The old Rat sat still as stone. Eyes closed. His nose twitched as it detected a light, wafting scent. Something
pleasant, comfortable. His mind identifies it as tea. A fresh pot. He heard the discussion around him. Surrounding him, but distant.
He was aware, and yet not fully present.
He felt it before he heard it.
He sensed it.
Those few quick moments, were they even seconds, ahead of the others.
The woosh of the air as it parted around some foreign object. The slight gasp, the inhale, the disbelief.
The crash.
The shattering of glass, metal bending, breaking under sudden, great force.
The dull thud of soft flesh against unyeilding concrete.
His eyes snapped open, head turned towards the commotion so close by.
His swift young sons were already identifying the cause. Weapons drawn, muscles taut, minds ready, they moved silently,
quickly to the large windowed wall of the loft. Donatello flicked the switch of the lamp by his side, and lifted the blinds minutely.
"Shit!"
He threw the window coverings aside, hand reaching for the sliding mechanism, pushing the large plate of glass supposedly into itself.
The glass rocked against it's jam at his force, riccocheting back on it's track. Leonardo's firm hand stilled the door. He stepped out onto the
balcony after his hectic brother.
The large mosaic pedestal table was overturned, and lay, rocking slightly, on it's side. Glass, and dirt peppered the ground. Shards of clay pottery,and
scraps of leafy greenery sat heavily in contained areas, as though to compliment, perhaps highlight, the damage.
In the midst of the rubble lay a Girl. The Girl. Writhing. Grasping her shoulder, knees drawn in to her chest, head thrown back, silently screaming in pain.
And above her, almost surrounding her. His brother. Raphael. Standing, straddling her huddled mass. Desperate hands reaching to help her, or calm her,
or merely contain her. Leonardo did not know which. He suspected the latter. He could see, even through the darkness of night, his brother's lips moving
furiously. And though hushed, his urgent words carried through the night to Leonardo like a mantra;
"ShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShit... Aw fuck."
Raphael allowed Donatello to move him away from the Girl, who remained on the ground, rocking slowly back and forth in the dirt and shards of glass.
Leonardo stepped forward, mindful of the danger, toed a candle from his path, and scooped the damaged creature into his arms.
Michelangelo stepped back from the doorway as his brother approached. Leonardo huddled with the Girl just inside the door. He grasped her tight.
Held her firmly to his body, head pressed into his shoulder, body contained in his arms. He could feel her chest leap and falter. He could feel her ragged
breath on his upper arm as she choked, lungs clenching, throat closing. He could feel her spasm as the pain lanced her body. He could feel the grit
of dirt and glass that clung to her damp skin. It dug into his fingers as his fingers dug into her flesh.
His brothers rushed through the glass doorway, Donatello flinging the door shut. Again, the door crashed into it's jam, springing free. It was Casey's hand
that secured the door. Leonardo took note of his carefully calculated brother's miscalculation of force for the second time that night.
The blinds were replaced. The light restored.
Donatello sat back on his haunches before his brother, eyes dark, brow furrowed.
The Girl quivered in Leonardo's arm, curling in upon her self within his grasp.
The brothers locked eyes. The elder nodded, once, the movement sharp and definite.
"Miss. Please. You don't have to be afraid. We only want to help you."
The Girl's head began to rock back and forth, side to side, eyes clenched shut. Donatello wondered if the refusal was directed towards himself or the pain that he knew had to be ravaging
her body. He decided in all probability, that both were likely.
He began again. "Please, you are hurt, and we can help you, but you have to allow us to help you. Miss..."
"Angeline." Raphael stood behind his brothers, farthest from the Girl. He stood stock still. Only his chest gave any hint of life, swelling and settling, the air rushing from his
nostrils. "She said her name was Angeline. Or something." He licked his lips. He stared at the Girl. Pointedly at her, avoiding the gaze of any of his family.
"Angeline?" Donatello tested the name. Then again. "Angeline."
The Girl rocked. Tears began to force their way past her clenched lids, threatening her cheek.
"Angie." Michelangelo reached a hand to Donatello's shoulder, levering himself closer. "Angie. Hey Angie. C'mon, Ang. It's ok. Angie?" With every gentle coo
he advanced, arriving before her blind face, quieting himself to a whisper. "Angie. Angie?" His large fingers brushed against her cheek, wiping tears that had not
yet spilled.
Her eyes relaxed at his touch. He continued his gentle murmur, and soft touch until he was rewarded with the Girl's open face turned towards him.
He quieted as her eyes opened. He stared into the black depths of her eyes, watched the emotions war in her eyes.
Fear. Pain. Confusion.
And something new. Something different.
Her bottom lip dropped slightly.
His brow leapt in question.
Her eyes skimmed his cheeks briefly then settled in his wide-open eyes.
She licked her lips. "You're..." the one word was hoarse, and deep. "Different."
"Angeline?" Donatello shuffled closer, daring to place a hand on her resting knee to draw her attention. She shifted her head as he came into view.
Her brow rose again. "Three."
"Pardon me?"
"Four." The singular word rumbled in Leonardo's chest, vibrating through the girl.
She drew her tongue across her bloodied bottom lip. "Four". It was said with finality, purpose. "Genbu."
Donatello smirked despite himself. "My name is Donatello," he clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "This is Michelangelo. Leonardo
is behind you, and-"
"And you've already met Raphael." The words rumbled from Leonardo's chest, once more spreading, vibrating throughout the wounded, delicate body cavity of the Girl.
"Angeline, you're safe with us," Donatello began anew, now with the Girl's attention. "But you had a nasty fall. I need to make sure you're really alright."
"No!" She jerked, battling to sit, desperate to move on her own despite the obvious pain that left her nearly debilatated.
Leonardo easily contained her, tightening his uncompromising arms around her form.
Angeline quickly stopped thrashing, her jaw set against the wave of nausea that swept through her, eyes shut. Through the haze, she felt firm, and gentle hands on her limbs,
she heard a voice in the distance dictating a list. 'That quiet, solid voice. Genbu Donatello'. She opened her eyes when she felt a cool, damp cloth pressed against her right jaw.
The acidic concoction stung as it saturated her torn skin. She hissed, and Donatello glimpsed up from her hand. His mouth pressed together in an awkward smile, his eyes shone with
apology. "I know it stings, but there was alot of dirt, and you don't want an infection. Hows it going, Mike?"
The second Genbu was huddled at her feet, pressing a stained rag to the sole of her right foot. He released his hold on her limb, peeked behind the cloth. His lips pulled back,
revealing a great set of large teeth. "I can't get it to stop, Donnie." He pressed the cloth into place, looking up to his brother, and, catching the Girl's eye, smiled. "It'll be ok."
Donatello inspected the foot. "Mike, I need more bandages. We're going to have to wrap it until we get home. It may need stitches. And get the sling too." He called
to his brother's quickly exiting shell.
"Don, about that.." Leonardo had sat quietly throughout the process, acting as a restraint for the Girl when needed. Acting as a support for the Girl when needed. Speaking only
when needed. Now, he gestured with a nod to the Girl's shoulder cradled against his hard belly. Donatello shifted his poistion until he was able to view the area in question.
The arm lay at her side, limp.
"Aw, Jes-" He moved to better examine the damage, Leonardo shifting to sit directly behind the Girl. He felt along the joint, fingers prodding abused flesh, tracing the bone.
He spared a look to her face. Her head lay slouched against Leonardo's shoulder, eyes fluttering. Her once ragged, frantic breathing had slowed, and evened. Her hands lay
open at her sides, loose. Her lips, no longer pursed in discomfort, now sat slack, a gentle, natural gap between the top and bottom lip. The adreneline that had flooded
her veins now left her limp, exhausted. Donatello felt the flush of her skin against his busy hands. The fever, momentarily disregarded, flaring within her core.
His fingers edged along the outline of the bones. He glanced up at her face again, half obstructed by her mass of hair, head lolled to the side, supported by Leonardo's
ever-present shoulder. Her eyes rested closed. He gripped her upper arm securely in his free hand, fingertips dancing over the unnatural outline of her joint. A quick nod
to his brother, then a solid push. The bone slid back into it's cradle. The Girl's eyelashes fluttered against her cheek. Donatello pressed the injured left arm to her chest and
secured it there with the makeshift sling that had been deposited by his knee. He pressed his palms to the side of her neck. The skin was clammy, moist to the touch.
Heat rolled off her. He glanced at her face, now slack with exhaustion, her cheeks flushed with blood.
"God, she's burning up." Donatello bit the inside of her cheek.
"Yes," was his brother's only reply. Leonardo had noted the steady rise of her body temperature as he clung to her. His hands, once gritty, now slipped where he
gripped flesh. His arms slackened slightly, loosening as she slept. He felt her chest beneath his forearms, her bruised ribs expanding and deflating with each breath,
the movement slow, steady, constant, but...
"Her breathings shallow."
"Mmhm." Donatello had busied himself securing the many bandages, he re-tied the cloth at her sole, knotting it tightly along the roof of her foot. He shook his head, looked
to his brother, and in answer to the raised brow; "Stiches." He turned, pivoted on his haunches to face his father. He noted that the others had left, the four of them
now alone in the open room.
Splinter sat, unmoved, on the couch, tea presented before him. Her shrewd eyes were fastened on the girl in Leonardo's arms. His ears cocked at an angle.
"Sensei, if your decision stands, we need to get her home. If not a hospital."
The old rat took in a great, slow breath. His eyes slid shut. his ears flattened atop his head. His breath paused within him before he allowed it to hiss out through
his sharp teeth. His ears perked and his eyes openned. There was no doubt in his expression. There was no worry or unease. He was steady and sure.
"Leonardo, gather your brothers. And if Casey would be so kind as to prepare a collection of necessities for the Girl. Donatello, prepare the child, the travel will not
be easy on her in this state."
Splinter stood as his eldest deposited the sleeping Girl before him. His old, weathered hand fell onto Leonardo's shoulder. A single squeeze of the hand, a sollitary
nod of the chin passed between the two as Leonardo departed for the bedroom. The rat stood at Donatello's back watching his clever son's deft hands pass over bandages,
splints, bruises. His eyes covered the Girl, studied her, noting the particulars of this strange and mysterious human.
"This girl is quite well cared for."
"Mm? Why do you say that, Sensei?" His hands stilled.
"Her body, though beaten and under-nourished, is strong, her skin is taut, resiliant to the touch, free of callouses save the bottoms of her feet, free of scars. Her hair is full
and healthy and well cared for. Her teeth are straight and white and full. And the nails on her hand on her feet and her hands are painted. Surely you have noticed?"
"I, uh.. ahem." He looked down at his still hands resting on her warm, firm forearm. His fingers twitched, on their own accord, olive against bronze. "Yes, she seems very healthy,
excpet for this.. Fits in with what Casey was saying about Diplomats and Debutantes."
Leonardo padded silently down the hall. The bedroom door stood ajar, soft light eminating from inside. The fine wood moved easily as he pushed it aside and
stepped across the threshold.
"Casey, " the man was seated on the edge of the bed, hands cradling his bowed head. "Splinter would appreciate your help in putting together an overnight bag for
Angeline. Just any necessities she may require that we wouldn't have down at the lair. We'll be leaving quite shortly." The man nodded into his palms before rising quickly
to his feet and heading to the closet. He pulled a green canvas backpack from the top shelf and began rummaging through the drawers, shoving this and that into the battered
sac hastily. He openned the top right drawer of the armoir, thrusting his hand in, shuffling through it's contents. Ends of lace and silk spilled out the sides of the basin.
Leonardo looked to the floor. His stomach clenched. He looked up to the mussed, empty bed. It's existence, like that of the ends of lace, held promise. He stood just
inside the room. He could hear the satin objects as they slid against one another inside the drawer. He could feel the breath of his brother, who stood quietly (always so
quiet recently, something he had once believed was an impossiblilty for his youngest brother) to the side. He could smell the fear roll off Casey. It sat, thick, in the back
of his throat. He could taste it on the back of his tongue. The raw animal reaction called to him, or rather the animal within him. The animal contained within him. Tamed.
Trapped. All but dead. And yet, this base reaction, beyond reason, logic. A primal call that drummed in his core. He looked at the mussed bed. The drawer slammed shut.
Leonardo looked to the floor.
"Case, do you need a hand with anything, or something?" The question was quiet.
"Uh, nah. Nah, I think I got it. Or actually, yeah, her laundry, the drier should be done. Grab it and I'll just shove it in here."
Michelangelo shouldered past his brother, shell scraping against the doorframe.
Casey pulled his hand, full of black fabric, out of another drawer, dropping it in the pack. He shouldered past Leonardo.
"Casey, where is Raphael?"
"Um, I think he's up on the roof." The answer came from half way down the hall. Casey disappeared into the bathroom.
Leonardo stood silent, unmoving for a moment. Behind him, he heard the clank and clatter of plastic bottles, the return of Michelangelo, a muffled 'Thanks, man'.
From the living room he heard soft, calm voices. Through the open window ahead of him the distant hum of city life beckoned. Raphael was on the roof.
He had been asked to gather his brothers for departure, yet...
His heart beat heavy in his armoured chest. A primal rhythm demanding satisfaction. A physical relief of any sort.
"Michelaneglo, tell Raph we're leaving."
Leonardo looked to the armoir, an impressive piece of woodwork, the dark cherry shining in the lamp light. Bits of lace fell sloppily from one of the top drawers.
He left the room.
Splinter and Donatello stood, readied, in the high-ceilinged room, the girl already huddled in the large turtle's arms. The old rat had dressed himself
in the warm robe he wore for travel, the hood resting on his back. Leonardo nodded upon entering the room, bowing slightly. The rat regaded him a moment,
ears twitching, then, satisfied, returned the greeting. Michelangelo strode in from the hall, clutching a battered green canvas backpack, filled to capacity, latches
straining against the contents.
"Raphs up top. Are we 'Go'?" he swung the pack roughly over his shoulder, hooking his arm through the strap, letting it fall with a slight thud against his shell.
"Yes, Michelangelo."
"Donnie, do you need a break? I can take her til we get 'Sub'. if you like, " Leonardo noted his brother's grip, how it tightened momentarily at the offer.
"No. Thanks, I'm good. Maybe in the tunnels." Donatello followed his father onto the balcony. Mindful of the glass and de-potted greenery, and overturned
table he made his way to the stairway that allowed exclusive access to the rooftop.
"Mike," Casey laid a rough hand on his friend's forearm, halting his exit. "You'll call when she wakes up?"
"Yeah, Dude. No prob." Michelangelo offered a sad smirk, a twist of the side of his mouth, a pat on the hand. He shuffled the weight of the bag
on his shoulders as he stepped over the fallen patio furniture. Leonardo listened to his brother's footsteps crunch over the store bought topsoil.
"You're gonna miss your train there, Leo."
"Casey. I'm going to give you one last chance, because you are a friend. You are a trusted friend of my family, of my brothers, you're engaged to April.
You've earned the title of 'friend'. So, I'm giving you this chance right now to tell me, under your own will; what have you gotten us into? What have you
involved my family in? Who's business is this?.. Who is she?"
Silence stretched between the two. The clock on the kitchen wall ticked with exaggerated volume.
That stench of fear poured off of Casey Jones, sticking in Leonardo's throat.
Finally, the Man shrugged, his shoulders heavy with cloaked burden.
"It's not my story to tell."
Leonardo shook his head at the incomplete answer.
Then, he squared his shoulders and foollowed his family onto the gaping darkenss of night.