Contact

"What did they do to you?"

The question escaped Michelangelo's lips before his mind could flag it as a bad idea.

A flurry of emotions crossed Sharra's face before a blank mask settled over her features. The silence stretched on for so long he thought she might not answer. But, finally, she stood as if in a trance and padded to the table nearest them.

Dread gathered in the pit of Mikey's stomach as she brought him a framed photo; handing it over without looking. The picture had been buried face down under a pile of other items.

Sharra obviously can't bear to look at it, but it's important 'cause she didn't toss it.

Bracing himself to view something awful, Michelangelo turned the photograph right side up. He gazed at it for a few seconds, blinked in confusion, and looked again. Usually, his mind drew fairly complex conclusions based on emotional stimuli, especially photos. Reading between the proverbial 'lines' of such still life was easy for him... but he saw nothing bad in this one.

A black-haired man with a tidy oiled mustache stared back at him. A woman with regal bearing held his arm. They stood in front of a long silver-bullet-style camping trailer. A young girl, who couldn't be older than her early teens, hung off the rear ladder of the contraption, while the adults looked on indulgently. The girl resembled Sharra, except she had a much fuller face and long flowing hair.

"Is this you? With your family?"

He felt guilty about continuing to probe. From the way she acted some sort of terrible tragedy had occurred, yet something told him it was a tale he needed to hear.

"We used to live here in the city," Sharra said, "but when I was 13, my parents bought that trailer. We traveled constantly in it, moving from place to place. It was cramped but I thought it was an adventure."

Her voice was hollow, bordering on delirious. Mikey frowned, not seeing how this connected to the Foot, but he didn't want to interrupt now that she was talking.

"After a while though, I missed the city. I missed the tall buildings. I missed the sounds and the movement and the people. I wanted to go home."

Mikey raised a brow. "That doesn't sound unreasonable."

"My parents refused. I didn't understand why. We weren't looking for a new house. We never stayed anywhere longer than a week before moving on, so I became a real brat about going home. Constantly asking, nagging, and begging to even see the city. Finally, on my 14th birthday, my parents gave in and we stopped at a trailer park just on the Jersey side of the Hudson. The skyline was a beautiful present—"

Sharra's throat closed, choking off her voice and she dropped her head.

"What happened?" Michelangelo prompted breathlessly.

"They died," Sharra whispered.

"What? How?"

"The Foot came in the middle of the night," she muttered, "Dressed all in black, like the fighters from an old kung-fu movie. Some of them had swords. They were the most terrifying things I'd ever seen... until the monster showed up."

"Monster?"

"A giant man with red eyes and a metal mask."

There's only one person that could be.

"He shouted at us in a grating demented voice; demanding we come out. He threatened to roast us alive in our 'metal box' if we didn't do what he said. Mama was frightened. And papa told me to hide."

Sharra was breathing fast. Too fast. And Michelangelo hadn't missed the fact that her figures of speech changed. She called her parents mama and papa—like a much younger child. And Shredder was simply 'the monster.' Prompting the story had been a mistake. One he needed to fix before she lost herself in the vision.

"Sharra—"

She didn't react to her name at all.

"Mama and Papa went out. I didn't want them to, but I couldn't stop them. I watched, peeking out the window the tiniest bit..."

Mikey tried to interrupt her again. "Sharra, I didn't mean to open old wounds, I—"

"He yelled at papa. The monster, I mean. He wanted something. Something he thought papa took from his lab. I was concentrating so hard on what he said, I didn't hear the men sneaking into the trailer behind me."

The tension in her voice was palpable and contagious. Michelangelo's mouth went dry and his fingers began to curl involuntarily. His hands twitched, itching for his missing weapons. He wanted to leap into her memory somehow and aid that vulnerable young girl.

"They dragged me out by my hair"—Sharra paused, slid a hand up the back of her scalp, and tugged her head rather fiercely—"they threw me to the ground in front of the monster. I was shaking so hard I couldn't move. I could barely breathe. The monster made a fist in front of my face, hooked the blade on his gauntlet under my chin, and his eyes burned into mine..." Sharra shuddered as her words trailed off.

Michelangelo didn't want to hear the rest of the story. He could imagine the gruesome scene all too well. But the tragic tale was far from over.

"Papa tried to save me but one of the ninjas twisted his fingers"—She demonstrated a sideways toss of her hand, wrist snapping forward. Michelangelo swallowed hard, recognizing the motion— "and papa just stopped. He looked so sad as he crumpled to the ground with silver stars sticking out of his chest."

Mikey stared at Sharra, his jaw open in shock. He couldn't dredge up a single comforting thing to say in the face of such a horrific ordeal.

"They killed mama too. With a knife. Her blood splashed across my face..."

Sharra closed her eyes.

"I was just a little girl. I didn't know what to do or how to fight. The rest of the people in the trailer park stayed hidden. They stood by and did nothing while the monster killed my parents and... hurt me."

No wonder she doesn't trust people. She's been so traumatized!

A tear broke through her steadfast blankness and ran down her cheek.

"He kept hurting me for a long time. But I couldn't tell him what he wanted to know."

"Sharra, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how horrible that was," Mikey murmured.

This time her eyes focused on him and he flinched. Her formerly bright and inquisitive gaze was full of static and loss; consumed by self-loathing.

"I wish he'd killed me too."

Michelangelo's response was instant. "No! Don't say that!"

"It was my fault!" She shouted. "Can't you see? They died because of me! I was too stupid to realize we were hiding. We only came back to the city because of me! The Foot killed them because of me..."

The sick sensation in Mikey's gut morphed into a dark sort of rage. It rose into his chest and began to fester, choking him.

The Foot did more than kill Sharra's family. Shredder stole her innocence. Her childhood.

Still, by some miracle, that bereft little girl had grown into a strong woman with a stubborn protective streak. A person he would be proud to call a friend.

She deserves to know she isn't alone in her loss and grief. She deserves friendship. She deserves contact.

"No," Michelangelo insisted.

He reached out and grasped her hand. He kept his grip gentle and reassuring. Ready to release her in an instant if his hold triggered any sort of negative reaction.

"None of it was your fault. The Shredder is one evil dude. He's been hurting families and innocent people for years. He hurt mine too, a long time ago in Japan."

Sharra's brows pinched and her expression became forlorn, but she didn't yell again or shy away. Instead, she returned the tender squeeze of his hand. Mikey tugged lightly and she dropped to sit beside him, wincing slightly as her own bruised knees hit the floor.

"I never got to meet the women who would have been my mother and sister. My father, my sensei, barely escaped from Japan with his life. The rest of the clan died when Shredder swept through the compound with his Foot soldiers. He slaughtered them all."

Sharra gasped and more tears rose to shimmer in her eyes.

"My father's heart broke at the death of his wife and child. He traveled to New York City, seeking an escape from their memories. He wasn't looking for a new family, but when he found me, he took me in—strange as I was. He raised me to be strong. To see but not be seen. He taught me ninjutsu to give me a fighting chance in this world. So I could protect myself, my clan, and my friends."

Michelangelo patted Sharra's hand to let her know she was included in that category, then he leaned closer, holding her gaze.

"Thank you."

Confused, she blinked at him. "For what?"

"For not giving in to fear when you had an excellent reason. For letting me in. For saving my life. Most people wouldn't think I was worthy of rescue."

Over the years, Michelangelo had risked himself innumerable times, saving bystanders, and even the entire world, from some terrible fates. Deep down he believed the majority of people were worth fighting for, but had their positions been reversed, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of humans who would stand up for him.

April and Casey.

The Joneses were longtime friends. Part of the Hamato clan in honor if not in actual name. Tonight, though, he could add another person to his short mental list.

Sharra

Sharra snorted as if he said something impossible and turned away, but he slid a finger under her chin and drew her face back to his.

She didn't pull back, so he dared to push her acceptance the slightest bit further. His thumb rose to brush her crystalline tears away, then settled against her cheek; cradling her face in the 'V' of his palm.

She flushed under his hand and heat from her blood seared its way through his fingers. A violently tender emotion swept through Michelangelo as the fire ran up his arm and into his chest. It collided with his anger and morphed into a fierce sense of protective desire. Impossibly, a worthy, beautiful, honorable girl sat inches from him, willingly allowing his touch.

Wasted with pain and bruised as he was, his body still stirred.

I want her.

Sharra's breath caught at his gentle caress. She peered into his eyes—seemingly dazed. Her breathing sped. But despite these positive signs, Michelangelo couldn't close those last few inches to her lips.

Mikey might be impulsive, even reckless, but no matter how much he craved her, there were risks even he wouldn't take.

I won't force her. She has to choose me.

A sad smile crept across his features when she sat motionless. His voice became husky.

"I mean it. Very few ever treated me with the kindness you've shown."

He dropped his hand reluctantly, trailing a finger down her cheek in a last delicate stroke. He slouched against the wall, determined to hide his disappointment.

Really, what was I expecting?

Sharra just lived through a harrowing trauma, re-lived an older one, and had literally spent hours the last few days cleaning up his blood and shit.

Romance is not exactly on her mind. Comfort on the other hand...

"The Foot's power is not limitless," he said reassuringly into the awkward silence. "When Shredder showed his face in New York, we fought his troops and undermined his plans until we defeated him. I'm sorry we didn't do it soon enough to spare your family."

Sharra gaped at him. "Shredder is gone? But the Foot clan is still operating! They just attacked you!"

Mikey grimaced and nodded. "His second took over."

"You mean his daughter, Karai."

"You know her?"

Sharra gave a sharp nod. She didn't elaborate but her shoulders relaxed a trifle and she breathed a bit easier.

"For a while, we thought things were changing in their organization," Mikey said. "They took some mercenary contracts and stopped getting involved in the darker underworld. Things quieted down, but they didn't stay that way."

"They never do," she mumbled.

Mikey gauged her expression with a quick glance. He wasn't sure he should tell her this next bit. It was going to skew weird and sound like fantasy to her. But with her history with the clan, Sharra ought to be warned. He turned to face her, locking eyes to emphasize the seriousness of his news.

"We thought Shredder was gone. As in like dead-as-a-doornail gone. No one saw him for years, but somehow, recently... he's come back."

Sharra froze. She didn't blink. She didn't move. She didn't even breathe for about 10 seconds.

Michelangelo unconsciously held his breath with her.

Great going! Get her hopes up about Shredder being gone, then drop the bomb that her own personal bogey-man is back from the dead. Mikey, you will not win the 'comforter of the year' award this way.

He touched her shoulder as her body began to tremble.

"Sharra, please... Just breathe for a sec. No matter how strong Shredder seems, we are out there—working against him from the shadows."

To his chagrin Sharra gasped and crumpled forward, weeping.

"Please don't cry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make it worse."

I broke her. She was handling everything so well. My mutation? She didn't even ask about it. Blood? No problem. Fighting? Nary a tear. But this... How did I manage to screw up so royally?

Abruptly, she threw herself across his lap and Michelangelo stiffened, uncertain what to do. Unlike their inadvertent contact during the night, while sharing her covers for warmth, Sharra was deliberately turning to him for strength and support.

Cautiously, he wrapped an arm around her and shifted her lower half closer. He didn't dare hold her too tight, but he smoothed a hand over her soft sweater.

Eventually, he realized it didn't matter what he said. Sharra needed to break down and cry. To release the pain and anger and horror trapped inside for far too long.

"It's ok," he breathed, rubbing circles on her back. "It's ok. You're not alone anymore. I'm not going anywhere."

And I'll never let Shredder touch you again. I promise.

Sharra stared at the multitude of tiny electronic bits gleaming on the worktable in front of her. The pieces blurred, swimming in and out of focus. She blinked to clear the remaining salt from her eyes and when that didn't work, scrubbed at her face with her hands.

I can't believe I broke down in front of Mikey. He must think I'm a silly flighty girl.

The moment she thought it she realized it wasn't true. When she summoned the nerve to look up at Mikey again after her tears, there was no condemnation in his beautiful blue eyes for her weakness, only concern and deep shared sorrow. Though why he should care confused her.

Why did he stir this snarling tangled mash of memories awake? And why, of all whys, did I tell him the truth?

Even that shallow version was painful. Perhaps the Foot had remained a shadowy danger in the back of her mind for too long. Seeing them in person again broke the dam she built to hold back her feelings.

Or maybe it was the revelation that Shredder had returned which pushed her over the edge. Though after the initial shock had passed she decided that didn't matter so much. Until this evening, she always believed him out there hunting her anyway, so nothing had really changed.

No. It was Mikey's compassion that made me cry.

Sharra had never truly mourned her parents' loss. Railed against the world over the years about it maybe, but never allowed herself the release of grief. Grief required emotional support. Support she never had, because it became impossible for her to trust others after that fateful night.

Friends are breakable. Family can betray. It's better to be alone.

Michelangelo, however, ended her self-imposed isolation by simply falling into her home. He showed her strength and humor in the face of a difficult life. He spoke of family with the conviction of someone who believed the bond was a vital one.

He seemed horrified she didn't have anyone.

And I thought, just for a second, that he might... that he wanted to... no. That's stupid. Why would he?

Sharra shook her head to get her thoughts back on track.

His father sounded similar to her papa. A man of intelligence and forethought. One strong enough to make it through horrendous trials of his own and still find the courage to help those less fortunate. One compassionate enough to let go of bitterness and raise a son who cared about the safety of strangers.

He lost family to the Foot too.

But Mikey had done something about it. He was fighting back. Taking the battle to them. His example was heartening.

I'm no longer a helpless little girl. I can contribute something to his cause.

Picking up her jeweler's tools, she glanced over at Michelangelo. He was sleeping again. In only three days the random bruises were mostly gone. He sported a black eye, but the small cuts had sealed shut.

He still needs a lot of rest.

She fretted about his deeper injuries. The stab wound was terrifying. Someone more knowledgeable should take over his care. Someone like his father. And, after the kindness Mikey showed her tonight, the least she could do was get him home.

The poor man must be so worried...

She ought to call him, but despite all her technology, Sharra didn't trust cell phones. She didn't allow them in her bolt hole. They were too easy to hack. Too easy to turn on remotely. Too easy to track.

And frankly, too easy for her to bother with. Most people who needed phone help only wanted a screen replaced, or illegal software. Stuff any mall clerk might do.

Heck, a lobotomized thug can jailbreak a phone.

Sharra shook her head. No, she wouldn't call even if she had a number. Sending a coded message through some proxy servers over the web was a possibility if Mikey could provide an email or IP address for his home, but that also carried risk.

Michelangelo himself had a better option. A damaged piece of machinery he called a shell cell. A proprietary tool his family used to stay in contact without reliance on commercial technology. That's what she was staring at now.

Or at least parts of said device.

It was a complex puzzle, the type of challenge she lived for. And though she was missing some of the pieces, she thought she could make it work.

There's got to be enough left here to send SOME sort of communication.

Bending to her task, Sharra traced circuits, ran analytics on the unknown chipsets, and soldered wires back together. After hours of repair, and a ton of trial and error, she finished restoring his phone.

Restoration might be an overstatement.

It didn't function as it did before. There would be no 'calling,' but she had managed to locate and activate a type of beacon. Running it through a pattern buffer allowed her to encode the pulse with a phase-shifted key to distort the pitch. With this technique, she buried a repeating message within the tone itself.

'Clashed with the Foot. Injured but ok. Totally secure. Waiting out the storm. No need for rescue.'

She signed it 'M' so as not to give away the slightest hint of Mikey's identity to anyone else who might pick up the signal.

It was probably more than she needed to do. But, even if Mikey's father wasn't technically savvy enough to decode the message, the homing beacon should still lead him to the right rooftop. Together they could devise a plan to get Michelangelo out of the danger zone and back to the safety of his own home.

Wherever that might be...

Sharra yawned and rubbed her eyes, exhausted but pleased with her handiwork. There was still more to do and they were running out of supplies but she had earned a few hours' rest.

Tiptoeing back to the giant nest, she slipped under the covers.

Tonight, she didn't immediately snuggle up to Michelangelo's back. His temperature had stabilized, though it was still well below the human norm.

Should I cuddle with him?

The hesitation wasn't born from fear. She was no longer frightened of him, at least, not his appearance. He could still break her neck with one hand if he wanted, but that seemed less and less likely.

The more she studied him while taking care of his every need, the more fascinated she became. His skin, while scaled, was smooth to the touch. And now that he was healing, it was becoming a more homogenous jade green.

His shell was equally fascinating. The plastron felt almost suede-like in places, yet tough as work-hardened leather. The plates grew together with enough flex at the joints to overlap, giving him a fantastic range of motion, despite the stiff shape.

And she had become extremely familiar with his carapace, staring at it wide-eyed the past few nights. Her gaze tracked over the polished surface in front of her, tracing the intricate interlacing scutes. It was a beautiful work of art, with which no human form could compare.

She gingerly bit her lip, her thoughts drifting wistfully back to the almost kiss.

Would I have let him kiss me? It might have been nice.

Desire had abandoned her long ago. Burned out by pain and fear. She hadn't wanted to kiss anyone since her parents died. And though she was not a virgin, she had never experienced what her romance novels referred to as the 'throes of passion'. Men, in general, just weren't that attractive to her.

But Michelangelo held an almost hypnotic appeal. He was tall, muscular, mysterious...

And charming.

Most importantly—he made her feel safe. Regardless of his injuries, he helped her this evening. Holding her near, stroking her back, comforting her as she cried.

Stealthily, she scooted up against him and curled around his shell. Not because she thought he needed her heat this time. But because being closer to him brought her comfort.

Without pausing to think about it, she nuzzled her face into the back of his neck and inhaled deeply. Michelangelo smelled amazing. Not fake with pungent cologne, more like a spring breeze or a fresh mountain stream, mixed with a masculine sort of musk.

Sharra closed her eyes. And Mikey's face, etched with a genuine expression of care and concern, danced behind her eyelids, floating inches away from her own. She lost herself again in the brilliant blue pools of his eyes. Imagined him closing the distance. His lips moved softly against hers as his hand ever so gently touched her face.

A small tear escaped her closed lids and ran down to disappear into the blankets.

Yes. It might have been nice.