Chapter 49: Damage

Hugh waltzed through his home's doorway that led from the kitchen into the living room. His right hand balanced an impressive tray, on which six mugs rested, and he sent a smile to each person seated amidst the modern furniture when they glanced his way.

"Hot coffees for all," he announced, placing the tray on a glass table that ran parallel with the three-cushion sofa. "All except for the baby, I mean. Here's your cocoa, Mikey."

Michelangelo reached over the backrest of the chair he sat backwards on then took the offered mug like a greedy child. "Thanks, Hugh!"

"Too bad Genius is stuck workin' a tech support shift," added Raphael from a second chair. He also sat backwards and nodded at Hugh before accepting a mug. "Ya said this was special African coffee?"

"Well, I find it special," Hugh answered while giving out mugs to Jennifer and Blaine. "It's a dark roast imported from Kenya. Got a real kick." With a snigger the detective watched Raph's face pucker as he swallowed his first sip.

"Y—ya dun't say," the red-masked mutant managed.

"I put milk and sugar in it, like asked."

Raph licked his mouth. "It's, uh, still bitter."

"It's coffee."

"An' I like the taste wit'out the bite."

"Is it that bad, Raphy Boy?"

"Shut up, Doofus."

"Dude"—Mikey leaned over in his chair to stare into his older brother's mug—"if it's that bitter, Donny would love it. Nia too."

The hothead shivered. "How can either 'a them stand it?"

"Apparently, we inherited the sweet-teeth in the family."

"Give me your coffee, Raph," said Hugh with an outstretched hand. "I'll add more sugar for the second baby."

"Oi!"

"Hugh." Marina's gentle address quelled her husband's grin, drawing attention to the figure furthest from him. She had been curled against the sofa's armrest by a large panel window, but now half-stood, gaze focused on the glass table.

"I got things handled," Hugh told her. "You worked hard for dinner, so I'll take care of the dessert coffees."

"But—"

"Don't worry; your decaf is right—ah, crap!" The detective fell on his butt when a sudden wet heat dripped onto his pants legs. He tried bracing himself with his hands, only to end up banging his left elbow against the wood floor when his weight shifted sideways.

"Hugh!"

"I'm good," the dark-skinned man said. He flashed a lopsided smile at his concerned wife when she abandoned the furniture, rubbing his tender elbow. "Sorry; I forget about this." Hugh held up his wrapped arm stub, which could be viewed since his dress shirt sleeves were rolled up. "Was wondering why I couldn't pick up your mug."

"I tried warning you, Idiot," Marina countered with a subtle frown.

"Let me get a towel."

"No"—the tan woman pushed down on her husband's shoulder before he rose from the ground—"I'll do it."

Hugh eyed Marina when she left for the kitchen. Although her footsteps were heavy, she also spared a smile over her shoulder prior to crossing the threshold. Regardless of what she said, the detective knew she enjoyed caring for him and thus beamed at his company.

"I think she's gotten bossier since I learned about Hugh Junior."

"You aren't naming your son Hugh Junior," said Jen flatly.

"For now I can."

"Blaine."

Blaine met the curly blonde's firm stare, pausing with his lips against his mug. "What's worse than 'Peanut'? Or 'Nugget'? Kai and Meg didn't have the most creative names when they were in your womb, either."

"But 'Junior'?"

"Until Rina and I find a name we agree on, that's what he'll be called."

Jen took a moment to sip her coffee then told Hugh, "No."

"Daddy Hugh." Mikey shook his head, playing with the short tails of his orange mask. "Congrats again on that."

Hugh rubbed his pants to help dry them. "Thanks. But Rina's the one doing most of the heavy lifting."

"You mean all of it?" Coarse fabric hit the detective in the face before he saw Marina, who enhanced her question by raising an eyebrow. She snorted, placed a sugar jar near Raph, and then started cleaning up the spilled coffee like a pro.

"When's the due date?" asked Michelangelo.

Stiffly, Marina faced the mutant, unease apparent yet not as crippling as weeks before. "Sometime in early November. Maybe a little later."

"Wouldn't it be great if he was born on Thanksgiving Day?"

The tan woman hunched her shoulders. "That's nearly two weeks after his due date."

"So? Think about it. You could double his birthday with lessons about humility and thankfulness. Perfect for a day where one is spoiled!"

Hugh joined in Mikey's laughter. "He wouldn't be without food, either."

"Considering how much you guys wolfed down during dinner, I'd be surprised if anything were left for the kid." Marina grumbled, although her movements were more relaxed. Having sopped up the coffee, she shoved the drenched hand towel into the empty mug then rose with some effort.

Hugh glanced up at her pop belly when she turned, smile wide. "It was too good to let it get cold. Right, Mikey? Raph?"

The two mutants grunted in unison.

"Besides"—Hugh's right hand caressed the woman's skin below her wool shirt—"it was a much needed distraction from where I came from this afternoon…"

"On the bright side, you got a Medal of Valor."

Even Michelangelo's chipper interjection failed to lift Hugh's spirit; he recalled standing between Doughnut and Bishop vividly, as well as how much stress the position brought along with it. "I wasn't the only one, though. And it was given for false reasons."

"Same could be said for the oddah pricks that shared the stage wit' ya," Raphael added. "Least yer's is justified, one way or anoddah. Not one person here will deny that."

"He's right, but…" Jennifer sighed as Hugh's hand fell from his wife. "I could barely watch the ceremony. There was so much pain to review, so much…damage."

"Just another mark in history," Blaine noted, gripping his mug against his knee. "New York's been acquiring a lot of those over the last year. The Hallow's Eve Demon, the Little Red Robberies, and now, the Gang War Uprise of Twenty-Twelve.

"An' good old Turtle Luck made sure we were involved in every event," spat Raph. He outright dumped some sugar into his mug then stirred its contents with pressed lips.

"Turtle Luck?" Marina questioned.

"That's what Raph here calls our family's"—Mikey shrugged—"fortune? Sometimes it can be good. Most of the time, though, it's bad. Really, really bad."

"I think everyone had a case of bad luck this month," Blaine noted in a bleak tone.

"Some more so than others," Rina added while running her fingers through the tight curls on Hugh's head.

"I feel fortunate," said Hugh. He earned a few surprised stares and even one perplexed one. Nevertheless, he smiled. "Yeah, I sort'a went through hell. I'm sore as shit, I look like a Hockey player, and my hand's gone. That all beats being dead or stuck in Bishop's cell. Or even being in Donna's and Noah's shoes."

"Are they still…?" Michelangelo prodded Hugh for confirmation just by frowning.

"It's been over a week, but their states remain critical. They're in and out of ICU. It's…no one can say what might happen."

"Fucking Kyle." Blaine's heated whisper carried through the tense silence, forcing his best friend to rub his arm stub to keep grim memories at bay.

"We weren't the only ones screwed over," he said. "Damien has to deal with both Kenneth and Jezebel. They won't leave home because all the lingering gang battles erupting. Then there's…Tabitha."

A groan sounded—Blaine's wounded cry. His face met his large palm when Hugh glanced towards the sofa and Jennifer let him lean against her shoulder without qualm.

"Not sure if you watched the news, Blaine," Hugh noted, fist clenched, "but you know she was honored as a hero, right?"

"Nineteen, Hugh," whispered Blaine against Jen. "A kid."

"Th—they set up a statue for her, didn't they?"

Sending Mikey a solemn nod, Hugh answered, "At Union Square Park. That's where the ceremony took place."

"Like some bronze artwork will make up for what happened," Blaine hissed.

"Bishop didn't commission it for compensation," Hugh countered, finding comfort beside Marina's sturdy legs. "Too many witnesses knew Hunt was on Unfinished Bridge. They saw what happened with Pierce, too. She was a casualty of their assault, no way around it. So Bishop's paying it off as if Tabi worked for him, and willingly gave herself for their cause…"

"Everyone's weavin' stories nowadays, ain't they?" Raphael asked with a snarl.

Blaine inhaled while the mutant sucked down the last of his drink then met the group with a wounded look. "In the line of duty, I've watched people die. Their faces will never be as memorable as Tabitha's. She was so sweaty and fatigued and pained, but she smiled"—the blonde's voice turned breathy—"smiled as the life left eyes. She said to tell Melody she found 'it'. 'It was with helping others'. That made her happy…"

Creak. Michelangelo and Raphael stood from their chairs in a moment's notice, perhaps a little on edge from previous events. But Hugh knew to wave them down before looking behind; creaking boards were common whenever Megan and Kaiya stayed overnight at his home.

"Kai, Baby," Jen said, "you should be sleep."

The seven-year-old tugged at her black nightgown, avoiding eye contact with everyone. "I—I was…then…then the thunder scared me. I started thinking about Hall F and..."

"Thunder?" Raphael followed his brother to the large window, peeking beyond its closed curtains. "Well, what do ya know?"

"The weatherman never mentioned this," the younger Hamato whined. "Bogus!"

"Come on"—Jen set her mug on the glass table and stood—"I'll stay in bed with you."

The willowy blonde reached for her daughter after passing Hugh. The child backed way. Her golden eyes remained fixed on the wood floor, even when her mother tried a second time. It wasn't until she glanced up that Hugh caught a haunting sorrow behind them—accentuated by a faint cry from the storm.

"Kaiya?" he asked.

"I just meant to stop the bus," she whispered.

Seven simple words. Who knew they could open a flood gate of pain for an entire group? It popped the tension that had bubbled around them, as if the lightening outside had struck it, and Hugh was nearly run over by three bodies that barreled by him.

"I—I—I only wanted to help," Kaiya continued through trembling lips. Jen's hand soothed her disarrayed hair. It did little good. Kai's pale face was growing redder by the second. "The bus was my fault."

"No, Dudette," Michelangelo added from behind her. He rested a hand on her shoulder, his voice gentle. "You were really brave. You fought the bad guy."

"And lost!" Spinning, Kai graced the mutant with an expression Hugh couldn't see. "I got my whole class hurt! And Miss Tabi"—the girl hicked, her fists quivering at her sides—"she couldn't leave. H—her boots…She…"

"Kaiya." Stern and deep, Blaine's voice earned his child's attention. Her profile, from what Hugh could tell, scrunched from holding back tears, and she sniffled as his hands pulled her arms towards his bent knee. "Had you not acted, your class could've been hurt a lot worse. Pierce would've sacrificed you, but what you did made sure he didn't get that chance. I"—he swallowed—"I hate how you were there to begin with, but I'm also glad you were."

"You did more good than that loser teacher who bailed," Mikey noted.

Blaine sent him a glare then returned to Kaiya when her jaw tensed.

"H—how could he do that?" she questioned. "He was the grown-up and he—he left us!"

Blaine fluffed her short, wavy hair (although Hugh was well-aware the man would rather punch the aforementioned teacher). "You may think bravery comes naturally, Kai. It doesn't. Tabi was special. Like you. You both put your lives on the line for everyone in that bus. The idea still scares me like hell, but I—I'm proud of you."

"Me too," Hugh said. "You had every reason to jump ship. Instead, you stayed. In fact, hold that thought."

The detective lifted himself off the ground, partially because Kaiya's tears moved him and partially so he could reach the coat rack in the corner beside the flat screen television. His only hand dug into his formal uniform's pockets until his fingers brushed the textured metal of a medallion. With a small smile, he pulled it out then detangled the thick ribbon as he knelt before Kaiya, ignoring all other gazes.

"Listen up: I, Hugh Mosi Reese, am here today to acknowledge a remarkable individual," he started in an 'official' police manner. "This youngster, Kaiya Lee Williams, has exceeded her call of duty in trying times. On June twelfth, twenty-twelve, she proved herself not a victim, but a hero—someone who knew what needed done and had the bravery to back her up. So."

Kaiya's glossy eyes almost choked Hugh with their intensity, yet he recovered from his pause after a hard swallow. He puffed his chest then slipped the ribbon necklace over her head (an awkward feat, considering he only had one hand).

"I award this Medal of Valor to her. May there be more kids like her in the future. I know for damn sure I want my son to be just as strong."

Kaiya had no words left, only tears. Her red face so pained over what she should feel that she fell into the detective's arms, so he hugged her as she sobbed, pulling her into his lap while the storm outside raged on.

Hell; she deserved the medal more than him. And maybe everyone agreed, since no one said another word for a long time.

"Man, this weather sure is matching my mood," Michelangelo noted. He reached his arms behind his head, staring up at pitch-black skies while his older brother followed.

"Least the rain broke for a moment," Raphael added. "Better make this quick, Mike; Nia's comin' back from Warner-Frost soon."

"Come on, Raphy. I know you wanna see it too."

"Why? So we can make ourselves more depressed?"

"After what happened with Kai at Hugh's, I need a walk. Besides, the park's closed. We should be fine."

"But knowin' our luck, Fall's statue will be a trap."

Mikey sent a glare over his shoulder, although he doubted its gravity reached the hothead, regardless of the few bulbous lampposts around them. He let the matter slide, however, only because they had reached their destination—a circular grass area with sporadic trees, low iron fences, and pathways.

It lacked sufficient coverage for a ninja, so Mikey maintained vigilance as he and Raph past the George Washington Monument. They followed the cobble road up to the park's center, feet cold against the wet stone. There, they halted at a decorative intersection.

"What'd I tell ya?" Raph asked, low. "Turtle Luck."

"Look at the cloak," Mikey retorted, squinting at the deep red that pooled around a seated figure. "Isn't it familiar? Like…The Little Red Robberies. That's must be Mel!"

"Hold it!" A sudden grip forced Michelangelo back. "How would she get her cloak if it's at the Lair?"

"Maybe it's not hers." The youngest's glare translated then and it loosened his brother's hold. Of course Raph didn't believe him, but he approached the figure alongside Mikey, who called out, "Melody? That's you, isn't it? If not you then Sven, but I get the feeling…it's you."

The hooded figure stayed silent, curled before the bronze statue that loomed in the park's center-most grass section.

"Everyone's been worried," the orange-masked Chūnin continued. "Especially Donny and Nia. Why haven't you come home?"

One more step placed the mutants at the figure's side. The brothers exchanged a look under a lamppost before Mikey knelt in a water puddle to reach for the red hood's brim. His fingers never touched it; the figure's head twisted, revealing such a horrific sight, it sank his stomach like an anchor.

"Holy shit," whispered Raph above his brother's head.

"Raph!"

"What?" The hothead's eyes glanced downwards then resettled on Melody. "She looks horrible."

"Funny," the cyborg said—a faint, hoarse, dead action. It mirrored her puffy, bloodshot eye, flush cheeks, and bruises all too well, so Mikey sat beside her—pained not by the chilled water, but by the words she continued with, "That's exactly how I feel…"

"How long have you been here? Obviously a while; you're drenched. I'd offer a jacket, but"—he smiled—"it's summer."

Not a twitch or slight eye movement. Not even a snort. Melody always snorted at his jokes! Sighing, Michelangelo looked up at the grand statue that stole the cyborg's attention. A low position made the dynamic flying pose seem much grander, and his focus lingered on Tabitha's serious expression since it was a hauntingly accurate representation.

"The artist must've gotten pictures from Tabi's parents," said Mikey. "Or maybe they based it off footage from the news. Channel Six got good shots. I mean, uh…Mel?"

Melody continued staring, as if she and Tabi were locked in a contest.

"Do we gotta drag yer ass back home, Gray?" Raph squatted to the duo's level. "Don's been losin' his shit an' I'm tired of it."

"What Raphy means is that we were scared you may've been captured or something. Not contacting us was kind'a mean, don't you think?"

"I had no idea…what I was doing."

Mikey popped his ears, just for good measure since Melody's voice left her lips near a whisper. "What do you mean?"

A long pause followed until the cyborg's gaze fell to the plaque bolted onto the statue's concrete base. "When Mom died…I had so much anger, so much pain. It was overwhelming, so"—she brought her dirty hands together, squeezing them—"I took it out on Purple Dragons. Again and again, every night for years, just looking for someone to hurt. That's how their hate for me started."

"Mel—"

Melody held her hands against her stomach, hunched as she added, "I don't know where else to direct it. Th—thought I could do the same now. But even though I buried her a—and beaten every EPF bastard I've come across"—the cloak's hood trembled as wheezy whimper wore on Mel's tone—"it hasn't made a difference. The pain's not going away, and I—I—I don't know what to do. I'm so lost. What do I do?"

Below the hood brim's shadow, Melody gawked. She no longer held control over her emotions and Michelangelo sensed she wanted to cling onto someone—anyone. Her arms were frozen in place, though. Perhaps because she had grown so weak over the last several days. Or maybe she felt too sick to move.

"The pain of losing someone doesn't ever go away, Melody," Mikey started. "When you think about your mom, doesn't it hurt?"

"Nice pep-talk, Shell-for-Brains."

Mikey sent Raph a sour look then returned to the sniffling cyborg. "What you gotta do is come to terms with it. A—accept that Tabi's gone and…know your pain can only become bearable if you lean on others' love."

Here, the youngest Chunin rested a hand on his sister's damp knee, although her gaze remained unfocused when he continued. "We're here for you, Mel. We want you home, so all that pain can be carried together. It's the only way to make it through."

"You know," Mel whispered so absently, she sounded like a puppet, "I didn't start feeling better about Mom's death until…until I met Tabitha. That night, she was being initiated into the PDs and I was having a rough day. I remember her saying a punch could never hurt, she'd been through worse. I caught her eyes then…and in a moment, I understood what she meant.

"Sh—she felt alone, like she had no place. So I said 'If you want a home, I know where one is.'"

"She took you up on it?"

The cyborg nodded under Mikey's light smile. "I introduced her to Baker's. She met Sven. And the two of them"—she laughed pitifully—"wouldn't leave me alone. They gave me direction. Through them, I learned that helping others felt much better than punching Dragons. Of course, I never stopped. But at least when my fists met their face, it was with purpose."

"To protect the homeless…" Trailing off left the mutant with a pit in his stomach, which sunk further with every labored breath Melody's battered body drew.

"Here I was thinking they'd always be there," she said through tears. "I—I—I pushed them aside when I was working through Splinter's cancer. Thought I'd—I'd have time, that I'd help them find where they felt most-wanted, and now…"

She couldn't continue. Not that a conclusion was necessary. Mikey knew how she felt and for the first time ever, she was pliable against his lead. His arms captured her damp form, his chin resting atop her hood as she buried her face into his collarbone. Raph brushed off his brother's invitation for all of a second before succumbing. Silent, he knelt behind Melody and when he placed a hand against her back, her sobs turned into a wail that racked her curled figure.

"Bl—Blaine wanted me to tell you something," Mikey noted between her gasps for air. "He was there for her final words. Tabi said she found it. Her place, my guess. She said"—he struggled to keep his voice steady—"she said it was with helping others. That made her happy...She was happy, Mel."

Mikey's closed throat ensured he spoke no more. But what more needed said? So, he kept a firm grip on Melody, watching Raphael stand.

"Come on," the hothead muttered, "let's get outta this depressin' place. I've seen enough damage…"