He doesn't say anything and I don't think he needs to. We all understand the danger involved; the risk and the likelihood of failure. His hand tightens before letting go and he holds his son's gaze with another nod. I look away. There's something painfully private about the exchange and I feel like I'm intruding by watching.

Donnie's hand slips into mine and I instinctively maneuver my five fingers to grasp around his three. I don't want him to go. He shouldn't go. This is insane. They're going to capture him like they captured Raphael. They're going to hurt him. I'm never going to see him again. It isn't fair and it isn't right and I feel anger and indignation start to burn bright in my chest. I can't let him see the fire building inside of me. I can't beg him to reconsider. He has to go and I can't hold him back, because if I asked him to stay…if I begged him to stay, he might.

"Be careful," I say and the words are little more than a whisper.

"You too," he murmurs.

We don't say goodbye. There aren't any declarations of love or promises to return. His hand slips from mine and I close my fingers into a fist. The click, click, click of his bo staff on the wet pavement drums in my chest and echoes painfully on the inside of my skull. He can't walk without leaning on it for support. He shouldn't be doing this. I'm never going to see him again. I'm running after him. Panic has control of my feet and I couldn't stop them if I wanted to. I don't want to. I reach him before he steps off the curb and only stand and stare up at him once my hand is wrapped tightly around his wrist.

"Come back," I say and I lean forward to rest against his chest, the sensation oddly unfamiliar with the soft sweatshirt covering his plastron. "Promise me you'll come back."

I hate myself for saying it. He's worried enough. He's hurt and scared and now I put this on him. I was supposed to be strong. I was supposed to help, not make him feel guilty. He pries me away from his chest and tilts my chin up to force my gaze.

"I promise," he says and when the streetlamp catches the determined look in his eyes I believe him.

He kisses me and I reach up to pull him close. It's not the frantic, desperate embrace we shared in the lab or the heated exploration in my apartment. It's soft and sincere and a promise of things to come. I wish it could last forever and can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment when it doesn't. I lower my heels back to the pavement and let my hand linger for one more moment on the side of his face.

"You got this," I say and my strength is back. "Show these people what happens when they hurt our family."

He blinks and something close to a smile breaks through his tired expression. "Our family," he repeats and I smile back at him with a nod.

Donatello

The walk across the street takes an eternity or at least it feels like it does. The bag draped over my shoulder bumps and slides awkwardly over my shell and even with the sling my injured hand jostles and pains at every labored step. It doesn't matter. I have to do this. I can do this. I got this.

She called you family.

There's a warm flutter in my chest and I fight back the urge to grin like an idiot. There will be time for that later. Right now I need to focus. The warehouse is dark and quiet and more than a little intimidating. The private entrance along the western wall is even more so and I strain my eyes in the darkness to make sure no one is waiting for me in the shadows. I reach the door and blink back the sudden glare of a floodlight blaring to life above my head. My communicator gives a faint crackle in my ear and I brace myself for the cold voice I know will follow.

"Cutting it a little close, aren't we?" she asks.

"You said under four hours, it's under four hours," I reply, shifting uncomfortably in front of the locked door.

She doesn't respond straight away and I'm sure she believes making me wait will only make me more afraid.

She's not entirely wrong.

"How old are you?"

The question catches me completely off guard and I reply in a voice that sounds anything but mature.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You sound like a child," she replies evenly and there's a disgusted little laugh following the words. "The supposedly unbeatable security system that I spent an obscenely large amount of money on was cracked by a child. You can see how that would…irritate me. Can't you, little boy?"

I understand how Raphael can lose control in that moment. How words can push you over the edge into a place full of nothing but rage and violent thoughts.

Call me child one more time.

"I brought what you asked for," I sneer, dropping the bag onto the ground in front of the door. "I did what you asked, now let him go."

She pauses again and I lean against my staff while I wait. The door opens and I don't have time to react. They grab hold of my arms and I cry out when one of them comes close to my injured wrist. My knees hit the pavement and I see stars. Something is thrown over my head and they drag me forward, the door slamming shut behind us. My feet touch the ground but I'm not moving forward of my own momentum. The pain only grows with each passing second and my entire focus is now honed in on staying conscious.

You're going to pass out. This was a horrible, stupid, awful idea. Idiot.

I don't know how long we walk. I try to count the turns, try to mentally picture myself moving through the sharp lines of the schematic to gain my bearings. I can't. There's a fleeting moment of relief when the hands let go and I crumple to the ground in a heap. I clutch my arm to my chest and lean forward. I couldn't stand if I wanted to and that thought brings nothing but shame and panic.

Trapped.

The bag is ripped from my head and I close my eyes against the sudden intrusion of light. I force myself to open my eyes. I need to take in my surroundings. There is cold, hard tile beneath me and it makes kneeling all the more painful. The walls are concrete and unrelenting, garish electric light shines down from the ceiling making every surface pulse with illumination. It brings with it an instant headache and the sterile, unwelcoming tinge of an operating room.

Click, click, click.

There is a pair of black, heeled boots standing in front of me. One starts to tap out an annoyed pattern with the toe. I try to scramble backwards, but it's no use. I fall onto my backside and the bottom of my shell makes a loud cracking sound against the tile. She takes hold of my face in a grip I wouldn't expect possible from such a slender hand. The cold voice has cold eyes to match and I'm reminded more than a little of a snake.

"Do you see this, Carter?" she asks and I realize we have quite the audience.

The man, who I assume is Carter, stands a few feet removed. He's huge, with a crew cut and a square jaw. The woman barely comes up to his chest and yet when she lets go of my face and turns her attention towards him he shrinks under her gaze. She snaps and points at me.

"This…thing," she says, rolling the last word over her tongue in obvious disgust. "Hacked your security system in…" she snaps her fingers again. "How long did it take you?" she asks.

I blink, slowly realizing she is asking me.

"What?"

She takes a deep breath, clearly not used to anything but instant gratification. "How long did it take you to break through our security system?" she repeats, drawing out each word as if I'm simple.

I can feel my jaw tighten and anger starts to win out again in the battle with pain.

"A few hours."

She turns and lifts her chin a few centimeters to properly glare at the larger man. "Did you hear that, Carter?" she asks and despite all logic and my better judgment I feel a little sorry for the big guy. "Your 'impenetrable system,'" she sneers, throwing up air quotes around the words. "Was dismantled in a few hours by…by that," she growls, pointing at me once more. "A…a child. Not only a child, Carter. An animal. An affront to nature. Would you like to explain to me, how you were bested by a talking turtle?" she asks, following the question with a sharp laugh.

Carter opens and closes his mouth, but offers no explanation beyond a few scared vowel sounds. She waves her hand and three guards descend, grabbing hold of his arms and dragging him through the door on the opposite wall. I shudder at the muffled sounds of screaming once the door slides shut.

"Now I'm going to have to hire a new head of security," she grumbles, inspecting the state of her nails with an annoyed sigh.

She's completely insane.

"Yes, Amelia, that is our biggest concern at the moment," a slender blond man mutters from his place leaning against the wall.

His head is down, his eyes scanning over the phone held in his hand. Every muscle and lazy scroll of his finger on the screen screams boredom. He doesn't seem to notice, or care, that she's glaring daggers at him. The tapping of her boot grows louder and more persistent and he finally has no choice but to take notice. He raises his head and takes his time sliding his phone into the pocket of his suit coat. He straightens his glasses and lets out a sigh.

I don't have time to move before he's on me. The strike to my face snaps my head to the side and I taste blood in my mouth. I can't use my injured hand to catch myself and so instead slump over onto my shoulder. It takes me one painful moment to process what is happening and yet another to realize that Raphael isn't in the room. This is all for nothing. His shiny dress shoe catches the light and it moves swiftly out of my line of vision.

He's going to kick you! Move!

I roll out of the way and catch the boot in the top of my leg instead of my torso where he aimed. I clench my jaw and manage to remain silent until another kick hits its mark and the air leaves my lungs with a pained grunt. My eyes water and I curl forward, clutching my stomach where the blow landed. I don't have time to warm to the new pain. He grabs hold of the back of my sweatshirt and pulls me up to sitting.

"Look, Amelia," he says with a smile, flipping the hood over my head. "It thinks it's people."

"We won't get anything from it if you kick it to death," she mutters.

He takes a step back and pulls the handkerchief from his jacket pocket to clean his glasses. "You really think it is going to be any more forthcoming than the other one?"

Raph.

Cold, squirming dread settles like a rock in the pit of my stomach. They hurt him. I knew they must have, but the reality is far worse than the assumption. An assumption can be wrong. I try not to let my emotions show. A ninja has control over his body.

She sees right through you.

"Oh, I think it will be," she says.

"He," I growl and she raises one, delicate eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"Stop calling me it."

This is not the battle to fight. You have more important things to worry about, idiot!

She looks genuinely surprised at my demand and the slender blond man amused.

"All right then," she says slowly. "Fredric, the bag," she says, holding out her hand expectantly while never taking her eyes off of me.

The blond man chuckles and grabs my bag off the nearby metal table. He drops it at her feet and she nudges it towards me.

"I thought you weren't taking anything," she says. "That's what you said, isn't it? So, not only are you a thief, but a liar also."

I stare at the bag and remain silent. Neither of them looks amused any more.

"You're going to show us how you broke into our system," she explains and the cold voice is back. "And you're going to tell us why."

"And if I don't?" I ask, even though I very much already know the answer.

She smiles and reaches into her jacket pocket. Part of me thinks she's reaching for a gun and I'm determined not to flinch. Instead she pulls out a phone.

"Marcus, bring in the other one," she says, slipping the phone back into her pocket without waiting for a reply.

Raph.

The door opens and they drag my brother into the room. Even though his head hangs down towards his chest they have still chosen to bind his arms and legs. I feel a small sense of pride that he must have given them a decent fight. He's bruised and bloodied and unconscious, but he's alive. He's breathing and now we're in the same room. Master Splinter and my brothers can use the tracker. They can find us. No one has to die here tonight. I don't let my hope show. They want me scared, pliant. So that's what I'll be. I'll stall.

"I don't think I have to explain to you what will happen if you don't," she drawls.

I shake my head and wipe at the trail of blood flowing from my split lip. I do my best to look afraid, to show her what she wants to see. She smiles her cold, snake smile and goes to fetch a slim, silver laptop from the table. She thinks she has me in a corner. She thinks she has me trapped. She's underestimated me. I'm smarter than her. She's about to find out what happens when someone hurts my family. I've got this.