"Bring the prisoner forward, Captain Spader." The gravelly voice sounded tired. "Where's Leonardo?"
"He refused to come, sir."
"Any other news from your patrol?"
"No, sir. All quiet in Quadrant 5—nothing from my contacts at the Market. I did spot some superfine Karai Legion Bots on recon in the south sector, although they didn't get anywhere near the field hospital. I don't believe they are aware of its location, but I warned the medics to evacuate the patients to a more secure area just in case."
"Good. General Angel wants this prisoner put in the holding cell for now; she'll deal with her later. She was called away unexpectedly—an emergency—right now she's with the commandos at the ammo dump. They've been hit pretty hard by those metal mammas; they could use another fighter."
"Uh…prisoner?" April interrupted. But the Gravelly Voice ignored her.
"You may join them, Captain, and file your report later."
"All RIGHT!"
"Excuse me, but I am NOT a prisoner!" April interjected angrily.
"Captain Spader, repeat after me: Karai Legion Bots are not sexy."
"But sir—you gotta admit they're kind of hot. C'mon—those legs…"
"Spader, they have all the sex appeal of an oil drum in a mini skirt. Not sexy. Repeat."
"Can someone please explain why I have been taken prisoner?" April shouted.
She reached up to rip off the blindfold, but Spades made a sharp warning sound under his breath from somewhere just behind her. Grudgingly she put her hands down by her sides. He cleared his throat and continued his argument with the Gravelly Voice.
"Sir, with the utmost respect, I must disagree. The Shredder designed them to represent his darkest Dominatrix fantasies. They are Hot and Sexy and I love them."
"Dude, he modeled them after his daughter. You're sick. Go. And Spader—burn the hat! I see you wearing it again, and I will personally beat every last rhinestone off your sparkly ass."
"Sir, yes sir!"
Spades patted her shoulder in a friendly manner and then was gone. April's heart sank a bit; she had hoped he'd be there for the meeting with Angel. She would've liked a friend by her side. Instead, Gravelly Voice took her firmly by the elbow and began marching her down what sounded like a long, echoing hallway.
"You are our prisoner," he explained, "because you are not one of us." He sounded even more exhausted than before.
"I only came to talk," she said quietly. "I'm not a threat."
"That's not what Angel thinks. What happened with Leo? I thought you might actually be able to talk some sense into him, make him and Raph see eye to eye. You of all people used to be able to do that."
Realization hit April like a slap to the back of the head. "Mikey?"
The hand on her elbow relaxed momentarily. "No one's called me that in a long time."
"Mikey, please let me take off this blindfold!"
Reluctantly he pulled the knotted fabric from her eyes. "Hi April," he said, his husky voice uncertain as his nervous fingers twisted the blindfold.
April drank him in: the missing arm, the scarred skin and weary blue eyes beneath the hooded yellow mask. She wanted to apologize personally for each mark on his battered body. She wanted to kill whoever had taken his arm.
He watched her watching him, and his blue eyes suddenly sparked with some of their old mischief; his mouth twisted into the crooked smile she remembered so well.
"Not as pretty as I used to be, but I know you still think I'm the sexiest turtle that ever walked the earth."
April laughed as a small bubble of joy seemed to expand instantly in her chest. Impulsively throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed his scarred cheek, his hand, and his maimed arm. He felt so solid and familiar. In spite of all the change in his life, underneath he was still Mikey.
"Aw yeah, see what I mean?" he exclaimed gleefully as she rested in the curve of his powerful arm. But there was something protective and fraternal about the way he returned her embrace, and she realized that she probably needed his closeness more than he needed hers. At last she'd found a constant, something pure from the past that the Shredder hadn't been able to kill.
"I missed you so much, April. I didn't handle it so well."
Burying her face in his shoulder felt good. Mike smelled fresh and cold, like the night wind—the same scent that used to cling to him after a midnight run across the rooftops with his brothers. An image of the four of them crouched on the fire escape outside her apartment window, laughing and teasing one another, popped into her head. She squeezed him convulsively at the memory.
He stroked her back gently, awkwardly. "You hungry?" he asked. "I made soup."
"You look like hell, O'Neil."
April couldn't disagree with Angel on that point.
She'd recently broken out of the most notorious political prison on the East Coast. In the last 48 hours she'd had only one nonpoisonous meal and a couple of hours of rest in Mike's quarters. He agreed to shave the rest of her hair off, making her look a little bit less mangy. But when he tried to convince her to give up Leo's trench coat in exchange for the standard gray rags worn by the Resistance, she'd refused.
"I can't explain it, but I feel like he's still with us when I wear it."
"You talk like he's dead, April, and not just some asshole who has to hire all of his friends."
"He's given up, Mike. In his mind, I think he believes he's as good as dead."
Michelangelo looked uneasy. "Leo wasn't talkin' suicide or anything like that, was he?"
April shook her head. "He's simply living out the rest of his time, Mikey."
"Poor dude has to listen to his old ladylove's voice every hour on the hour, too. That can't be healthy."
April shrugged. Most people she knew simply tuned out Karai's broadcasted threats. They were just part of the wallpaper.
The cracked mirror in Mike's bathroom hadn't been kind: too-pale skin, sunken green eyes in shadowed sockets; cracked, ragged lips. The contrast of white face and black coat reminded her of the poor soul in Edvard Munch's The Scream.
"Let's take a poll: do I look more like a clown or an alien?"
"You look like my friend. You're April. And you're under my protection now, damnit. You can be sure of that," he growled.
"Do I need your protection?" she had asked, only half joking.
Now, as she faced the rebel leader on the crowded floor of the Circle Chamber, April was glad of Mike's promise to look after her. The Chamber turned out to be the old basement cafeteria of the condemned hospital building that the Resistance had taken over as headquarters. It was where the rebels held secret meetings, planned attacks, and meted out justice. Broken plaster littered the cracked tile floor; electricity was precious and intermittent, so the Resistance members had lit dozens of candles and lamps.
They surrounded her, some lounging against the stained walls or busted tables, others standing defiantly with arms crossed; a few, injured in battle, rested on the floor. Their faces—some hooded or masked, some pale and wreathed in cigarette smoke, others scarred or bandaged—were all turned toward April.
She wasn't used to this many people staring at her; the reactions she was getting ranged from curiosity to anger. The tingle of panic that fluttered in her belly threatened to explode into a full-fledged hyperventilation session. Then she noticed a tall figure in a bizarre hat waving to her from the corner: Spader. He was among the injured—a bloodstained bandage was tied across his forehead. And Mike was a reassuring presence just behind her, a little to her right…so there were at least two friendlies.
But her fears were unfounded. Angel's commanding presence was enough to restrain any potential troublemakers in the crowd.
In many ways, Angel hadn't changed since the Old Days. Compact and direct, muscular yet curvaceous, she oozed the same charismatic energy she'd possessed as a teenager. She'd dispensed with the purple ponytails and kept her dark hair cropped close to her head, which only made her thick-lashed hazel eyes stand out more dramatically in her heart-shaped face. A small stud glittered in her nose, but otherwise she wore no jewelry. Her clothing was clean and black, close fitting but not tight.
"What do you want, Prisoner O'Neil? You are now free to speak before the Circle Court. And it had better be worth our time."
"Am I on trial or something?"
"You wanted to talk. Talk. You might start by explaining why you failed to bring Leonardo here."
April pointedly looked around the room. "I don't see Raphael anywhere, either. So maybe we're even."
"I admire and respect both Leonardo and Raphael. I allowed you access to our Circle because I saw the opportunity to unite them once again." Angel paused, her eyes narrowing. "And that is the only reason you haven't been torn apart yet, traitor."
April could sense Mike shifting his weight. "Easy," he breathed.
"Then perhaps I should reveal my true intentions," she said steadily, willing her voice not to break. She could almost feel the weight of the stares directed at her and a flush crept up her cheeks. But she had Mikey behind her. Somewhere inside, she had Donny. And even if he had decided to hate her for the rest of his life, Leo's protective presence lingered in the warmth of the coat wrapped around her.
"I've come to reclaim my rightful place here. I've come back."
There was some scattered laughter, some profanity, some murmuring in the crowd. In his corner, Captain Spader stood up a bit straighter, his face alert. Mike moved a step closer to her. "Easy," she could almost hear him whisper again. Easy.
Angel didn't laugh. "Is that a challenge? Did you finally get tired of being a useless has-been? Or is it money? How much has the Shredder paid you to leak all of our plans to him?"
April snorted. "You're wrong, Angel. I know more about the Shredder's organization than any of you. I think we can recruit some of the Utrom slaves and scientists to our side. And I know how we can—"
The Rebel Leader held up a hand. "I've heard enough. Miss O'Neil has become a bit too familiar with the Shredder, don't you think? Execute her." She turned her back.
"No!" Mike shouted. He leapt toward Angel, but a nearby commando lunged forward and brought him down with a powerful taser. He screamed, writhing at Angel's feet.
"Are you a traitor now too, Michelangelo?" Angel hissed, but there was pain in her narrowed eyes. "Lock him up, Ballard."
"Yes sir!" answered the commando, shocking the struggling turtle again before chaining his arm behind his back.
"Mikey!" April screamed, running toward him; two gray-clad soldiers grabbed her and held her, struggling, between them.
"April…," he moaned. "No…."
Angel looked around the room, which had suddenly grown still and quiet. "What's wrong with you? I gave an order. Execute her, now!"
That was when the whirlwind hit. April didn't know where he came from, but Leo was suddenly standing in front of her, on guard with twin katanas drawn; her captors were groaning on the floor.
"Leo!" April and Angel said simultaneously—April's voice a whisper, Angel's a shout of disbelief.
"Yes, Angel," he said, ignoring April. "I know we have some…unfinished business."
"Including the 'business' you're interrupting as we speak."
"You will free my brother."
Angel snorted. "He attacked me. You're in no position to give orders here, Leonardo."
Most of the crowd seemed to think otherwise. Many had backed further into the corners of the room, unwilling to stand near the swordsman. But Leonardo ignored them, shifting a bit closer to Michelangelo. The yellow-masked turtle's guard abruptly dropped the chain he was holding and raised his arms in the air, backing away from his prisoner. Leo reached down and untied his brother's arm.
Michelangelo immediately moved to April's side, his nunchuck at the ready. Angel's fury radiated like static energy. "You'll pay for that, Leonardo."
"I only want to talk," he replied casually. "Don't make me bring up the many times I've saved your life, Angel. You owe it to me."
Angel bristled, but seemed to be rapidly rethinking her strategy. "Yes, fine—we'll talk."
"About April's new position as leader of this crew," he finished for her. Angel's mouth fell open. "Unless you actually win the contest of single combat," he continued, "in which case you'll continue to lead the Resistance to uncertain victory."
The crowd burst into excited chatter, but Angel's raised hand silenced them at once.
"We still honor Casey's laws here," she said quietly, her tightened fists shaking with emotion. "If April O'Neil wants single combat, it will happen. Tomorrow night," she finished. "Full combat rules of the Circle apply. No exceptions."
At this she glared at Michelangelo and Spades, who had emerged from the crowd to stand at April's side. "Be ready with a second, O'Neil." April didn't like the grin that suddenly spread across her rival's face. "I've already chosen mine."
Leo and Mike bowed and backed out of the room, escorting April between them. Spades brought up the rear. She could hear him chuckling to himself.
"That was outstanding, baby," he crowed as they returned to Michelangelo's quarters, picking up her hand and high-fiving it. "Those meetings are usually really boring."
April was trying to remember Casey's Rule for Single Combat. She knew he'd instituted it just in case any arguments arose in the ranks of the Resistance. It was supposed to bring transparency to the rebel leadership, allow grievances to be aired, and more importantly, to keep the group from being divided.
"United we stand," she murmured to herself.
Leo and Michelangelo were walking several yards ahead, talking in quiet tones. Leo put a hand on Mike's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Mike reached up and gave his brother a quick, gruff hug with his good arm.
"Ain't brotherhood grand?" Spades said with a mock-sigh, falling into step next to her.
"Why are you helping me, Spader?"
"I lurrrrve the underdog, baby. The longshot. The outside chance. You inspire me. I want to be part of the O'Neil Comeback Team. I love your new haircut. I Heart Utrom Collaborators."
"So you're betting against me, then?"
"Moi?" he asked, batting his eyelashes innocently. Then his masked face grew serious. Or, April guessed, as serious as it was ever going to get. "I can tell you one thing, I'm pretty sure who Angel's second is going to be. Leo's not gonna be happy."
"Not…?" April groaned, unable to finish the sentence.
"Ooh, yeah. Angel's number-one loverboy, the Man in Red himself. And I don't mean Santa Claus." Spades considered this. "Although that would be pretty awesome."
Leo took her aside when they reached Mike's room in the drafty old hospital. "April, I want to apologize. You didn't deserve what I said earlier." His eyeridges were knit together in concern. "Please forgive me."
"Forgiven," she said without hesitation. "But why did you come back?"
He looked into her eyes and April was surprise to see shame written on his face.
"I dreamed of Splinter last night. And he told me to give you this." He placed the hilt of one of his katanas in her hand. "The rest of what he told me…well, let's just say he ripped me a new one. Amazing that he can still do that, even after being gone for so many years…," Leo trailed off.
"Leo, do you think I can do this?"
Bitterness and cynicism melted away, replaced by an earnest, sincere expression; it made her feel as though sixteen-year-old Leonardo was standing beside her once again. "I believe you're going to make some kind of difference tomorrow night, April. We all need hope right now."
"But first we need food," Mike interrupted.
April sat down cross-legged on the floor by Mike's table, which was heaped with packages of freeze-dried vegetables, dry bread, and some leftover soup. Spades raised a tin mug of clear, clean water.
"We hang together, or we hang separately!" he toasted cheerfully.
April raised a plastic "I Love NY" coffee mug and met Leo's gaze across the table.
"Together," she pledged. "Till the end."