Over three days of being back underground, Brandon settled into a wake/sleep cycle that enabled him to limit contact with others unless he wanted it. He didn't feel like he needed to avoid the family; he was simply more comfortable with being on his own. Every time he did emerge during the day, his path would inevitably cross with the newest member of their club.

I swear Jazz is everywhere. I think she must have a twin.

It wasn't fair to say that he was angry with her. The young woman had no way of knowing about his strange phobias, and he could admit that his behavior had been odd enough to freak out a stranger.

There's something about her that rubs me the wrong way, though. I wish she didn't have to be here, but where else is Jazz supposed to go? She's involved now, whether I like it or not. I just need to suck it up and deal with her.

It was close to 2 in the morning, but he had no urge to sleep. He'd spent the last few minutes staring at the notebook that he was supposed to be writing in. Brandon knew he should attempt journaling, but the thought of Jazz was distracting him.

Although he didn't feel like sleeping, hunger was beginning to manifest in his mind. Sitting here sure isn't going to solve that, he told himself. Brandon got to his feet slowly, shaking off lingering soreness. He'd worked out by himself much earlier in the day when no one else was awake. Despite knowing that he wasn't supposed to be pushing things on his own physically, he really didn't care.

Brandon peered out into the hallway from Donatello and Jenna's room. The raven-haired woman had insisted that he continue using the space, even though he felt he'd be just as happy somewhere else. The young woman refused to sleep there without Donny, in any case.

The ground floor was quiet. It wasn't unusual to find people up late, but tonight it appeared that everyone had settled down. It felt liberating to be outside the four walls of the bedroom, and Brandon gratefully kept going. He crossed through the semi-darkness of the living area and went into the kitchen.

The man hopefully approached the refrigerator. The smell of what he knew was Michelangelo's brisket had been hard to resist earlier that evening, even knowing that Jazz would be among the diners. Why am I letting her get to me this way? It doesn't make any sense.

Brandon pushed aside the intruding thought and opened the fridge door to find a storage container that had his name taped to the lid with the orange-masked turtle's familiar scrawl. He popped off the top and grinned at the sight of leftover beef. God bless you, Mikey.

He rummaged through the fridge for a couple more ingredients, selecting two more Tupperware containers. Mashed potatoes…gravy. Perfect. Doesn't get much better than that. It would taste good straight up, but l think I'll check the freezer too.

Karina was fond of buying artisan bread, and then freezing it to get a longer life out of the highly perishable product. There were still several slices left over from an old loaf of sourdough. Now we're talking. He left the ingredients for his sandwich sitting on the table while he started toasting some of the bread.

Brandon took his time assembling the different components for his sandwich, growing hungrier at the very thought of eating. He lingered at the table to enjoy his friend's efforts, inwardly reminding himself to thank the turtle the next day.

I'm running out of excuses to hide. So I tried the surface and I didn't enjoy it. That doesn't mean I need to avoid everyone else. Brandon paused from chewing long enough to allow another thought to dawn on him. Jazz is the one I'm avoiding. He was experiencing a strong sense of revulsion concerning the woman, despite not feeling angry. I'm tired of thinking about her. I think it's time to try sleeping again. At least I won't go to bed hungry, he added impishly, looking down at the crust that was the remnant of his sandwich.

While he was rinsing his plate off in the sink, Brandon heard something from the living area. He wiped off his hands on a towel and slipped through the door to check who else was up. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the distinctive hairstyle of the woman who had him so off kilter.

You gotta be kidding me. She's everywhere. Just keep walking, keep going…

Brandon attempted to get past the woman's back without being seen, but she inevitably heard him.

Jazz's grey eyes widened as she leaped to her feet. "Wait! Hold on. Can I talk to you? Two minutes; that's all I want."

Against his better judgment, Brandon stopped. Jazz stared at him, as if waiting for him to speak. "Yeah," he muttered. "Okay."

"I know you probably don't want to hear another apology, so I'm not gonna play that card. We had a rough first impression, and…I guess…I don't want you to feel weird about me being here."

Brandon wasn't sure what to say in response. She did make him feel uncomfortable, but he didn't think it was fair to come down on her for hiding with them. "No, you're not weird, I mean, it's not weird that you're here," he stumbled. Brother, where do I go from that great start?

"I'm not really myself right now, Jazz, so…yeah, it's easier to be alone. It's not personal," he finished hastily, even though he felt like it was.

The way the young woman was looking at him made Brandon feel awkward, and the heat rushed to his cheeks. Why is she just staring at me? This is about as ridiculous as it gets.

"I get it," she said suddenly.

You do? Could you explain it to me then?

"You're embarrassed," Jazz said matter-of-factly.

Brandon shifted on his feet and glanced toward the hall.

"You're a powerful guy who could snap most people like a twig, and I met you at a very bad moment. Of course you're embarrassed."

Brandon's feet remained planted on the floor. Is that really all there is to it? He felt like the heat was rising even further. I guess it makes sense. It certainly goes hand in hand with the humiliation I'm feeling now.

"Look, Man, it's no big deal to me," Jazz continued. "If you're only worried about what I think, you can stop."

He wasn't sure how to respond to her, because he was still trying to determine if she was right.

"Do you wanna sit down?" she asked. "You don't have to. If you're tired, you can go to bed. I don't want to bother you."

Brandon hated struggling for words. She'd given him the chance to leave, and it was all he wanted to do. Yet there was something extremely vulnerable about the way she gave him permission to go, and it caused the first stirring of pity inside of him.

The man circled around the couch and sat down. "We got off on the wrong foot," he said. "I'm fine with you if you're all right with me."

Jazz nodded. "Yeah. I'm as cool as I can be, given the circumstances."

A sympathetic smile tugged at his mouth. "You got thrown into the middle of a giant mess, didn't you? Reminds me of how I was introduced to the club."

The young woman rested her arm over the back of the couch and twisted her frame to face him. "What was your connection? How'd you end up on the inside?"

"My sisters," he answered. "They tried to introduce me gently, but it didn't work out that way. My fault. Actually, my meeting might beat yours for the panic factor."

"Oh, I doubt that," she retorted.

"Hear me out," he insisted. "I was fighting with my sisters. When I came to New York City, I found out from an outside source that they'd been hiding things from me. I overreacted, and I didn't give them a chance to explain properly. I hurt my younger sister's feelings in particular; the one who happens to be involved with Raphael. Can you fill in what happened next?"

Jazz's eyebrows rose. "I don't think so. The only thing I've learned in my short time with this group is that I don't know what to expect."

"Raph came to visit me, and it wasn't a friendly encounter. At least, it didn't start out that way."

"He just dropped by to hang out?" Jazz gave him a quizzical look.

"Raphael didn't allow me to see him. He came after dark, yanked me out of my bed, and gave me no choice except to listen to him."

"Like Greg gave me no choice?"

"I ended up gagged and tied down to a chair."

Jazz covered her mouth to stifle a chuckle.

"Are you laughing at me?" Brandon tried to sound serious. "Looking back, it is a little funny. He didn't hurt me. Raphael came to put me in my place over how I was treating my sisters, and he was right. He left that night without me ever realizing the true state of his…uniqueness. The next time I saw him, I really think it could rival what you went through."

"Kidnapping and a firefight under a gang of terrorists? C'mon, Brandon, how are you gonna top that?"

"My second meeting involved the Akiudo too, or their aftermath, I should say. I agreed to meet my sister at a house in Chelsea, and she brought a couple of the girls as well as Raph and Mike with her to make the introductions.

"The gang showed up before I did. They abducted the girls and Michelangelo…and Yukiko left Raphael for dead. I walked in on him lying on the living room floor, basically dying before my eyes. That was my opening act with the guys."

Jazz exhaled softly. "Wow. That does sound pretty heavy."

"It was…and I had no freaking clue what was going on."

"I can identify with that," she replied. "I don't know. The two nights are hard to compare. On the one hand, I was under direct threat of the crazy Asians, but your sister got jacked by them. I think we ought to call it a draw."

Brandon grinned. "I guess I can do that."

"So you're tight with these guys?"

He nodded. "As tight as it gets. It's a lot to take in at first, but you'll catch up. Everyone does. Are the others being nicer to you than I have?"

Jazz laughed. "Some are nicer than others. That girl, Jenna, I think she's afraid of me encroaching on her territory or something."

Brandon laughed too. "You mean with Donny? Watch out for her, Jazz. She won't pull any punches."

"I was only trying to talk to him. I swear she didn't want to leave me alone in the room with him."

"Jen's cool," Brandon assured her. "But don't try getting into any fights with her. She's had the benefit of years of self defense training under ninjas."

"No way, Man. I learned properly in Prison. Keep your head down, and don't get into any fights."

Brandon's head jerked. "I'm sorry, did you say Prison?"

"Nobody told you that I'm an ex-con? I think it's one of my more endearing qualities."

"Why were you in Prison?" he had to ask.

"I fell in with the wrong crowd, and cracked the wrong company," Jazz said casually. "It was only a game to me, but the others were taking it more seriously than I realized. I took the fall for everything on a job that wasn't entirely my fault." She shrugged. "You wanna talk about humiliation, Brandon? Prison took every ounce of dignity that I possessed."

"You really went to Prison?"

"You think I'm joking? Talk to your buddy Greg; he could show you my rap sheet. I went away for almost three years, and I'm not allowed to own, touch, or be within two millimeters of a computer ever again. That's paraphrasing, but you get the idea."

"Do you regret it?" he asked.

"Absolutely. I knew I was breaking the law when I cracked Daystar, and no one forced me to do it. I could be massively ticked at the guys who set me up for the fall, but at the end of the day, I got myself busted. I can take responsibility for my actions."

Brandon was intrigued by her frankness. "Does Prison suck as much as it sounds?"

"Its worse," she answered. "Say goodbye to freedom, privacy, identity, you name it. Between strip searches, shake-downs, and the constant supervision…it doesn't get much more invasive. There's nowhere to go that's unsupervised. The guards can see everything. They monitor the showers, bathrooms, every nook and cranny, every second of the day.

"Some people suffer from paranoia of people always watching them, but in Prison, that's what it's like. And they aren't just women guards either. There are men too. You're all treated the same, no matter how different the sentences are, or the crimes that were committed.

"When you walk through the door and enter the fish tank, it's made very clear that your life is no longer your own. You're just a number, part of a larger system."

"Fish tank?" Brandon repeated.

"That's what it's called," she told him. "The initial check-in to prison is a long drawn out affair, and it's performed inside this glass room that anyone see inside of, from guards to other prisoners. I'm telling you – I've got you beat on humiliation."

Brandon took a sharp inward breath. I'd have to debate that too, but I'm not going there. He shook his head. It really doesn't seem like she cares what anyone thinks. This girl isn't what I expected, especially taking her record into consideration.

Jazz held his gaze silently for a beat, before her eyes flicked to the TV. "I don't have a clue what to watch. Do you want control of the remote?"

"Sure." Brandon turned on the television. When the young woman focused on the screen, he snuck a longer look at her. She might not be so bad.