A/N: Last of the middle. From here on out, buckles your seat-belts, Dudes and Dudettes.
Sciencegal - Well, that's a plus. At least you get that I try to balance sorrow with funny at times. XD
D - I was eating when I read that review. I shouldn't have been. I choked. LOL Think that's bad? Just wait. ;) I like that cultural tid-bit. I think I'll use the term in the future. Thanks! And ahhhh, gotcha. :D
Chapter 37: Choice
April's nerves were shot by the time oxygen returned to her lungs. When she exhaled, all strength diminished, leaving her limp as she fell into a chair within the Lair's Lab.
"I—It's beating again," Donatello said. "It's back to normal. She got it beating…again."
The genius sounded every bit as labored as his friend and with good reason: he and Melody had been the ones who discovered Splinter's stopped heart not ten minutes ago.
"So you keep saying," April countered through chattering-teeth. "But hearing that machine doesn't make me any less scared."
"Me either…" Donny joined April by slumping onto the concrete floor. She could see his jittery hands wringing against his knee pads—a sure sign his anxiety remained as well.
"His health is spiraling. Don, he's really…"
The redhead couldn't bring herself to finish her statement. Ever since she had met the Hamatos, it felt as if Splinter would always be there at their head—ready to reign over his children with an iron fist and noble heart. Yet now he lay still in bed, having already died once and liable to again should his current state descend any further.
The reality was terrifying.
"It's like he's reached stage four and time's sped up," Donatello whispered over the home-made electrocardiogram machine. He paused at the maddening beeps it emitted then buried his face in his hands. "I should've let Mel get the antibiotics sooner. At least then we would've known they were redundant. Or, maybe his body would've adapted better. I—I don't know."
April didn't bother facing the Chūnin and let her eyes linger on the master's rising and falling chest. "It doesn't matter now."
"Whatever we do next, it has to be soon and it needs to work."
"Don," April's croak earned the genius' attention. "The only thing that can save him now is Recro-12."
"There's no choice," Donny replied in a dead tone. He glanced towards Splinter, brown eyes a lit with a determination his friend usually admired.
Today, though, it cut through her like an arrow, reawakening the pessimistic fear that had lain dormant in her heart for months. "I never wanted to admit it, but the chances are slim to none. I've even left Casey a voicemail, warning him about both Splinter and Leo. You can't expect a miracle to just—"
"Where is he?"
April jerked sideways at Nia's unexpected voice. It was strained and wavered, yet clear as the artist stumbled through the messy Lab. She ignored the redhead's stare and reached for Splinter's cot below a low-hung lamp, slipping on her bright stockings several times before sinking to her knees at the master's side.
"H—how long ago did it happen?" she asked with a cough.
"Nia?" April blinked when the young woman brushed a hand down Splinter's snout. "Aren't you, like, recovering from a seizure? When'd you wake up? Where's Raph and Mikey?"
"I'll talk about that later, April-chan. Tell me about Splinter-san. Please."
Curse those wide teal eyes; they made it impossible for April to form an answer. So it was good thing a new group entered the Lab: Michelangelo, Raphael, and behind them, Melody.
"Nia, ya shouldn't be walkin'," Raph chided. He neared his wife with a pained expression, but left her untouched while he stood beside the cot.
"Like anyone could stay still after hearing that news," added Mikey, sour. "Mel had to practically shove me out of the room when it happened."
"I did have to," Melody retorted dully. She sent the orange-masked Chūnin a pointed look then continued towards Splinter, where she checked his vitals for the umpteenth time.
"Give me a break, Dudette; things haven't been going well today. After getting kicked out of Hoshi's apartment—"
"Who's Hoshi?" April interjected. She blinked when the youngest Chūnin grimaced.
"That's a story for another time. Bottom line: today has sucked. The only good news is Nia got to come home."
"There's a story behind dat as well," Raph noted.
April threw her hands in the air. "Of course there is."
"We have no time for stories," Melody butted in—a steely action.
"Then what time is it, Gray?" April questioned the cyborg. She challenged the alpha female with a glare, too annoyed by questions to care about peace or manners.
"Time for a plan," the half-blonde answered. "Raphael may disagree, but at this point we have no choice."
"Does it gotta do wit' Recro-12?"
Melody met Raph's amber gaze without batting her only eye. "No. In fact, we may have a higher chance of success if we transfer Nia's blood directly."
"What does that mean?" The Sai master reached for his wife's shoulder so he could lean her against his shins; however, Nia slid his fingers off her body, facing Melody.
"You're talking about that possibility, aren't you?" she asked, unfazed.
April huffed. "What possibility?"
"We all know Nia has healed herself," Melody started. "The power cell from Oswald Cybernetics seemed a perfect fit to aid in that. In a way, it charged her blood—blood which is receptive to most patients. If we could repeat the process then transfuse the blood through Splinter, it might cleanse his ailment."
"Or kill him," April interjected.
The cyborg clenched her robotic fists, saying, "At this rate he's already dead. His organs are failing, O'Neil. Fast. This is our last retort."
"Sh—she's right," added Nia. The young woman quivered where she sat, yet held her chin up. "I—I've already been considering it, and…this is my choice. I want to try."
"Ni…" Raph trailed off in clear torment, his eyes shifting from his wife to his father so often April lost count.
"So, uh"—Mikey's voice shook like his hands when he took a seat—"wh—wh—what are the risks, exactly? Where would we do this? And—and who gets to be involved?"
Melody sent the Nunchaku master a subtle nod. "While you all would undoubtedly like to take part, it is unfeasible. I need a core team—Recro-12's team—to infiltrate Oswald Cybernetics. We can use one of their labs for the operation, as well as their power cell."
"Ya wanna highjack a lab?" Raphael asked, pucker-faced.
"Desperate times, Raphael. We have one shot. It needs done as quickly and efficiently as possible."
"Hate to say it, but they have better equipment and resources," Don noted.
"Donatello can hinder the feeds, cover our tracks. Leatherhead would be a helpful bodyguard and assistant. As for April"—Melody studied the redhead then continuing scanning the Lab—"I admit she is an accomplished individual who would not grow lost under my medical command."
"Thanks," April said while rolling her eyes.
"That was a compliment," Donatello whispered into her ear. Like she cared if it was or not.
"So it'll be just you four going in?" asked Mikey. His tapping foot added to the repetitive background noise, which only worsened its tension. "Nia, like, short-circuits things, though. Is it a good idea for you to be there, Melody?"
"Donatello has considered such things before."
"So…what? He's upgraded you?"
"If worse comes to worse, we'll send Mel out."
"Excuse me, Damn Mechanic?"
Donatello met his wife's glare. "You can tell us exactly what to do. We'll do it. But my goal is to make sure my whole clan makes it out alive. I'll only move forward if you promise to leave if I think you must."
The cyborg kept her big lips sealed for a long moment. Then she sighed and glanced away. Apparently, that was her sign of resignation, if Don's relieved grin meant anything.
"What about my wife?" Raphael hissed through clenched teeth. "This plan involves her losin' control, like in October. I've seen what dat shit does ta her. It devastates her 'n I—" Swallowing, the hothead tensed his arms so tightly, their blood vessels bulged. "I just got her back."
"I've only hurt people in that state," Nia said in a gentle voice. Her hands brushed her husband just briefly, but in that moment, he ceased shaking. "Raph, if I could save someone instead maybe…maybe I can forget the deaths. Maybe my nightmares will finally leave."
"I hate dat it's come ta this. Ya've already been through enough wit' Bishop then the Anemia."
"I don't regret who I am, Huǒ. There's gotta be an upside to being a hybrid, right?"
The artist flashed a brilliant smile—so sure and love-filled that it almost blinded April to how pale Nia looked. Still, the truth remained: Nia was half-dead already, and the high chance of two Hamato members losing their lives left the redhead silent as the others chattered on.
'Even now, I can't help thinking how lucky she is,' April thought, watching Raph hug Nia. 'She has her bonehead to stand by her while I…' The woman gripped her red cell phone between her legs. Though she had no clue when it had left her jacket, she checked its messages anyway—just in case her ex had answered.
The logs were empty.
'I should know to never expect anything from Jones. So why do I keep…?' The redhead slammed the flip phone shut, running it along her shoulder-length hair as she bit her lip to keep from shedding any more tears. 'Forget it. My focus should be here, with my family. We have more pressing problems, another of which is Hugh…'
It'd been eleven days since his arrest and his whereabouts remained unknown. Who knew what kind of torture Bishop was putting him through in the meantime? April didn't like the think about it. She could only hope he held on a little longer while they fixed Splinter.
Then it would be his turn.
"Sleeping on me again, Detective?" Bishop bent in half before Hugh Reese's containment chair then quirked a lip. Of course, the dark-skinned man would never see such joy while staring at his feet restraints, so the agent used a finger to push Reese's head back until his curly hair met the metal backrest.
"What other entertainment exists in hell?" Reese retorted. He sent a glare, although his swollen right eye looked laughable.
"Oh, today will be fun; I guarantee it."
"Burn, hit, and shock me all you want, psycho; I have a father who's done worse."
Bishop had to chuckle; the way Reese spoke as if he retained control was ridiculous. "Like a previous prisoner of mine, you are quite stubborn. What a shame. I had hoped you would be smart enough to talk by now. Since you apparently are not…Well."
"You'll let me go?" Reese finished with a pitiful grin. His lips looked ready to pop with infection, which forced Bishop's attention off their gross state.
"No," he added, "this time I have psychological leverage. My favorite."
"Leverage like what?"
"Unconvinced? I have plenty. Take your ex-friend, for example."
"I don't know who you're talking about."
At Reese's undertone, Bishop rubbed his nose below his sunglasses. "Playing daft will not help. I heard everything, and you know that. While I find no pleasure in being spied on, I saw an opportunity in Kyle Erlich—one which I did not miss.
"See, you trusted him. Which means the others trust him as well. Following me?" Smile broad, Bishop rounded the detective's chair, running a hand along the metal cuffs swallowing his prisoner's forearms like gator snouts. "What would happen if Erlich called them to, say, a riverside warehouse for their next meeting? Then that spot suddenly burst into flames?"
"I've told you before to leave them out of this, Bishop," Reese snarled.
"That would look terrible, would it not?" the EPF leader continued. "How despicable of you to kill off you accomplices like that."
"No one would ever believe I'd set up their deaths."
"Like no one would believe you became a terrorist? Face it, Reese; you are outmatched. And if you prolong the Hamatos' location any longer, others will pay. First"—Bishop griped the back of Reese's clammy neck—"it will be your coworkers. Then"—the man slid his other hand so it squeezed Reese's throat—"I shall hit someone far closer to home."
"Touch my wife and die," the detective hissed through his crushed air passage.
Bishop flashed a look. "You hold no position for threats. Besides, I meant more than your simple wife."
"The Williams—"
"Are hardly an interest. I mean someone even you have yet to discover."
Reese questioned with his good eye as Bishop released him, and since the agent was bursting with anticipation, he didn't wait for the man to stop coughing before producing a picture from his breast pocket. He had no need to gloss it over and so slammed it against the leg Bishop had burned yesterday.
"Shit!" Reese cried, curling the best he could.
"Look down, Detective," Bishop commanded.
Despite an obvious will to rebel, the dark-skinned man complied, perhaps powerless against his curiosity. His brows furrowed as he studied the eight-by-eleven print. Its grainy white against black gave a clear indication of what it was; however, Reese scoffed, asking,
"What's this?"
"Looks like an alien, right?" Bishop pointed towards the largest white spot on the print. "They have such strange head shapes at first. But in the end, they are simply miniature humans."
"What does an ultrasound have to do with me?"
"That is the question of the hour. Why not check the patient's name?" Digging into his second breast pocket, Bishop spun then readied himself for his next step. Reese would deny what he read, so when the EPF leader walked towards a bare wall, he was unsurprised by the cop's growl.
"What sick joke are you pulling, Jackass?"
"It is no joke, I assure you," Bishop countered while turning around. He flashed a smile before clicking play on a palm-size remote.
The wall flashed to life in seconds thanks to pre-set projectors around the cell. Video footage from last week's surveillance filled it, feed from hacked traffic areas and stores. The angle panned over a long sign with the words 'Howard's Medical Practice'. Afterwards, it focused on a curvy tan woman. She spoke into her phone—cried more like—and Bishop froze the frame for a clear view of her face and frazzled hair.
"Misses Reese looks quite distraught," the leader noted, feigning an awkward smile. "Is this the time you cancelled dinner because you were meeting Erlich? Or was this the time Erb had to explain where you were the previous night? I've lost track of how many bad calls she's received."
"You've been keeping tabs on Rina," whispered Reese.
"Quite thorough ones, obviously. You are good at leaving a clean trail. Your wife, however…"
"Th—this can't be real. She can't be there. This…this ultrasound can't be hers."
"Need further proof?"
With a single click, the camera angel zoomed into what Marina held in her hands: the same ultrasound which rested on the detective's lap. Reese was stunned by the reveal, as apparent by his gaping mouth and wide eye.
The wonderful sight rekindled the agent's smile. "Must be a sad realization; your wife has gone through almost seventeen weeks of pregnancy and has yet to tell you. What does that say about your marriage?"
"So you're—"Reese struggled to speak—"you're threatening unborn children now?"
"You pushed me, Detective. Now you must make a choice: do you tell me all about the Hamatos? And my soldier? Or," Bishop's voice lowered to a near whisper, "do you sacrifice your son? I would take him first, you know. Then, your wife. Maybe afterwards I would give you a chance to recant."
Reese had no reply. Not that Bishop expected him to have one so soon. Still, there was a skip in his step as he approached the cell's exit and he reveled in the sound of heaving behind him.
A/N: Be prepared...