The brothers fled through the night, clustered around their contraband. The Man in the lead moved swiftly,
miraculously dodging and weaving, not at all hindered by the lack of revealing light. The creatures at his side easily
kept his pace. Donatello shifted the girl again and again in his arm, his hands growing moist with perspiration; a intimate
mixture of hers and his own. He concentrated on his breathing; slowly, steadily. And grace in his movements followed.
He leapt and ran, soared through the air, through the night. Not one misstep. The Girl rocked in his arms, nestled
carefully within his hold, pressed against his hard chest. He was vaguely aware of the slowing pace of the group, and
raised his head. They were in one of the older districts of the city. In it's day, the neighbourhood had been nothing more than
a residential expansion, but as time moved on, as it was apt to do, the spacious lofts became quite valuable. The exteriors
left much to be desired, but the size of the units was nearly unheard of within the city limits. The five figures were perched along
the ledge of one of the condos, looking into the variously lit windows of the building across the way. Donatello counted the
obviously occupied rooms, knowing that his brothers were doing the same.
"It's the one on the top," Casey whispered.
"You can get in through the roof. Exclusive access."
"I can see you've been here often, Raph. Why am I not surprised?" Leonardo never took his eyes off the intended
destination. His eyes did not settled on one area for more than a moment, constantly accessing, never resting.
"Alright, looks like this is as quiet as its going to get. Casey, any particular route you can recommend?"
"How about... over?" Raph sneered as he dropped off the rooftop, only to reappear a moment later on the roof of a neighbouring building,
repeating the process, materializing on roof after roof, making his way to the specified building.
"Yeah, you just gotta get over there, you know, so..." Casey dropped off the ledge, taking his own route across the buildings of the
neighbourhood.
"How eloquent. Well, at least its the tallest one around here, so once we get over we should be fine. Keep it covered, boys."
As Leo took off into the night, Donatello readjusted his grip once more, and made a note to stay close to his brother.
The loft was lit by overhead lighting, and one standing lamp in the far corner, the blinds already drawn across the large windows
that spanned the living area. Raphael was standing in the corner near the window, throwing a shadow from the floor lamp, as if cast in stone.
His dark eyes bore into the man a few paces away, his arms crossed his body. Casey peeked out from behind the blinds, lifting the wooden
slats to peer between the obstruction, then letting it fall lazily back into place, not caring to stop it from swaying under it's own weight.
He turned, almost surprised to find his apartment occupied.
Donatello lay the Girl on the wooden floor of the living room. He slid his arms from beneath her body, cradling her head in his
large hand as he gently guided it to the floor. A pillow was shoved rather unceremoniously under his nose. He could feel the object tremor
as he accepted the offer, sensitive to his younger brother's need to help.
"Mike, can you start a bath, please? She's too cold, and that should help warm her. Not too hot though, just warm." He gave instruction
as his hands moved down the body of the stranger. He started at the neck, turning it to the left, then right, gentle in his manipulations.
He did not think that there was any spinal damage from his brief interaction with her earlier, but he was thorough if nothing else. He then moved
his hands down her arms, once again noting the limp left arm.
"Dislocated. Can somebody hold her so I can pop this back in?" He asked the room while his hands felt along the marred joint.
"I'll ..." He heard Leo speak.
It was Raphael who knelt down and scooped the Girl into a sitting position, and steadied her body.
"She may wake from the pain."
Raphael clutched her more securely to his body, wrapping both arms around her, one across her torso, the other around her healthy
shoulder, over her neck, and guided her head firmly into his shoulder. Donatello scuttled closer to his brother, and once again felt
around the joint, accessing the angle and amount of pressure needed. His lips moved as he re-read the text in his mind, double checking
his memory as to the proper process, his hushed whispers accompanied by the muted drum of the filling tub in the next room.
Satisfied, he picked up the damaged arm, and held it at an awkward angle by the wrist. He moved his right hand to the elbow, to
re-enforce his grip. He took a deep breath in, and let it hiss out past his teeth, locking eyes with his brother, who stiffened slightly.
With a quick breath, he wretched the arm in a vicious motion, twisting, and pressing. A hollow click sounded.
The Girl gasped, the breath catching in her throat. Her body shuddered, lungs clenched in sudden pain. He head snapped back,
loose from Raphael's grip, hitting his shoulder, before he grasped her again, steadying her head with the crook of his arm.
His scowl froze as he looked down into the face of the awake girl. His eyes widen, his face softened, his body stiffened once more.
The Girl lay trapped in his hardened frame, choking on air, one arm trapped between his body and her own, the other still wretched behind her
at an unnatural angle, held firmly in place by Donatello. Her eyes flickered open and shut, fluttered as her breathing began to regulate itself once
more. Her eyes fluttered furiously, fighting to remain open, fighting to rest once more. Her breath became softer still as Raphael felt any
last trace of tension leave her body. The fingers of the hand in Donatello's care hung from the palm. Her head fell back a fraction, gravity
pulling her onto the rounded shoulder. Her lips moved. A twitch. Then again. Movement, and a sigh.
A whisper.
Her eyes fell closed. Lashes resting gratefully on her cheek.
A rush of breath escaped Raphael's lungs. His ebony eyes darted up from the Girl to his brother beside him, sharing a relieved glance.
Donatello delicately righted the newly mended arm, and folded it against her chest.
"We'll need something for a sling, later on."
"I'll go find something," Casey faltered as he rose from the floor, making his way to what Donatello assumed to be the bedroom.
"Hmm, this really has him shaken up." Leo let his curiousity reign as he leant in over the girl.
Raphael tightned his loosening grip on her.
"Raph, lay her down, I need to look at those fingers."
The Girl was once again laid flat against the wooden flooring, and Donatello's deft hands moved over her broken body. He concentrated now
on the mangled fingers of her right hand. "Raph, does Casey have a first aid kit? I'll need it, and see if it has splints in it, or find something
that I can use in it's place. I'll need two spints for these fingers. And medical tape, but that should be in the kit. Okay?" He vaguely heard
a muttering of "Yeah, I think I can handle that..." as he continued on with his work.
"How's it looking?" The voice was soft, concerned. Now that immediate danger was past, his older brother allowed his mask to fall by the way-
side. He had leaned in again, surveying the damage. His eyes caught at the wrists, the skin torn and bruised.
"Shackles."
Donatello looked up from his musings, unsure if he had heard correctly, or if his brother had simply sighed at the sight. He was assured he had been correct,
however when he looked upon his brother. Leonardo's gaze had still not moved from the wounds ringing the Girl's wrists. His breathing was accelerated,
rushed. "They tied her down, and... No honour. There is no honour in that..." The muscle at his jaw worked, flexed repeatedly. His steely eyes had not
moved, yet they no longer saw the damaged skin. Donatello felt him leave. He knew his brother was no longer in the loft. No longer, even,
in the present. His mind, his essence had been sucked out of his skin, ripped from his physical being, to a place where noone could follow.
The muscle at his jaw worked, flexed one more time. His eyes did not blink. He did not feel the hand that landed on his shoulder. He did not
hear his younger brother enter the room.
"Baths ready, Donny. Warm, not hot. Is she ok? Raph's tearing through the cabinet...Leo?"
"I'm fine." The words came out too fast, too urgent.
"Mike, I need you get some ice, actually. I'm getting worried about the possibility of a concussion. Although, if it's severe, I don't know
how much I can do about it. If there's hemoragging... Uh, some frozen peas, or something. Whatever he has."
"Peas. Right." Michelangelo stalked towards the kitchen to complete his second task, less then enthusiastic.
"Donatello. Do you think she has a chance to recover?" Leo's eyes were glassy still, but there was light behind them. Presence.
"Well, " he looked down at the crumpled girl; her hair dirty and matted, her face bruised, dried rivulets of blood down her cheek, her
left arm tucked across her chest, her right hand a mangled mess of broken bones. He thought of her fitful periods of consciousness, her
cold skin clammy with sweat. "There's a chance that anything could happen. Leo, she's feverish, so she may very well have some
sort of infection already, and if it's reached her bloodstream... And I really do think she has a serious concussion, which could
mean bleeding in the brain, in which case she could just die in her sleep, and theres nothing any of us could do about it, there
wouldn't even be any warning signs. Shit, even a splinter from a cracked rib could be rushing through her bloodstream right
now and ram into her heart, and that would be it!" Donatello heaved, frustration and exhaustion flooding out with his tirade.
He closed his eyes on the scene at his knees. His brother, mask sliding easily back into place. The Girl.
"That poor girl. What could one person do to deserve this kind of punishment?"
"We'll find out." There was no concern in that voice. No room for mercy.
"Carrots."
Donatello openned his eyes to find Michelangelo kneeling beside him, the Girl's head practically in his lap. He leaned down, smoothing
his hand again over her head, brushing mattes of hair from her forehead, finding the large lump on the side of her head. The bag of
carrots crinkled as it molded to the curve of her skull. And still, his other hand smoothed over her forehead , comforting, soothing.
Silence fell over the four huddled on the floor.
A shadow cast itself over the group.
"No splints. This is all he's got." A plastic case was dropped by Donatello's thigh. Store bought. Basic. Band-Aids, and Polysporin.
Useless.
"Alright. I want to get her into that bath before it cools too much." He scooped the girl up once more, easily cradling her against himself, the
position becoming familiar. He raised himself to his feet and turned to leave. "I think we should get Sensei. I may have some provisions
that could help at home, but here, theres only so much we can do.
And it wont be enough."
He left his brothers crouched on the hardwood floor of the cavernous loft. As he passed, he noted the darkened bedroom, the door slightly
ajar. Further down the hallway another door stood open. Light cascaded from the entrance, illuminating his path.
Donatello stepped into the room, blinking against the light. As promised, the tub was filled, and though the room had been heated
by the water, there was no steam on the large mirror above the handsink. He lay her once more on the floor, taking care of dispensing
her despite the plush carpet that cushioned the tile. He gingerly removed her soiled clothing; peeling her arms from the clinging cotton t-shirt,
raising her head to remove it completely. Her ribs were blue and yellow, painted with bruises, and yet, miraculously, whole. His large fingers
fumbled with the buttons of her shorts, and he pulled off of her legs long socks thats had long since fallen and bunched around her chins. He paused,
his fingers under the shoulder straps of her undergarments. He stared at the foreign sight. His calloused olive fingers resting against her tanned skin,
the thin triple strings of black running over his hand. The lace, he noted, fragile as it was, remained in tact, as if unawares of the troubles
of it's wearer. He felt his cheeks heat with a sudden rush of blood. He closed his eyes, fought to steady his breathing. Then looked upon his
hand once more. His fingers slipped from under the straps. He picked her up, and placed her into the warm water. Michelangelo, he had noted,
had left an assortment of towels, and soap on the closed lid of the toilet. Donatello chose one of the smaller items, rolled it, and cushioned
the back of the ceramic tub. He watched as the water swirled around her body, flushing away filth and debris without provocation.
He hesitated, his hand above the water.
"Yes?"
"Sensei wants to see the girl for himself," Raph leaned his shoulder against the doorjam, legs crossing at the ankles. "Leo went to get him."
"Hmm." A nod.
"You look pretty beat. Why don't you rest? I can watch her, make sure she doesn't slip under."
"It's not just that, she has a dozen scrapes and minor lacerations that need to be cleaned out. And her hair."
"I can do that."
"Shouldn't you be with Casey? Comfort him or something?"
"He's taking some time," he threw his head in the direction of the dark bedroom. "Besides, I don't do comforting.
But cleaning up those, uh, minor lacerations... I can do that."
Donatello blinked his weary eyes. He imagined sand had settled in his lids. With a tired groan, he stood, arching his back, and
throwing his hands above his head. "Don't take too long. I'd like to have her out for when Sensei arrives." He paused at the doorway,
"Call me right away if she wakes up again."
"Yeah, yeah." Raphael knelt by the tub, and dipped his hand into the water, testing the temperature. He guided the water over her shoulders,
and onto her neck, before cradling her head in one of his wide palms, and tilting her hair into the clouding water. He used his free, moist hand
to coerce some dirt from her face as her hair hung in the bath water, filth dissolving of its own accord.
"Your hair's not black, it's brown," He spoke softly, not letting his voice carry past the open bathroom door.
"You gonna wake up for me agian? You gotta wake up, sweeetheart.
We gotta find out what makes you so damned special to Casey.
Gotta find out what makes you so damned threatening to the Foot."