A/N: I know, I was supposed to have this out last Thursday. But I wasn't feeling very motivated. :/

Chapter 11: Bug

From the armchair that cradled his aching form, Splinter noticed Donatello. The purple-masked Chūnin glanced across the living room, towards the Lab's unlit hallway. Even without his trained peripheral vision, the master could detect the action simply by his son's apprehensive Chi. It reverberated like a gentle pulse against the atmosphere, and he held little wonder about the cause.

After all, he had overheard the fight between mechanic and biologist long before the group decided on a movie.

"Lover's spat got ya down?" Michelangelo chimed when the bō master sighed.

Donatello immediately leaned towards him on the couch, speaking in a whisper clearly meant to exclude his father, "I'd rather not talk about it in front of Sensei."

Splinter frowned as the faint words carried over a male actor's muddled line. 'Because I have cancer means my ears are clogged? What must I do to prove my competence?'

"Mel just needs some time alone for study." Donatello added this with new casual composure, like it would fool the older mutant. "She has a test coming up, Olson says."

"I'm pretty sure she's smart enough to pass," Michelangelo replied just as coolly. Splinter was well-aware his youngest son accepted Donatello's 'unsaid' request for aversion, and almost sighed at how two of his children thought they were being discreet.

"Probably," Donatello countered. "But she favors preparedness. Maybe she'll join us later."

"Like when? Give it half an hour; Raph'll be face-down in the popcorn, Sensei'll be snoring, and you'll be in the middle of an in-depth critique."

"When's the last time I passed out in food, Shell-for-Brains?" Raphael growled by Michelangelo's right side

The orange-masked mutant wiggled in the tight fit between his siblings, facing the hothead. "I have a photo collection."

"Liar."

"No, it's true. Ask Nia."

Swish! Splinter turned his attention from the cable movie to see his youngest son somersault off the couch, barely avoiding Raphael's attempted slap against his head. The jokester popped up from the rug with a smile on display, and in seconds a discarded popcorn bowl from Raphael pushed Donatello onto the couch's armrest.

"Come on now; don't be shy, Raphy Boy!" Mikey cried, rounding the beaten furniture to avoid the hothead's charge. "You make the cutest sleepy faces!"

"Ya'll be a 'sleepy face' soon! Come here!"

Their familiar bickering felt like a warm compress to a wound, yet its comfort dwindled fast when Donatello chuckled. Reminded of his genius son's words, Splinter straightened, his dark gaze cutting like an arrow through the thickening atmosphere while Raphael fought Michelangelo in the background.

"Though I may snore, I am not dumb," the wizened rat remarked in a thin voice.

Donatello caught the insinuation without delay, and froze, glancing up at his father from the couch's far left cushion.

"You argued with Melody-san over your options for me. When will I get a say?"

"Sensei—"

"Is it not my body?" The tone was sharper then intended; however, he could no longer contain frustration and clenched a cane between his stout legs in exchange for his jaw. "I am no biological expert. Even so, I am capable of making my own health choices."

"The only choice is to help you," Donatello countered. His tripped words caused his head to shake, his breath to quicken.

So Splinter raised then lowered a paw beneath his decorative shawl in a calming gesture. "I do not wish to argue. I have been thinking of my options. I only ask you be prepared to honor them, no matter which I choose."

"Mel's been speaking with you about Chemo, hasn't she?" the bō master shot back flatly.

"You and O'Neil-san were to formulate that route. Yet you do not put as much effort into it as…Recro-12."

"So says Mel."

"So says experience as your father, Donatello."

With a sigh, the turtle mutant glanced away and wrung his large hands.

"Please, my son," Splinter started after a short pause, "prepare something. It would be hard on me, but I can endure. Otherwise, there may be nothing left that is capable of healing."

"Don't say such things," Donatello whispered with a hitch. "Onegai…"

"Then consider Melody-san may have the best idea."

"To deal drugs from the Black Market?"

Splinter stared hard at his son's tightening grasp, although he had no real answer to give. 'I am quite conflicted myself. O'Neil has apparently spoken with Anders-san about possible connections, yet…the odds of procuring what is needed for Chemo are slim. While I loathe the thought of shady dealings…am I ready to face death for the sake of uprightness?'

"Otōsan, Raph hit me!"

Blinking away new anxiety, Splinter landed his attention on Michelangelo. The orange-masked Chūnin sulked forward with one hand rubbing his cheek. He pouted for comedic show, and the master was certain if the younger mutant were small enough, he would have curled into his father's lap like years ago.

"You were not fast enough," Splinter noted before sharing an amused smile with Raphael.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"A ninja must always be prepared for defense."

Michelangelo stopped at the armchair, hunched and blanching. "You're a mean daddy."

Chuckling was an instinctive response. It bubbled in Splinter's chest, though was cut short by a deep cough that reminded him of a thickness in his lungs. The moment lasted only a few seconds, thankfully, and a strained smile formed across his snout as he lifted the chin he had never meant to tuck.

"Dry throat," the master said while repressing any raspy gulps for air.

"Sensei…"

Splinter shook his head at Donatello. "If anything, it is a bug that shall pass. Nothing more."

"Should I get some cold medicine?" Michelangelo added.

"We should finish the movie."

The youngest Hamato shrugged lightly, his stance now straight. "Wasn't as good as we were hoping anyway. Really, I can get—wait"—he craned his neck towards the Lair entrance—"is that the door?"

"Melody hasn't come out," Donatello remarked, standing to give the Lab's hall another look.

"Nia then?"

"Thought she'd call if she were comin' home," Raphael grumbled.

The trio of brothers watched a figure enter the Lair with interest. She was dressed in color—especially her jacket—and waved meekly when she noticed the attention on her.

"Nia-chan!" Michelangelo cheered. He was the first to her side for a hug, although Raphael soon replaced his arms.

"Why didn't ya call?" the hothead questioned. Splinter smiled at how his son's amber eyes surveyed the human, as if searching for any injury below her rainbow tights and patch-work top.

"Th—the weather was nice," Nia protested while gently gripping her husband's arm.

"I don't give a shit about the weather; the weather won't kill ya."

"Raph."

"Why'd ya walk here alone?"

Nia probably sensed the nervousness beneath Raphael's growl better than Splinter did, and to him, it was painfully obvious. The hothead stepped back to cross his bulky arms while the black-haired human kept close, a guilty expression on her face.

"I—I didn't mean to worry any one" she said while glancing over the group.

Raphael snorted when she rested a hand on his arm, and didn't face her or the group as he spoke in a low Brooklyn voice, "Yeah, well…wit'out us out there, the city's more dangerous than usual."

"Sorry," the young woman whispered. "It's just that…" She sighed, dropping her arm. "Something happened at work today, and I…I needed the time alone."

"What happened?" Raphael roughly cut off the start of Michelangelo's reply. "Is that stupid Heart still givin' ya a hard time?"

"Don't call Nia's heart stupid!" Michelangelo jested. He shared a grin with his little sister, though hers died since Raphael maintained his seriousness.

"This isn't about Heart," the artist said. "It's another girl."

"Who?" Michelangelo questioned.

Nia watched him lean over the couch in intrigue then pursed her dark lips. "A new volunteer," she answered, quite hesitant. "She knows more than I would like her to…"

"Wait, wait!"

Raphael blanched beside Nia on the couch, giving Michelangelo's standing form full attention simply because the younger Hamato flailed for it.

"So, the new volunteer is April's pizza girl?"

"What's wit' the grin, Shell-for-Brains?" Raph asked.

Blue eyes drifted his way for a moment then returned to Nia. "Her name's Sonya?"

"Sonya Fischer," the artist answered, sweet. She gave the orange-masked brother a pat on his forearm, perhaps to remind him of the group, and he shook his head. "She's, uh…so—something else. And now she knows about the kids."

"Kids?" Donatello interjected at Nia's right side. "What kids?"

Raph situated his arm higher against the backrest when his wife leaned into him, so she could grace the other three Hamatos equally.

"Well," she started, "there're a couple of circus runaways who, uh, hide in the basement of the care center. They made me promise secrecy, but…I'm at a loss for what to do with them."

"What a strange place for hang out," Don noted in a low tone. "Why don't they just visit the other kids?"

A pause followed as Nia's hands found the multi-colored hem of her jacket. "B—because they were born with genetic mutations. Very notable ones. And"—the young woman paused again, as if struggling against a croak—"they've told me others have ridiculed them before."

"Dude, not cool," Michelangelo remarked, brightness dimming with the crossing of his arms.

"And yet they still want to be 'normal'," Nia added. "Though they stay in the basement, there are a few high windows where you can see the playground out back, so they—"

"Imagine they are with the other children," Splinter interjected.

Raphael downturned his gaze at the master's full confidence. He also couldn't reply to his wife's reveal, knowing what his family would say.

"We would sometimes do that when we were little," Mikey admitted with a weak chuckle.

Nia's jerk aside was impossible to ignore, so Raph met her surprised look by shrugging off the lingering envy he once felt. "Happens."

"Turtle proud now," Mikey followed up, "but growing up underground was sometimes really…"

"Hard," Don finished, even. He looked like he would sigh, but instead exhaled calmly, a reminiscent smile on his purple-masked face. "Whenever we'd get in a slump like that, Leo usually pulled us out."

"Yeah,"—Mikey whirled towards his genius brother—"he would come up with a new game or do something to—to reminds us we have each other, at least…"

The Lair's living room fell into a silence that burned Raphael's chest like seeping acid. He loathed how his throat clenched when his family frowned, yet he hung onto the anger over Black Lotus instead of the longing to see his older brother again. Despite that, the way Nia rubbed her cheek against his stretched bicep threatened his control.

"I—I'm sure Leo-niichan wasn't the only one to help you through the spell," Nia said, gaze set on Splinter's solemn expression.

The rat smiled in the armchair, although he remained quiet.

"Y—you guys have each other," the human added softly. "You have a father. These kids…they're alone. I want to help them, except I don't know how."

"What do you know of their history?" asked Don.

"Besides their association with Lacio Circus? Very little. I—I planned to get more information out of them today, but Sonya…"

"What about her?" Mikey sounded genuinely interested in spite of Nia's grimace, leading Raph to shake his head.

'He should be careful where he places his hope. I—I don't want him hurt again. His heart's strong, not unbreakable.'

"I had to force her out of the basement because she got in a fight with the kids."

"A fight?"

Raphael sniggered at his brother's wide eyes.

"Sh—she was telling them they shouldn't hide and to get out, so I only caught their names beforehand."

"But," Mikey paused to collect his dropped jaw, "she meant good things behind it, didn't she?"

"I—I—I don't know," Nia answered. Her slight shudder hardly registered against her husband's cracked plastron, yet it struck him enough that he enclosed an arm around her.

'Weird. She feels warmer than usual. Don't tell me she's caught a bug too.'

"What do you mean you 'don't know'?" Mikey retorted, eye ridge quirked.

"I can't explain it. Usually, I pick up"—the young woman waved her hands then clenched them like a squishy ball existed between them—"feelings. Intents."

"Electrical impulses," Donny corrected.

"Sure. Those. I get general feelings, but around Sonya my mind is…jumbled. I—it's like I can't focus. I feel numb. Honestly? I can't sense genuine intents or otherwise."

"Then ya outta be careful around her," Raph noted. His grip tightened, if only as a reminder that Nia came home safe, and despite the incredulous look his orange-masked brother sent, he remained stern.

"I'm careful around everyone I meet," his wife murmured.

"Maybe your Anemia's getting worse," Don offered while twisting. His large hand captured Nia's pale arm to check her pulse, so the room grew quiet while he paid attention. "It's a little quick," he said, didactic, before the human sighed. "If you're going to insist on helping and working then no longer come home by yourself. The erratic pressure could knock you out."

"I've been taking my vitamins and Zofran," Nia countered. Like it would make a difference with her clan.

As expected, Don's head shook, much to Raph's relief. "It's not enough, so call us next time."

"Fine, but…" Biting her lip, Nia glanced around. "I don't want to give up on the kids because my body's weak. I still want to help."

"Then we'll help you help them," Mikey replied earnestly.

"H—how?"

"Easy. Do what you've been doing; make friends. Find out what it would take to bring them comfort."

"And what about you?"

"Well"—Mikey shrugged easily, except Raph sensed the scheming undertone right away—"I could visit Lacio Circus. See what it's about."

"Michelangelo." Splinter interjected in a soft voice that cut like a kunai's blade.

Slowly, the orange-masked Chūnin faced him. "Come on, Sensei. The circus is filled with all kinds of Sideshow characters. I'll be fine."

"It's—"

"Shouldn't we help these kids?"

It wasn't often Mikey cut off his father. But when he did, he always spoke with great emotion. Splinter's mild glare faded with a raspy groan as his youngest son stood his ground, and when their gazes reconnected, resignation flicked in the rat's dark eyes.

'Always gives in for the baby,' Raph thought with a pursed mouth.

"Simple intel," Splinter said.

"Of course!" Mikey countered with a bright grin.

"And take one of your brothers."

The nunchaku master paused then directed a smile at Raph. The hothead nodded, yet got a feeling he wouldn't be along for the trip anyway.

"Very well, my sons. Now…can we finish this movie?"

Today had been a good day for Agent John Bishop, so he had neither will nor reason to fight his broad grin. It greeted any scientist he passed while delving into the depths of the EPF's Specialty Labs, and the stoic figure accompanying him down the stark-white hallways shook her head at his giddiness.

"You're in awful good spirits for someone who's being terrorized by police," Agent Barrett noted.

"Perhaps." Bishop sent the brunette in uniform a sidelong glance through his sunglasses, then skipped a dress shoe against the floor. "Our Hubs are mostly remote controlled outposts."

The gray-ish woman kept her focus on the iron door the duo approached. "For cover and show, I know, Sir."

"Right. Besides, the attack Monday night left us with evidence."

"Do you honestly believe a cop would be foolish enough to wear a badge to a bombing?"

Bishop couldn't stop his sudden laugh; it boomed against the wide hall and the man reined it in so he could properly apply a palm to the hand scanner beside the iron entrance looming ahead. "Not the ones we are after," the man answered while leaning down to scan his eye as well.

When his sunglasses were pushed back up on his crooked nose, he regarded Barrett with a sly grin. "I convinced a few others it could have been a show of pride, wearing the badge as a trophy that should trump EPF influence. What have you."

"And it doesn't bother you not knowing who's sowing the seeds?"

Bishop shook his head, following Barrett down a line of mesh cages once the doors rolled outwards into thicker walls. "I do not care what bug is helping me," he said over the snarls and yips of unknown creatures. "It is likely for their personal means anyhow. However, it is leading the investigation the way I want. Maybe I should make a visit to the Ninetieth Precinct soon."

"You do love your shows," Barrett remarked aimlessly.

"Oh, more shows are to come, Barrett!" The leader wanted to chuckle, yet bit down the urge to round the cage of a large creature that wasn't breathing, just smelling.

A failure. Again. 'No matter, I am here on the others' behalves anyway.'

"You're planning more scenarios like back in October?" While Barrett generally kept emotion from her tone, Bishop detected some confusion and intrigue.

"You must wait and see," the tall man countered. "Biosvert and Yahna have yielded a new way to track the artifact. Marco Rizzo's been spotted in state. And we hold at least one functioning cyborg in our hands. This time, things will go as planned. We no longer have people like Kingston or Lombardo involved. Damn fools."

"That's right. Originally, you wanted to falsify the half-breed's death then keep her for stock."

"More or less. The IgR resides in her blood without the dangerous mix of a Languu's…security field. To be honest, I am quiet sour over losing her to the turtles."

"So you want to change the subject."

Fate answered for Bishop. The moment Barrett paused to send her boss a listless look, an animalistic howl sounded through the cage hall. Breathy, gravely—it was an intimidating mix of provocation that barreled past the duo as if an invisible creature of dinosaur-proportions whipped by. And Bishop grinned at its beauty rattling his bones.

"Wh—what was that, Sir?" Barrett questioned in a small voice.

The man met her wide, green eyes. "That? That is my new tracker. And Act One of my new stage."

A/N: Reviews make me happy. ;)