Family
"Thank you—"
Sharra jerked, startled by the unexpected sentiment, then winced at the sharp jab of discomfort in her forehead. She couldn't remember if the purple-banded turtle participated much during their outdoor engagement but he had helped her when she couldn't breathe.
And he, apparently, has manners.
"Thank you for hiding Mikey and for the triage. With-without your inspired treatments, he wouldn't have lasted one night, much less four—and I don't know how... That is to say, I'm not sure we could go on without him—"
"Aw, chill out, Donnie." Michelangelo flushed, ducked his head, and raised his left hand to rub nervously at the back of his neck, keeping Sharra's clasped in his right. "I made it. I'm fine."
"Fine?" Don protested, "Fine doesn't cover not being able to walk! Fine doesn't begin to describe the amount of blood you lost. Fine does not include your body temp being eight degrees below normal.
"And you only avoided a deadly infection because this courageous young woman possessed enough insight to seal your shell up properly. You are not in any way, shape, or form, FINE!
"You need weeks of bed rest before you can see the inside of the dojo, not to mention the street. If father and Leo ever allow you out of the lair again!"
Sharra shrank back shocked by this outburst. Mikey's injuries were unmistakably serious, but hearing someone who had more experience treating such things outline how severe frightened her.
"I thought he was getting better," she whispered.
Michelangelo squeezed her hand and she turned to him desperately. Tears gathered in her eyes as she met his anxious blue gaze.
"Mikey, I'm so sorry! I should have called your family earlier; or found someone else to help. I didn't think an EMT would, but a vet maybe or—"
"Hey," he cut her off gently. "Stop. Don't cry. You didn't know about my bros, and as soon as I told you about Dad, you acted. You did your best and you were right to keep our secret. Don't worry. Don's just upset. It's not as bad as all that."
"I'm afraid, Mikey it IS that bad!" The brother in question objected.
"Don!"
Leonardo barked the one-word reprimand and the chastised turtle held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.
"I apologize," Don said more calmly, turning back to Sharra. "He is improving and you absolutely did all the right things. The only extras we can add are a blood transfusion and medication."
"Oh." Her voice regained some strength at this admission. "You have the same blood type?"
"Yeah," Raph interrupted with a smirk, "Mutant."
Sharra stiffened. Mutant?
Her expression became vacant, her eyes unfocused as memory claimed her, overwriting the present.
'WHERE is the canister?'
The crack was deafening as the back of Shredder's hand collided with her cheek. Pain blossomed as her head bounced against the cinder-block wall. Lucky for her, he wasn't wearing the bladed gauntlets he usually sported, or her face would be in ribbons.
But he rarely did when he beat her. He'd learned better after she almost bled out from the slashes across her abdomen.
'I WANT that mutagen!'
'He can't have wasted it all on her,' the man wearing a white lab coat muttered.
He stood out of the way of any casual spatter, but now approached and swiped a finger across Sharra's face, gathering the glistening red liquid running from her nose. He rubbed the blood between his forefinger and thumb with a sneer.
'No traces of the solution remain in her bloodstream. He must have hidden the rest. Or sold it.'
Sharra sagged in her manacles, head hanging, voice silent. There was nothing else to say. She had already tried everything to make the torment stop. She listed every city they ever stopped in, described every person they interacted with. But she couldn't give him the information he demanded repeatedly.
Sharra didn't even know what mutagen was.
She was about to find out.
The steel door to her cell opened from the outside and a guard came through pushing a boy in front of him. He collapsed at Shredder's feet and Sharra winced. The boy was a teenager, an older one. He wore jeans and a filthy t-shirt. His hands were bound but there was no fight left in him.
His bloodshot eyes were empty, his face whiter than bone. His spirit was broken.
From the way he shrank away from the guard, Sharra could guess what, or rather who had done the breaking. She had experience with his work. That particular man was a beast— fond of sodomy with a foreign object.
No, lower than a beast. A devil. For beasts have honor enough not to ravish their young.
The researcher glided to the table across the room, the one where the guards laid out their 'toys,' and came back with a syringe full of a thick, neon-green, glowing sludge. He waved it before Sharra's eyes.
'Mutagen looks like this, girl. Though your father's solution was distinct. He began his experiments with a much purer sample.'
The scientist appeared a bit miffed about that. He stuck the tip of the syringe into the stopper of a tiny glass vial and pulled a small amount of clear fluid into the main column.
'All one needs to add is a hint of DNA,' he lectured, 'in this case, mountain lion, and voila!' He jabbed the needle in the boy's neck, depressing the plunger.
The boy screamed. He grabbed his throat and thrashed on the floor of her prison.
Golden hair sprouted along his bare arms. His fingernails lengthened into curved claws. His thighs tripled in circumference, bursting his pants and his bones cracked as his knees bent backward and reversed. His jaw stretched into a muzzle filled with pointed teeth.
Sharra clutched at her chains and yanked her feet from the ground in terror as he spasmed and rolled in her direction. He stopped right underneath her, panted through the foam surrounding his mouth then opened his eyes.
His iris were yellow-green and there was no sense—or humanity—left in them, only madness.
He tensed, sniffed the air then snarled. Spinning towards Shredder he leaped to the attack. Shredder casually countered, unsurprised, and diverted the boy's cat-like pounce into a flying crash into the cement wall.
'Another failure,' the crazy doctor said in a flat voice, lifting a tablet to jot down some notes.
'Look at him,' Shredder grated, his voice a razor's caress, 'I don't need more dumb mutants, you fool. I WANT the superior soldiers you promised me.'
The strange beast writhed on the floor, groaning as two more sentries rushed in to drag him away.
'It's a tricky thing making them strong and aggressive yet keeping the intelligence and a human form...'
Lost in his own little world, he wandered out the door oblivious to the fury on Shredder's face.
A rage he turned on Sharra.
'Your father mastered the formula, and I WILL find it.'
He advanced on her, fists clenching...
"Sharra? SHARRA! Babe, can you hear me?"
Braced for the impact of Shredder's strike, she cringed when cool tingles trailed over her skin instead; startling her into opening her eyes. Michelangelo sat inches from her face. His pained eyes searched hers as his fingers tipped up her chin and his thumb made soft circles against her cheek.
"Sharra?" he asked again, "Are you with us? Can you see me?"
"Mikey?" she gasped. "Yes. Where...? We're still in my workshop."
Relief flooded his face.
"We are."
Behind Michelangelo, his brothers' faces held a mishmash of strange emotions. Raph looked shaken. When she met his eyes, he scrubbed a hand over his face and turned away. Leonardo's eyes narrowed, but whether in deep thought or anger Sharra wasn't sure.
She glanced at Don. He was watching her intently. His stare was evaluative. As though he was taking in every detail and analyzing it.
Just like that scientist...
Sharra shuddered and Michelangelo scooted up next to her, leaning against the wall. He swung his arm around her and tucked her close to his side.
"You're safe. I'm right here."
Sharra drew in a deep breath, letting his nearness and his scent ground her in reality. And he was right. She did feel secure.
"Sorry," she mumbled to the room at large. Embarrassment reddened her cheeks. "I- I-" She sighed and closed her eyes unable to come up with an explanation. "How long was I gone? What did I do?"
Mikey answered her first, his voice soft. "Not long. A few minutes maybe? You froze up. I thought you were going..."
"Catatonic," Don supplied.
"Yeah, uh, catatonic again. But then you started muttering and pulled away from me. You recited a list of places."
"Cities," Don interposed. "And smaller towns. All along minor highways in a trail from here to the West Coast and back again."
"Ah," Sharra relaxed a little.
That's not as bad as it might have been...
"Ya' screamed," Raph interjected, his face was almost grey. "Curled up against the wall cryin'. Sounded like someone was killin' ya'. "
He has no idea how close that is to the truth.
"Mikey couldn't get ya' ta stop. An' you kept shoutin' ya' don't know anythin' about mutagen."
Leonardo's eyes hadn't strayed from her face and were still narrowed inscrutably.
"What did you see?"
Sharra shuddered again, "My past."
Don nodded and his expression softened. He no longer resembled the dangerous man from her memories. He looked sympathetic.
"A flashback," he agreed.
"Flashback?" Mikey questioned.
"PTSD causes them sometimes. Makes one vividly re-experience a traumatic incident."
"So someone really did try ta kill ya?" Raph asked. "An' ya' lived it all over again?"
Sharra dropped her eyes, staring at the torn-up pile of bedding in front of them. "Yes."
"Do you get them often?" Don asked. "Flashbacks, I mean."
"Used to. It's been a while. I- I thought I was over it."
I should be. It's in the past. It can't be changed.
"The mind replays what the heart cannot delete."
Her eyes snapped to Leonardo, not quite believing the insightful statement came out of his mouth. A shadow darkened his eyes and she wondered how he knew what she felt.
He shrugged off her surprise. "Everybody's got a demon."
Some of us have a few...
"I didn't mean to yell," Don apologized. "Was that what triggered you?"
"No, I was... blindsided by the word"—she glanced quickly at Raph, then away again—"mutant. I hadn't made the connection in relation to Mikey."
Michelangelo instantly loosened his grip, gazing worriedly at her face.
"Does it scare you?" he asked in a hushed voice, "Do I scare you? Now you know we're... mutants?"
He is nothing like those poor creatures Shredder created! They were all animal and no person. He's more human than... most humans.
"No," she said, wrapping an arm over his chest and giving him a quick squeeze.
His arms settled around her and he sighed in relief. She patted his plastron again. The padded neoprene material felt odd under her hands instead of his suede-like leather plates. But it did remind her of the current and, very real, risk to his health. She looked up.
"Don?"
He flinched, surprised she addressed him directly, and she added in uncertainty, "That is your name, right?"
"Donatello, yes," he replied, still a bit flustered.
"Don~na~tel~lo." Sharra separated the syllables, rolling them across her tongue to fix the pronunciation in her mind. "I like it."
Donatello, Leonardo, Michelangelo... hmm. I bet Raph is Raphael. Someone liked the renaissance.
The realization was interesting but didn't help with her current project and Donatello was watching her oddly...
Time to change the subject.
"I'm sorry, my fit knocked us off track. We need to warm Mikey up. I think I can restore the heat if"—Sharra disengaged from Michelangelo and made a hesitant little shooing motion in Don's direction—"you ah... move away from my keyboard?"
Don gaped at her for a moment as if being asked to leave the vicinity of a computer was something completely foreign to him.
Once he analyzed her still wary countenance, however, he rose with alacrity and astounding grace. He flowed up the aisle toward the kitchen, leaving her plenty of breathing room, and gestured to the now empty chair with a slightly abashed smile and a partial bow.
Donatello may have trouble forming a complete sentence when speaking to her, but his mannerisms were nothing short of gentlemanly.
"Don't know what she thinks she's gonna do," Raph grunted under his breath to Mikey as she edged warily between him and Leonardo. "I ain't no genius, but even I know no electricity means no computer, 'less it's a laptop. An' a battery that small won't run a heater."
That one, however, has no tact whatsoever.
Raph was over his shock and switched back to his default setting of 'rude.'
"Please excuse him," Donatello said, evidently reading her mind. He glared at the offending brother. "Courtesy is a character trait entirely alien to Raphael."
So he IS Raphael...
Sharra couldn't think of a polite response so she sat and touched her index finger to the fingerprint scanner hidden under the edge of her desk. The monitor in front of her, dead for all intents and purposes, flared to life. A few keystrokes were all she needed to restart the rest of the system.
The lights flickered and came back on though they dimmed when the heater kicked in. That vital appliance now stood on one of the tables in the center of her space and blasted a wave of delicious warmth across her back. She let out a little hum of enjoyment.
"The temperature fell more than I thought. That feels hotter than before."
"No, that'd be my handiwork," Raphael drawled, stealing up behind her and leaning on the back of her chair with one massive arm.
His proximity launched an instant panic attack. Sharra's breath caught and her throat closed. Though his reflection in the screen gave her a smirk, all she saw were his fierce eyes. They flamed, just as they had on the rooftop. Daring her to contradict him.
No, please! I— You— Don't hurt me!
Her shoulders tensed and her body seized as she fought renewed hysteria, but she wasn't able to make so much as a squeak aloud. Mikey sensed her panic and struggled to stand.
"Back off, dude," he warned.
She stared at Michelangelo, eyes begging for aid as her brain and body shut down; unable to process the raw emotional response to what was, in reality, a largely non-threatening gesture. Mikey didn't have enough strength to regain his feet.
He can't help me! He's hurt and I'm hurt. And- and- and—
A white, green, and violet shadow materialized at her side, removing Raph's hand from the chair and physically propelling him back several feet.
"Give the lady some space," Donatello said in a no-nonsense tone. "I don't like you looming over my shoulder when I'm working so why would she?"
"So, the power isn't out?" Leonardo asked, his words laced with more than a hint of censure. He gave Sharra a sharp look as he stood as smoothly as a wildcat and drew the still struggling Michelangelo upright. He braced his brother carefully, though once Mikey was upright, he shoved past Raph and Don and limped to Sharra's side
"Leave her alone," Mikey said, glaring at Leonardo. "She didn't do anything."
Sharra closed her eyes, panting softly through her mouth as Mikey rested his hand ever so lightly on her shoulder.
"Are you ok?" he breathed in an undertone.
She nodded cautiously and squeezed his hand. "I just need a minute."
Deciding since she was still able to talk she was not in need of further intervention, Don dug a tablet out of a duffle bag he produced from nowhere and backed Mikey up with a raised brow.
"The grid is still gone. It's offline in this whole quadrant of the city."
With Mikey standing tall at her back and Don seemingly on their side, Sharra gained enough confidence to explain.
"A Wall Street big-wig lives next door. He owns a generator and a satellite feed so he can stay connected no matter what. I piggybacked off both. The connection should switch over automatically at the failure of the main power, but the Nightwatcher detected abnormal activity on my terminal and shut it down."
Raphael, whom she was watching with a keen eye, lurched in astonishment. It was the first uncoordinated movement she'd seen any of them make and she couldn't figure out what in her relatively boring reason would cause such a reaction.
"Nightwatcher?" Raph repeated with a frown.
The other turtles exchanged glances and Sharra shifted uncomfortably.
Maybe they knew him?
"Her security system," Mikey said before she could form a better reply.
"Sorry," Donatello said. "That was probably me. I tried to check your cameras. I should have realized you'd have safety protocols."
Raphael didn't seem satisfied with Mikey's quick explanation.
"Ya' named yer security system afta' a vigilante?" he pressed.
"Yes," Sharra snapped. His obvious disdain put her on the defensive and the ache in her head—also his fault—made her snippy. "I don't always live at this swanky uptown address. Sometimes I stay downtown, or by the docks. The Nightwatcher patrolled those areas and protected us little folk from the more unsavory elements."
"He's been gone for years," Raph said, waving his hand dismissively.
Sharra shrugged. "His reputation lives on. A lot of thugs will still back off when you invoke his name. I thought the title fitting for my protection system."
Is it my imagination or did his glare soften a little?
Their faces were harder to read than the average tourist's, but she thought the lines in his forehead eased and the intimidating light in his eye shifted into a different sort of gleam.
He looks... less irritated? I can't quite tell.
All speculation ceased when Michelangelo's stomach let out an almighty grumble at her back.
"Food!" Sharra yelped, lurching to her feet and heading for the kitchen, which was blessedly empty of turtles. "You missed breakfast and lunch. That's why I went out! We were out of supplies. I lost the new ones, but there might be something left in here for yo—
"Woah!"
The room spun. Sharra's knees wobbled and she would have collapsed if Donatello hadn't lunged forward and gripped her forearms, holding her up.
"Easy," Don said as she reflexively jerked away and fell against Mikey who responded slower. Donatello held out his hands—palm out in a peace-making gesture—his brows pinching together in concern. "You need to sit back down."
"I gotcha," Mikey said, lowering her into the chair. His voice oozed confidence but he shot a worried glance at his brother.
"Probably low blood sugar," Don responded to the unspoken question immediately as if they communicated this way all the time.
"How long has it been since you last ate?" Don asked Sharra.
"I had something... a while ago?" Her answer sounded uncertain; meek and guilty.
Raphael laughed and shared a wry look with Leonardo.
"Sounds familiar."
Sharra shook her head in confusion. It was a horrible mistake. Her agony doubled and she gasped, cradling her face in shaking hands.
"And a huge headache," Don said rummaging in his bag. He took out a bottle and poured two pills into his hand, holding them out to her. "Raph's got an iron skull and you smacked into it pretty hard."
"You hit Raph?" Mikey asked, eyes wide in shocked surprise, "With your head? Not cool. Sorry babe, but lesson numero uno in fighting is nobody wins with a head butt. There's always hell to pay later. I'll teach you some better moves."
He took the medicine from Don's hand and held it out to her. "You should take these or it's going to feel worse."
Gingerly Sharra let Mikey put the small tablets in her hand, but her brain was so fogged she couldn't decide what to do with them.
Donatello returned to her little kitchenette. He hunted around the shelves for a few moments before coming back to offer her a chipped mug with something to wash them down.
"Drink this," he directed, in a gentle voice.
Sharra's hands were shaking so hard she barely supported the heavy stoneware and her shoulder ached from the additional weight.
Don placed a palm under the cup, helping without being obvious. Despite his subtlety, Mikey scowled. She couldn't tell if he didn't like what Don was doing, or if he was just unhappy about her condition.
Hurridly, she took a sip to swallow the pills and nearly choked. The liquid wasn't water but the sweet, expensive orange juice from the bodega.
"This isn't for me!" she said. "I bought it for Mikey!"
"You need it more than he does," Donatello insisted. "Drink up."
"But I shouldn't get all this—"
"Best you listen to Doctor Don," Michelangelo said, patting her shoulder. "He's gone into full caretaker mode. You won't be able to talk him out of anything he deems necessary."
"Doctor Don?"
Donatello smiled tightly though he blushed a little as well, the action tinting his cheeks a darker pine color. Even befuddled, Sharra couldn't miss the change, as near as he stood at the moment.
"One of Mikey's many nicknames for me. Finish the juice then we'll get something solid in you."
"I'll fix her lunch," Mikey said. Resolutely, he gathered his energy to limp toward the hot plate.
"Oh no." Don left off supporting Sharra's cup and strong-armed Michelangelo back to the blankets. "You are going to sit down too. Before you fall down."
"But—" Mikey sputtered.
"I may not be as good as you in the kitchen, but I'm not totally useless," Donatello said. "I'll make something."
"But—" Michelangelo said again.
"Get used to it, pipsqueak. Yer gonna be on bed rest for a while, but I'll getcha whateva' you need. You stay put," Raphael said.
Mikey's stomach complained loudly a second time.
"Here, eat this." Raph tossed a protein bar from Donatello's bag across the room and Michelangelo snagged the food missile deftly out of the air with his left hand.
Sharra turned from the rough show of affection and stared morosely into her drink.
They really do care about him. Even Raphael.
Her mind reeled. Mikey wasn't alone in the world; an outcast sheltering with a human father. He had a whole family. Three gigantic brothers armed with deadly weapons and martial arts training. Ones who sought their missing sibling relentlessly.
A group that size had a stable base. Food, connections, and a support system she couldn't begin to dream of.
Michelangelo does not need me.
It had been stupid to think otherwise. To lower her guard and get attached.
Plus they have an ongoing feud with the Foot.
She didn't want any more involvement with them. Ever. When Mikey was alone and she thought he might need a safe place to retreat, she had found the courage to face her fears. But now?
It must be nice to have people who actually give a damn without wanting your secrets.
For a few days, she had experienced it. Mikey needed her help, yes, but he appreciated her for being, well... her. At least it seemed that way. She thought they had a bond; that his was a friendship that might last.
With his brothers hovering around, though she wasn't so sure. Some of them didn't appear to like her much. Perhaps she was just so lonely she imagined that spark of interest in his eyes.
"Did you call dad yet?" Mikey asked.
His various siblings were settling back into their positions of waiting. All except Donatello who poked through the remaining bag of ingredients they recovered in her kitchen area.
Leonardo sent Michelangelo a cautionary look. This one Sharra read easily. He didn't want them to discuss anything personal in front of her.
She could understand that. They were essentially strangers, thrown together by chance. But, Mikey's face fell at his brother's silent criticism. His head drooped like that of a kicked puppy and irritation rose in her chest.
He's worried about his father. It's not fair he's not allowed to ask.
Sharra set her cup down and picked up a well-worn pair of headphones from her desk. "I'll just put these on," she murmured to no one in particular.
Bending to her keyboard she selected a gentle music track to soothe her head but cranked up the volume until they heard the tune reverberating from the tiny speakers—blocking out anything they might say.