Forsaken
Twilight arrived around four-thirty, but the turtles waited to leave until after six. Sharra watched their preparations with bemusement. Compared to their dramatic introduction, their departure was surprisingly low-key.
Donatello asked permission to clone her camera feed since she had the best vantage points for her roof. This was, he explained, not only for their safety but also for hers. With access, they could monitor for future Foot trouble. She pondered the decision for only a moment.
I can always delete his entry later.
With a shrug, she logged him into her security system and showed him where to input his ip address. While Don completed this task, Raphael turned off all the lights before exiting the hatch to personally verify the safety of the rooftop.
Leonardo helped Michelangelo to stand and limp to the entryway. And Sharra abandoned Donatello to follow, hesitating awkwardly in the doorway. In her hands, she grasped a small neat bundle. One of her flannel shirts tied at the arms held the remainder of Mikey's possessions.
Leo propped his brother up, balancing him against the ladder. He squeezed Michelangelo's uninjured shoulder sympathetically. "Say your goodbyes," he murmured, "and Don will help you up." He darted out into the snow.
For a few precious minutes, Sharra and Mikey stood alone.
Michelangelo wore his signature orange mask again and Sharra's eyes grew wide in the dim light, drinking him in. He looked stronger since his brothers arrived. Impressive, in all his inhuman glory.
His eyes, though—those incomparable blue eyes—were unhappy when they touched on hers. Disillusioned. Where once there was joy, despite his pain, now there were shadows.
He glanced away quickly. Michelangelo had been avoiding her gaze all afternoon. Ever since she let Donatello investigate her side.
She clutched her parcel and tried to loosen her chest enough to draw a deep breath. Her ribs were much better since the doctor demonstrated how to support them, but she couldn't help wondering if Mikey got an eyeful of the real Sharra during the exam. The damaged girl hidden behind the tough demeanor.
I'm broken. Flawed. And maybe... maybe that's not good enough for him.
She hoped that wasn't the case. She prayed he could see past all her damaged bits because despite knowing better, she had let this amazing amusing turtle into her heart.
Though now he's leaving. And I get the feeling he won't be coming back.
Dragging her feet, she shifted closer.
"I got your... uh... things," she said in a scarcely audible voice, "I wrapped them up so they're all together."
"Thanks," he said, still avoiding her eyes. "You can set them down. Don will grab 'em when he comes."
Sharra's shoulders hunched as she crouched and placed the bundle next to her feet. With nothing now to hold, she crossed her arms tightly across her chest and drew another deep breath that didn't quite reach her lungs as she rose.
"So, is this goodbye?" She blurted.
She almost didn't ask, not truly wanting her suspicions confirmed, but Sharra was a realist. She could read a room. And a long-term friendship didn't look promising. She wanted Mikey to visit when he got better but...
I bet Leonardo will stop him.
Their time in her home was brief but long enough for her to grasp the hierarchy. Leonardo was in charge. Or, at least, everyone deferred to him. And while he proclaimed he was in her debt, he definitely did not like her.
If I thought it would help, I would fall to my knees and beg him to let Mikey stay in my life. Tell him how blessed I was the day Michelangelo fell into my home because he is amazing, and kind, and clever, and so heart-breakingly appealing.
Reveal how I take comfort in his presence on account of—for some inexplicable reason—with him, I don't feel ashamed, and damned, and... just so lost and alone.
But none of that will sway Leonardo. He made up his mind this afternoon.
More than once during their visit Leonardo's gaze weighed upon her. His face, when she peeked, was always composed and vacant. But his eyes pierced her whenever she spoke. He judged her home, her choices, her every move—and found her lacking.
Unworthy of his brother's time and attention. And he's not wrong. I'm a nobody.
She had no right to ask Michelangelo to remain any longer than circumstances required. Mikey deserved to return home—to the loving embrace of his family. To recover in peace, not shiver to death in her drafty pretend apartment.
So, yes. This is probably goodbye...
Tensely, she waited for his answer, straining to make out his soft words over the roar of her pulse in her ears.
"Sharra,"—Michelangelo's voice dropped on the end of her name—"I don't want it to be. But..."
His voice trailed off, but that was all she needed to hear. She bit her tongue to hold back the tears.
This is gonna hurt.
Michelangelo found himself at a loss for words.
How can I admit we're running out on her when she just offered her trust?
He sighed and tried again, "I—"
Sharra set a finger against his lips and shook her head—stopping him cold.
"Don't"—she drew her hand away with a pained expression and resumed clutching her forearms—"You don't have to explain. Living on the fringes of society is hazardous. Even those who want to help become a liability. I'm an outsider and your family doesn't need to be burdened with me."
Michelangelo trembled in the face of her bitter, hurt-filled words.
Does she expect everyone to abandon her? Damn it! I don't want to, but what else can I do to keep her safe?
He might have to leave, but he refused to leave her ego in shambles. Wincing with effort, he reached out to grasp her hand. She loosened her stiff posture enough to accept the gesture and he rubbed small circles on the back with his thumb. He ducked slightly to meet her eyes, hoping to reassure her one last time.
She lifted her head and their eyes locked. He poured all the emotion he could into his gaze, his voice throbbing with intensity.
"You're not an outsider, Sharra. Or a burden. You've been my lifeline."
And I've never wanted anyone so much.
He dared not speak those words. Nor could he kiss her goodbye the way he was dying to. Sharra was upset they were abandoning her, but she didn't necessarily feel the same desire as he. Such a gesture would only make the situation worse.
"I'm sorry to do this to you, but we have to go."
She swallowed hard as he stood taller, craning her neck to hold his gaze with hauntingly sad eyes. Michelangelo closed his. Her eyes were too intense.
If she doesn't stop looking at me like that I'll never make it up the ladder, much less home.
He had to harden his heart.
She means everything, so I HAVE to let go. Leo was right, she has suffered enough.
He dropped her hand and prepared to climb.
Sharra moved before he could and Michelangelo's eyes snapped open. Instead of backing away, she stepped up on the rear of the ladder and hauled herself even with his face. His pupils dilated and he gasped as she leaned through the small square opening of the rungs.
Soft as the brush of a butterfly's wings, Sharra pressed her lips against his. She pulled away quickly, blinking hard. But tears escaped anyway; leaving glistening trails in the dark.
Mikey's brain stalled, seeming somehow to have stopped working entirely and simultaneously shifted into overdrive.
A kiss. She kissed me! She wants me too!
As smoothly as if he'd trained for it all his life Michelangelo's arm slipped around her waist in a gentle hug.
I can't leave her.
His instincts screamed at him to stay, but his brother—his leader—ordered something else. And Mikey rarely questioned Leonardo.
For one, doubting orders in the middle of a fight was a good way to get himself or one of his brothers killed. And secondly, Michelangelo believed that Leo possessed a unique perspective on the world. He constantly saw 'the big picture', which made him a natural strategist.
While the others only saw their own actions and perspectives, Leonardo understood where everyone was, envisioned where they should be, and directed them towards positions that played to their strengths. Leaving the rest of them free to focus on performing their roles to perfection.
Normally, this arrangement suited Michelangelo fine. He trusted his older brother. Not only with his life, but with the lives of his precious family.
I should trust him with Sharra too.
But somehow this situation was different. There was no battle here except the one in his heart. And Michelangelo had to wonder how big a picture his brother was envisaging. Leonardo was also not infallible. And because of his enormous responsibilities the consequences of his errors, few and far between as they were, could be far-reaching.
Is giving Sharra up actually the right thing to do?
Mikey understood the logic. Everything Leo said earlier was true. Their friends and associates were occasionally targets. But he had never heard any of them express anger or regret over that fact.
Surely love, intimacy, and companionship are worth the gamble?
But... maybe he wasn't qualified to make that call. Michelangelo wasn't the one—present circumstances excluded—typically at risk.
As if to prove the point, Sharra flinched under his palm, stifling a whimper as he brushed against her bandaged side. He immediately eased his hold, burying his face in the crook of her neck with a groan at the reminder of what he had done.
If we hadn't hurt her, I might justify staying. But she deserves a better life. One free of the pain and suffering we are only adding to.
"I'm so sorry," Michelangelo said again, the words muffled against the gauze at her throat—yet another indication of his failure to keep her safe.
"I never wanted to hurt you..."
But I can't seem to stop!
Sharra's tears overflowed, burning like acid when they hit his shoulder. She clung to his plastron, pressing her lips in a tight line to quiet her sobs as her body trembled against him.
Michelangelo sucked in a deep breath. Her sweet scent was incredibly potent so close to the source. The fragrance seared his lungs and cracked his heart; leaving it crazed and fragile.
Is this how it ends? Our impossible connection?
He drew back, staring her heartache in the face one last time. The agony in her eyes made him want to howl.
If I stay she gets hurt. But going is hurting her too!
I wish... I wish I just KNEW if this was the right decision. For once, can't I see outside my own actions? Like Leo? I need to be certain!
Mikey had never wished for anything so hard in his life. And someone—perhaps his ancestors, or maybe the powers that balance the universe—granted his desire.
A shock of aural energy surged up from deep within his bones.
Michelangelo already possessed powerful intuition. Sometimes he even got premonitions during a mission. Like a sixth sense, they allowed him to protect his brothers from an unexpected blow or head off a lethal situation.
But this was a full-on vision.
The future he couldn't picture before burst forth behind his burning eyes in a flare of violet light. A bleak and desolate landscape formed. A vast empty cityscape thrown into sharp relief by flashes of jagged lightning.
In this timeline, he rejected Sharra, obeyed his brother, and walked away, never to return. And...
Spent the rest of his days alone.
His exuberance and enthusiasm for life withered and with it his family and friends. Splinter passed away. His brothers drifted apart. One by one his family dispersed.
Separated, they were overrun by their enemies.
Eventually, his sole purpose became hunting the shadows with his lost brothers' weapons strapped to his shell. He slept the days away in a fog of depression and roamed the night, sorrowing endlessly for the life that slipped through his fingers.
This destiny was Michelangelo's deepest, darkest, most terrifying fear come to life. To lose his family. To lose everyone. To be alone for all time.
In the blazing light, years passed and nothing changed.
Decades spent trapped in my own personal hell? Not appealing in the slightest.
That's what he faced if he made this choice. Which should have made the decision easy.
But what of Sharra? I can embrace this future if she is spared further harm.
The vision twisted and rewound, complying with his demand to also view HER fate if he chose this path of loneliness and despair.
This time the vision was far shorter. With a flash of red, a throbbing wave of heated air thrust him back. A deafening crash resounded. Overwhelming pain raked across his limbs, followed by the sensation of falling. Impact stole his breath, but the surface below him gave until freezing cold surrounded him.
Water!
He floundered to the top and fought against high waves. They slapped his face as he struggled to breathe. Gasping, he went under once. Twice. The third time icy water filled his mouth and lungs.
The perspective changed to look down upon the unfortunate victim and only then did he realize it wasn't his muscles that labored. Sharra battled against the deep black water, thrashing frantically; searching for a surface she could no longer find.
Her energy faded. Her struggles slowed. Her body began to drift. To sink. Until she disappeared from view in a trail of bursting bubbles.
Michelangelo's heart shattered—stealing the air he needed to scream.
"MIKEY!"
Sharra's anguished yet stifled cry brought him back to the present. She cupped his cheeks in her palms, holding them face to face with her arms linked around and through the ladder. Tears still streamed from her eyes, but now they were near hysterical with worry.
"Mikey?" she sobbed again as his gaze darted around the room, taking in their surroundings. "Are you okay? What happened? Your eyes were glowing and I—"
"Sharra?"
He finally focused on her face and blinked at the impossible sight. She was alive! And breathing! Held tight in his arms. The vision was a warning. He had a chance to change the outcome.
Oh, thank you! Thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU!
His heart thumped wildly against his ribcage in a painful burst of staggered beats. Having seen the results of his brother's command, only one option remained.
Fuck what Leo says. Sharra's joining our world because life is not worth living without her! If I abandon her, she dies. My faith dies. EVERYONE dies!
Michelangelo lunged forward in a panicked frenzy and captured Sharra's lips with his own.
She surrendered instantly to his desperate kiss. Her body melted against him, pressing closer despite the immutable barrier of the steel ladder between them. Her temperature spiked and she flushed, her mouth moving against his in a sensual, searching dance.
As she responded, Michelangelo nearly burst with desire. His cock hardened like iron, swelling hugely inside his shell. He fought to keep it contained as pure fire rose through the lattice of his veins from his pulsing groin, encompassing the rest of his body.
With a single kiss, Sharra blew him away.
Her lips were full and WARM. So yielding and yet so firm. Those lips parted in invitation, allowing his probing tongue to penetrate her mouth. He eagerly explored every crevice as Sharra quivered in his grasp.
She moaned and hot breath invaded his lungs. He swallowed the sound, not willing to break away. Their tongues collided; coiling in twisting swirling patterns. Hers marvelously scalding and his piercingly cold. A hypnotizing yin to her yang.
Her weight shifted and he gripped her tighter, locking his fingers around a handful of her oversized sweater before she might fall. Repositioning, he thrust his good arm over a rung and back around her slim waist to hold them upright.
Sharra tore her lips free momentarily to gasp a much-needed breath. And Michelangelo drowned in the depths of her dark eyes as one of her hands took a firm grip on the edge of his shell. Her other crept behind his head. Without looking, she looped his bandana tails around her forearm and clutched them in her fist. With a jerk, she used them to pull him to her lips for another searing kiss.
Sharra devoured his mouth as if starving.
Being on the receiving end of such frantic desire felt exotic, though Michelangelo was not unaccustomed to sexual expression. It was a natural part of his being. One might even say it was a foundation stone of his psyche.
He had knowledge from the internet at a young age and plenty of personal experience from an exploratory arrangement several years ago with a certain geeky sibling who possessed a very nimble tongue. And he was, honestly, no stranger to other types of oral explorations—being flexible enough to... entertain himself.
So, kissing was nothing new. But kissing Sharra was unlike anything in his prior experience. Where Don's kisses felt like quiet questions, Sharra kissed as if screaming out to his soul.
And he found himself answering. Passionately. With mind, body, and spirit.
His tongue again sought hers. This time to caress and soothe and reassure; hunting any doubts she might have about his emotions and quelling them.
I want you. I need you. I love you.
The mantra played on an endless loop in his mind as his body strove to send the message without words.
The glorious moment of their kiss stretched time...
Then faded to black.
"DONATELLO!"
Sharra's anguished scream split the night and echoed through the open roof hatch, but for once she didn't care about attracting the Foot's attention. Because Michelangelo slumped against her.
She fought with all her strength to keep him from falling to the floor. Both of them were tangled in the ladder. If she let him drop either her arms got broken, or he cracked his head.
"DON—"
She choked on a second cry for help but the purple-banded turtle was already at her side. He sized up the situation in a glance before he squeezed behind Mikey, grabbed the underside of his shell, and boosted him up. The weight came off Sharra, but she was still pinned—trapped in Michelangelo's embrace.
Two faces appeared above them, both looking furious at the noise. Their expressions dissolved into shock.
"Leo!"
Donatello didn't have to summon him twice. Though his two brothers at the bottom blocked the path, Leonardo entered all the same—with the skill of a professional contortionist.
Gripping the edge of the hole he thrust his legs in sideways. He slid inward and twisted at the last moment wrapping his body around the rear of the ladder. His plastron skated over Sharra's back and his feet struck the ground silently behind her.
There really wasn't room for three giant turtles and a woman, no matter how petite, in her entryway. And Sharra's heart hammered in her throat as Leonardo drew even closer in his attempt to separate them.
She feared a certain amount of roughness from him, like something of the sort he used on the rooftop. Perhaps taking advantage of the opportunity to show his disapproval by crushing her against the rungs. At a minimum, she braced for words of retribution or demands for answers.
But Leonardo remained silent. And while his chest did press against her from shoulders to buttocks, it felt more like an offering of support—almost an embrace—as he reached around her with both arms to unhook Mikey's appendages.
He detangled them with the utmost care, using swift, sure movements. Until, leaning over her shoulder so closely his breath puffed over her neck, he unwound Mikey's bandana from her forearm.
Backing away, he wedged his shell in the doorway to grant her what little space was available.
"Let him go, Sharra. Don's got him so you can step down. Be careful."
The command was somewhat gruff, but not unkind, and gradually she pried her fingers from their death-grip on Michelangelo's carapace.
She tried to do as Leonardo asked, but her hands and feet were numb from the pressure of holding Mikey up. Her boot slipped and she toppled.
With an oversized muscular turtle crammed in behind her, there wasn't anywhere to fall. And she ended up in a partially crumpled heap braced against Leonardo's chest. Immediately, he lifted her in his arms and pivoted to set her on her feet in the doorway of her workroom, without the slightest hint of impact.
"What happened?" Leo snapped. This question was sharper but directed over his shoulder at his brother. And it sounded more like a general demanding a report than an act of aggression.
Donatello didn't appear phased by Leonardo's tone. "Unknown. I was still working on the cameras. He was stable a minute ago." He cautiously lowered Mikey to the floor of the crowded space, leaning his shell against the wall.
"Sharra?" Leonardo asked in a softer tone, turning back to her. "Do you know—"
Leonardo cut off his own question as she lifted her tear-streaked face. His hand shot out and she cringed, anticipating a blow, but his fingers barely grazed her temple and his thumb skimmed over her face—just above her eyebrows—in the lightest of touches.
For a half-second, their gazes locked. His eyes flashed and emotion passed through them, though it did not disturb the rest of his stoic mask. The anger she anticipated wasn't anywhere to be seen, but the feeling was intense.
What was that? Sorrow? Recognition?
Whatever the sentiment, she hadn't quite grasped the whole before Leonardo pulled his hand back. Blood was smeared across his thumb.
I must have split my forehead on a rung.
Dazedly, she raised a hand to the wound and probed. She didn't think it needed stitches, but it was going to form yet another bruise. It might even scar.
That doesn't matter. Don needs to know what happened...
And there's no reason to try Leonardo's patience.
"We were talking," Sharra began, "a- about you guys not coming back. I- I told him, I understood why..." Her throat closed. It was hard to speak with Leonardo looming in front of her, but she peeked around him and focused on Donatello instead. "I stepped up to say goodbye. He gave me a hug, then his whole body went rigid. His eyes were open, but I don't think he could see me. They- They started to glow..."
"What specifically glowed?" Donatello asked, seemingly unperturbed by such a bizarre statement.
"His eyes. This odd purple-ish hue covered them and pulsed. He snapped out of it but he seemed confused. He called my name, frightened, like he woke from a nightmare, then he..."
"He what?" Leonardo asked, drawing her gaze again.
He kissed me, in a way I've never been kissed before. But that had nothing to do with his collapse, right? The light had to be the cause.
"He crumpled," Sharra answered, refusing to glance away. To do so would reveal the fact she wasn't being totally forthcoming. "His eyes rolled back and he slumped. And I couldn't let him fall..."
"Don, could the catatonia that affected Sharra be something contagious?" Leonardo demanded.
"No. Brain chemical reactions are not something transferrable. Besides, he's not stiff now."
Sharra observed helplessly, wringing her hands as Donatello strapped some weird goggles over his ski mask. He lowered the lenses and looked Mikey up and down.
"Nothing foreign in his system," he muttered, "But his blood pressure's dropped again."
He raised the headgear. "Leo, we have to get him home before he gets any worse. He needs that transfusion. And no offense Sharra, but he requires a more stable environment, temperature-wise."
She nodded absently, backing father into the workroom as Leonardo moved to help Donatello. Together they hoisted a limp Michelangelo overhead until Raphael hooked his arms under the unconscious turtle's. As soon as Mikey cleared the hole, Leonardo leaped to the top of the ladder and disappeared.
She thought Donatello would head right up as well but he turned to her and bowed deeply, his eyes dark with sympathy.
"I'm sorry we have to leave you this way. Thank you again for all you have done. And should you need us—" he dug in his belt pouch and held out a small item.
It was the remains of Michelangelo's shell cell, or at least something new constructed from parts. He had modified a single hexagonal scute, a curved piece of the shell casing about the size of a dime, into a simple ornament. A tiny knob—like the setting hand of a watch—stuck out the side. A black cord ran from a bezel on either end to a pair of sliding knots in the middle.
"This is the panic beacon from Mike's shell cell. It's totally inert until activated. Just pull the knob and spin it to send a location alert. The signal is only short-range but will cover the majority of Manhattan."
"Thank you," Sharra exclaimed. "I didn't think, I mean, I didn't expect any way to contact you."
"It's only for emergencies," Donatello warned. "The battery's a button cell, so it'll only last a couple of hours at full power. I wanted to keep the footprint small so if there is trouble hopefully the bracelet goes unnoticed until we arrive."
She opened her fingers and he dropped the tiny contraption in her palm. She flushed as he covered her hand with both of his and squeezed lightly.
"Take care of yourself. And dress that cut, okay?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice in the face of his kindness.
"Mikey is going to be alright Sharra. Believe me. We heal fast."
Before she finished nodding a second time, he was up the ladder and preparing to lower the door into place.
"Wait!" she cried, bending to scoop the pouch of belongings from the floor. "Mikey's stuff!"
She tossed the package up. Don caught it and nodded his thanks before closing the hatch—leaving her in silent darkness. She stood still for several seconds listening intently to the ringing of her ears before her knees gave out and she sank to the floor.
They're gone. And they're not coming back.
Unless I'm dying...
She clutched the bracelet close to her chest. Her only reminder of the charming turtle who, for at least one brief shining moment, had loved her.
The tears began again.
This time she did nothing to stop them.