"So you saw him? I thought you might. Most of the time he's busy working down at the garage, modifying junked cars for Angel. But when he's off duty, he haunts that place like a ghost." Mike ripped off a bit of fried dough and handed it to April. It was steaming hot but she shoved it into her mouth anyway. She bent to finish lacing up one of the scuffed black boots he had scrounged for her.
"He seemed…"
"Kinda pathetic, huh?"
"No! Well, Spader didn't think so. He was scared out of his wits."
"Yeah, you should ask Spades to tell you why sometime. It's a great story."
"He saved my life, Mikey—I set off one of Casey's old traps. Funny—I thought I remembered how to avoid them all."
Mike groaned and smacked his hand against his forehead. "It was the Pointy Pit of Dying, wasn't it? I knew I should've warned you about that one. Raph installed it secretly, after he started storing Donny's stuff down there. He got a little more paranoid than usual about Vault security after that."
"He seems to think Donatello's coming back."
Mike shrugged.
"Do you think we'll ever see him again?" April kept her tone casual. Having finished lacing the right boot, she started on the left.
"I don't know if I want to see him. Raph and Leo are the ones obsessed with the past. Why don't you ask them? I've moved on." He quickly changed the subject. "You did a good job loading up this weapons bag, April. You picked some of the best stuff in the Vault."
"Raph filled it, not me." She broke the lace, yanked it out, knotted it together, and started over. "If Donny did return—"
"Can we stop talking about him, please? Here, put this on." He handed her the white goalie mask.
April adjusted it over her face, still uncomfortable with the sound of her own breathing ringing in her ears. Mike gave a low whistle and turned her so she was facing the cracked mirror on the wall.
The largest crack ran jaggedly across the upper right corner of the glass, making her head look skewed away from her body. The clean grey uniform was slightly too big for her, but the boots were a large improvement over her disintegrating plastic Asylum-issued sneakers. A black hood hid the ruins of her hair while her face grinned skull-like back at her.
"I think I'm ready."
"Not yet—you need one more weapon." He slid Leo's katana into the golf bag. "Not many weapons like this around anymore. Angel sure doesn't have anything like it."
"Do you think Leonardo will show up?"
They hadn't seen him since dawn, when he left without speaking to either of them. April couldn't shake the eerie sight of his staring eyes, or forget the sound of his despair-filled voice. She wondered what he would do if he did show up to the fight. But he had to come, didn't he? It was his idea in the first place, this single combat challenge.
"I'm not counting on him," Mike said shortly.
"Spades said Leo would be there."
"Spader…" Mike trailed off, shaking his head.
"I need him there, Mikey. He might be nuts, but I can't do this without him."
"April, it might not matter whether Leo's there or not. All I mean is that you need to do this yourself," he said hurriedly. "Leo wouldn't be able to help you anyway—it's more likely he'd flip out or something and screw up the whole thing. Let it be."
Hating the feeling of desperation that was rising in her gut, April slung the heavy golf bag over her shoulder. It was time, with or without Leonardo. But there was something else bothering her, something she had to get off her chest before meeting Angel in the ring.
"Mike, what do you know about leaks in the organization? Is there anyone you don't trust?"
"Who told you there are leaks?" he demanded.
"Raphael."
"He's paranoid," Michelangelo answered shortly. "Besides, apart from his thing with Angel, he's mostly an outsider now."
"I don't know, Mike. He said someone's been giving away your position."
"April, I trust every man and woman here. A lot of them I recruited myself."
"Mike—"
His fist tightened, then fell to his side. "If I can't trust them, I've got nothing, April. Just let it be."
It was forged from iron scraps and other refuse, welded into a grotesque cube, illuminated by the headlights of a dozen cars. April hadn't expected the cage, but when she saw it everything seemed to fall into place. It made so much sense: Angel had practically grown up cage fighting.
Barbed wire fences sprang up on all sides of the empty lot where the cage stood. The area was sheltered from above by the tilting ruins of a cluster of old factory buildings. And though the lot was filled with freedom fighters of all ages, there was a heavy silence in the night air: reverence for one of their most sacred ceremonies.
Hundreds turned and stared at her as she approached.
"Boy, if that doesn't shake your spine, I don't know what will."
"Shut up, Spader. I need to think."
"Is it too late for me to back outta this?" he asked nervously, adjusting his dark glasses and hitching the golf bag a bit higher on his muscular green shoulder. "Just kidding!" he protested at the look she gave him.
"If you're going to be Leo, I suggest you relax and start behaving like him."
"You mean act all surly and emo and then go mental at a critical moment?"
"Spader…"
"I'll shut up now."
"Maybe we should go over the rules one more time."
"April, we've been over and over it. You've got three rounds, three weapons of choice. You fight until the round ends. I watch and make sure it goes down fairly, that there's no interference."
Barely listening to him, she took a deep breath and entered the cage. The glass-littered ground crunched beneath her feet. Not for the first time, she wondered why anyone thought it was a good idea for her to have Captain Spader as her Second, or why she had agreed to single combat in the first place. Not much left to lose now, she thought grimly.
It was difficult to focus on the scene outside the ring; the headlights were aimed directly at her, glaring into her face. Shading her eyes, April squinted out into the darkness, but Angel was nowhere in sight. Suddenly the growl of a motorcycle engine filled the night air. The crowd parted to let Raphael through.
He dismounted from the bike, shouldered Angel's weapons bag, and took up his station outside the far corner of the cage. As his one good eye fixed on Spader his forehead creased in deadly concentration. Spader let out a strangled "eep" as Raph drew his sai and crossed his arms over his chest, nodding coldly at the man he took for his brother. Spades nodded in response and stationed himself at the opposite corner of the ring, just outside the cage. He'd have to hand April her weapons through the bars.
"Be cool, Captain," she breathed, yanking her mask down over her face. She avoided looking at Raph. She hated that he wasn't there for her. They were her turtles, damn it, not Angel's. She had known them first, had been friends with them the longest.
"Be cool? Easy for you to say. I'd rather face Angel than him any day." Spader caught his breath. "Look."
April turned along with the rest of the crowd; a disembodied death-pale head was floating down a nearby alley toward them. Harsh whispers broke out here and there among the onlookers as those nearest the alley's mouth drew back.
And then Angel emerged from the alley into the light. She wore full black, as usual, and went immediately to Raphael. They bowed to each other. Mike appeared behind Angel as she entered the cage; without a glance at April, he slammed the door and locked it.
Turning to the hushed crowd, he began to speak.
"We have come tonight to witness the Sacred Rite of Single Combat. We honor and accept the winner of this contest as our leader. Three rounds, with no interference from the Gathering—in the event of a draw, those present will choose the victor. Fighters, declare your intent."
Angel stepped forward and raised her fist in the air. "Goongala Cowabunga!" she shouted, her voice slightly hoarse. The crowd cheered, with much of the noise coming from a tough-looking group standing right next to the cage: the Commandoes.
"Now you," prompted Spader without taking his eyes off Angel.
April had thought the words silly, but now they exploded from somewhere in her gut. "Goongala Cowabunga!" She was surprised to hear scattered cheering and whistles from the onlookers. She had…supporters?
Michelangelo continued, "The combatants will bow and prepare for Round One."
April had never heard Michelangelo speak with so much authority; clearly the crowd respected him. He should be their leader, she thought as she faced her opponent and returned Angel's stiff bow.
Mike raised his arm and brought it down with force, flinging a dagger wrapped in red cloth into the dirt at his feet. Round One had begun. The crowd roared to life.
April reeled as Angel's foot connected with her jaw. She rubbed her face and watched stupidly as her opponent ran to Raphael to select her first weapon. Turning, she stumbled toward…Leonardo.
"She's a cunning little minx, that one," Leonardo grumbled in Spader's voice.
Yeah, right—not Leo, Spader.
"Um…you would be wanting a weapon of some kind, right? Because…look out!"
April ducked as a five-iron whined through the air and smashed into the side of the cage where her head had been. She rolled across the hard packed dirt, barely avoiding Angel's furious blows. She's definitely fighting while angry, April realized. One of Master Splinter's biggest ninja no-no's. A whirlwind of follow-up strikes forced her to think less and move more, gaining her feet and running again to Spader.
He handed her a Jose Canseco baseball bat.
"For real?" she gasped.
"No time, no time! Take it already!"
For the second time, she dodged and barely avoided Angel's attack, but this time she had her own weapon. April swung blindly upwards, cursing the mask that cut off so much of her peripheral vision…shocked when the wooden bat connected with flesh.
"Ugh!" Angel gasped. She clutched her abdomen and spun away from April, who stared at her numbly.
"For the love of—April, snap out of it!" Spader barked, clutching the bars in both hands.
"Shut up and keep outta this fight, Leo," Raph warned from the far side of the ring. "Or I'll shut you up myself."
April didn't wait to see Spader's response to that. "Angel, we can end this now. Do you yield?"
Angel responded with a sudden leap at April; her fist smashed into April's jaw, shattering the lower half of her enemy's mask. The force of the blow sent April flying backwards into the bars. The crowd began chanting Angel's name.
Clutching onto the side of the cage with one hand, April reached up and touched her face. The jagged edge of the mask had cut into her cheek, and blood was flowing freely down her chin and dripping onto her collar. There was no pain.
"Move move move!" Spader screamed.
She blindly stumbled away from the bars, tripped over her fallen bat, and fell into Angel. The two tumbled to the ground.
"Get off!" Angel shouted, shoving April away from her.
A gunshot—Round One was over.
April crawled to where Spader waited. "How'd I do?" she asked weakly.
He shook his head. "More hitting, less falling, O'Neil."
"That bad, huh?"
"Well, you're still alive. Here, have some water."
"I thought he'd be here by now." Pulling off what was left of her mask, she drank thirstily.
Spader reached through the bars and gently mopped the blood from her face. "Leonardo? He'll be here."
Michelangelo stepped toward them. "Round Two will begin in one minute. April, you okay? You want to keep going?"
"Yeah, Mikey."
"You're doing well." He bowed to them both and went to speak with Angel.
"This time, let's start with a weapon." Spader searched through the bag. "Katana?"
"Not yet—give me a hockey stick."
"Field or ice?"
"Ice."
The dagger dropped. The second round began.
This time the combatants circled each other carefully. Angel twirled a javelin above her head before pointing it at April's heart; April crouched, holding her hockey stick in front of her with both hands.
The crowd took up their chant, but April noticed that it was mainly concentrated among the Commandoes. "Angel, Angel, Angel!"
Their general lunged and April found herself sidestepping a thrust that would've removed most of her large intestine.
She swept her stick upward, catching Angel in the shoulder, but Angel responded with several quick jabs. April frantically parried them, surprised at her own speed and at her ability to recall the few weapons training sessions Master Splinter had given her years before. For a few moments the loud clack of wooden weapons was the only sound in the makeshift arena.
Then Angel dug the tip of her weapon into the ground and vaulted into the air. April brought her stick up to defend herself, but it shattered beneath Angel's powerful kick. Tossing the broken pieces aside, April dove across the ring to where Spader waited with a field hockey stick. It was short, wouldn't give her as much range as the other blade, but was thick enough (she hoped) to withstand her enemy's fiercer attacks.
"Nice stick, O'Neil. Let's see how long it takes me to snap this one."
April didn't answer. Instead she swung with all her strength in the general direction of Angel's upper body. Her opponent easily dodged the attack, countering with her longer, more effective weapon. April found herself jumping over a blow aimed at her legs; she took advantage of the maneuver to swing her stick again, this time connecting with Angel's right knee.
The crowd gasped as their leader collapsed to the dirt, writhing in pain.
"Do you yield now?" April asked breathlessly.
Black eyes flashed from behind Angel's white mask as she slowly dragged herself backwards toward where Raphael was waiting, both of his hands clutching the bars of their cage. "Never," she hissed.
"Then I'm sorry about this." April raised her weapon again. A shuriken spun through the air, embedding itself deep in the stick's handle, only inches from her fingers. She froze, unsure of which direction the attack had come from.
"Foul!" shouted Spader. "Unfair interference, ref!"
But before Michelangelo could intervene, Angel lurched forward and swept April's legs out from under her. As April scrambled to her knees, a blow rocked the back of her head. Bright lights exploded across her field of vision like a mini-supernova and in the darkness that followed the only thing she noticed was the rich smell of dirt under her nose.
Redwoods, hai-matsu, and persimmons waved peacefully in the cool mountain breeze. April opened her eyes and breathed deeply. The fragrance of warm pines smelled like heaven.
It reminded her of a camping trip with Uncle Augie years ago, when she was a child. It had been early spring in the mountains, and he'd taught her how to build a snow shelter. The thaw released scents that had been imprisoned for months, but for some reason it was the scent of pine that always brought her back to those days.
Now she wasn't sure where she was—only that it felt like coming home.
A bright stream wound down the hillside where a simple shrine stood. The valleys and foothills below were obscured by haze, and she felt glad to be up in the clear air. Somehow, she wasn't surprised when he walked toward her across the small, grassy clearing.
Donatello laughed out loud. "April!"
Then she was in his arms, adding her own delighted laughter to his. "Donny, what's going on? Where are we?"
"Heaven. I'm here visiting Master Splinter. I needed a break from my lab. But what are you doing here?"
"I—I don't know. Why are you dressed like a Jedi?"
He looked down at his plain brown robes. "Why don't you tell me? It's your trauma-induced hallucination."
Her heart fell. "This is a dream?"
"These robes aren't bad, actually—we've always preferred nonrestrictive clothing when we're forced to wear any."
"A dream…but it seems so real. Is Casey here, too?" she asked, unsettled for a moment by a nagging feeling of guilt.
"Nah, he's back at the Roadhouse. But he says 'hi'."
They stood together in silence for a minute or two, listening to the sound of the wind and enjoying each other's company. So much of their time together had been spent in companionable quiet, April remembered. It had been nice, not always having to speak.
"If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up," she murmured.
Don's face grew serious. "You can't stay here forever," he warned. "This is just a reprieve—you can catch your breath, that's all."
"Can I see Splinter?"
Donatello led her through the shallow rocky stream and toward a small wooden house on the hillside. The paper doors slid open easily.
"Someone here to see you, Father."
April removed her shoes and followed her friend into the clean, white room.
The master stood poised above a half-trimmed bonsai at a small workbench in the corner. His face was sleek and smooth, without the grizzled fur or wrinkles she remembered. When he rose to greet her he stood straight and tall, and when she returned his welcoming embrace there was no sign of frailty, only hard, sure muscle.
"Welcome, April. But why have you come here, in the middle of your battle?"
"I—I don't know, Master Splinter. I was there, then I was here." She didn't ask him how he had known about her fight. He's part of my subconscious thought, after all. Just a memory living in my brain.
"She was injured, father. A blow to the head—"
"Quiet for a moment, my son." Splinter closed his eyes in concentration. They flew open almost immediately. "April, you must go, now! There is great danger!"
"But I just got here! I—I'd like to stay, master."
"It is not your time to be here, April. You have a great deal still to do in the other place. Come, I have something for you."
Lifting the lid of an ornate wooden box, Splinter removed a delicate chrysanthemum. "Take this with you, April."
"Is it…will it turn into a sword, like the other flower?" she asked nervously. Her palms still remembered the lily's cold fire.
He smiled. "No, it won't turn into anything so useful. It is merely beautiful, but beauty in a dark place can be quite powerful."
She gazed at the flower for a moment. "Master Splinter, will they let me lead them? After everything that's happened, if I win, how will I get them to trust me?"
"You are steadfast by nature, April. You will earn their trust."
"They're always going to remember what I did."
He looked at her steadily, black eyes unblinking. "You must not dwell on the past, April, while there is still a way to change the present. Go now! Or I'm afraid it will be too late. Donatello, you must help her to return."
The turtle waited by the door as April turned to ask a question that had been weighing on her mind. "Splinter, are you happy here?"
A beautiful smile spread across his face. "It is a place of joy, April. And part of that joy is in remembering."
Donatello led the way back to the shrine.
"So, 'you must help me to return,' huh?"
"Yeah, Splinter likes us to figure out a lot of stuff on our own."
"You're telling me you don't know how to get me back to New York?"
He folded his hands sagely into the sleeves of his robe. "Technically, you're still in New York. Well, your body is, at any rate. We've got to reestablish the body-mind connection to patch you back into the present."
"Great. I don't see any yoga studios around here, Obi-Wan."
"In spite of your sarcasm, April, you have struck the right idea, except for one little problem. You ended up on this mental plane through physical trauma; we're going to need to shock your psyche out of this place—send a little message to your brain that forces it to reconnect."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Well, I could kick you in the head," he said playfully, balancing on one foot and pivoting until the other was level with her eyes.
"I thought you were the Nonviolent Turtle."
"You're right; it might be as simple as pinching yourself. Try that."
"Not working."
In her effort to wake her body, she dropped the chrysanthemum. Donatello picked it up, but instead of handing it to her he reached over and tucked it behind her ear. "It looks much better there." His hand lingered by her cheek before abruptly dropping to his side. "Don't worry, we'll—" He broke off as she leaned forward and kissed him.
Several things happened at once. April could hear Donatello's surprised gasp, then his sharp intake of breath before his mouth opened beneath hers and he responded, eagerly, to her kiss. She could feel a tingling sensation in her fingertips, then her feet. The sky tilted and went black.
This is all in my mind, she repeated to herself as she heard Donny call her name, his voice coming to her across a widening chasm of time and space. All in my mind, she chanted as the sweet scent of pine fled before the coppery odor of bloodstained earth.
AN: Thank you to Mariosonic and Nineteenth Souljah for VERY helpful feedback on this chapter--it's much appreciated.