A/N: Big storm coming up. Hope I keep power and signal to post throughout the weekend. D:

Sciencegal, you already know how I felt writing that part. ;)

Zathura, glad you agree with the pregnancy. I've been aching to get to this part in their lives for years now. Like, literally. ROFL. No comment on the kid.

D, not every one can handle the truth.

September 24
7:32 P.M.

Hugh Reese sat awkwardly in the Battle Shell. Not because it felt cramped; the group was down two ninja turtles, and with Donatello and Sophia upfront, that left only Raphael in the back as company. No, he just wasn't used to it. He'd been a passenger once before, in June, and its numerous buttons, levers, lights, and compartments still astounded him.

"How do you guys keep focused in this thing?" asked Hugh, gaze roaming. His eyes glossed over what looked like a tucked away cannon mounted on the ceiling then landed on Raphael. The mutant stared at the walkway between the jumper seats like a zombie. "Apparently, you don't."

The casually-dressed detective waved a hand before his friend's face. Oh, wait. Hugh laughed. That hand no longer existed.

'Damn phantom sensations.'

He lowered his stub arm, saying, "Hey, Raph, your fly's down."

A scoff broke through Raph's wide mouth. "I don't wear pants, Slinky."

"Maybe you should. What if"—the detective crossed his legs—"something happens?"

"I'm semi-shielded," the Sai master replied. Hugh didn't want to know any details.

"So, you gunna hold a conversation or what? Sophia and Don are busy. Figured I could at least get some information from you."

"What more is there ta know? A glitch blew our home ta shit. Melody, Mike, an' Nia were taken. The oddahs are at April's. An' when we catch up ta them assholes, I'm gunna cut off their fuckin' fingers!" Raph gripped his twin Sais so tightly that their prongs shook against one another, just another noise added to the Battle Shell's clunky song.

"We could talk about what Donny said. About Nia."

The shakes ceased.

"That…that's…" Hugh held his breath then let it out in one loud motion. "That's crazy shit. Scientists would call it improbable. I would, too. If I didn't know Nia was half alien. Or met you."

Raphael remained stiff, bright eyes lost on his Sais, so Hugh added,

"Don thinks the Mutagen that changed you left adaptive—I don't know what he called it. He mumbled something about evolved properties, cells seeking to procreate. Or some weird crap. What do you think?"

The mutant didn't answer. He didn't even breathe.

"Dude." Hugh slapped his knees. "Whatever permitted this to happen, it's a miracle. That baby…is a miracle. Like, legit."

"I—I…" Raph grew silent from choking on his words and ducked his head further.

"It's a lot to digest," Hugh said. "Trust me. Marina's pregnancy wasn't revealed on the best terms, either. And I had to come to grips with it while strapped into a torture chair. Still, I didn't let shock consume me. If it had, I would've been dead. I mean"—he raised his arms when the ninja glared upwards—"you guys were in motion. But there was no guarantee. In my eyes, I knew what needed to be done, what I wanted, and what I would sacrifice for it."

"Yer hand."

Hugh messaged his wrapped stub. "Between this or my son? It was a no-brainer."

"Ya never wanted kids," said Raph, hoarse. "Ain't that why Mia 'n ya split?"

"It was."

"How'd yer mind change?"

Leaning back, Hugh rested his sneaker on his thigh, glancing towards the front cab where Sophia ranted in Italian. "It happened. At this point in my life, I never expected fatherhood, so I focused on work. Then when Bishop told me and it sank in? My only fears were losing him and him growing up to hate me."

"I—I dun't think yer son's gunna hate ya, Hugh."

The detective met the mutant's strained smirk. "He's due in two months. Still scares the hell outta me."

"Know the feelin'."

"But"—slowly, Hugh regained Raph's attention—"we're men. Call me old-fashioned. I still say we should protect them, no matter how scared we are. So you gotta be focused. For Nia and your baby…"

"Sophia, the sidewalk is not a road!" Donatello screamed. His high voice offset a jerk that threatened to throw Hugh into the isle and he steadied himself as he watched distressed pedestrians through the windshield.

"Vaffanculo,tartaruga di merda!" Sophia countered, swerving to avoid a lamppost. When had she jumped in the driver's seat?

"Ouch, Donny," said Hugh. "That sounded pretty harsh."

"I have a vague idea of what she said. Don't like it. Look out! Look out!"

"I see it, Genio!" With a huff, the blonde steered the Battle Shell back onto level asphalt then shifted into a higher gear.

"The idea is not to draw attention!" Don added.

The van hung a sharp left as Sophia turned down another road—on the wrong side. "Why? You have enough toys in here to stop an army of cops."

"I'm personally offended by that statement," Hugh told the blonde, hand raised.

"Stuff it, Riccio!" The Battle Shell revved with Sophia's rage. "Laws be damned, Donatello. These stronzi have Figo. I'll cut every corner I can until I reach him."

"Damn," Chet said. He whistled at the outward dents along his white van's side. They were impressive, sure, yet no longer startled him now that his captives were back under control.

"We better have some good explanation when we get this thing fixed," Walter added. "Geez. So weak and they still almost tipped us."

"They're taken care of."

"For how long?"

Chet averted his eyes from a vacant building to the short tree line opposing it. He'd been lucky when exiting Lincoln Tunnel and found a turnoff from Willow Avenue that connected with Hackensack Plank Road. At least, that's what the GPS said. Heavy traffic passed the area on both sides, but the overgrown patch of gravel and dead grass hardly held an interested for those not experiencing…technical difficulties.

'Moon's rising,' the man thought, eyeing the white sliver above the distant harbor. 'We probably lost a good ten minutes fighting to stay upright. The blows were hard to counter…'

However, he had won the battle.

"Earth to Chet! Hello?"

Chet faced the taller brunette. "What, Walter?"

"I can't pick this chick up alone."

"Then why'd you dress down?"

"That little monster damaged my Shell."

"It still functions."

The Asian-American flashed a look then regarded the cyborg.

She lay in the gravel, gasping for control against the dusty ground. Whatever adrenaline or blind fortune that had fueled her ran out after she threatened to total the van. Tranquilizers and a Jammer set matters straight. Yet somehow she and the turtle beast had enough lingering energy to vault from the back when Walter opened it.

"Maybe checking on them was a bad idea," Walter said.

"Doctor Changeling wants unharmed specimens," Chet countered.

"Hey; they collapsed their own home."

"Which they left relatively unscathed. Let's not add to that."

"They're the ones who started this!"

"E—excuse me?" Michelangelo asked. His head rolled against the van's rear tire with a scowl on his bruised, green face. "Yo—you started this. Us? We were just…getting ready for a family movie."

"I hate it talking," Walter whispered Chet's way. "Creeps me out."

"All of them are creepy. Save for..."

Chet's gaze found the van's spread back doors. The dark-haired girl had fallen off her low-set gurney in the madness. She never stirred on the rubber mat below it, not even when the brunette approached. His fingers brushed away hair from her pale face, tracing the contours of her facial features down to an intense scar on her collarbone.

She was kind've cute, and he wondered what connected her to the other captives.

"Get your hands"—Michelangelo shifted beside the door—"off her."

"Or else what? We could hit you with another dart. I'd rather not, though. Too much sedative could end in a coma and we could only steal so much."

"Kidnappers and thieves." A scoff led to a cough, both of which were weak actions. "That's so wrong. You're EMTs."

"How would you—? Walter, I told you to leave our uniforms at your house."

"Cindy was there. I—I couldn't go in. Besides, we never expected them to wake up, let alone talk. Or read."

"What did you expect?" Michelangelo snapped.

Chet rounded the door to squat before the beast. "Just what I see here," he said quietly. "Monsters."

"Monster is a relative term, Dude. And you"—the green thing cringed—"you're supposed to help people. Like those other EMTs did for us."

"People, maybe," Walter interjected. He dragged the cyborg by her arms, looking up from the wake her body made in the gravel. "But you lot aren't people. Frankly? I'd rather forget you exist. And that Roy and the others lied."

Chet sent his friend a lop-sided smile. "Soon, Walt. We'll be drowning in booze that can make us forget anything. Then, we can punch that bastard."

"Sounds good," Walter said. He honored the high-five Chet offered then helped him toss the girl back onto her gurney. "Where are we meeting Changeling again?"

"Half an hour south. Don't worry; I got things handled."

"You think he'll actually show?"

Brows lowered, Chet grabbed the other arm of the cyborg Walter lifted, his tone thin, "He'd better. And if he doesn't, we'll find another buyer. I'm sure there are plenty of good-willed scientists who would jump on the chance for species like these."