Perceptions
"DONATELLO!"
Sharra's piercing cry still rang in his ears, sending adrenaline rushing through his system.
Over the years Don had heard his name flavored with a thousand different types of need—but never with such pure agony and desperation. It had been enough to send him bolting into the next room.
Staring down now at Michelangelo lying limply in his arms as they pelted recklessly towards home, Donatello's heart pounded out an echo of every syllable of Sharra's panicked call. Seeing Mike so motionless made it difficult to breathe.
Mikey spent his entire existence moving. Even when at ease he wasn't this still. He danced through life exuding excessive energy whatever he did—whether fighting in a brawl, cooking with a smile on his face, or...
Moaning passionately into a kiss.
Don flushed at the memory. He had tried to be polite and ignore the sounds coming from the entryway, forcing himself to focus on the intricate code in front of him. After all, it wasn't every day he got to examine the inner workings of someone else's mind—and Sharra's lay exposed on the computer screen.
Sharra had signed him in but hadn't remained to hover over him. He took her absence as a sign of trust, for she had presented him with full access to the back end of her security system. And from the complexity of the Nightwatcher program, he concluded the girl was either downright paranoid or a technological genius virtually as gifted as himself.
Probably both.
But not eavesdropping on the couple was hard.
Well, at first it wasn't. Donatello had absolutely no desire to vicariously experience the tragic emotions of the pair as Mikey explained how their burgeoning romance must end. Don's heart ached at the mere idea. Finding someone like Sharra was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
One we shouldn't be squandering.
It was unclear how Leonardo thought this plan would play out, but Don feared the outcome. He knew, better than anyone else, how Michelangelo's mind and body worked. If Mike wanted something badly enough he let nothing and no one stand in his way.
And he wants Sharra.
If Mikey only lusted after the girl, things would probably be alright. He'd visit once in a while no matter what Leo said and, as long as she consented, he'd fuck her brains out and damn the consequences.
But this was more than superficial desire. Michelangelo cared about Sharra. He wanted a relationship, yet above all, he needed her safe. That meant acknowledging the danger such an association would bring—to her and the family.
In the end, Mikey decided to follow through with Leo's plan to walk away. Don could read it in the way Michelangelo behaved the rest of the afternoon.
And it almost killed him.
The emotional demands of such a conversation would be draining if he were in the best of health. As weak as Michelangelo was, the resulting collapse wasn't surprising.
The exchange took a toll on Sharra too...
Her muffled sobs from the next room were proof. Don clenched his teeth at the memory of her devastation, angry all over again for the poor girl. Leo's demand to cut ties wasn't fair. Not to Mike, not to Sharra...
And not to the rest of us.
Though he wouldn't ever admit that out loud. Honestly, Donatello's longing was the least of their problems. But he couldn't help putting himself in Michelangelo's hypothetical shoes.
If Sharra looked at me the way she did him, I'd fight with every breath in me to keep her at my side.
Which was why he dedicated time this afternoon to creating the GPS locator bracelet. It was kind of an end-run around Leonardo's no communication strategy. Don knew without asking that Leo wouldn't allow them to give her an active shell cell and Sharra probably wouldn't accept it anyway, considering her aversion to phones in general.
But I refused to leave her without SOME way to call for help!
It also presented an unexpected opportunity. Intensely curious about the invention he disassembled, Sharra asked dozens of questions about the way their shell cells operated without relying on the more commercial carrier systems.
And she truly listened to my explanations!
Impressed by her comprehension, Don went on to describe their communication backbone in great detail as he salvaged pieces from Mike's broken device. And in mere moments they fell into an effortless rapport. Their basic dialogue blossomed into an extended cooperative work session, in which she handed him tools before he even had to ask and made intelligent observations for upgrades that proved the adage 'great minds think alike.'
Most of the items she mentioned were on Don's to-do list, but a few were ideas he hadn't considered. He took mental notes and managed to squeeze in some inquiries of his own about her use of the beacon frequencies to 'hide' a message in plain sight.
It's been a long time since I held such a stimulating conversation.
Lingering in her presence provided a secondary benefit as well. By using himself as a physical barrier between Sharra and the brothers she feared, he garnered her trust— for, unlike the others, Don's proximity seemed to provide her some measure of reassurance.
They spoke long enough that he became attuned to the nuances of her voice. So his attention caught and held when Sharra cried out his brother's name in confusion and concern.
Her low tone didn't carry far but clearly, something was amiss. And, since Don stayed in case Mike needed immediate medical assistance, he strained his ears to ascertain if they required help. What he heard made him flush. Those sounds he knew intimately—though he hadn't experienced them firsthand in quite some time.
Mike's hitch of breath. His soft groan. The gloriously wet smacking of his mouth exploring, his tongue fervently caressing.
The noises and his own imagination were enough to make Don cover his face with shaking hands. But what came next almost destroyed his self-control.
Donatello, in general, possessed an easy-going nature. It took a lot to stir him up, either in embarrassment or anger. And in his personal life, he adhered to a 'sharing-is-caring' sort of mentality. But at that moment, a mighty wave of jealousy swept through him. One so potent, if his skin wasn't green it most certainly would have turned so in envy.
He wasn't jealous because Mike kissed someone else. Though he loved Mikey, and they both had learned a lot—about each other and themselves—from their short-term sexual relationship, that part of their life together had been primarily experimental. It was also long over.
No, Donatello's current jealousy was wholly triggered by the muffled feminine cries of need that answered his brother's moans. And his cock jumped to attention at the spike of pheromones that blew through the open door. Mikey's clothing contained his scent, so what crashed into Don's senses was unadulterated female arousal—from a woman he already half-fancied.
His hands had crushed the edge of the tabletop as he held himself in place. But Donatello had absolutely refused to intrude upon their intimate last goodbye, despite the insanely powerful double-pull of instinct and emotion.
Until Sharra's panicked scream—of my name, no less—tore me free from the mooring.
Which brought Don's whirling thoughts full circle, consumed with worry for all the parties involved.
Michelangelo's collapse had been inevitable. He didn't blame Sharra's kiss for it. If it hadn't happened in her doorway, it still would have occurred before they got home. Mike simply ran out of energy and Donatello was prepared for that eventuality, at least mentally.
Sharra's exceptional allure was another story.
Don had already accepted Michelangelo's undeniable affections for the girl, and begun a series of calculations to account for her as a new variable in the Hamato family equation—whether Leo liked it or not.
But his own emotional response threw a wrench in the works and left him floundering in uncertain territory. The attraction might still be straightforward lust. Pheromones were strong stuff, triggering their more 'animal' nature. And Don hadn't gotten laid since...
Since Mike and I broke up.
His body might demonstrate this response to any nearby aroused female. He hadn't really had abundant opportunities to test the hypothesis. If that was the case, everything would be fine. Instincts were annoying but controllable. Physical reactions like lust and pain primarily resided in the mind. And Don's mind was... persuasive enough to halt most of them.
However, the incredibly comfortable dynamic Sharra and he shared coupled with his earlier longing made him wonder...
What if his craving was neither simple nor lust but something else entirely? Something more substantial. Something involving his heart.
That would really throw off the math.
Such a notion proposed too many variables for a standard personal relationship equation to balance, at least in the Western world. Never mind their more over-arching familial one.
Don shook his head. Emotions and their effects on potential relationships had to wait until he had time to break them down properly.
Right now Mikey needs me to stay detached and focused on him. To transport him safely home. To start his treatments. To set him on the path to healing.
Despite this clear mental directive, a small portion of his intellect remained working diligently in the background on the problem of making sure Sharra stayed safe until Michelangelo—or himself—could return to claim her.
Donatello did not intend to fail either of them.
Leonardo scowled at the device in his hand. It had taken nearly three hours to travel this far and they were still miles from the safety of the lair. Michelangelo remained unconscious, forcing his brothers to carry him by turns, and once again something blocked their way.
Every second squandered in charting an alternate path felt like an eternity. Twice they had to backtrack to avoid seemingly random groups of patrolling Foot soldiers on the rooftops, but finally getting underground hadn't helped much. While there were fewer enemies to contend with, the sewers weren't any easier to navigate.
Runoff and slush packed the passageways and, despite their boots, they had to take frequent breaks at the high points in the pipes to prevent their feet from freezing. Sometimes the ice formed a solid wall and they had no choice but to reroute.
It occurred so often that even Leonardo, who kept a master map of most of their subterranean domain in his head, started referring to Donatello's self-tracking diagram of the area.
Mikey doesn't have time to waste getting lost.
Leo glanced up from his shell cell at the thought and scanned his little brother's slack form. Michelangelo's feet swayed over Donnie's arm but made no other movement. Through all the clambering, hiding, backtracking, and dodging; Mikey remained disturbingly senseless.
The reaction wasn't totally unexpected. Donnie had warned them Michelangelo surpassed all medical reasoning for being upright and active. He needed rest just to make it home. Mikey hadn't exactly complied during the remainder of the day.
But being told you must stay away from the one you care for is a bitter pill to swallow.
The leader himself had begun to have second thoughts about that particular decision. Sharra's tear-stained and bloody face haunted him—staring up from the dark well of her entryway as they left.
Unconsciously, Leo's fists clenched. He hated to leave her like that.
Two blows to the skull in one day is no joke. She could still succumb to a concussion.
Leo didn't think he was overreacting, Donnie thought she might be in danger as well. When he joined them on the roof, the genius' face was set in a scowl of tension.
What if Sharra goes to sleep and doesn't wake up? Michelangelo will never forgive me.
"You might never forgive you..."
Leonardo sighed and ignored the intrusive thought, quite used to his subconscious picking and prodding at his conclusions. Occasionally, the voice had a valid point but listening too closely generally just made him angry.
The whole situation frustrated him but he couldn't see an alternative. Taking Sharra with them was out of the question. Don couldn't stay because Mike needed him. And Raph would either alarm or provoke her.
Maybe I should have stayed?
"Yeah. Right. Like that would help."
Hoping to distract himself from the inner argument, Leonardo smoothed his expression and signaled Don to relinquish his burden. Perhaps carrying Mike would give him something to focus on besides his failure with the girl.
However, Raphael stepped forward and collected Mikey before Leo could take him. With a frown, Leonardo directed them around the latest obstacle, then took off at a run.
Despite his guilt, he knew his presence—especially alone—would not have gone over well with Sharra. She had recognized him instantly upon waking as her attacker on the rooftop. And the pure terror on her face at the mere sight of him chilled his blood in a way ice and snow never would.
Surprisingly, she appeared to understand his motivations. She forgave his impulsive actions, but she stayed timidly away from him throughout the course of the long day.
And every time I glanced her way, she shuddered.
Leonardo worked hard to suppress the hurt that involuntary motion provoked; keeping his face a carefully composed blank mask each time. Sharra had every right to her reaction. The white bandage on her throat was a painful reminder of his loss of control—for both of them.
Forgiveness can only ease, not erase, the consequences of that action.
He avoided her gaze the rest of the day, scrutinizing her only when she wasn't looking. He tried not to stare at all, but that was a lost cause. Whenever she shifted his eyes were drawn to her petite form.
"Hoping to catch one last glimpse of that impossible warmth, were you?"
Leonardo squirmed as his own conscience chastised him. The unbelievable acceptance Sharra had exhibited towards one of their kind and the overwhelming sense of satisfaction he experienced in response felt so surreal it seemed like something he dreamed instead of something he witnessed. And he couldn't help hoping for more.
But nothing happened during the afternoon, as Sharra remained wary of Mikey's violent siblings. So Leo whiled away the day keeping a watchful eye on his injured brother and genuinely tried to stay out of Sharra's way.
However, fate wasn't through playing with his emotions and circumstances were determined to thrust them together again. Don needed help untangling Mike in the tiny enclosure that served as Sharra's entryway. That need had forced Leonardo to touch Sharra again. And a room full of pheromones made the situation worse. Much worse. Her scent tugged at Leonardo's attention in ways he was not willing to acknowledge.
Acutely aware of their every point of contact, he held his breath and handled Sharra with extreme gentleness and respect. Only giving in to the instinctive directive to inhale her perfume once—when he leaned too near the back of her neck.
When finally free, Sharra collapsed on his chest. She didn't shriek or struggle as hysteria consumed her, but the damning emotion screamed from eyes gone wide and black like frightened cats. Leo's stomach had twisted so hard at the sight it practically clawed its way out of his body.
It still wouldn't settle down.
For three heartbeats he held her and fought an invisible battle. Throttling a futile desire to fall to his knees, clasp her elegant hands tenderly in his own, and swear—on the Hamato name and his personal honor—that he would never, ever, harm her again.
Or allow anyone else to do so.
But eventually, he had to set her down.
I am not meant to be her protector... None of us are.
Regardless of the argument he used to reinforce that simple truth, he still couldn't shake her haunted expression from his mind. Or the looming dread that something else bad might happen.
Stop fixating on the girl. You can't do anything else for her.
Forcibly, Leo turned his thoughts to Michelangelo's blackout instead. Nothing in Sharra's retelling of events might have triggered it. And, he didn't know how to interpret Mikey's trance-like state and glowing eyes. Sharra wasn't lying about anything though. Leonardo had scrutinized her aura himself as she trembled in the doorway. Though, he didn't usually need a reading to make that type of determination.
The phrases of a lie, any lie, naturally reverberated in his ears. Whispered or boasted with confidence, the false words echoed as if shouted over the mouth of a canyon—so he normally didn't bother to check people's emanations. But Sharra managed to mislead him once today, so when he reflexively reached out to assess her bleeding forehead he also invoked the Sight to peer deeply into her spirit.
What he saw caused a shiver to course down his spine.
Examining Sharra's aura was like looking in a mirror.
While one could never accurately view their own trauma, he empathized with the enormous amount of guilt and shame spiraling inside her. A sharp pang of sympathy pierced him as he studied injuries to her soul too numerous to count, and strove to breach the towering wall—bricked with emptiness and inadequacy—that encircled her heart. He could not reach that vital core. Her barriers were much too solid to let him through without an extended siege. Yet her nature shone brightly through the cracks.
Kind, generous to a fault despite its wounds, and breaking with loneliness—her heart's gentle pulse called to him with a siren's song of pain so familiar he yearned to soothe away.
Disturbed, Leonardo yanked his mind back, skimming instead over the colors of her surface emotions. He saw nothing to indicate harmful intentions. No anger towards Mikey or regret for something done wrong; no deceit. The bright yellow of frantic terror was her dominant emotion.
The fact it was him she feared crushed Leo's lungs worse than a blow to the chest.
Sharra forgave me, but she will never look at me the way she does Mike.
"Of course not. According to your plan, she'll never see any of you again."
The snide voice of his subconscious would not quit poking at him.
"And a good thing too! The scent she produced was potent. She wasn't just leaning on Michelangelo for emotional support after her breakdown. She actually wanted him. Physically."
Leonardo's eyes widened and he faltered in his run, totally missing a step. This was the realization he had been shying away from in her pheromone-filled entryway.
His heart skipped a beat and he stared in disbelief at his thumb and the dried blood still smeared across it. Sharra's blood. The miraculous blood of a saint.
She wants Mike. He wants her. And I'm forcing them apart.
A tempest of feelings swept him, led by despair and more than a little guilt. But the amount of pure envy and desire mixed into the emotional storm made him wonder...
If Sharra were permitted in the lair, would I be able to tolerate her proximity without going insane?
"Your reaction was overwhelming just observing her hold Mikey."
The voice taunted.
"Imagine how incredible it would feel watching her fuck him, or vice versa... especially if she also deep throated your—"
He bit his tongue—fiercely—to cut off that thought, but not before his whole body flushed and the lower part of his plastron began to bulge. The voice stopped goading him, but it became nigh on impossible to dismiss the immensely stimulating mental image it conjured.
Himself balanced on his knees at the edge of his mattress, partially reclined on his heels. His forearms were bound tightly from elbow to wrist behind his shell in black silk rope tied in complex knots. His emerald cock thrust forth from his loins like a spear, glistening with anticipation.
Naked, Sharra fidgeted before him. She stared up into his face, her gorgeous eyes glossy with hunger. Licking her full lips, she leaned down to taste him, encompassing the tip of his engorged member in her mouth.
Michelangelo settled behind her—already half-hard himself—and pressed her forward until she bent 90 degrees over Leo's lap, bracing her palms on his muscular thighs. Slowly she submitted further to Mike's insistent hand, sliding Leonardo's throbbing shaft passed the slippery confines of her cheeks and down her throat.
Leonardo swallowed a groan. His cock ached where it pressed hard against his plastron, swollen by the forbidden images.
This is wrong... I shouldn't want—
The thought cut off as the tension in the vision increased palpably.
Abruptly his brother shifted behind Sharra, gripped her hips, and plunged his now impressively rigid shaft into her exposed sex. Sharra mewled at the rough intrusion and the vibrations ran straight from her throat through Leo's cock to his core.
Leonardo's gasp echoed off the tunnel walls and he sealed his lips against the chirr trying to escape.
He watched through hooded eyes as Sharra bobbed her head upon him. She sucked hard and kissed up and down his shaft, laving him with her tongue—immersing him in pleasure. Her body jerked in time to Mike's penetrating thrusts, causing her teeth to scrape against his sensitive flesh, adding to the intense sensations.
Each pass drove him closer to climax. His hips pitched upward, helplessly chasing the heat of her mouth as she squeezed and caressed his inner thighs, urging him on.
And the scent—the divine, irresistible scent—of her desire intensified until he almost exploded.
At the last moment, Sharra lifted her head away from his cock, leaving him breathless and wanting.
Leonardo almost cried out in protest, barely able to choke back his reaction to the fantasy.
Sharra leaned in to capture his lips and he tasted himself in the passionate kiss—salty in contrast to her natural sweetness. His tongue swept tenderly across hers in blissful thanks and he struggled with his bonds; aching to hold her close, to stroke his hands along her enticing curves, to encourage her own release...
She broke the kiss with a heart-stopping smile, ignoring his whimpered objection. Her soft palms closed around his still throbbing cock and Sharra locked eyes filled with love on his own. His steely-grey iris blew wide and blue as she began jerking him to completion—
No! That's too far!
Shuddering, Leonardo bit his tongue—again and again and again.
Blood flowed freely but he didn't stop until the harsh pain and metallic taste banished the daydream fully. It wasn't the best solution, but his options were limited if he didn't want to draw the attention of his siblings.
He spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, immensely glad that with his 15-foot lead, those who ran behind him could only see his carapace in the darkness of the tunnel. He prayed the stench of the sewers also masked his shifting scent; for his brothers thought of him as beyond such base needs—a chaste warrior sunk in the ideals of abstinence.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
But Leonardo's personal kinks were his own business. And frankly, elaborate shibari bindings, edging, and even his brothers' presence for a three-some were common enough occurrences in his fantasies. None of these aspects triggered him to end the episode with frantic haste.
It was the way she kissed me. And the driving need to hold her despite my bonds. The honey of her tongue sweeping across mine and the deep love shining in her eyes.
That type of desire was sacred. Not meant to be demeaned in impossible delusions. He would not tarnish Sharra's reputation, even in thought, by entertaining such dishonorable images.
She cares for Michelangelo. Not the rest of us. And she didn't even get to claim him.
Their exit had hurt her—and Mike—far more than Leonardo had intended. But his own fantasy forced him to concede it was the correct decision.
Sharra deserves to live her life without fear of our... influence. She will get over Michelangelo and find a new partner—a more fitting one, a human one—to share her affections with.
As agonizing as the thought felt, Leo was sure it was right.
"Michelangelo may not get over her though."
This last whispered barb made him throw a worried glance over his shoulder.
Raphael held Mikey nestled close to his plastron but their little brother was getting worse. His face had gone a pasty green—as if all his vitality had been sucked away. His mouth twisted in a grimace and he began to shiver violently.
With a slight growl to clear the lump in his throat, Leo checked their position. A lifetime of running these tunnels made the ones nearest their home more familiar than the patterns on their shells and, despite his distraction, they were almost home.
Leonardo picked up the pace, blazing a trail to the secret door of the lair. Though he wasn't certain if he meant to open the portal for those who flew through the sewers behind him or to outrun his shameful thoughts.
Either way, Sharra's broken gaze haunted him every step of the way.
Raphael scowled at the wall of ice in front of them then turned the same sharp stare on Leonardo as the leader paused to consult the map on his shell cell. This delay was ridiculous. Leo knew these passages better than any of them.
Let's just get home!
Raph's blood thrummed in his veins, both from the frustration of the hesitation his brother showed and because there was nothing he could do about Michelangelo's current situation.
Mikey never stayed out for this long, especially when they dragged him around like this. He was too sensitive. The fact he hadn't moved, or complained, or uttered any sort of sound since Sharra's scream drew them back to the trap door in a fuckin' hurry, meant he suffered from somethin' really bad.
He'll be fine once we get home. Dad and Don will take care of it.
The mental pep-talk didn't help, but Leo at least offered a change. The leader signaled Don to transfer their brother and Raphael lept at the chance to DO something. He shouldered the blue-banded ninja aside and took Michelangelo from Don without waiting for permission. Then they were on the move again.
He snuck a surreptitious glance at Michelangelo's face. His little brother's expression was twisted and unhappy, though Raph couldn't tell if it was 'cause he was feeling pain from his many wounds or… because the girl was no longer within easy reach.
Raphael shifted his grip to cradle Mikey's shell, cautiously supporting his legs and neck in case it was the former, but he suspected the real reason was Sharra.
Raph himself felt conflicted emotions about that girl.
Guilt overshadowed most of 'em. He hadn't found a way to apologize for scarin' her near to death on the rooftop. His brothers had already said sorry over their part, but Raph couldn't find the right moment.
Or the words...
Everything that had come out of his mouth since she met them had been laced with sarcasm and antagonism. It was the only way he knew how to communicate. Apologies didn't sit well in his mindset, no matter how deserving the recipient.
'Sides, she didn't want to associate with him anyway, much less talk to him. She almost passed out again during his introduction—
Though she didn't bat an eye at Donnie.
The only reason her reticence didn't piss him off more was she also acted afraid of Fearless. Though Leo didn't cause the instant panic attack Raph's presence provoked.
Once Mikey woke up, Raph thought things would go smoother. The way Sharra reacted to Mike was... well he would have said impossible if he hadn't seen her voluntarily press herself against Mike's shell.
Now that was somethin'...
Just recalling the way she curled up and cuddled his brother close was enough to make Raphael breathe heavily.
Donnie-boy enjoyed it too...
Raph smirked at first, then frowned at the thought.
What's so damn attractive about this girl?
He understood why Mikey liked her, what with her saving his shell and all. But he studied a picture of her in his head tryin' to sort out why she appealed to the rest of them.
Pixie-like, her image taunted him, with brown short locks and dark eyes that regarded him with irritation. Sharra was nothin' special in the looks department. She didn't even sport long hair—the thing that generally got his motor running. Though she looked rather full-figured under all the bulky clothing, she was petite and pale. Small enough to tuck under one arm.
She had spunk though, standing up to Leo even after Fearless nearly cut her throat. And she had a temper if the short remarks she addressed to him were anything to go by. Combine that with her own brand of street smart cockiness and Raph could maybe see the appeal.
Too bad that wasn't the only vision of her stuck in his head. His mind immediately shifted to the other memory that swayed his perception.
The tiny girl curled into a tinier ball as she cowered against the far wall, warding off invisible blows with frantic hands. She pleaded out loud, screaming for mercy. Begging for release. For the beatings to stop.
The image wrenched Raph's heart, along with the helpless expression on Michelangelo's face as he desperately hovered over her, unable to get her to respond.
She sounded like she was dyin' and Mikey's face said he was goin' with.
Raphael had been horrified. None of them could do anything but sit and watch and try to keep her from hurtin' herself as she suffered in front of them. Raph had freaked out, fearing she was sick in the head. That their little brother had fallen for a girl who wasn't all there.
I mean first, she froze up, she had a panic attack, and now she's imaginin' crap that ain't real.
But his horror only intensified when Donnie explained how she was re-living actual events.
Mikey had told them the Foot got her. Killed her parents. Did horrible things to her at a young age. Yet somehow, it hadn't sunk in how much Sharra had endured.
I'll kill 'em.
The thought was instant and became a refrain that reverberated inside his head.
It wasn't like Raph lacked personal motivation to hunt the Foot clan before. Their families had been at war for decades. He knew the Shredder personified evil and his soldiers hurt people. That was why the Hamato family patrolled. It was one of the reasons Raphael went out on nights when his brothers didn't. And why he'd taken up the guise of the Nightwatcher when Leo went away in their teens.
Innocents—aligned with neither family—needed protection from the plots and the machinations and the backlash. And when he didn't do his job, shit like this happened.
Raphael knew all this, but previously his emotions had been somewhat detached unless Shredder moved directly against one of his family.
He rescued people mostly out of a deep-seated need to feel he made a difference in the world despite his mutation. But that's just what they were, a generic 'people.' They blurred together in the black of countless alleyways or were massed into the group of 'civilians' he intended to protect. They didn't exist to him as individuals.
In his mind Sharra's expressive and vulnerable face, contorted in fear, collided with his protective instincts and shattered that detachment. It lit an explosive fire in his gut.
God damn it, she was a child and they tortured her.
But they didn't break her. She got away and created a life for herself regardless. She fought back against the Foot by saving Michelangelo and spiriting him away. But that wasn't the only amazing thing she did. She accepted Mike as an individual. She didn't judge him for being mutated or lump him into any sort of group.
Not even a family one.
She may be sharp and spicy and tiny and a bit crazy... but she was also courageous, determined, fierce, and accepting.
She even acknowledged Raphael's contributions—praising the Nightwatcher for his heroic efforts, though she didn't know it was him. Raph hadn't been out patrolling in that armor for years, but it warmed him to hear his work had an impact on the people of the street. And that his reputation lasted.
With this new perspective, he did his best to show Sharra he meant no harm. He might not be able to speak the words, but he demonstrated with actions. When Don moved him a 'safe' distance away from her he carefully kept it throughout the day. He maintained an open posture, leaving himself unguarded, hoping to convey his intent.
And he tried to keep his voice down and his temper in check, a difficult prospect when Mikey started pushing his buttons. But the guilt that swallowed him again when Sharra flinched at his yell, forced him to redouble his efforts.
Then came the kicker. Mikey wanted to bring the girl back to the lair, and despite promising her assistance, Leonardo said no.
For once Raphael found himself in agreement with the leader, and it felt... odd. But Fearless was right. Sharra had already been hurt by the Foot. She didn't deserve to be dragged any further into their world. Leaving her alone would be the easiest thing to do, if not the kindest.
But would it be right?
When Leo proposed the idea and ordered them not to give away the location of their home, Raph rapidly nodded. But he felt uncomfortable walking away when Sharra was so injured. His last sight of her as they closed the door was pitiful— bloody and tear-streaked.
"She needs company. And I promised to keep her safe. You're asking me to break my word."
Mikey's words this afternoon were accusing and yet, Raph knew Mike trusted them to care for her while he couldn't.
"I got brothers to help with that."
You sure do, little bro.
Silently he pledged to go back regardless of Leo's plan. When they got Mikey home and stable, he'd take Casey and they'd make Sharra's building a part of an uptown patrol.
We owe her. For Mike.
Decision made, Raph shook himself out of his thoughts.
Almost home.
Leonardo sprinted ahead to open the secret door. As the panel slid back, warmth and light flooded the tunnel. And at last, their father was there.
A gentle paw touched each of his children lightly as they crossed the threshold. Then smoothed across Mikey's brow. Tears gathered in the old rat's eyes, but his gruff voice was full of gratitude and love as he proclaimed:
"Welcome home, my sons."
Hours had passed since the turtles departed her cozy den, and Sharra lay curled among the blankets in the divot Michelangelo left, staring at the wall. She lacked the will to move and the dark mood which claimed her when they closed the door showed no signs of lifting.
She hadn't bothered to clean up. Or address the bloody cut on her forehead. She hadn't re-organized her sleeping area into the pallet she normally used, or even dressed for bed.
The tears had stopped, leaving her eyes puffy and sore. But she couldn't rest. The bedding felt far too empty without Michelangelo's captivating shell taking up most of the nest. And somehow she couldn't recall how to sleep alone.
I don't think I did before, not really. Just grabbed an hour's rest between bouts of paranoia.
Crying had not eased the tight pain in her chest either. Not like it had when she bawled in Michelangelo's lap. But everything felt wrong without Mikey.
She missed his quiet breathing as she worked. And the way his eyes followed her as she darted from workbench to table and back again. She longed for an echo of his infectious laughter or a glimpse of his oh-so-charming smile. But most of all she missed his eyes. Those remarkably blue eyes saw her every emotion. They made her feel safe. Secure enough to truly sleep and brave enough to face the world.
And his kiss... astounded me.
Her quick peck had been a silent, desperate query. Before he left she had to know...
Did he ever desire me?
She thought she had her answer when he merely hugged her and murmured an apology into her hair, letting her down gently. Michelangelo liked her and he didn't wish to upset her; such empathy was integral to his nature. But he didn't need her. And he didn't want her.
Not romantically.
Sharra tried to swallow her tears and reinforce the weakening barriers around her heart. But when he seized up in her arms, eyes alight with an unearthly glow, terror overcame her disappointment. His body spasmed for what seemed like ages and when he finally acknowledged her again, it was with an answer she no longer hoped for.
His lips met hers—forcefully—and he claimed her with every fiber of his being.
Sharra should have reacted poorly to the onslaught. She had suffered thousands of possessive, unwanted advances during her short life. But Michelangelo did not dominate—he worshiped; drinking her in with his mouth, his hands, his eyes. And all the shame and agony she associated with physical intimacy washed away.
She wanted it. Wanted him.
She reveled in every flex of his muscles that drew her closer. And moaned as his lips sang of a passion she never dreamed existed.
Sharra could count the number of people she'd willingly kissed on one hand, but none of them promised her so much in a single encounter. His embrace swore a lifetime of adoration and destroyed her remaining self-consciousness. With a strangled cry of need, she submitted to the emotions raging inside, allowing herself to fall for him completely.
But love was not enough to sustain him in his injured state, not nearly enough. Mikey collapsed and as unexpectedly as the turtles had arrived in her life, they had vanished.
Despair stabbed Sharra again and she whimpered, curling tighter into a ball. The emotional pain of Michelangelo's absence blended with her physical hurts. The throbbing of her ribs and the ache in her head and neck echoed the brutally empty beat of her heart.
Mikey didn't abandon me. Not after that kiss. Not after he promised to be with me. He will recover and come back.
She had to believe that, or life was not worth living.
But will the others let him?
Absently, Sharra stroked the small shell bracelet where it rested on her wrist, remembering Mikey's siblings' reactions to her throughout the day.
Donatello's dark sympathetic eyes as he closed her fingers over the communications device flashed through her mind's eye. Followed by Raphael's ashen expression after she screamed during her flashback. Even the formidable Leonardo had traced her forehead in tender concern before they left.
I think... maybe they will. They all promised to help if I need them.
Slowly, she drew a deep breath, forcing the grief consuming her to recede—at least for the time being. She inhaled again and uncurled from the fetal position. Only to flinch when the control band on her other wrist vibrated in silent alarm.
'Warning! Warning! Perimeter breach!' scrolled across the display.
Someone had crossed one of her laser trip lines. Sharra gasped, shot upright, and dove for her computer to check the cameras.
Did Leonardo change his mind? Have they come back to escort me to Mikey?
Unfortunately, the shadows slinking over the nearby buildings were not mutant turtles. Instead, over thirty dark-clad human bodies encircled her rooftop.
Sharra swallowed a whimper as she triggered the magnetic lock on the hatch. She fled back to the pallet, stifling her cries with the blankets. Her vision faded in and out as they drew closer and darkness tried to consume her as she hyperventilated.
Only Michelangelo's fading scent on the fabric pressed against her face, and the echo of Donatello's benevolent baritone—advising her to breathe—kept her conscious as the Foot soldiers closed in on her location.
As she watched they began searching the piles of snow—going over every inch of the roof with a fine-toothed comb.