Author's Notes: Well, it's my birthday, so I figured 'Why not post a chapter?'
Sciencegal - There's much more staging to be done; just you wait. Also, Leo's off on his own adventure. Wait until we get to THAT too. ;)
Feather - Your reviews always leave me with warm fuzzies. So glad to have you along for this book too, faithful Big Six member! (I look forward to your other reviews, whenever school permits. lol) As a reward, I'll tell you that there are several great Mel moments in store. Dun, dun, dun. Prepare for many feelings. Many, many feelings.
Now onto your scheduled programming...
Chapter 02: Opening
Hamato Nia knew she needed more rest, so her brothers' worrisome glances were unsurprising. How could she ignore the heaviness behind her eyes? It reminded her all too well of how hours of sleeping at her husband's side did little for the pain in her body. Even so, she spared a lopsided grin at Michelangelo and Donatello on the Lair's living room couch then leaned against Raphael beside her kitchen chair.
"Ya can go back ta bed," Raph said.
Frowning, Nia peered upwards from where her cheek met Raph's outer thigh. She glanced past his crossed arms to the stern, amber eyes peeking over them, saying, "I'd be restless."
"Still, you don't have to sit through this," added Mikey while Don muted the news displayed on their largest television.
His tone sounded every bit as displeased as the hothead's, meaning the brothers shared a mutual concern over her. While the thought formed a stronger smile across her lips, the young woman remained seated; and focused partly on the pebbled texture of her husband's thigh, instead of several pulsing jabs through her temples.
"How's your nausea?" Donatello asked. He sent a glance towards Raph that spoke volumes of uncertainty.
Nia felt the hothead tense at her side, so she placed a palm against his leg. "I—it's not so much nausea right now as it is a migraine," she said through a long sigh.
"Do you need Motrin?"
Nia shook her head at Mikey.
"You sure? Not even Chamomile or K'ekchi Tea?"
"Guys, I'm fine."
"I wouldn't use the word 'fine'," Raph muttered.
"Look"—a curt sigh from Nia earned her clans' attention—"it isn't pleasant, but I can handle it. I spent years living with similar anemic symptoms. Actually, I'm sort'a surprised how normal it seems."
"Feelin' miserable shouldn't be normal." Raph kept focused on the mute news cast—an action which likely prevented him from snarling and choking back frustrated tears.
"I feel worse when everyone dwells on it," Nia continued. "That's why I tricked Daddy all those years ago. So, please, just…just stand by me and let me do this."
The plea left the artist as nothing more than a whisper, yet its strength silenced the protests that had begun growing around her. Nodding their consent, the Hamatos then addressed the television.
"May seventh," Don said, "Bishop's day."
"How unfair," Mikey spat. "We're the ones who saved the world, protect the city, and defeated Shredder. Where's our headquarters?"
"It's all political manipulation, Mike," the purple-masked Chūnin countered before the volume rose.
"Besides," said Raph over the new chatter, "I wouldn't want a place that could be so easily targeted."
"Guess that's true," Mikey added.
Everyone grew quiet once the video feed switched from a crowd of nicely-dressed police officers to May Fields from Channel Six News. The brunette reporter beamed in excitement during her close up, introducing herself until the camera panned outwards. When Agent Bishop and a round-figured man waved like on parade, one of Raph's arms reached Nia's shoulder, so she sent him a thankful smile.
"The thrill mounts here on the outskirts of Union Square with the official opening of the Earth Protection Force Headquarters. Behind me, you can see the building's pure grandeur, and I, May Fields, have been granted the lucky privilege of a pre-opening interview. Which"—the brunette flipped a section of wavy hair over her cardigan then eased sideways, the camera following—"I can finally address. Good afternoon, Agent Bishop and Commissioner Powell."
"Good afternoon, Miss Fields," said the round figure in all familiarity. His gloved hand rose towards the tie of his blue and gold police uniform, yet fell just as quick—almost like it were unacceptable behavior for the leader of New York's finest.
"Tell me, Commissioner, how do you feel right now?"
Grinning beneath his fat wrinkles, Powell faced the reporter who stood at his height and squared his sloped shoulders. "The expression can only be described as inexplicable anticipation."
"Many of us feel likewise."
As the Commissioner chuckled, Mikey's caustic scoff sounded.
"And you, Agent Bishop, Sir?"
Bishop sent the woman a smile, its vividness unsavory to Nia's standards. "Likewise. Although, I am also a bit nervous, to be honest."
"Dear God," Raphael muttered. But despite the feigned coyness, everyone held their tongue as Miss Fields continued.
"Understandable. The project has been in progress since late November, so we have high expectations. It's rather astounding, though, how you constructed a fifteen-story structure of this magnitude within five mere months."
"Call it a testament of the EPF's tenacity and priorities," Bishop said with a low chortle. "We work hard for our goals. Very hard. So the moment we were granted funding by the state, the last thing my organization wanted was to disappoint the people. We announced last October that our goal is to care for this city. To do that, this institute is needed."
Miss Fields nodded vigorously. "It's been a hot topic ever since. Many contractors were brought into the project, but—correct me if I'm wrong—most of the work was done by your own operatives?"
"Internally, yes. I have well-rounded agents with varying skills—including programming and architecture."
"Amazing. All that on top of pursuing the Little Red cases in December."
"We strive for the best, Miss Fields."
"And the best is met," added Commissioner Powell, his voice strong. He flashed the camera a grin that was soon directed at the reporter. "While the Little Red Robberies led into a cold trail during the New Year, our months of working alongside Agent Bishop have been rewarding. New theft contingency plans are now in effect, as well as state-of-the-art security in valuable places. And he has not given up on those lost in the city."
"Lost?" Miss Fields furrowed her thin brows.
"Remember our talk at the City University?"
"The one that was interrupted?"
"Security apologized for that. But yes. The woman brought up a valued point: we should take a higher interest in all our citizens."
"Is that why EPF numbers are increasing around the city?"
Bishop's prideful stance grew rigid. Maybe he did so because the question seemed more like an accusation. Which Nia couldn't understand. Didn't May Fields support Bishop?
"Forgive me," Miss Fields said, her chuckle weak. "I meant, there are several EPF Hubs in place already—checkpoints to monitor suspicious activities. Should we expect more or less of these, given the opening of your headquarters?"
"Hopefully, not too many more." Bishop's reply was unexpected, to say the least, and Nia straightened herself while the Hamato brothers glared at the television. "My organization isn't meant to smother nor outnumber. Protection lies, expectantly, in the valued hands of the NYPD. The EPF is simply…the next stage of protection. A net for when matters get terribly out of hand."
"But we hadn't had a similar incident since the Hallows' Eve Demon."
Against her will, Nia held her breath under the knowing stare Agent Bishop gave the camera. It was quick, subtle from above his sunglasses, yet its impact roused shakes from the artist that couldn't be helped. Raphael shifted so he no longer stood beside Nia's chair, and when he knelt to wrap his large arms around her shoulders, she almost sobbed from nightmarish memories.
"That name ain't no more fittin' for ya than 'monster' is for me, a'right?" he whispered in her ear.
She offered a slow nod, though the manner in which Bishop addressed Miss Fields caused the television to flicker black for a good five seconds. "The Hallows' Eve Demon is not the only danger lurking in this city. My headquarters will prove as much. With reliable help from new applicants, those who participate will witness a new world, new possibilities. The EPF is prepared to usher them in. If they are prepared to enter, that is."
"Well?" Miss Fields cried into her handheld microphone, although her attention focused on the crowd rather than the men beside her. "Who here is prepared?"
A sickening amount of praise erupted behind the camera, which then switched feeds to a dense crowd. Police men and women cheered in the closed-off streets. They jumped, whistled, and hooted, tossing their hats in the air as if in a dance club. The news didn't switch back to Bishop, Miss Fields, and Commissioner Powell until the bustle died. By then, the duo stood behind a line of thick, red ribbon at the building's entrance.
"Our esteemed Commissioner seems rather excited for this part," said Miss Fields, amusement apparent in her grin.
"I have always been one for the classics," the round man retorted. In his gloved-hands he held an oversized pair of scissors, and after Bishop's nod he poised the ribbon between its two long blades.
"Would you be against everyone counting down the ceremonial ribbon cutting?"
"Not at all, Miss Fields."
"Then let's do this together. One,"—the whole audience chimed in—"two, and...three!"
More cheers rose from the street as the cut ribbon fluttered to the wide, concrete porch. However, for Nia, its fall signified everything except security. Where Commissioner Powell felt joy, where Bishop felt successes, Nia harbored dread. And while the police howled in acceptance, she clung to her husband's arms, keeping care not to harm any Lair electronics by inhaling steadily.
"At this rate, we won't be able to travel Topside without extensive precautionary measures," Donatello said while Bishop congratulated the Commissioner.
"You have the Stealth Watches you're working on, right?" asked Michelangelo—a strained action.
The genius shook his head. "Soon, even that may not be enough."
"You gotta think higher thoughts, Donny! We've gone this long helping the city. We can't let them down just because Bishop—"
"I'm going to stop you right there," Don interjected. His stare was hard, like Splinter when his sons spoke out of term. "The city isn't our concern right now. We won't patrol again until Leo returns. Besides…Sensei needs us here."
"No, Sensei needs you here."
Quick, Don's wide mouth clamped shut.
The orange-masked mutant stood from the couch then spared Raph a glance, saying, "Everyone else can help, even Nia. Raph and I? We're no good when it comes to science and health."
"That doesn't mean you're useless."
"I never said we were. It's just…" Mikey sighed. "Being here is as suffocating as being Topside with the EPF. Least up there we could do something."
"You know you shouldn't."
Mikey did, which is why he ducked his head. "Wh—what if there were other people to help?"
"You mean like that one girl who's been showing up on the news? Or that, uh, Nightwatcher character?"
"Yeah"—the tension from Mikey and Raph cut through Nia's mind like a dull blade—"them."
"If they want to help in our absence, let them," Don replied as the young woman flinched. "You shouldn't get involved, though. It's dangerous."
"Yeah, 'cuz we ain't used ta danger." Raph's curtness earned a glare over the couch, though the pain behind it was apparent.
"This isn't my decision, Raph."
"Yet ya're enforcin' it."
"Because our father has enough to worry about without his remaining sons running through EPF territory."
"They don't own the city," Mikey said. When Don faced him, he offered a sheepish grin then shrugged.
"I want to help too, guys. But we can't. So, for Sensei's sake, please keep away from trouble."
"Fine," Mikey told the sighing genius—a lie. "We won't do anything. Guess we'll continue getting city updates from Hugh and April then."
"That's right." Nia spoke before she realized it. Her migraine tainted her tone, so she offered Don and Mikey a grin when their gazes softened. "H—Hugh's at the opening, isn't he?"
Mikey nodded, crossing his arms while glancing back at the television. "And I bet I know just how he feels too."
The dense crowd surrounding the Earth Protection Force's Headquarters was maddening—to say the least. Its cheers were directed towards a small trio outside the stark-white building, and Hugh Reese found himself in its midst.
Not by choice, surely. If matters had gone his way, he would've watched the ceremony from the comfort of his town house, where he could better endure his wife's opinionated ranting. Unfortunately, NYPD's Commissioner made it mandatory that all Manhattan Precincts attend, so he could only roll his eyes towards the cloudy, afternoon sky when Jeffrey Powell and Agent Bishop shook hands below a twenty-foot tall arch.
"I swear, May Fields is so stupid," a deep voice said by Hugh's left shoulder.
While the African-American agreed with the blonde who glared ahead, he couldn't help sending Blaine Williams a lazy stare, rubbing the bottom of his trimmed goatee out of habit. "She doesn't know any better, Man."
"I'll say," added a second voice. Donna Sloan's usual nasally quality was accentuated by remnants of a cold, and she sniffed before continuing on Hugh's right side. "I don't know as much about Bishop as you seem to do, Hughy, but I know an untrustworthy face when I see one."
"Don't call me 'Hughy'," noted Hugh, flat.
Blaine sniggered, yet his attention deviated when a broad-shouldered man in the line ahead turned around.
"Donna, no one cares for your nicknames," he said with a snort from his long, Grecian nose. Hugh almost laughed at how stiffly the tanned officer moved; although Noah McGinnis usually emanated pure manliness, he now resembled an overinflated blue balloon in his formal wear.
Donna, in turn, hopped forward, grinning while she flipped her dirty blonde braid over her shoulder. "I know you don't mean that, Noah Boa."
"Yes, I do."
"Act your age, Donna," said Blaine. He regarded the female blonde like he would one of his daughters—which, when Hugh thought about it, she behaved a lot like.
"Sorry; didn't realize I was friends with old timers."
"Hugh and I are barely over thirty."
"Past your twenties. Old."
"At any rate," Noah interjected, "I can't believe we weren't excused. Don't we see enough of these guys at the precinct?"
"Apparently not," answered Hugh, grimacing. He glanced at the concrete porch where Bishop and Powell conversed and noted that the press had finished their segment. May Fields was no longer in sight, though the crowd remained.
"What's going on?" Donna questioned, standing on her tiptoes.
"Thank you all for staying," Jeffrey Powell told the present officers. His form jiggled with the power from his voice, and Hugh brought a hand to his flat stomach as the Commissioner continued. "I would like to announce that, as of today, EPF applications are open for NYPD personnel. Later, it will be open to the general public, but we are hoping for transfers soon. Many positions and opportunities are available, so, please, take a look inside the lobby and fill out a form if you can."
"This is by no means a forced or full conversion," Bishop added over the crowd's soft rumblings. "There are even positions where you can work for both the NYPD and EPF part-time. Remember, we are in collaboration, not competition. As such, the EPF members stationed in your precincts are now a permanent change. The Commissioner and I have talked it over, and many have expressed consent for this decision. They have equal to less influence in the precincts as you do, so no one is trumped. However, they are trained for special circumstances, should they arise."
Donna snorted. "Man, is he good with words, or what? Guess this means we still have to be careful around work. How annoying."
Hugh watched his friend shake her head then scowled at the broad backside of their boss, Inspector Wendell Erb. The fifty-one-year-old stood a little ways from Noah, and clearly disagreed with the declaration. As Bishop rambled on about perks and conditions entailed in an EPF position, he twisted his head with a scoff then flashed a look over his shoulder. It was an obvious warning—directed at Hugh and his three co-workers.
The detective gave a sheepish look in return. He couldn't and wouldn't do much more. After all, Donna still held an EPF soldier prisoner. And he had no idea where…
A/N: Don't worry, that once forgotten EPF member does play a part in this story. ;)