Regrets
"Get away from her you-you big bully!"
Michelangelo punctuated each word with a closed fist but his punches lacked any real power. Mikey's dominant arm was still weak and the muscles too torn to do damage.
Raphael stopped the assault easily. One giant hand simply folded over Michelangelo's the moment he recovered from his shock.
Sharra couldn't possibly have done anything to deserve such an attack!
Even if she had somehow provoked Raph, she was MAYBE 110 pounds soaking wet. Absolutely not a match for a six-foot mutant with rage issues and ninja training.
Why didn't Donnie or Leo stop him?
He wrenched his fist free and turned back to Sharra. His expression twisted. She had flattened her palms against the ground but otherwise, lay where they left her.
Damn it! Sharra, what did he do?
"Mikey?" Raphael croaked behind him.
Ignoring his brother's strangely broken voice, Michelangelo limped toward Sharra, dragging his injured leg awkwardly. Walking caused jagged bolts of pain to rip through his ankle, up his thigh, and into his groin. His side spasmed, threatening to cripple his breathing with its sharp agony. Every third step he thought he might topple over, but he still fought to reach her.
I'll crawl if I have to.
Donatello swooped in like a ghost out of the snow and attempted to take his weight.
"Where are you hurt? Stop. Better yet sit down for a second and let me examine you."
Michelangelo didn't have time for his brainy brother's hovering. He shoved Don away with a growl and staggered on until he reached Sharra's side. Falling to one knee, he watched the clouds swirling overhead for a moment and gulped a breath of cold air against what he might see. Slowly he lowered his head.
A mass of churned sleet and gravel surrounded her. Her eyes stared blankly, open wide with fixed pupils. Her hands—those delicate, talented hands which beckoned him to safety, cooked him food, tended his wounds, and willingly held his own—were twisted into claws and jammed into the rubble beneath her. A trickle of blood ran from one nostril, dripping down her cheek to stain the snow bright crimson.
His frightened gaze swept over her searching for other injuries. A long shallow slice bled sluggishly at her neck.
Fuck! I was too late. He almost killed her!
"Stay still, Sharra. I got this."
Mikey's reassurance fell a little flat as his voice brimmed with panic. He grabbed up a handful of snow and pressed it to her throat to slow the bleeding further, being careful not to impede her airway.
"Sharra?" he gasped when she didn't flinch from the cold. She didn't look at him. She didn't even blink.
No! No, no, no, no, NO!
He patted her cheek. "Sharra? It's Mikey."
Just minutes—or was it hours?—ago she lay snuggled behind him in the nest of blankets.
She—she was right there! Safe! What happened?
When he woke with Sharra no longer at his side, cold fear shot through him. She wasn't in the little curtained cubicle which served as her bathroom, nor leaning over one of her projects. Outside, the storm still raged. He heard the wind whistling over the roof. There was no reason for her to leave.
A short stumble to her workbench and a wave of the mouse brought up the surveillance monitors. The cameras showed him three familiar silhouettes in the pre-dawn light. Leonardo, Donatello, and Raphael.
For a split second, he smiled. Then his gaze honed in on the small shape shuddering at their feet. Sharra knelt between them, curled in on herself. She clutched her arm.
His heart sank and he rushed to the ladder to intervene, but it took far too long to climb the damn thing and figure out how to open the door. By the time he emerged the damage had been done.
"Sharra?"—Mikey swallowed hard—"Sharra, can you move? Can you hear me?"
Donatello sidled up to Mikey's shoulder trying again to look him over. Michelangelo turned on him with desperate, pleading eyes.
"Quick! Get out the medkit. She's hurt!"
Realizing he wasn't going to get any cooperation until he addressed Sharra's injuries, Don handed Mikey a compress for her neck and reached for her wrist to check her pulse. He frowned when he couldn't move her arm. She remained stiff as a board—frozen in every sense of the word.
"What's wrong with her?" Mikey demanded, fumbling with the bandage."Why is she paralyzed?"
"Gimme a sec. Let me examine her." Donatello took the dressing from Mikey's shaking hands to wrap the girl's neck properly, then pulled a penlight from his sash to check her eyes.
Raphael peered over Don's shoulder to watch the proceedings, wiping the blood from his now doubly split lips with his torn hood. Michelangelo surged up in his face.
"What did you do?"
"Me?" Raphael protested, waving the bloody cloth. "Fearless held her at swordpoint. I didn't even hit her. I mean she bashed her head inta me pretty hard, but—"
"This is not because of a blow," Donatello interrupted. "I think she's catatonic."
When they stared at him uncomprehendingly Don sighed in frustration. "A type of immobility triggered by traumatic shock. Her mind is caught in a feedback loop that won't let her body move."
Mikey could guess the scene playing out in her head. The image had seared itself into his own brain the second he reached the rooftop, making his blood boil.
Raphael pressed her down in a most obscene fashion, his groin thrust against hers. Threatening her with a blade—
Raph hadn't stabbed her. He'd done something far worse.
Leonardo watched, bewildered, as Michelangelo knelt next to the young woman again, trying to bring her out of her comatose state. Begging her to wake. He hovered over her as if they were close; a reaction considerably more serious than expected.
It's not like it's April lying there.
"She didn't seem traumatized a minute ago," Raph grumbled. "She fought like a wildcat when we mentioned lookin' for ya. Thought she was the Foot's new errand boy."
"She was protecting me!" Mikey objected in a fierce voice.
Leo's gaze skimmed the girl, reconfirming his original assessment. Petite. Little more than skin and bones. When he had seized her wrist, his thumb and finger overlapped by almost a full knuckle.
"It's ok, Sharra. You're safe. He won't hurt you anymore," Mikey crooned. "He won't hurt you ever again. I promise. I'm sorry."
She must be living on the streets— or rather the rooftops.
Those with street smarts could be tricky. Cagey.
She spoke the truth, or enough to fool me, right up until Raph asked her point-blank about Mikey.
Her threadbare coat worn over many layers screamed homeless, but at least she didn't stink. Her scent when he trapped her against his chest, smelled slightly sweet. Her perfume, more than her voice, had caused him to pause on the rooftop and loosen his grip.
The fragrance was somehow alluring.
He shook his head to dislodge the thought.
She isn't anything special. We've seen her type many times. Too many to count really.
Nothing he saw warranted the level of concern Mikey displayed. Hundreds like her roamed the city—but there was only one Michelangelo. Leo might be jaded but so long as the body lying lifeless in the snow wasn't his little brother, all he felt was a vast sense of relief.
Relief that was long overdue. Losing a team member had left them out of balance. Losing a brother had thrown the family into chaos.
Leonardo's own mind had been a snarled mess of incomplete thoughts and uncontrolled emotions since Michelangelo disappeared. Feelings he dared not share with his siblings for fear they would lose hope.
Hope that after three days of no news, I already abandoned.
He had silently mourned Michelangelo, even after the discovery of the beacon this morning, because in all likelihood the signal was a ruse. A lure set by the Foot to bring the rest of them out of hiding and into a trap. One Leonardo fully intended to spring by himself, leaving Donnie and Raph safely outside the perimeter.
Then Mikey materialized out of nowhere. The surreal sight hit Leo hard—paralyzing his normal reflexes. However, the adrenaline had worn off now and guilt was beginning to gnaw at him as color trickled back into his eyes.
Leonardo finally met Michelangelo's fevered gaze over the girl's body and instantly regretted their actions. Unshed tears glistened in his little brother's eyes but behind them lurked anger, turning his iris a darker blue than normal.
"Sharra saved my life three times over. She didn't deserve this."
Michelangelo glared at all of them. Raph grunted and averted his gaze.
She is just a little thing...
Leonardo kept his expression steady, a blank mask hiding inner turmoil rising anew. The girl still hadn't moved and her condition did not appear to be abating. Her eyes glazed over and the planes of her face remained contorted by fear.
"I know my mug ain't that ugly," Raph muttered in the background. "An' I didn't hit her, just pinned her down."
Terror at their appearance was nothing new; but Leo had to admit this reaction was extreme. Especially since she had previously met Michelangelo. In fact, there was very little of Mikey she hadn't seen, as the youngest turtle sat completely nude in the cold blowing snow. Not even his mask graced his eyes, though white medical gauze wrapped his shoulder, plastron, and ankle in thick bandages.
Mikey's lip curled and he sent Raphael a death glare. The hot-head jerked back and Leo's eyes widened. Michelangelo rarely reacted so venomously.
"Shredder slaughtered her parents in front of her," Mikey hissed through his teeth, his voice somehow managing to be soft and feral at the same time. "He did horrible things to her. Things that make me sick to imagine"—He shoved an accusing finger in Raph's direction—"You put her in the same position he did!"
She never got a good look at us. Probably thought WE were the enemy.
"Well," Donnie said, a bit flustered by Mikey's vehemence, "that would trigger some buried trauma."
Leonardo sighed, closed his eyes, and pressed his fingers against the center of his forehead; applying pressure in the hopes of easing the pain as his stress headache returned. He hadn't suffered one in a long time, but this one had plagued him since the morning before Mike went missing.
Stress doesn't excuse anything. I held a sword to that girl's throat and she still stayed silent to protect Mikey. Why did I allow this?
There were other methods of questioning. Ones that didn't require scaring her to death.
Why didn't I let her run? There's nowhere to go. She would have tired and stopped fighting... eventually.
Leonardo had let the pressures of time and emotion dictate his choices, resulting in a mess. Hardly the actions of a good leader, a compassionate brother, or a caring person.
I didn't even try to stop Raph until it was too late.
Michelangelo attempted to gather the stiff girl into his arms and Leonardo's guilt prodded him into action. Mikey couldn't support her no matter how light she appeared. He could barely walk himself. And he definitely was ill-prepared for the cold.
The least Leo could do was attempt to repair the damage they'd caused.
Besides, the Foot might still return and the girl showed every sign of needing medical intervention.
Where to go though? We can't stay here. Or can we?
A few long strides carried him to Michelangelo's side where he gently loosened his little brother's hold. He frowned as he pulled the girl upright. Handling her was like carrying a mannequin. She weighed a fraction of the amount she should and all her muscles were contracted painfully tight. He winced in sympathy.
Mikey glared down Raph's proffered hand but allowed Donatello to help him to his feet and wrap an arm over his shoulders.
"Where did you come from Mikey?" Leo asked.
"Over there." Michelangelo pointed to a raised hatch in the rooftop—invisible until that moment.
"Is it a safe place to go to ground for the day?"
"Yes."
Don tilted his head at Leo curiously.
"We ain't going home?" Raph blurted out.
"We can't scale the buildings the way we are now. Mikey can't climb. Don needs a spot to assess him and the girl—"
"Sharra," Mikey interrupted. "Her name is Sharra. She's been waiting on me hand and foot for days. She's not some random stranger."
Leonardo closed his eyes and exhaled unobtrusively through his nose—twice—making sure of his emotional control before he opened them again. He amended his statement.
"Sharra needs help. We caused this. We can't leave her here alone until we know she can function again."
Raphael snorted but Leo ignored him.
"Mikey, lead the way."
They made an odd sort of slow procession across the snow. Michelangelo staggered at the head of the line, leaning on Donatello's shoulder. Leonardo walked in the center holding the unconscious girl upright, and Raphael trailed behind; keeping a suspicious eye on their surroundings while wiping out their tracks.
When they reached the odd hatch-like opening, Don peered warily into the hole. The access was narrow but no worse than some smaller sewer entrances.
"What's down there?"
"Your lab," Mikey shot back.
Donnie made a face. "Be serious. Is there anything I need to watch out for?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
For once, Michelangelo absolutely did not. His face was unusually sober, and he constantly frowned, peering over his shoulder at the girl in Leo's arms.
"She has a rather complex security system," Mikey conceded at last, "but I don't think it's armed. It's only a single story, and there's nothing near the ladder you need to worry about."
Don nodded. He descended effortlessly, jumping in and sliding along the outer rails with hands and feet until he hit the floor below. It wasn't far. When he reached up for Mikey they were only a few feet apart.
Michelangelo sat down stiffly and dangled his feet in the hole. Donatello braced Mikey's uninjured leg and Raph advanced to lower him down by the hand— in a move they had unfortunately perfected after years of returning to life underground with injuries. Mikey glared at Raphael.
"I can make it without you," he snarled, " And DON'T touch Sharra."
"Don't be an idiot," Raph snapped, "You're hurt. Let me help."
Michelangelo shook his head and Raphael crossed his arms. It was a standoff Leonardo did not need at this particular moment.
"I'll hand Sharra down after you're in, Mikey, but let Raph help you," Leo commanded. "It'll get her out of the cold faster. Raph, after he's down, go fetch her bags from the West roof."
Raph will grumble about being sent on that little errand, but we can't leave any evidence or the Foot will sit on this building. He'll be quick and sending him away should appease Mikey temporarily.
It was the right call. Michelangelo clasped forearms with Raph and slithered down with no further complaint. As soon as he was firmly on the floor Raphael launched himself toward the opposite building.
Four hands reached up as Leo maneuvered the rigid body of the girl gingerly through the opening. He briefly debated ordering Mikey to sit down, but the true fear and concern in his brother's eyes convinced Leo to hold his tongue.
By the time Leonardo descended, Michelangelo had retreated to the next room anyway. He had to. There was hardly space for Don and Leo to stand with the girl propped upright between them.
And Raph will be back any second.
Leonardo tilted his head indicating they should move Sharra in as well. Donatello braced her while Leo scrunched down and wrapped his arms around her legs slightly under the hips. He straightened, leaning her back over his shoulder like an antique rifle—in what had to be the oddest position he'd ever carried a person.
He hated to admit it, but the stiffness of the girl was beginning to freak him out.
I hope Don can do something for her.
However, they didn't get any further than the doorway before there was another issue. Donatello took one stride across the threshold and stopped dead.
"What now?" Leo snapped, too irritated to modulate his tone. When he received no answer, he peered around the genius to identify the problem.
The room beyond was fairly open, at least it was of a more generous proportion than the tight space they were currently occupying. But it was also completely full. A veritable warren of narrow passageways wove in between tables of meticulously organized bins and boxes holding every kind of electronic device known to man.
Donatello stared in rapt wonder at the wide array of parts, letting out a short gasp occasionally as his eyes landed on some rare item.
Mikey was right. It IS Don's lab, except it doesn't seem like anything here is about to explode.
Only two aisles were broad enough for them to move through without being insanely careful. One led to the back of the room where Michelangelo was slowly lowering himself down into a pile of blankets, while the other went off at a sharp right angle towards a tiny section rigged as a kitchen.
"Don, focus," Leo ordered.
It was an odd direction to have to give to Donatello; he was usually the least distracted of the group, especially with a brother injured.
"Right, uh yes. Of course." He pressed forward with his head on a swivel, trying to catalog everything in the space in one pass.
"We'll be here a while," Leonardo reminded him. "There will be plenty of time to peruse this collection. First, I want a report on Mikey's health"—Michelangelo shot him a forlorn look—"And Sharra's," he added.
"Bring her back here. It's closer to the heat," Mikey called.
Reaching the side branching, Don stepped out of the way. Michelangelo scooted back and Leo bent to lay the girl down. He raised a brow as his little brother immediately sidled up to help, easing her to the blankets. Mikey pulled off her hat, unbuttoned and removed her wool coat, and drew a thick comforter up to her chin.
"What heat?" Raphael yelled from the entryway over the hum of the closing door. "It's colder than hell frozen over in here."
Michelangelo flushed. The rush of blood revealed still healing dark blotches of bruises normally hidden by his skin tone. Leonardo clenched his fists at the sheer number of them, but Mikey seemed oblivious to the scrutiny.
"It was warm, but I left the hatch open when I rushed out."
"Big surprise," Raph groused. He handed over two plastic bags to Donnie who peeked at the contents before setting them on the single square foot of countertop in the 'kitchen'.
"Hey, Mr. Rage! You were assaulting innocent bystanders! I didn't have time to think about doors. I had to intervene."
Mikey protectively tugged the girl closer as Raph threw up his hands.
"Bystander my ass! You've been gone for days. Your message said ya' ran inta' the Foot. What were we supposed to think when we showed up and she was prowlin' around? She weren't talkin'."
"Message? What message?"
"From your shell cell," Leo explained.
"It's busted."
Mikey's gaze darted to a small pile of things in the corner that Leo recognized as most of his brother's possessions, then to the only illuminated work table in the space. Tiny pieces of metal and plastic shimmered there, along with a mostly reassembled shell-shaped device. He sucked in a breath in surprise.
"She fixed it? I mean I told her I had it, but I didn't think she could do much with it. It was literally shards."
"We'll deal with that in a minute," Don muttered darkly as he and Leonardo traded places.
Donatello ran a quick eye over Michelangelo, but when Mikey made sad puppy dog eyes at him, Don knelt to examine the girl instead. Her breathing was slow, she blinked only once every minute or so, and her posture remained rigid.
What have we done? I think she's getting worse...
Leo scooched around, flattening himself against the wall as much as possible as Don swung his messenger bag off his shell and dug into it. He took some white gauze and dabbed away the blood from her nose and cheek, then unbandaged her neck for a second inspection. Blood instantly welled to the surface again in a long thin line that ran from under the point of her chin back to the underside of her ear.
Michelangelo shot Leo a look of betrayal as Donnie applied gentle pressure to the wound.
Leonardo's stomach turned as he remembered the feel of his blade at her throat. The way she trembled against his chest. He hadn't meant to injure her but it seemed his control had been affected by his emotions, or lack thereof.
Everything was frozen. She was in my way.
Leo shuddered internally, careful to keep the self-loathing he felt at the thought hidden away.
Once Sharra's bleeding was handled, Don withdrew a familiar pair of goggles from the bag and strapped them on over his white camo hood.
Donatello had invented a lot of crazy awesome things in his life, but in Leonardo's mind, this was the creation that elevated him out of the realm of engineer and into genius. Don designed the medical device at the tender age of fifteen. It got used more than any other invention and it's existence had saved the brothers' lives a dozen times over.
The complex glasses scanned a person, identified pathogens, took live x-rays, overlaid a holographic circulatory system, and more. Leo didn't understand half of the readouts, though he had used them a time or two on the inventor himself.
Donnie gave a soft 'harumph' as he gazed at the girl through the lenses. He reached out and purposefully pinched the skin on the back of her hand.
"Hey!" Mikey objected, slapping Don's hand away, but she didn't react.
"Definitely catatonic. She's showing all the textbook symptoms. Was she acting odd at all before, Mike?"
"Uh? Like what?"
"Paranoid, seeing things that aren't there, hearing voices, talking but not making sense, disconnected from reality, anything like that?"
"No. She's deathly afraid of the Foot, but after what happened to her family that's understandable. She kinda froze up once. It didn't last any longer than 30 seconds though. "
Don pricked her finger, squeezed a drop of blood onto a slide, and examined it closely.
"I don't see any meds in her bloodstream, so for simplicity's sake, I'm going to rule out schizophrenia as a cause. And, I don't see any traces of illegal drugs—so that's good. She is suffering some malnourishment. This could be the result of her PTSD combined with a Vitamin B12 deficiency," Don mumbled.
He turned to scan her again, this time from head to toe, and his face hardened at something he saw. "She's got an awful lot of bruises and some rather... telling scars," he said. "You said the Foot got her, Mikey?"
"Not recently... that I know of. She was fourteen when her parents were murdered. I think Shredder held her captive for quite a while."
Donnie made an odd noise at the information. A strangled sort of angry growl in the back of his throat.
"The bruises are probably my fault," Mikey admitted, sounding sheepish. "I... fell on her and I— I think she's been going without food so I could eat."
The rest of us didn't do her any favors either.
Leonardo grimaced at the thought and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
She was helping Mikey and I attacked her.
"Well, let's see if we can get her to relax," Donatello said, and rummaged in his bag. He unzipped a pouch of hypodermic sprays, fiddled with the dosage knob on one, and pressed it against her shoulder where it hissed quietly. He traded it for another.
"That was a muscle relaxant. This one is a tranquilizer"—He pressed the second one in a new spot, well away from the first—"We'll give her a few minutes and see if they help her before I try something stronger."
Tucking the medicines away, Don turned his specs on Mikey.
"Can you stand? I want to do a full scan and you're all hunched up."
"Uh, maybe?"
Leonardo eased around the girl and offered his hand. Hauling Michelangelo upright, he clasped their forearms together as Mikey groaned and swayed.
"Thanks, bro, I'd hate to squish Sharra again."
"Don't mention it. I'm just glad you're alright." Leo squeezed Mikey's arm reassuringly. Though whether it was for Michelangelo's sake or to convince himself his brother really stood in front of him, he wasn't sure.
"Would it have killed ya' to call?" Raph grumbled.
"I'm sorry, dude, but honestly, I've been out cold most of the time. My shell cell bit it and I don't think Sharra keeps a phone."
Raphael gazed around incredulously. "All this electronic crap and she ain't got a cell phone?"
Don's hushed whistle interrupted the burgeoning argument.
"What happened here?" Donatello traced his finger over the gauze crossing Michelangelo's midsection.
"Kunai," Mikey snapped, "Thrown hard enough to stab clean through my plastron. Itches like a bastard."
"Turn sideways, I want to see how deep it went."
Leonardo frowned at the concern in Donatello's voice and supported his brother more gingerly as Mikey turned. Leo's anxiety which had been gradually abating since Michelangelo was vertical and talking ratcheted up again.
"I'm surprised you're actually moving at all," Don said at last.
Leonardo's head throbbed at the pronouncement. He swallowed hard, stifling the urge to retch.
Michelangelo shrugged. "I hurt, but Sharra's been taking awesome care of me."
Donnie flipped up his goggles. "I need to examine the wound first hand." His fingers twitched toward the bandages but pulled back when he couldn't reach them comfortably. He glanced around. "It's surprisingly cramped in here. Mikey, you and Sharra need to trade places. Leo, can you shift her feet? I'll help Mikey step over. Good. Now if you move her shoulders—"
Leonardo slid Sharra carefully towards the wall, pleased to note her closed eyelids. The rigidity was fading from her body too.
"I think the treatment's working, Don. She's loosened up."
Michelangelo was next to them in a heartbeat. Bending awkwardly over the girl to shake her shoulder.
"Sharra? Sharra, honey, can you hear me?"
"Mikey"—Don's hand covered Michelangelo's and forced him to stop—"Let her rest."
The genius exchanged a concerned glance with Leo who shrugged.
I don't know what's going on.
"Sit down here, while I take the gauze off," Donnie instructed. "You're lucky that knife didn't hit anything major or you would have bled out."
Michelangelo sighed and knelt clumsily on one knee, sticking the other leg out at an odd angle. He winced as he forced himself to stay vertical enough for Don to unwrap the wound. Without seeming to think about it he covered the girl's near hand casually with his.
"I almost did," he said. "I was so cold, I didn't know I'd been hit. I passed out right there."
He pointed to where Raph stood. Raphael winced and picked up his feet, examining the floor. Leo sucked a breath in through his teeth but Don never wavered.
"Well, I'm glad she cleaned you up, but your plastron has to be sealed properly or you're risking an infection."
"She's already done it."
Donatello raised a skeptical brow.
"Really, Doctor Don. It's been three days and I feel a lot better. Besides, do you see any sign of infection with those magic glasses of yours?"
"Not yet, but—"
The last layer of gauze peeled back under Donatello's expert fingers and everyone stared down at the puncture—except they couldn't see the wound. Something odd covered it. Don prodded lightly at the shiny surface then scratched a fingernail across the white grid superimposed on top. A hard plasticized patch coated the area.
"What the...?" He pulled down his goggles and adjusted some knobs. "Is this...? This is fiberglass tape and epoxy resin! With traces of acetone underneath!"
Leo's fist clenched again at Donatello's outraged tone.
She poisoned him. She didn't know what to do and—
"That's genius!"
Leonardo's angry thought stalled half-formed.
"Of course she'd have those supplies on hand, considering the rest of this place. But the usage is inspired!" Don said. "How'd she think of it? Did she ask you what to do Mikey?"
"Nah, dude. 'out cold', remember?"
Donatello moved quickly to the gauze on Mikey's right shoulder and cut it off with a pair of bandage scissors. He wiped a faint line of blood from the tussle with Raph away, revealing a tidy row of vertical stitching.
Donnie whistled again. "She sewed this so neat, I don't think it's even going to scar."
"Told ya'," Mikey said.
"So tell us somethin' we don't know," Raph growled. "Like what you were doing out in the blizzard! Or maybe how the Foot got to ya'? Or about the message ya' didn't send? Or explain ta us just who the hell this girl is? Did ya' sneak out ta be with her?"
Leo wasn't the only one feeling bad about threatening Sharra. Particularly with proof of her studious care for their brother staring them in the face. He read guilt in the set of Raph's shoulders, heard it in the blustering tone. But the questions he raised were valid.
Settling himself against the wall as Don rewrapped the wounds, Leonardo speared Mikey with a pointed look. He raised a brow in expectation.
"Well?"