Chapter 4 -Dreams and Dissension-
One of them was injured. The pain, fear, and anger grew stronger as she got closer. She could smell the sharp scent of blood mixing with sweat. She held back, following them from a safe distance. The arguing covered any sound she might have made.
Before long, they came to a seal. The purple-banded turtle moved a loose piece of concrete, revealing a number pad. She watched as he typed a simple code, and the seal slid open. Warmth escaped out into the tunnel, and with it, an odor… she involuntarily stepped forward… the scent of food wafted to her, and her stomach growled. For an instant, the purple-masked turtle scanned the shadowy tunnels behind them, but his eyes passed over her as if she were part of the wall she crouched against. He turned and went into the Lair with his brothers, sealing the door behind them.
Sylvia breathed a sigh of relief. She knew now where they lived, and how to get the tools she needed. And food. Inside that Lair there was food. She turned and made her way back through the maze to where Jeremy slept soundly.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow, young friend, we will eat.
***
"Leo, will you hold still?" Donatello's exasperation with his oldest brother was growing. "I've got to stitch this, or you're going to have a huge scar."
"Why won't he just listen, Don?" Leonardo twitched in irritation. "He rushes into things. It's just luck that I caught that shurikin and not Raphael. It's a wonder he hasn't gotten himself killed."
"Leo, you know Raph jumps into things. That's why we've got his back," said Donatello patiently. "Now hold still a minute." He slipped the needle into the numbed flesh. Leonardo winced. Even the best medicine couldn't remove every trace of sensation.
"Are you saying I'm too hard on him?"
"I'm not saying anything, Leo." Donatello sighed. At least the cut was clean. With careful stitching, the torn muscle would heal completely within a week, and the scar would hardly show. "He's our brother. He's a pain sometimes, but so is Mikey. So are you. We've got to look out for each other, that's all."
Leonardo glanced at his engineer brother. He wondered if Don had somehow developed psychic abilities. He was sure Don couldn't have known about that moment, at the beginning of the battle, when he held back, letting Raph take the first onslaught. It hadn't been cowardice on his part, not at all. He just wanted Raphael to acknowledge, just once, that maybe jumping into a fight half-cocked was a bad idea. That maybe, just maybe, the walking volcano needed his brothers. Needed to be part of the team.
"You're right, Don," said Leonardo softly. "We're family. I'll apologize."
Donatello snorted. "You're going to apologize? I thought Raph started this fight?"
"He did. But I shouldn't have waited so long to end it," said Leonardo quietly. "Thanks, Donatello. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Don looked up from tying a knot in his neat needle-work, his eye-ridges rising. "You'd bleed," he said simply.
Leonardo slid forward, off the table, chuckling. He grunted as his feet hit the floor, the smile fading into a grimace of pain.
"You've got to take it easy, Leonardo," said the purple-masked turtle. "You've got a crack in your plastron. It's gonna take some time to heal, even though it's not a bad one. And you've probably busted a couple ribs. I'm serious, Leo. You're gonna have to take it easy for a while."
"Ok, ok…" Leonardo made a face.
"That means no training for at least a week, and no patrols," lectured Donatello.
"A week? Come on, Don, I'll be fine in a couple days."
"A week." Donatello stood with his arms crossed over his plastron. "I mean it, Leo. I'm sure Master Splinter will agree. And I know Raphael will help me enforce it."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
Leonardo's eyes narrowed. But the truth was, the great tactician knew when he was defeated. He turned and walked out of the lab, trying to hold on to some scrap of dignity. Donatello sighed, shaking his head. In his own way, Leonardo was just as stubborn and exasperating as Raphael.
***
Burning, everything was burning. The flames were all around her, burning the very air out of the room. Inky, black smoke choked, her, filling her lungs, tearing the breath from her throat. The door was blocked, she could not get out.
She pulled at the timbers that had fallen, but they were too thick, piled too high. She couldn't budge them. The fire roared, gleeful, triumphant. She was trapped. Burning material fell, hitting her head, blistering her neck, down her shoulder and arm. She sucked in a breath, but there was no air, only the thick smoke and the fire's heat. It seared her throat, burning, scorching, stealing even her last scream…
Sylvia sat up, gasping for breath. Her head and neck were slick with sweat. She stared around the dark room in terror. She shivered, feeling the chill of the cool night air, her heartbeat slowing to something like normal as she regained her bearings. Unconsciously she reached up, tracing the edge of the scar. It spread from her collar bone half way down her arm.
Jeremy shifted in his sleep, a soft snore rising from the bundle of blankets. Sylvia smiled weakly and lay down again. Sleep would not come. She lay listening to the boy's snores and the distant rumbling of the subway trains racing through the tunnels.
***
Across town, above ground in a lavish office, Jon Dejorn's fingers drummed on the mahogany desktop. "You said you'd get results. You said you'd find her. I'm paying Saki top dollar to get the jobs done because you're supposed to be the best."
"Do not insult the honor of the Foot, Mr. Dejorn," hissed the man clad in black, standing rather incongruously in Jon's office. "You know not that of which you speak."
"Whatever. Can you get the girl back, or not?"
"She will be found, and returned to you. There have been… complications. These minor errand of securing your building and finding the girl are not the Foot's only concern."
The ninja did not rub the bruise which made his side ache abominably. He was far too well trained for such a show of weakness. Silently, he cursed the hated turtles, especially the red-masked one. At least the one in blue had felt the blade of his shurikin before the clan had faded into the night. That one would have a scar to remember him by.
"I don't pay for complications," snarled Dejorn. "I pay for results. I want that girl back."
"You will have your results, Mr. Dejorn."
"I'd better. Or…" Dejorn's threat was cut off by the thud of a throwing star striking his desk, squarely between his hands. It quivered there, throwing glints of light off its razor-sharp blades. Dejorn belatedly jerked his hands away. "What the hell is wrong with you…" He looked up, but his angry tirade once again faded before it began. The ninja was gone.
***