A/N: When I finally finish writing all the chapters, I can post more often. Boo brain blocks. XP

D, baby, you're back! *bro fist* That's what we all wish. Look out for "The Distance" in the future to see just that. :D

WOLF, ROFL. Kaiya will DEFINITELY be featured more in this story. She's started to become a regular main, like Hugh. As for Mikey and Hoshi...prepare for ups and downs. *wiggles brow*

Sciencegal, I always feel a jab when Leo's mentioned. Right in the gut. :( Now I'm just imagining Blaine and Gavin sitting in a corner together...XD

Feather, here's a box of tissues. You'll need them for some later chapters. *hands over* _

Chapter 14: Jump

Hugh already felt as if he were falling apart at the seams because of stress. So—honestly?—he had little will to stop Officer Samuel Renald from stealing one of the two hamburgers off his full tray. The African-American simply blinked then reminded himself he wasn't hungry enough for lunch anyway.

"Always a pleasure getting food from you guys," Samuel noted. He flashed a grin that almost reached the same length as his wide-set eyes.

Hugh blanched as the shorter male followed him from the restaurant's register counter, mumbling, "Extortionist."

"Beats the alternative, right?" After taking a bite from the fresh burger, Samuel placed it on his own tray then rubbed the back of his hand against his facial scruff like it suddenly itched.

"Seems you've been growing your hair out since winter," Hugh teased. "What a look."

"My girl likes it," Samuel retorted, raising a hand to touch the snake-like pile of blonde waves that fell around his head to his neck.

"Guess she's into Medusa."

"Hey, hey. You don't get to make cracks at me, remember?"

Somehow, Hugh couldn't find seriousness in the blonde's glare and slowed before reaching a booth in the middle of the restaurant, where Damien Hanson awaited him. "If you were serious about ratting us out," the detective started, low in the presence of so many other officers, "you would hold more than food over our heads."

Samuel countered Hugh's frown by grinning ambiguously, shrugging in his uniform. "What else could I get from you broke lot? Besides,"—the grin turned bitter—"it's sort of fun seeing Bishop unable to make the move he wants."

Hugh would've laughed at the idea—if it weren't for the agent's threat ringing in his ears like nails against a chalkboard. "Be careful, Samuel. True as that may be, Bishop isn't the kind of man to stay cornered."

"Does this concern have anything to do with the trip he made to your precinct yesterday?"

"Just take care in how you act. I should be held accountable for my own actions, but…"

"Well," noted Samuel, stoic, "if all your associates need to be careful, then you better keep a good eye on those punks."

"I really wish everyone would stop giving them such a hard time," Hugh spat. He eyed the shorter officer critically as the blonde turned towards another part of the restaurant, to join co-workers from his division.

"You're the one who took PDs under your wing," Samuel said over his shoulder. "Naturally, they won't be very popular."

"You'd think policemen would have better character than to rag on kids, though," Hugh muttered to the security's back. With a cut-off sigh, he rounded the partition keeping him mostly hidden from the young man seated in the booth on its other side, then slid into a bench opposing him.

"What was that about?" Damien questioned, a tad uneasy.

"Nothing," Hugh answered while separating the food on the tray.

"Meaning: it has something to do with me."

"Don't worry about it. Now, have you—?" Hugh paused when he noticed the empty spot beside the modestly-dressed young man. "Is Kenneth not back yet?"

"Nope." Damien eyed Hugh's lack of a main course, yet let the matter slide. Probably because it happened so often. "He was breathing pretty hard. Took his meds with him."

"You haven't checked on him?"

"Once, but he wanted to be left alone."

Hugh sighed, cupping a long hand around his paper cup as Damien bit then chewed the burger. "Still feels like Hun's gunna jump him from the shadows."

"I'm sure the anxiety's more than that," the younger male said, swallowing. "When you're a gangster, you're the predator. You make the schemes, the moves. Taken out of that, you're left vulnerable."

"Is that how you feel?"

"Can't help it. I grew up a gangster, so I ain't exactly cozy around a bunch of Big Blues."

"I'm not that big," chimed Hugh with a pat against his covered stomach. He flashed a lopsided grin, yet Damien's dark eyes traveling around the popular police lunch spot killed it. "Look, Damien," he said while leaning forward, "you and Ken are perfectly safe. The police won't do anything major."

Damien's gaze lowering to his partly-eaten food. "They're not the full concern."

"Hun then? What reason would he have to go out of his way to kill you two?"

"You don't know Hun…"

The pain of the younger male's whisper neared fear. For a moment, Hugh wondered if Damien would suffer a panic attack like his rash-riddled friend, yet thought better after a deep inhale. "If it's so dangerous, why would you agree to join the police then?"

The ex-gangster paused, running a broad hand so far up the sleeve of his button up shirt that it reached his Purple Dragon tattoo. "Guess the police would be the only job where my life experience would come in handy."

"And Jezebel's insistence had nothing to do with it."

Damien glanced at Hugh—a sharp action.

"How's she doing, by the way?"

"How do you think?" Damien answered, hollow. His hand lowered from his bicep to his burger, but it remained still, like his appetite was lost. "She's failing school. She can hardly concentrate. And it's all because of Miriam."

Hugh frowned, clenching his drink. "Do you think it was wrong of Jez to tell Miriam the truth?"

"You know she wishes she hadn't. The guilt was eating her, but now she has to deal with a sister in an asylum. You know Miriam won't even see her anymore?"

Hugh couldn't stop his eyebrows from rising.

"That's right. Claims her whole family's dead. She's dead. I—I don't think the anti-psychotics are helping."

"I," the detective spoke carefully, "I'm sorry. Wish there was some way I could help."

"Yeah, because you already don't have enough on your plate." Damien gestured to Hugh's fries, although the man's stolen burger wasn't the point. The younger male smirked then glanced across the restaurant towards another booth. "You haven't been talking to Williams."

"That's what happens when disagreements are had. Don't worry, baby, mommy and daddy will be back to talking once mommy realizes how hard-headed she's being."

"Funny," Damien shot back dryly. "Seriously, I heard you had a pretty bad fight. And Kaiya ran off because of it."

"And where, pre tell, did you gather such information?"

The younger male sent a sheepish smile, grimness now lost. "Possibly your wife?"

"What were you doing with my wife?" Despite how he hid his mild amusement, Hugh really was curious.

"I was looking for you this morning, but you weren't home."

"So you thought you'd get comfortable with my Rina?"

"Get real. She offered me breakfast and…" Damien glanced sideways.

"Well, another woman's influence can be good for you. You never really had a mother." Hugh smiled when the ex-gangster flinched. "Fine, you're excused. And if you want, you can come over for breakfast more often."

"Thanks, Hugh," Damien whispered into his straw.

"Can I break up this warm father-son bonding?"

Blaine's voice was more surprising than the glare Hugh was met with. The detective expected an edge, yet the note of persistence and unease felt unnatural for the blonde's possible resignation. Or, what should be resignation. Blinking, Hugh glanced passed his best friend at the end of his booth towards the company Blaine had been eating with then frowned.

"Why's Kyle with Noah and Donna?" the African-American questioned.

"That's what we need to discuss," Blaine answered, eyeing Damien. He took a moment to sigh, and once he realized Damien wasn't going anywhere, he added, "Kyle got accepted into the EPF. And he wants to work as a mole for us."

When did routine exercises lose their calming effect? Splinter used to look forward to them. Now, he dreaded them. And hiding how painful they were from Melody's observant gaze was a hard feat.

"How is your pain tolerance when I press this joint?" the cyborg questioned while bending the wizened rat's wrist.

It burned immediately, so every calculated response Splinter made until then was rendered pointless with one solid hiss. He drew back his arm out of instinct before shifting his kneeling form on the dojo's tatami mats.

Melody's frown grew stern. "If you cannot bend—"

"I can use my joints well enough, Melody-san," the master retorted with a quick whip of his tail. Melody remained unblinking at its crisp crack, yet it had never been his intent to intimidate her. So he sighed. "Forgive me, Melody-san."

"If I could not handle moody patients, I would not have taken on this role," replied the half-redhead listlessly. Still, she eyed the wrist he rubbed. "What was the rate?"

Splinter knew better than to asked what she meant. "Higher than yesterday's."

"And how has your breathing been?"

The mutant hesitated, gripping his wrist tighter. "Acceptable."

"Then you would not mind if I listened to your chest."

'What a sly girl.'

Splinter would commend her technique—taking him to the dojo instead of the Lab had been misleading—however, he loathed the idea of being tricked. When the cyborg leaned forward on her knees, he frowned, and as her metallic hand slipped into the hem of his kimono, he resisted the urge to push her away. The cool metal between the short hairs of his fur sent a shiver down his spine, straightening him for the deep breath Melody's stare instructed he take.

He inhaled then held still while the pressure against his chest increased. At Melody's slight nod, he released the air slowly, raggedly. Whatever sensors she claimed were on her hand gave her the reading she may have been expecting, so she sat back on her robotic feet as if unimpressed with a child's attempt to lie.

"There is partial obstruction in your lungs," she stated, matter-of-fact.

"It is a cold," Splinter insisted.

"Which can escalate to something worse."

"I am taking every possible precautionary measure."

"Except absolute bed rest."

The rat shook his head. "It will pass, Melody-san."

She was unconvinced: so said her subtle glare.

"You worry like Leonardo," Splinter noted with a smile. "I cannot stand his insistence, either—though I know he means well. Like you."

"Leonardo is not your doctor."

"Well, as a patient, I am exercising my right to ignore part of my doctor's scheduled rest."

The cyborg twitched. "A doctor's order trumps what a patient wants."

"Then as patriarch of this clan, I choose not to remain in bed."

"You should be resting!" A fierce glare contorted Melody's half-robotic face in an instant, all previous signs of impassiveness lost to her sudden frustration.

"I cannot," countered Splinter while eyeing her clenched fists. "I do very little as it is and to do less would leave me purposeless. Forgive me, I am aware you want me as healthy as possible, but I simply cannot stay confined to my futon for the time you require."

"But you could—"

The mutant raised a paw, his sleeve trailing behind the fast (and painful) act. "I do not leave the Lair, Melody-san. I do not expose myself to the elements nor fight. I exercise in the morning then again at night. You have agreed that stretching my joints is better than watching television all day…although I have been missing a few of my shows."

"This matter is not humorous," Melody snapped—a cold, controlled action. Underlying rage seeped through her Chi, however, like an invisible torrent that turned Splinter somber under its magnitude. Thus, he squared his shoulders when her robotic eye brightened. "What you are experiencing is serious. Everything you feel must be reported."

"I am not fond of such thorough prodding," Splinter countered, even like his gaze.

"Given that the alternative is your life, I'd think you'd be more receptive."

"Melody-san"—the master raised his snout towards the young woman's glare and inhaled—"believe it or not, I understand. Worrying is a battle I face every day. However, worry will not heal me. While I am conscientious of my limits, of my state of being, I refuse to stop living. I trust you and Donatello will fight hard for me…a—and if my time does near—"

"It won't." The cyborg shook her head, maybe harder than intended because of her sudden emotional surge. She brushed aside half-blonde-half-auburn locks from her face with a shaky hand then added, "Not yet, anyway, so don't even mention it."

"It would be a shame, would it not? We just met, after all."

Melody scowled at Splinter's smile. "How can you and Donatello make light of things?"

"You think I take cancer lightly?"

"No. However, neither of you are giving me the consideration I deserve."

"How so?"

"For starters," the cyborg grew listless once more, "your son refuses to comprise a Chemo treatment like he said he would."

"I have spoken with him of that," Splinter muttered.

"Did he insist on Recro-12?"

"Not quite. But he was adamant about waiting."

"Of course. The moment we surmised the pros of a functional Recro-12 serum, Don has been insistent on perfecting it. I understand his reason for avoiding Chemo, and I know I started this obsession by studying it first; however…"

Careful, Splinter outstretched his aching paw to touch Melody's protected knee, speaking gently yet assuredly, "His experience with Recro-12 has changed his option, has it not?"

A slight hesitance proved the master's words, more so than the cyborg's glance aside.

"He tells me he feels a sense of strength from it, however small," Splinter continued.

"Considering Kaiya's capacities, what he feels is a fraction of Recro-12's potential. He has grown fond of the slight edge, actually."

"But that is not why he clings to it."

Melody released a bitter sigh. "Despite its grim history, if we perfected it, we could not only heal you, but strengthen you. You would gain years, and how can I fault him for wanting that future instead of one where your body is shocked with poisons?"

"Unfortunately, we are all aware that I cannot wait around much longer…"

"How strange is it that you can admit such a thing, yet complain about my diagnosis?"

Splinter chuckled at the cyborg's light pout, though she obviously found no humor in the situation. "Do what you must, Melody-san. Just do not tell me I cannot leave bed."

"If I do, will you admit you are sick?"

"Do not jump to conclusions; it is hardly something to be concerned about. Focus your attention on the cancer."

Clearly, Melody was not convinced. Fortunately, she let the matter die and reached for the mutant's arm, saying, "Continue your exercises."

A/N: Hugh's little army is growing. Hope you all don't mind me using Damien more. Ever since "Finding Balance", he's had this conflicting struggle with who he wants to be and who he think he has to be. I can't help following through with that struggle, especially considering his connection to the Summers family. Webs, man.

I also need to say Splinter and Mel scenes are great to write. In general, Splinter talking with any of his kids is fun to write. Why don't people use Splinter more often? He's awesome. XD

Next chapter, Nightwatcher. Ever wonder how Raph and Starberry Girl would interact? Well, this chapter will let ya know! Reviews please? ;D