...

Excuse me for my hesitation, have I met you before?
Your face seems so familiar and longing for more
Your eyes they tell me something that I understand
Your eyes they hold the truth and
The truth is, you're miles away
-" Miles Away" , by Depeche Mode

BEHIND BLUE EYES

Standing tall and stout in the middle of the Killer Cookie Fortune Cookie Co factory was a caricaturesque wooden statue of a Chinese man in a conical straw hat, positioned between two elevated conveyor belts on the main floor. Raphael scowled at the tacky centerpiece and the overwhelmingly sickly-sweet scent of fortune cookies as he followed Xever up a flight of stairs to a partial second level. High above, a number of light fixtures hung from the rafters, a few of their bulbs flickering weakly.

"This is one of our safe houses?" Raphael asked skeptically.

"More like a quiet, neutral place to have meetings and discuss business," Xever explained. "After hours, of course."

Raphael nodded curtly in response.

Their trip here had been brief and amicable. Xever really liked to talk, and though it took some time for Raphael to get used to the unique accent and cadence that he spoke with, he soaked up all of the information Xever had to give him attentively. He learned which parts of the city and greater New York area the Brazilian mob operated in, as well as a touch about their international connections, the names of his top henchmen, and their primary revenue streams. Xever's organization mostly ran on drugs and arms, with the Foot Clan only having a direct interest in the latter. Nonetheless, Xever handed twenty percent of his total profits over to Shredder, and in return, the Foot aided in brokering some of their weapons deals and offered protection whenever any of the Brazilian's other assets were threatened.

As curious as Raphael was as to how this allegiance had been forged, a quick check of the time on his burner phone showed that Xever's contact would be here any minute. "Who is it we're expecting?" he asked instead.

"Fong, the leader of the Purple Dragons. They are at the top of the small time gangs in the city," Xever answered, waving a hand dismissively. "They run much of the East side, mostly thugs and petty crooks. They might be useful in the future, but I doubt it."

The front door opened and the pair of them waited impassively as a man crossed the threshold and made his way upstairs and over to them. The description of the gang had Raphael irritated already; he wasn't interested in having allies that sounded like low level Yakuza grunts. Fong's appearance didn't help his opinion any, either. The man wore black pants and a vest with no shirt, revealing either a large birthmark or scar on the center of his chest and a dragon tattoo on this left arm.

Raphael watched him approach from beneath the hood of his cloak. Fong was trying to act natural, nonchalant, but his sweat stunk of nerves and his heart rate was just this side of too fast.

"Hey, Mr X, how's it going?" Fong greeted Xever as if they were old friends, hand extended.

Xever looked down at it and back up at Fong, making no move to shake, and Fong awkwardly pulled it away and slicked his hand through his short, dark hair.

He glanced at Raphael, cowed for a moment by his height and bulk before noticing the yellow plates of his plastron below crossed arms. "Oh man, are you one of them?" Fong asked in alarm, eyes widening.

"Do you know where to find them or not?" Raphael snapped impatiently.

Stumbling back a step, Fong cleared his throat and turned back to Xever. "I was told there would be a finders fee," he said, his voice somewhat shaken.

"And you will get it, once we find them," Xever replied, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Where did you see them?"

As if on cue, the sound of shattering glass off to their left had them reflexively reaching for their weapons. Time seemed to slow for Raphael as he watched three figures glide through the air and land gracefully on the loft among the spray of glass, eyes blank and weapons drawn.

"We've got you now," the one in the blue mask was saying in the same breath as his leap.

Raphael winced as the sight of the coloured bandanas they each wore triggered his memory, like a blinding flash in a pan.

Blue. Leonardo.
Purple. Donatello.
Orange. Michelangelo.
And red...Raphael had always been red.

In the few seconds it had taken for Raphael to process that, the other three turtles had taken up a much more guarded stance with the realization that Fong was not alone. They tensed, knowing they had a much bigger fight on their hands than they had first anticipated.

"Oh great," griped Michelangelo, "it's that Xever guy and...scary, black cloak dude?"

"Get them," ordered Xever, pushing Fong towards Leonardo's twin katana.

Everyone jumped into action. Leonardo immediately hit Fong with the hilt of one of his katana and kicked him into the nearest wall, pinning the man there the next instant. Obviously they had some unfinished business, but Raphael paid them no mind; he couldn't care less if they had come here looking to kill the two-bit gangster.

Donatello moved in on Raphael with a bo, which he blocked and knocked aside with his metal gauntlet. Donatello faltered as Raphael's cloak flared with the movement, revealing the glinting spikes of his shoulder armor, his plastron, and the right side of his shell.

"Another mutant?" Donatello whispered in wonder. "A turtle? What…?"

Raphael took advantage of the confusion to get a proper two handed grip on his katana and drove it forward, meaning to run Donatello through, but he sidestepped the attack swiftly. Raphael raised his sword, bringing it down in a fluid, diagonal sweep, then bore down on Donatello's staff heavily when he used it to block. With Donatello pressed, Raphael glanced back to check whether or not Michelangelo was still a threat. Apparently, Xever had taken off after Leonardo, knocking him down the stairs, and Michelangelo had joined that fray out of sight on the main level, so it was just the two of them. Raphael grinned down viciously at the shocked face staring back at him, his blade digging into the bo and the wood creaking as it curved slightly under the pressure.

Donatello spun out from under him, jumping back and twirling the bo in front of himself defensively, then transitioned smoothly into a ready stance.

"Raph?" he asked, his mouth agape. "How…?"

Raphael lunged forward, crashing through Donatello's defense and directly into the other turtle with his armored side, at least one of the bladed spikes making contact. Donatello grunted at the impact but would not be bowled over; he tucked his staff between Raphael's body and arm and twisted, strong enough to lock up Raphael's elbow. A quick maneuver to the side wrenched Raphael's shoulder back, Donatello controlling his arm from behind Raphael's own shell and then driving him face first towards the railing. The hot bloom of fresh blood as the semi-healed gash on Raphael's shoulder opened up under all of the wraps and metal made itself known to him before the sharp sting, and his katana dropped, skittering across the floor. He caught himself before he collided with the railing by grabbing hold of it with his left hand, pushing back, and whirling to face Donatello again.

"I don't want to fight you," Donatello said, and while he didn't have hands on Raphael anymore, his bo was now modified into a naginata, and the blade adorning said staff was leveled at his chest.

Gritting his teeth and blocking the pain from his mind, Raphael charged forward and released the twin dragon claws from his gauntlet. Donatello, his upper left plastron and arm scratched up and smeared with blood, decided against taking Raphael head-on again. He stayed nimbly just out of Raphael's guard, striking at all of his vulnerable points - the sides of his shell, his thighs, the backs of his knees and ankles - while avoiding the devastating claws, but Raphael deflected the strikes easily with his blades and his own agility.

Raphael's black cloak billowed all around them, further obscuring Donatello's aim, and the naginata eventually got caught up in it. Raphael seized the cloak, wrapping the staff up into the fabric even further, then dragged it towards him until the blade was harmlessly behind him to his left. Donatello swayed forward with the force of it, and Raphael headbutted him squarely in the face, knocking him temporarily senseless. Raphael yanked the naginata from Donatello's grip, shucking off his cloak and tossing both aside.

Raphael lifted his clawed fist, intent on swinging it down into Donatello while he was still dazed, when a chain snared his gauntlet and blades. Raphael watched with growing rage as a sickle came to rest limply by his hand as a kusarigama tightened and jerked his arm away from Donatello, sending an agonizing pang from his agitated wound all the way to his fingertips. His darkened gaze followed the line of chain to see Michelangelo precariously perched on the railing, muscles taut with the effort of holding Raphael's arm back.

"Raph?" Michelangelo asked, smiling despite the situation they were all in. "Leo! It's Raph! He's alive!" he yelled enthusiastically. A crash and a hiss of pain from the lower level indicated that this distraction had cost Leonardo, and Michelangelo cringed apologetically down at him.

Raphael hauled back his arm, sending Michelangelo flying towards him and the clawed gauntlet he had entangled. Michelangelo practically cartwheeled and spun on a dime to avoid the blades, pulling at Raphael's arm once again so that the claws were facing the floor before stepping on the chain for better control.

"Raph, stop," Michelangelo pleaded, trying to hold him still.

Donatello shook the fog from his head and freed his naginata from the cloak on the floor. Raphael roared in pain and frustration and took the chain of the kusarigama in both hands and heaved Michelangelo forwards, gaining enough momentum to swing him into Donatello. The two collided with a solid thunk, and before they could recover from the impact, Raphael grabbed each of them by the backs of their shells and ran them over the railing. Shaking the chains off of his gauntlet, he watched as Michelangelo and Donatello landed on the main level, collected themselves within seconds, and rushed to join Leonardo's struggle to neutralize Xever.

Though he had doubtlessly learned some ninjitsu over the years, Xever did not fight like a ninja. He had a style that was unfamiliar but entrancing to Raphael, with a combination of knife-fighting, street brawling, and acrobatic, unorthodox kicks that were difficult to predict. He was amazing, but not powerful enough to hold off all three mutants at once.

Retracting the claws back into his gauntlet, Raphael picked up his katana and ignored the few drops of blood that dotted the concrete beneath his fist. His shoulder bled slow and steady, the black fabric of his wraps dampening as the blood was absorbed incrementally down the length of his arm.

Below him, Xever was pinned face-down on the floor by Donatello, who had both of the man's arms restrained in one hand and much of his weight dropped to one padded knee resting on the small of Xever's back. Donatello's bo was held firmly along Xever's neck, restricting his movements even further, but despite this, Raphael sensed no urgency or imminent danger. If they had intended to kill Xever, it would already be done. Instead, quite foolishly, their attentions had turned away from their captive and up to Raphael.

Michelangelo made a move towards the base of the staircase but Leonardo stilled him with a hand, ushering him back and putting himself slightly ahead of his brothers.

"Raph, I don't know where you've been all this time or what you've been through," Leonardo called up to him, "but we just want to talk."

"I don't owe you any explanations," Raphael spat.

Above his head, Raphael heard the gentle pattering of feet on the roof. Their two lookouts, hidden atop nearby buildings, had no doubt alerted the other Foot Soldiers at Xever's beck and call the minute the turtles had come crashing in. Through that same broken window, a dozen Soldiers flooded into the upper level and gathered at Raphael's back. Downstairs, ten more entered the main floor at both the front and rear entrances to the factory.

"We don't need all of them alive," Raphael said brusquely before leaping over the railing. Alighting on the conical hat of the wooden statue, he slid down the slope of it before launching himself from its brim.

The room was in chaos before he even hit the floor. Xever tilted his hip roughly and kicked into Donatello's calf, breaking free from his hold. The Foot Soldiers were everywhere, surrounding the three turtles, some attacking and some holding their positions further afield to prevent them from escaping.

Raphael raised his katana, bringing it down towards Leonardo with the full weight of his freefall. Leonardo blocked with both of his swords, straining under the pressure but otherwise surprisingly steady.

"How could you?" Leonardo asked incredulously, their faces inches apart and separated only by sharp steel. "We're your brothers."

"Your brother is dead," Raphael returned, teeth bared. "You left him to die."

"That is not..." Leonardo denied. "It wasn't like that!"

"Wasn't it?" Raphael snarled, and a minute flicker of doubt and guilt crossed Leonardo's features.

Leonardo pushed back, having to break away from their deadlock to fend off two Foot Soldiers that had come up behind him; both were useless heaps on the floor within seconds. While his defense against Raphael didn't waver, he could see the fear in Leonardo's eyes as he assessed their situation in that split second. He and his brothers had been completely unprepared for this onslaught and their defeat was inevitable. Raphael knew Leonardo was going to yell the order to retreat before it left his lips and surged forward, trying to box him in against a conveyor belt where swinging two swords around would be more of a handicap than an advantage. Leonardo foiled that tactic by leaping five feet straight up into the air, finding his footing on the metal rollers of the belt, and taking a swipe with a katana that saw his blade whisper past Raphael's cheek with only an inch or two to spare.

"Retreat!" Leonardo hollered.

Foot Soldiers surrounded Leonardo quickly, and Xever calling Raphael's name pulled his attention away from retaliation. Xever was running towards him and pointing up, where Donatello and Michelangelo were making a break for it on the stairs and mostly succeeding in cutting a path through the sea of black-garbed ninja that had crowded onto the steps all around them. Some of their men were down, making a speedy ascent almost impossible for Xever. Raphael nodded, stepping closer to the staircase and into Xever's path, then leaned forward with his hands palms up, one resting over the other. The next instant, one of Xever's sneakered feet thwacked firmly into his palm, and Raphael launched him skyward. Xever sprung high into the air with a hoot, grabbed ahold of the railing with one hand, and flung himself feet first into Donatello mid-stairway.

Raphael raced up the staircase the more conventional way, clearing three or four steps at a time and the injured Foot Soldiers that littered them. He slammed into Michelangelo, who was trying pull Xever away from Donatello, knocking him off-balance and sending him scrambling up the last few stairs. Raphael was on him in an instant, driving him backwards on the upper level with fists and elbows until Michelangelo's carapace scraped against a wall and he could go no further. Raphael leaned his left forearm across Michelangelo's chest to keep him in place, looked him in the eye, and brought his katana to the other turtle's throat.

"I missed you every day that you were gone," Michelangelo blurted, the words leaving him in a rush as if he desperately needed them to be heard before he died.

It was said with such sincerity that it made Raphael's breath hitch painfully. His hand shook, unable to strike the killing blow or withdraw his blade. That blinding white light returned, searing his mind, followed by the image of Michelangelo peering up at him, his blue eyes large and full of tears, his face much younger.

Don't worry, I'll always protect you, Raphael heard his own childish voice promise.

The bolt of pain that followed in his head made him flinch, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut before frantically blinking away the remnants of the light. When his vision swam back into focus, Michelangelo was staring at him expectantly. He hadn't attacked while Raphael had been briefly incapacitated, nor had he made a move to get away. In fact, Michelangelo didn't even have a weapon in hand despite having nunchucks and small kunai holstered along his belt.

"Raph, I am so sorry," Michelangelo said softly, and Raphael's brow knit in confusion.

"Get away from him!" Leonardo snapped, and suddenly Raphael was being barreled into from the side and tumbled to the floor.

Disoriented, head throbbing, Raphael sat up in time to watch Xever shake his fist at the broken window and shout, "Come back here and fight, you cowards!"

"Damn it!" Raphael cursed loudly, as much at himself as their escape.

Xever was already on his phone, reporting in and making arrangements for the Foot Soldiers who were too injured to leave of their own accord.

A scuffling of cardboard caught Raphael's attention as Fong emerged, completely unscathed, from behind stacked cases of fortune cookies. Raphael growled, descending on the man in three large strides and flinging him to the floor.

Xever looked up, one eyebrow raised, and promptly put away his phone. "So, the roaches are coming out of the woodwork now that the fight is done."

Raphael grabbed Fong by the vest and dragged him up to snarl in his face. "I should kill you right now."

"Wha-what did I do?" Fong stammered, terrified. "You wanted to find them and there they were!"

"Idiota," Xever barked, smacking the back of Fong's head. "You can't tell when you have a tail? You led them right to our hideout."

"You better have something useful for us," Raphael warned.

"Okay, okay, let me go," Fong said, raising his hands up in surrender. Raphael relinquished the grip he had on the vest and the man continued, his tone fast and choppy. "Okay, so, my buddies and I went down to this noodle shop, 24/7. The owner owes us some money, older guy named Murakami, and we roughed him up a little 'cuz he wouldn't pay. Then those turtles showed up with a girl and ran us off. Must be friends of his or something."

"A girl?" Raphael asked, emerald eyes narrowing. "A human girl?"

"Yeah, young, cute. Redhead."

"Did she fight?" Raphael pressed.

Fong shook his head. "No."

"Is that it?" Xever asked.

"Yeah."

"Get out," Xever said simply, handing over a small roll of cash from one of his pockets.

Fong had the good sense to take his money, shut up, and flee the building.

"Master Shredder is not going to be happy about this," Raphael muttered, clenching and unclenching his fist. His fingertips were starting to feel numb, and a few more drops of blood speckled the concrete with the motion.

Xever noticed, but didn't comment. "This debacle was not a part of my plan. It would have been ideal to capture them, of course, but this changes nothing," he assured. "We will set our trap, exploit their weaknesses, and we will have them once and for all."

Raphael nodded thoughtfully. "They are an even match for me, in strength and fighting," he said, struggling to find the words in English, "but they are not confident when things don't go their way. They hesitate."

"I was thinking more of their other weaknesses. Their human friends. Not much to go on with the girl, but Murakami? We know where to find him, and I think he will make excellent bait."

Raphael grimaced. Abducting a loved one to lure out his targets wasn't his style, but then again, human beings were a lot easier to track than elusive mutants, and he had been ordered to follow Xever's lead, for now. He rubbed his temples, trying to will his headache away. "When are we doing this?" he sighed.

"Tomorrow," Xever replied. "It will give us time to regroup and plan the details. Those turtles will not get away again."

ooooooooooooooo

"Where on Earth have you boys been? What's happened?"

The sharp edge of alarm in Master Splinter's voice could still pin Michelangelo to the spot, but unlike his brothers, he just couldn't stand still. He fidgeted and huffed when Leonardo shushed him instantly and answered over him.

"We wanted to make sure no one would go back and hurt Murakami," Leonardo said, "so we tracked down the leader of the Purple Dragon's…"

Master Splinter's ears laid flat and his tail whipped angrily, but he kept his temper. "I understand that the Foot and the Kraang have landed on our doorsteps, but that was reckless and unnecessary," he scolded Leonardo. He turned away, agitated, and rifled through a cabinet in the kitchen.

"There's something you need to know," Leonardo continued carefully.

Michelangelo wondered how Leonardo was staying so calm, when the knowledge and emotional fallout of their discovery was still clamoring wildly in his own mind.

He watched as Splinter handed the antiseptic wipes that he had rummaged up over to Donatello to clean his bloody scratches. Donatello accepted them eagerly and muttered something about how it was a wonder they hadn't all died of sepsis by now under his breath.

Silence fell, and his brothers seemed to be mulling over how to best break the news, while Splinter waited in that impossibly patient way he had until they were ready.

"Raphael is alive!" Michelangelo burst out with before he imploded.

Donatello face-palmed and Leonardo turned to stare at him like he was an idiot, but Splinter took it as if he were absorbing a physical blow.

"Way to ease him into it, Mikey," sighed Leonardo.

"I'm sorry!" Michelangelo yelped.

"Where is he?" Splinter asked quietly.

Leonardo and Donatello glanced at each other, but Donatello must have silently deferred, because it was Leonardo who spoke up. "We followed Fong into the fortune cookie factory in Chinatown, hoping to give him a bit of a scare, but he was meeting with Xever and Raphael. We tried to talk to him, but he attacked us, along with a bunch of Foot soldiers."

"No," Splinter denied with a punched breath. "How can this be? Where has he been all this time? Why would he be working with the Foot Clan?"

"He's not just working alongside them," Donatello piped up dejectedly, still dabbing at his wounds. "Raph was commanding the soldiers with Xever. He's not only a part of the Foot Clan, he holds a position of authority within it."

Splinter sunk down into his old, worn chair, looking confused and pained as he tried to make sense of it all.

It was heart-wrenching to see their father and mentor in such a state. "It's going to be okay, Sensei," Michelangelo said, moving to kneel beside the chair and rest his hand over Splinter's. "All we have to do is bring him back. He just needs to talk to you and everything will be fine."

"Do not try and bring him here!" Leonardo yelled, almost in a panic. "He is extraordinarily dangerous right now, to all of us. All we know for sure is that he's in the Foot Clan, and the Foot Clan is trying to find out where Master Splinter is, by any means necessary. We can't trust him not to harm us, or with the whereabouts of the lair, even if he says he wants to come back. Especially if he does. We have to be smart about this."

"If he sees Sensei, he'll remember how much he loved him," Michelangelo said stubbornly, unable to comprehend why this was even up for discussion.

"He thinks that we left him to die," Leonardo countered. "So obviously he's been brainwashed, doesn't remember, or both."

Michelangelo leapt from his place at Splinter's side and got in Leonardo's face aggressively. "He remembered me!"

"He had a sword to your throat, he was going to kill you before I knocked him away!"

"He'd had it there long before you ever showed up, and he couldn't do it. He looked at me and he remembered something," Michelangelo hollered. "Maybe if you hadn't shoved him aside, he would be home with us right now!"

"Yameru!" Splinter ordered sternly, and Michelangelo felt a tug on his arm as Donatello slowly eased them apart.

"Please, stop. I need some time to process, to think," Splinter said, "but Leonardo is not wrong about disclosing the location of our home to Raphael at this time."

Michelangelo gaped at Splinter. "I don't believe this! Raph is our family, we can't just leave him out there!"

Splinter stood, approaching Michelangelo with his hands out placatingly. "Michelangelo," he said gently.

"No!" Michelangelo bit out, trying to sound firm, but the emotions churning his chest were quickly ebbing from angry outrage to guilt and sadness, making his voice waver. Tears pricked behind his eyes. "You don't understand," he managed, his fists clenched at his sides. "I was the one who lost him, I've got to be the one to bring him home."

Michelangelo closed his eyes against the tears and was pulled forward into Splinter's chest for a hug, and after a moment of resistance, he melted into it and clutched at his father's burgundy yukata.

"I understand," Splinter rumbled.

"I have to try," Michelangelo insisted, his voice finally cracking.

"I know," Splinter said, squeezing him tighter. "We also cannot risk losing the home and family we have built here because we rushed into this, and we cannot force Raphael back before he is ready. We will find a solution, together. Okay?"

Michelangelo nodded into the now-wet fabric his face was pressed into, not feeling okay at all.

ooooooooooooooo

Raphael really should have known better than to go along with Xever when he offered to take him someplace where they could relax and have a drink to recover from the decidedly crappy night they'd just had, but he'd been too fatigued to argue. Occupying most of the backseat of Xever's car, he'd closed his eyes, put his head back against the seat, and waited for his migraine to dull into a mind-numbing throb. When the movement of the car slowed and came to a stop, he cracked his eyes open and stared at the gaudy, neon sign blankly. The outline of a woman blinked on and off in pink, and green letters loudly declared: The Bunny Run.

They turned a corner and parked behind a rundown, boarded up building attached to the strip club. He had the fleeting hope that the abandoned portion was their destination, until Xever looked back at him and grinned impishly before exiting the car, leaving Raphael scrambling out after him.

"Are you crazy?" Raphael hissed at Xever as he slammed the door shut.

Xever ignored him and popped his trunk in the dark parking lot, gesturing into it. "You might want to ditch the heavy metal so you don't scare the ladies. I'll have it brought to the lair for you later."

Raphael's jaw dropped. "You think this shit is what's going to scare them?" he shouted, waving the gauntlet in Xever's bruised face and sorely tempted to spring the claws. "Not to mention, Master Shredder hasn't approved me being seen in public yet."

"This is my club, which makes it, in part, Foot Clan property," he reasoned smoothly. "The people who work for me will know about you soon enough, and believe me, none of the patrons are going to pay any attention to you. Even if they do, you would be surprised what can be passed off as 'part of the show' in the entertainment industry. Now settle yourself, Turtle, there's a private bar where it's quiet, staff only."

Raphael's migraine flared back to life and he cursed in Japanese. "Fine," he ceded, unbuckling his armor and carefully arranging it and the gauntlet in the trunk.

As a hasty afterthought, he also dropped his cloak and mask inside, a small wave of relief flowing through him as a mental and physical weight was lifted from him. Not only had he always felt too confined while traveling in a car, but he was suddenly feeling claustrophobic in his own skin with the layers of added bandages, wraps, and metal. The mere thought of parting with his weapons left him rattled, however, and Xever didn't seem bothered by him remaining armed when the trunk banged shut.

"I don't believe this," Raphael mumbled, following Xever across the back of the abandoned building to the staff entrance for The Bunny Run.

The steady beat of music surrounded him as they entered, pounding rhythmically in his skull and punctuated by cheers and catcalls from the crowd. Directly ahead was a huge, crescent shaped bar, and roughly half of the tall chairs situated in front of it were occupied. A bartender in a yellow crop top looked up and waved at them, then went about her work as if seeing a giant turtle in the staff doorway with her boss was only the tenth weirdest thing she'd experienced that night.

Raphael's attention couldn't help but be drawn to the spotlit main stage to the far left that featured two metal poles and a bikini-clad woman at each one, scores of men egging them on and throwing cash as they spun in unison. One of the women flipped upside down, her only support the press of her hip and her hands on the pole below her, and slowly did the splits to the howling approval of her audience. Raphael cocked his head to the side and stared raptly, impressed with the athleticism and strength that move would require. When she righted herself, his eyes followed the long line of her legs, the absurdly high heels she wore accentuating the muscles in her calves and the curve of her rear. After a flurry of nimble spins, she paused to pose dramatically, then flung her top across the stage.

Cheeks heating up, Raphael averted his gaze only to find a smaller stage with an almost naked man dancing for the favors of a mixed group of women and men.

"Do you want to go watch?" Xever asked, too close to his ear so he could be heard above the din.

Raphael jumped almost guiltily, turning away from the spectacle and shuddering at the thought of all those rowdy humans pressing flesh against him as they watched girls undress. "Hell. No."

Xever tilted his head quickly to the side, indicating to follow him. Raphael kept his eyes fixed on Xever's heels, wondering if he was noticeably blushing. He was led to a locked office, which in turn had another hidden exit inside a closet, which also required a key.

Raphael blinked, disoriented, when they emerged into another, very similar office. "What the hell?"

Xever smiled, and when they left that second office, Raphael realized they were now in the 'abandoned' building attached to the club. A fair-sized lounge stretched out before them, the decor soft and muted with overstuffed couches and chairs, low tables, and fancy draperies to hide the ugly boarded windows. Only one other person was in the room, a woman in a long, velvet robe that reclined on a couch with her bare feet up on a table, a Cosmo magazine in one hand and a snifter of brandy in the other. She greeted Xever and eyed Raphael curiously, then went back to her reading.

Xever got behind a small, wooden bar with four backless stools and scanned the bottles critically. "There is a washroom down the hall, first door on the right," he said. "In case you wanted to freshen up. I noticed you were bleeding earlier."

Indeed, with the armor and gauntlet gone, his wraps were tacky to the touch. "Thanks," he said curtly, and headed off in that direction.

"Maybe don't go any further into the back," Xever added after him.

Raphael let out a long-suffering sigh; he didn't have to be told. The whole place reeked of sex and booze, and his sharp ears picked up the lewd noises coming from the back rooms as he approached. Locking himself into the washroom gave him a reprieve from it all, but the lack of distraction brought his nerves roaring back to the forefront of his consciousness.

Using a small throwing kunai to carefully slice through the wraps, from his right knuckle to just past his elbow, he peeled them off and threw them in the trash. His shoulder had stopped bleeding, and the bandages had absorbed enough of the blood that the stains weren't obvious on the remaining black fabric hiding them. Unable to redress the wound on his own, he left everything from mid-bicep up untouched. Rinsing the semi-dried blood from his hands and the bared portion of his arm as best he could in the sink, he tried and failed to not to let his mind wander back to the blue eyes that had invoked the wrath of his headache.

I missed you every day that you were gone. He sucked in a painful breath and blotted his arm with a towel. Why had it been Michelangelo that stilled his hand? What could he have possibly promised to protect his brother from all of those years ago?

Most importantly, what the hell was wrong with him? Periodic migraines had plagued Raphael since he had been poisoned, but the episodes relating to his old, barely-there memories left him debilitated. If Michelangelo had been ruthless, Raphael would be dead. If he couldn't get a handle on whatever was happening to him, it put him and his Clan in danger. If he couldn't be strong enough to face his past without crumbling, Karai could get hurt because of it, and that was a guilt he knew he couldn't live with.

Raphael was snapped out of his thoughts by the sounds of feminine giggling and realized that he was bracing himself on the sink, his hands gripping either side of it so tightly that it threatened to crack the porcelain. He let out a slow, shuddering breath and let go.

Goddamnit, he was tired.

The idea of alcohol suddenly felt like salvation, and the prospect of Xever's banter was a welcome alternative to being holed up in his room at the lair to avoid Master Shredder's biting commentary.

Breezing out of the washroom and heading back to the lounge as if he could outrun his anxiety, he found two women laughing and hanging off of Xever, a blonde and a brunette in matching grey satin robes that barely reached their thighs. Raphael tensed, but hardened his resolve and did the same thing he'd always done when walking into a place full of humans that he hadn't met before: kept his expression somewhere between neutral and stern, his stride confident, and pretended that he belonged there. He sat himself parallel to the bar, one elbow resting atop the smooth surface, leaving a stool empty between him and Xever, and regarded the trio.

"Ladies," Xever said smoothly, "this is my friend, Raphael. He's here from Japan on business."

The girls smiled at him, their eyes roving his body in open fascination, and the hot blush of color returned to his cheeks. Their pale skin was also flushed pink and their hearts beat quickly, the scent of sweat evident beneath their perfumes, and Raphael recognized them as the two that had just been performing.

"Sweet costume," said the brunette, who'd also been the one Raphael had admired earlier. "Looks totally badass."

Raphael snorted. "Thanks."

Xever tightened an arm around each of the women's waists to regain their attention. "What are the chances of getting a little company tonight?" he asked them.

"I have another set in an hour, but then I'm free," the blonde answered affectionately, playing with his wild hair.

"I have to run tonight, sorry, hun," said the brunette. "I just wanted to say hi. Oh, and nice meeting you, too," she added to Raphael before slipping free of Xever's hold and gracefully taking her leave from them.

"Just the two of us later, then?" Xever said, shooting the blonde a sly look.

"Kurt is on his last set for the night…" she replied suggestively. "I can ask him if he's busy later."

"Perfect," Xever practically purred.

On the bar sat a full bottle of Crown Royal and six shot glasses. Xever nudged three of them over to Raphael and filled all six with whiskey, picking up one of his shots and lifting it to him.

"You ready?" Xever asked.

Raphael looked down at the three shot glasses situated by his hand, each about the size of his thumbnail, and scoffed audibly. He grabbed the bottle. "Cheers," he said dryly, taking a long pull straight from it.

The humans laughed and Xever got on board, knocking back two shots in quick succession and hissing as the alcohol stung a small split on his upper lip from their earlier skirmish.

"I'm gonna go take my break and get done up for my next dance," the woman said, kissing Xever on the cheek and whispering into his ear. "I'll see you later."

She stepped towards Raphael, reaching out as if to touch his arm, but seemed to decide against it when she noticed his steely gaze on her hand. She withdrew it respectfully and ducked her head towards him. "It's not a costume, is it?" she asked in a quiet, conspiratorial voice.

Raphael took another swig from the bottle and looked her dead in the eye. "Nope."

"Don't let the boss over here get you into too much trouble, alright?" she said playfully. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Raphael."

The coy drawl she used as she said his name made the nape of his neck prickle and his breath catch, and by the time he had found his tongue to reply, she had already sauntered off.

Xever grinned wolfishly at him. "You are welcome to stay the night if you like. I bet one of my more adventurous girls would even keep your bed warm."

"I don't think so," Raphael replied quickly.

Xever began to protest, perhaps mistaking his refusal as disbelief, but Raphael tuned him out and drank some more Crown Royal, focusing on the smooth burn of it in his throat. It wasn't that he was completely uninterested, per say; more that this scenario was far too reminiscent of his time at the farm, when the men there used to share graphic stories of their conquests around the fire, tease him, and sometimes offered to buy him a woman for the night just to watch him squirm.

"I'm fifteen years old," Raphael said, cutting him off. "I know you aren't making fun of me, but being the inexperienced freak of nature that I am, this kind of shit was a favorite for some of the jerks I trained with to taunt me about when I was just a kid. So drop it," he warned.

Xever paused, then took another shot before speaking again. "Apologies, I just assumed you were older by your reputation and stature in the Foot Clan. I, too, had to become a man by the time I was your age, but I was alone. Master Shredder must have raised and trained you directly."

Raphael inclined his head in agreement. "I also spent four years training for the Elite under Master Takeshi. My age was kept from the other men I lived and worked with so they wouldn't treat me like a child. Not that I think it would have mattered much for training and sparring. If anything, once they knew I could heal fast, they were harder on me," he muttered, raising the bottle to his lips once again.

"From the stories I've heard about the Elite training, I'm surprised you survived," Xever said, clearly impressed.

"I almost didn't. Hell, even the crazy horse almost killed me my second week there."

"Who's Crazy Horse?" Xever asked, confused, taking one of Raphael's untouched shots for himself.

"No, an actual, crazy horse. I still have a little dent in my shell from when he kicked me," Raphael said. "Of all the stories you've heard, I bet the fact that every Elite Soldier in the Foot Clan today got their asses handed to them by a horse as their first lesson wasn't one of them."

Xever threw his head back with a whole hearted laugh, and a smile teased at Raphael's lips. His migraine was being successfully chased away by the whiskey, and he drained the rest of the bottle in one go.

"What about you?" Raphael asked. "I've never seen anyone fight like you before."

"I've spent most of my life mastering capoeira," he replied. "It was considered such a dangerous martial art in my country that it was illegal to practice it for over a century."

"Could you teach me sometime?"

"Sure," Xever said with a grin.

They made plans to train together, and Xever happily droned on for a while about the history of capoeira while Raphael listened intently, enjoying the pleasant buzz he had going until they were interrupted by three dancers entering the lounge, a man and two women. The women seemed content to take their breaks in the sitting area, but the tall, tanned man in black short-shorts made his way directly over to Xever and kissed him soundly.

"Nina said you were looking for me," he said breathlessly.

"Always," replied Xever with a sultry smirk.

Raphael assumed that this must be Kurt, and probably his cue to leave. Kurt eyed him warily when he stood up and informed Xever that he was heading to the watchtower, shrugging off Xever's offers for another bottle, a bed, or a ride back.

Raphael fled the club the same way they had come in, then climbed up to its roof to get his bearings. He took a few minutes to appreciate the city air, which, in direct comparison to the shuttered up lounge, was downright fresh. The whiskey that had eased his aches and pains was already starting to wear off, but he absolutely refused to get into another goddamn car. He knew how to slip through a busy city like a shadow, he just needed to know which direction he was heading.

He plucked his cell phone from his belt and let it rest in one palm, then used a rubber-tipped pen to type out the address into Google Maps on the touchscreen. The notification for a text message cut him off, and seeing Karai's nickname pop up on the screen was enough to warm his heart for a beat. He was exhausted and out of sorts, and suddenly longed to be in the company of the only person he trusted enough to drop his guard around.

Princess: Doushitano?
Raph: Do you mind typing in English? I need the practice writing
Princess: Seriously? Fine...there are 8 people in medical and Father is looking stabbier than usual. What the hell happened?
Raph: The turtles attacked us trying to get to our contact, but we have the info we need to trap them. It's under control
Princess: Are you sure?
Raph: Yes
Princess: So, was it weird? Seeing them?
Raph: This whole night has been weird
Princess: Bradford is driving me nuts, I've walked Hachiko 3x today just to get breaks from him. And he had the nerve to ask if I'm 18 yet! What a frigging perve
Raph: Yeah, and Xever runs a brothel through his strip club. Ask me how I know
Princess: WHAT hahaha
Raph: Are you done with Bradford?
Princess: Am I ever
Raph: I meant done work for the night
Princess: Yeah, why?
Raph: I could use some help with my shoulder
Princess: OMG how bad is it?
Raph: It's fine, it bled a little when I was fighting. I just can't bandage it on my own
Princess: You are actually asking for help so I know it's way worse than you are letting on
Raph: It's really not. I'm on my way home
Princess: The watchtower is home now?
Raph: It is when you're there
Princess: Aww, you sap. You must really feel like shit
Raph: Shut up. Be there soon

ooooooooooooooo

Karai shifted her weight uncomfortably under the casually lecherous gaze of Chris Bradford. She leaned as far away from him as possible on the soft leather of the opposite bench in the back of their limousine, her patience wearing thin. Spending most of the previous night and today with him, engrossed in charts, reports, and financial statements to be delivered in some semblance of order to her father later this evening, had been tediously dull as much as it had been a monumental test of self-control. The man was an insufferable braggart, taking credit for everything going well within the New York faction of the Foot Clan and making excuses for the rest.

He was also a notorious womanizer, something she had not been expecting to experience firsthand, and it seemed that his fans and meager brush with celebrity had only reinforced Bradford's gross attitude that any woman should be grateful for his attention. She glanced over at how he postured and preened as he spoke about the dojo they would be visiting, and wondered if he was even aware he was doing it. A ping from her cell phone alerting her to a new text message saved her from having to feign interest in what he was saying.

When she saw that the text was from Raphael, she instantly bit her lip in worry. He had not been himself last night, distant and unwilling to speak about the encounter with his brothers at all, and beneath his unusually docile cooperation with her doctoring, tension had radiated from him like a steady static until his exhaustion won out and he'd fallen asleep.

Raph: Is Bradford still with you?
Karai: Unfortunately. Why?
Raph: I'm supposed to let him know that we have the bait and are setting the trap tonight at 10pm, but I don't have his new phone number yet.
Shredder is expecting the new recruits to be selected and ready in time for the ambush, but he wants you both here with him and ready to receive the turtles
Karai: We're on our way to one of the dojos now so I can take a look at what we're working with. That gives us about 3 hours, should be fine.
I wish I could be there tonight, this is total bullshit
Raph: You have no idea...
Karai: What's wrong?
Raph: He's fucking blind
Karai: ?
Raph: Our bait. Is an old blind man
Karai: Hurting him was never part of Xever's plan, though, right?
Raph: No but he wants him scared for real when the turtles show up, and keeps threatening him
Karai: So what are you going to do?
Raph: I just put him in one of the spare rooms at the watchtower and told him he wasn't in any real danger if he went along with us. I'll have to gag him when we leave but until then I'm guarding him myself
Karai: Be careful. Please. You shouldn't even be fighting at all with your shoulder like that
Raph: I've had worse. If Bradford touches you, make sure you break one of his arms and leave the other for me
Karai: Deal

Karai relayed the portion of Raphael's message meant for Bradford to him, lips curled into a small smile as she tucked her phone away. It quickly turned into a scowl as they pulled into the driveway of the Downtown Athletic Club. It was a huge, full service gym crawling with civilians.

"Are you serious?" Karai asked, eyebrow arched.

"Don't worry about it, I work out here all the time," Bradford said. "I rented the largest studio and had them put down mats. If everyone I called in shows up, there should be fifty men altogether. We've got it for two hours, booked as a private martial arts clinic for the top Bradford Dojo students from all over New York. You can put them through their paces and hand pick the next batch of American Foot Soldiers just as Master Shredder requested. They are all willing and able," he boasted.

Karai wasn't sure if she was supposed to be as impressed by this whole set up as he obviously was. "We'll see," she muttered as the driver opened the door for them.

She felt distinctly out of place as she trailed after Bradford. The Athletic Club was a gym on an industrial scale, with of rows of equipment, partitioned rooms for more specialized interests, an Olympic sized pool, and studios where people could take different classes. No one paid her any mind, though a few recognized and mooned over Bradford as they passed.

Once closed into the expansive private room that Bradford had rented, she felt instantly more at home. She stood next to Bradford, her head not even reaching his shoulder, and surveyed his students as they lined up in rows and bowed to him. Bradford had promised her fifty men, and there were, in fact, fifty men. It struck her immediately, as she felt their eyes wash over her and heard their snickers, that Bradford had a 'type' for his favored recruits: big, strong, jocks who could turn a blind eye to their already gray-area morality for the chance to make some cash, hurt some people, and be a part of something bigger than themselves. There was a place for them in their organization, without a doubt, but a variety of skill-sets and personalities made the most cohesive teams, and she was glad that they had brought Soldiers from Japan to help fill out the ranks and mentor the Americans.

Karai's restlessness from the past few days caught up with her, and she warmed up with the men, letting her mind wander and her body take over, going through the motions as Bradford barked orders at them. She let go of her frustration at having to stay behind tonight with her father and Bradford, making peace with the knowledge that when Xever, Raph, and the rest of the Clan brought the turtles in, possibly kicking and screaming, they would need to be ready to help get them into containment cells. They were the key to finding Hamato Yoshi, and Karai had to keep sight of that bigger picture.

When Bradford called them back into line, Karai hung back and wiped the sweat from her brow, taking note of which men were panting the heaviest after their warm up exercises. Her body hummed contentedly, ready for action, and it was an effort to stand still as Bradford spoke at the front of the room.

"You all know why you are here," Bradford said. "Those of you who are chosen are to be ready to go into battle against an almost unbelievable foe. Tonight. Anyone who thinks they can't handle that, get out right now and don't ever let me see your face again." He paused for a beat, then continued when no one moved. "Master Oroku will be taking over from here for assessments."

Even as Karai returned to Bradford's side, many pairs of eyes seemed to shift towards the door as if they were expecting someone else. She took a step forward, clasped a hand over a fist and bowed. "Konichiwa. I am Master Oroku," she greeted formally.

There were a few outright laughs, a few more that muttered things like:

'Her?'
'The kid?'
'Is she for real?'

Bradford chuckled and clapped a hand roughly to her shoulder. "Well, have at it. I'll see you later."

Karai narrowed her eyes. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"I have a life outside of the Foot," he said lowly. "I have appearances to keep up, or people get suspicious."

Karai scoffed loudly. "Unbelievable. Fine, leave me with your cretins, I'll see who I can salvage from this mess."

"That's the spirit," Bradford said in a fake, upbeat voice. He waved to the class and talked over their murmurings. "I leave you in her very capable hands. Make sure to impress the little lady here, and you will no longer be my students, but my brothers in arms," he said dramatically, as if that would be some sort of reward or honor for them.

A few of them let out small cheers or other sounds of excitement, so perhaps, to them, it was. Bradford left, and Karai pinched between the bridge of her nose with her eyes closed as the men continued to chat and joke with one another. She counted to ten in her head, collected the rest of her patience, dropped her hands to her sides, and stood up straight.

"Silence!" Karai yelled in her most commanding voice.

It was unexpected enough that it made them quiet down and pay attention, though many of them still eyed her like hungry hyenas.

"I think that before we begin any type of assessments, a class is in order after all," she continued, her voice even. "I'm going to teach you boys a lesson that I know Chris Bradford never could."

She cracked her neck to each side and waited for the inevitable snorts, snickers and 'What would that be?' nonsense to die down before smiling diabolically and answering.

"Humility."

Author's note: Quick shout out to mysteriouskunoichi for helping me stay on course and lending her advice whenever I need it. You've been in my corner from the start and I appreciate the time you've put in with me when I'm feeling insecure or need a sounding board.