The Waiting Game
"Of course, come in!" Silvy gestured, guiding Sharra through the doorway before shooting a suspicious glare down the empty stairwell and shutting the door.
"Were you mugged? Somewhere nearby? Should I call Jason?"
Sharra shook her head, unable to form words around the knot in her throat at the woman's instant kindness.
Jason was Salvinia's business partner slash bodyguard. She employed him to play the role of pimp and enforcer for a group of prostitutes in the neighborhood. But he was simply muscle, the girls worked independently. He was an ok guy, but Sharra didn't fully trust him.
Doubt he can handle the Foot anyway.
Other than Mikey, and perhaps his siblings, she didn't know of anyone who could.
"Honey, we don't pay the man protection money for nothing," Silvy insisted, directing Sharra into the living room. She assessed the damage again in the light from the window. "Shit girl, they really did a number on you. This was personal."
"It's not so bad," Sharra said with a shrug. She managed a weak smile. "A lot is dirt. I hoped... maybe I might use your bathroom?"
"Of course. Throw your clothes in the laundry too, but you should let me call Jason."
"He can't help." Sharra sniffled, blinking hard to stop her tears from overflowing. The past twenty-four hours had been devastating and shock was setting in. She needed to clean up and hide before she suffered a total meltdown.
In case imagining an invisible boyfriend rescuing me didn't constitute one...
A frown marred Salvinia's full red lips at her continued refusal. She knelt and examined Sharra's face. "Why don't you want me to call him? Was this someone you know? A partner? Whoever did this don't deserve a minute more of your time. All you gotta do is point out the bastard and we'll take care of everything. They won't hit you again."
"Silvy, stop!"
Sharra hiccuped and scrubbed her forearm across her eyes, damning the tears that escaped her control. She had forgotten how protective the woman was. "It wasn't like that. It was the Foot."
Well them and a misunderstanding with some scary mutant turtles over their missing sibling...
But Sharra wasn't about to divulge their part in all this.
Salvinia's eyes narrowed but she didn't jerk away like Sharra worried she would. Silvy was tough as nails. Not much rattled her.
"Oh, hon. They still after you?"
When Sharra nodded helplessly, Silvy snorted.
"Well fuck. You're right, Jason's not gonna be much help." She let out a deep sigh, but her face became thoughtful. "But... I know someone else who might."
"No one is going to go up against the Foot for me," Sharra opposed. "They're more likely to turn me in for the finder's fee."
"I didn't say he'd fight them, though with his physique he could take out a few of those bad boys. I said he'd be helpful. You need to hide and he's kinda an expert at disappearing. Shit, he's almost ninja-like at times. An' he ain't the type of guy to be interested in the bounty."
Sharra grimaced. "What IS he going to want then? 'Cause I am not paying in sex, especially not while on the run."
Salvinia laughed outright at her blunt words. "Don't worry, girl. He gets plenty a' that from me. I'm not sure what else he wants, but we can work out an exchange fair to you both. Possibly to do with your tech stuff? His attitude's rough, but I think you'll like him. He's the kind who sticks up for folk who can't."
"So, he's like some sort of vigilante?"
"Exactly. And not any ole garden variety one either. The world thinks he retired, but I'm ninety-nine percent sure he just changed his name or somethin' ta avoid the publicity. In fact, I think he's your vigilante."
"My vigilante?" Sharra repeated.
She can't mean Mikey. And from the grin she's trying to mask, she's teasing me. This is something from our past...
"I never had a vigilante—"
Abruptly, Sharra gasped in realization. "You think he's the Nightwatcher?"
The squeal her voice reached by the end of the sentence could have called dogs. And the blush creeping up her neck and over her entire face to the tips of her ears was shameful.
Damn, I could heat a whole city block with the steam off my face.
"Ha! I knew you would go all fangirl when you found out."
"I'm NOT fangirling," Sharra objected, but she couldn't deny her breathing increased, her pulse pounded, and her voice ramped up higher than normal. And she had to amend her earlier thought.
The Nightwatcher can handle the Foot. But he vanished a long time ago.
"There's no way you found him. And he wasn't my vigilante."
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Salvinia mocked.
"I may have had a crush on him," Sharra admitted, still blushing beat red, "but that was years ago. For heaven's sake, I was only sixteen, and I just escaped from prison. I idolized anyone who stood up to bullies. But I never met him in person. He might be a dick."
"He is! Kinda," Silvy shrugged, "but he's a guy. Sorta comes with the territory."
"It doesn't have to," Sharra shot back.
Mikey is most certainly male and not a dick... though he has a flawless one.
Her face heated further. She hadn't meant to examine him. But staying oblivious was hard when he needed her help for, well... everything. And to say he was well endowed was an understatement.
Usually, seeing such a thing would only rouse fear and disgust in her. Having been exposed to so many against her will, she never thought to find herself stimulated by one. But Michelangelo's was different.
Everything about him is extraordinary.
She found his self-containment amazing. His junk wasn't just hanging out threatening people all the time. And his cock itself was a work of art.
I never realized such gorgeous shades of green existed...
His general shape resembled a human's, with a beautiful round head and a ridge around the tip, but there was no icky hair. His shaft was covered in the smoothest of tiny scales. And while she had only seen him flaccid, she imagined, when hard, his ridged veins coiled impressively around his rod the same way the tendons wound across his other muscles.
A flood of heat rushed to her belly at the thought, pooling and leaving her throbbing with a kind of need she frankly had no experience with. But she liked the feeling. It drove out the cold sick sensation the Foot soldier's touch engendered.
She sucked in her bottom lip, wondering what he tasted like. Silvy laughed again, drawing her out of her head. Sharra's eyes snapped open. Had she really lost herself in a daydream about Mikey's cock?
Shit. I'm more messed up than I thought.
Obviously mistaking her flushed cheeks for additional girlish embarrassment over the whole vigilante thing, Silvy defended the hypothesis.
"Well, I did meet him once, back when he was still working. Though I doubt he remembers me. Don't think he realized I put two and two together or he wouldn't keep coming 'round. Trust me. I wouldn't get your hopes up if I weren't pretty sure."
"Proof, Silvy! I need more than a hunch."
"Well, he showed up on my radar a few years after your guy went AWOL. He always wears motorcycle leathers—"
"That's hardly unusual," Sharra pointed out. "We are literally sitting on top of a biker bar."
Though most of that particular set are not into what Silvy is selling.
"Let me finish girl! Jeez. This guy has the same build and the same silhouette. Those leathers he wears are a lot like the Nightwatcher's old armor. He never sets down his pack or takes off his helmet. And he won't let me peek underneath. Not even when we're, you know, getting busy—"
"Ew! Silvy! TMI."
"He uses the same odd fork-like weapon the Nightwatcher did," Silvy said, ignoring the objection.
"A sai, that 'fork' is called a sai," Sharra corrected absently then screeched, "Wait! He pulled a blade on you?"
"No, girl! He pulled it defending me. A couple of times. Jason can't be everywhere. Mr. Muscles and his buddy come through the back alleys every few weeks and clean out any scum who've taken to hoverin' around. Makes my job, and Jason's, easier."
"He has a sidekick? I thought he worked solo..."
"Hey, we're all getting a little older here, girl—except you. You still look about twelve," Silvy teased. "Seriously though, I bet even he wants a hand occasionally. Or maybe he got lonely. "
"Right. Sure. We'll go with lonely."
"So, how about it? You want me to reach out?"
Sharra sighed, uncertain of the wisdom of meeting this man. But no matter how fast Mikey healed, it would be a while before he came for her. After the day she had, she wasn't sure she could stay out of the Foot's sight on her own.
I might have an extended wait ahead.
She needed help, and Mikey seemed to know the vigilante. Though the other turtles' reactions to the name were... peculiar. But, if the guy existed, and was who Salvinia thought he was, the risk might be worth taking.
"Ok. Call him or whatever. I'll meet him somewhere public. But if you're wrong about him being the Nightwatcher I'm backing out. Nothing is a done deal."
Silvy nodded. "No worries. I don't contact him, he finds me. And he doesn't come through on a schedule, but if you can lay low for a few days I can probably get his attention. We were... interrupted the last time we met so he's bound to turn up soon."
"Now, go shower. You smell like you've been rolling in the sewer." She wrinkled her nose and shoved Sharra at a small room with a bathtub clearly visible from the hall. "I'll order us some take-out. And you can spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on sleep on my couch before you run off to… wherever it is you hole up after dark."
Seven days had flown by since Raphael carried Michelangelo through the door of their underground home.
A whole fuckin' week.
And with him wakin' up and startin' to heal, life should have been gettin' back to normal. With perhaps the added benefit of more family bonding time. Because Raph still felt hella guilty over driving his baby brother from the lair.
But it wasn't.
Christmas had come and gone, but no one felt like celebrating, because for the first time in memory Mikey had refused to participate. He spent most of his time secluded in his room. Resting, he claimed—saving his strength for Sharra's rescue. But such behavior was out of character for his hyperactive brother.
And it looks a lot like depression.
Nobody needed to ask why Mike was feelin' so down. They all knew. Sharra was gone.
They'd seen her driven from her home by a horde of Foot on the camera recordings. And Michelangelo hadn't been able to contact her again. There were no signs of where she exited the subway. And Donatello, when he woke up three days ago, couldn't smell her either.
Don had mumbled something about energy flows and Mikey not needing hers anymore since he was conscious and healing, but most of the exposition went over Raph's head.
He got hung up on the whole scent thing though.
So weird that. I mean come on, she smells nice and all, but I wouldn't admit to memorizing her.
He had, of course, but he'd never mention it out loud. The peculiar expression on Michelangelo's face when Don explained how he'd located Sharra would make sure Raph's lips stayed sealed on the subject. No way Mike needed to learn more than one of his brothers found her fragrance attractive.
She don't have eyes for me anyway. And damn it, I don't want her to. She ain't my type.
Raphael grunted, annoyed with feeling the need to justify himself—even in his own thoughts—and began another round of attacks on his second favorite punching bag, pounding hard enough that sand seeped from the seams.
That he was using a backup said a lot about the current situation. Rarely did he abuse his preferred one so much anymore that he had to swap it, but the growing pile of golden grains on the floor attested to the fact Raph's rage was nowhere near being quieted.
With a feral snarl and one last emphatic kick, he backed away from the equipment. Something else was required to alleviate his roiling anger. Something warm and breakable...
And bloody.
He needed to get out and crack some heads. He wasn't of any use here and the snow had melted enough for him to return to a regular street patrol. If his bros would let him go. They were all being a little clingy and overprotective after their fright with Michelangelo.
Casey might go with me. If I take back up Leonardo can't nag my ear off.
As if the thought summoned the man himself, Casey Jones walked through the lair's door with April following close behind. Both had been frantic when Mike disappeared, searching throughout the day as much as possible during the weather, and doing whatever they could to find him.
The Joneses were true friends, dedicated beyond belief. And Raphael was pleased to see them. Casey could go out with him, and hopefully, April could ease the dark cloud hanging over Michelangelo.
Damn it, somethin's gotta help.
That pall of doom was brought on by a devastating vision. One Raphael had no doubt the young turtle believed with every iota of his being. When Mikey described Sharra's death by explosion and drowning, dread had snaked up Raph's spine with a slimy caress. He didn't need the explanation regarding the fate of the rest of the Hamato Clan.
I read the ending in Mike's tortured eyes.
If Donatello was the heart of their odd familial unit, then Michelangelo was the happiness. While they all cared for each other, those two were the glue that held the household together. Losing Sharra would destroy Michelangelo. And without his light, Donnie would lose perspective.
If that happens the whole family is done. Toast. Finished.
Raphael shuddered. They'd had a taste of what that was like. Don in a funk was one of the worst things Raph had ever seen. And the situation now was just as dire as when Mike was missing. Only this crisis felt much worse—cause they were watching their baby brother fade away bit by bit.
If we don't find her, all that will be left is that uncaring, deadly ninja.
"Where's everybody at?" April asked, interrupting his morbid spiraling thoughts.
"Don's in the lab, still tryin' to reach the girl through her computer system. He's damn touchy though," he warned. "Keeps muttering somethin' about how he shoulda created a back door when he had the chance."
April shook her head. "If she's as paranoid as Don believes, that would have ruined any trust he'd built."
"Well, remind him a' that. He's beatin' himself up over it. The others are around. Leo and Splinta' are havin' a chat in his quarters an' Mikey won't come outta his room. Maybe... maybe you could talk to him too?"
A sympathetic look crossed April's face. "Absolutely."
She gave Raph a once over, taking in his narrowed eyes, sweat, and tense muscles before turning to Casey and giving him a quick peck on the lips. "Why don't you take Raph and hit the streets? He needs a distraction."
Raphael flicked her a grateful look. "Can ya' tell Leo we went out? Sun's just gone down. We might be awhile."
She nodded. "Take your time guys. But check in ok? We don't need any more stress over missing persons!"
Casey gave her a mock salute. "You got it, babe."
On the rooftop in front of him, Raphael stopped cold, staring down into the dark alleyway, before crouching and rubbing a hand over stinging knuckles. Casey checked out the prostitute below with the briefest glance, then raised his eyes to scan over his friend. They'd been out over five hours but it wasn't that late. The time had just passed ten, and the woman working down there was only getting started on her night.
"It wasn't enough, was it?" Casey asked, keeping his volume down so as not to alert any nearby baddies to their location.
They had only run across a few meatheads making trouble tonight. A small group of five, breaking into an electronic's store, and the three they just took out hassling the homeless several blocks back. Neither had been a significant conflict, both were too tame to quiet Raph's temper, even taken together.
"I mean it is winter," Casey continued. "And a slow night for vigilantes is a good thing right?"
Raph grunted, keeping his eyes on the john, waiting to see if he caused trouble. Casey flopped down next to where the immense turtle squatted and hiked a knee up, getting comfortable in his seat. It was obvious when Raph needed to talk, but it was hard to get him started. Sometimes one had to wait him out.
Patience wasn't a strong suit for Casey Jones, though he made an effort for his friend. After three minutes of silence however, he gave up.
Fuck it. Sometimes, you have to poke him too...
"Things still ain't right at home, are they?"
Raphael shot him a dark glare. "What was your first clue?"
Casey waved off the sarcasm. "So, Mike's actually into this girl you guys can't find? I mean, he gets intense about things fairly often. No chance Leo's right and his infatuation will fade?"
"You have no idea," Raph snorted, then his tone grew more serious. "I ain't ever seen him like this, Case. Mikey's always been a little needy, and we ain't done enough in the last few years to keep him feelin' okay. We didn't realize it until he went missin'... But he's obsessed with Sharra. The whole fuckin' family is."
"Includin' you?"
Raph favored him with another heavy stare. "What kinda question is that?"
Casey chuckled and shook his head, "The friendly kind, Raph. I ain't accusing you of anything."
"Yer the only one."
The turtle's shoulders heaved in resignation as he dropped his eyes back to the couple. "He says he needs her, so yeah. I wanna find her. An' if she's in danger, I got to. I owe her."
Under Raphael's grousing lay a thick coating of regret, and Casey blinked in surprise.
"For what? Saving Mike?"
Raph nodded. "She didn't just hide him. Don said he shoulda' bled out. Or like shivered to death or somethin', but he didn't an' it's only 'cause of her; because I sure as hell weren't there to help him."
"Forget about that. It was a shit set of circumstances," Casey said. "I'm sure Mikey doesn't think you let him down."
They sat in silence for a few moments more. The pair beneath them moved off, but Casey wasn't in a hurry to leave. The hot-head tended to play things close to the vest with any emotion except anger, but that didn't mean he didn't feel them all intensely. He needed a chance to get them off his chest, so Casey waited to see if anything else would be forthcoming.
"I told ya about that day. Why Mike left the lair, right?" Raph asked
"Yeah, you and Leo fought. Not too unusual, bud."
"The fight? Nah. But the reason was. He thought I hurt someone. Someone I shoulda been protecting."
"So you said. He was wrong though."
"I know, but Leo sees stuff. Patterns, ya' know? And I got to thinkin', what if he was right? Not then, but overall? I have been lettin' shit slide. Both with the family, an' out here. We haven't made as much headway as we shoulda."
"We do plenty—"
"I went and did it, Casey," Raphael interrupted. "Even after Leo warned me."
The guilt was heavier than before, so thick Casey eyed him warily in case of an explosion.
"You did what?"
"What he accused me of."
"Rape? No way! Un-uh. I don't believe it."
His denial was instant because the action was unthinkable.
Raphael would never in a million years—
"Not that! But I hurt someone. Someone I shoulda been fightin' for, not against. If Mikey hadn't stopped me, I mighta done even more damage."
"Mike stopped you? You mean this happened when you went to find him?"
Raphael wouldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah."
Casey breathed a sigh of relief. "Dude, cut yourself some slack. You went in there primed for battle. If someone got caught in the crossfire it was a case of wrong place, wrong time."
"That's a fuckin' excuse!" There were flames in Raph's eyes when he glanced up and the rage was all focused inward. "We've trained all our lives to watch out for innocents!"
"Raph, you know better than anyone that once a brawl starts the chaos makes it hard to track who's where. We do our best to keep civilians clear, but we can't always."
"Damn it, she didn't just happen to get damaged, Case! I fuckin' attacked her! She lied to me, but after all the crap we've seen I shoulda realized she was just protectin' him... I owe her for that too. I owe her so much... Everything."
"Owe her? You... you hit Mikey's girl?"
Miserably, Raphael nodded. "I scared the shit out of her. Set off some kinda terrible reaction that turned her into a fuckin' statue." He huffed a heavy sigh and scrubbed a palm over his face. "Took her hours to loosen up, and Don had to give her tranquilizers to get her that far. She couldn't stand to be near me the rest of the time we were there... And I didn't. even. apologize."
"So what are you going to do?"
"What can I do? Fall at her feet an' swear to protect her for life? Beg her to come back? Kidnap her and run her down to the lair?" He shrugged. "Not really sure. Can't do nothin' until we find her, but that ain't looking promising. We don't know where to search. She mentioned a place downtown, and one on the docks, but the island has too many to narrow it down. An' Don's come up empty so far."
"What does Mikey say?"
"That we're running out of time."
Casey squeezed Raph's shoulder and climbed to his feet. "We better start lookin' then."
"You think she's out here?" he snorted. "I can't be so lucky."
"Hey, if ya' don't have any leads, we might as well start close to home. Ask around the neighborhood. Doesn't your girl, Silvy, work the waterfront? I'll talk to her boss. Pimps always keep an eye on the community. They might've seen somethin'. An' if not, well she might help ya' blow off some steam."
Raphael thought for a second before he gave a nod. "Alright. We'll give it a try." He shoved his helmet back on his head. "Let's go."
Leonardo sat at the kitchen table and picked at his food, his eyes darting from face to face. April had managed to lure Mikey out of his room and despite the fact it was late, insisted on a pizza party.
Michelangelo was sandwiched between her and Splinter. The former distracted him with pepperoni and upbeat chatter, while the latter offered silent support with a brief squeeze of the forearm once in a while.
Don slouched across from them, next to Leo. He joined in the conversation on occasion but mostly he just devoured pizza to regain his strength— while scanning his tablet. Raph and Casey were absent, but generally, the gathering was...
Pleasant.
The whole party thing actually wasn't a bad idea. They'd all been so wrapped up in their own personal versions of sorrow and ruin for the last five days.
We needed a reason to gather and reconnect.
A week had passed since the culmination of his series of colossal mistakes and Leo still wasn't sure how to fix any of them. Raph was pissed at him, and wallowing in guilt for his part in all this. Mikey was despondent. Don was burying himself in researching leads with frantic haste which, while not out of the ordinary, seemed desperate.
"No shit," the voice in his head snipped. "You notice he's wearing himself ragged trying to sense her halfway across the city?"
Leo ignored the mockery but the point was well taken.
There's an... unusual connection between Don and Sharra.
For some reason the thought made his stomach twist, but he brushed the emotion aside unidentified. If any of them deserved the attention of such a unique woman it was Donnie and Mike. If they got her back—when they got her back— he would encourage both relationships. Mikey's romance and Donatello's... assistant-ship? Co-hort-ness? Collaborator?
Ancestors know. Whatever one calls a valued colleague, Donnie needs one.
"And you wanted to throw all that away."
I didn't.
"Liar. You did—because you were scared. You want her too."
The snort of disbelief drew Mikey's gaze from across the table. And Leo's breath caught at the glimpse of darkness that lurked within those normally energetic baby blues. Life was gradually draining out of them, a little more every day.
And it's all my fault.
If he'd known about the vision, Leonardo would have bundled Sharra up and brought her back to the lair himself.
"Bet that's not all you would've done."
Visions of last night's fantasy flashed behind Leo's eyes. And he shivered, though there was nothing lascivious about the dream. In fact, the scenario was downright painful.
Sharra lay curled into a much tinier nest of cast-off clothes and blankets. She trembled against a backdrop of wooden—strangely curved—walls, lit only by the orange glow of a space heater. Her face was badly bruised. One eye was purple and swollen practically shut. Scabs dotted her chin, her forehead, and the glaring slice across her neck. Whenever she turned, ever so gingerly on her right side, she cried out in pain.
Sleep, if she even achieved it, was not peaceful. Soft groans traded voices with whimpers and moans. And more than once, she jerked awake stifling a full-blown scream.
Leonardo had suffered the same nightmare each night for nearly a week. He didn't understand why his subconscious chose to punish him this way, since he was already drowning in regret. But last night the vision broke him.
Bearing witness to her agony another night without easing her distress became unbearable. And the moment the intent to join her formed in his mind, a strange pull grasped his soul and twisted. He blinked and found himself within the image.
He stood at the edge of her pallet in the center of a circular room. Her back was to him as he strode silently across the floor. And she was so still that for a gut-wrenching moment, he feared she wasn't breathing.
"Sharra..."
Her name escaped him in a ragged breath—pulled by remorse and horror. The word was barely more than a whisper, but she heard. She cracked her battered eyelids and peered awkwardly at him over her shoulder.
"Leo?" she muttered, sounding delirious.
She groaned as she rolled to her back and he was instantly kneeling at her side.
"Easy there... I'm here."
Lightly, Leonardo rubbed his fingers together, studying their calloused green tips; remembering what her skin felt like. Soft and naturally warmer than theirs. He knew that much from their inadvertent touches in the entryway. But in the dream, her forehead burned under his hand.
She's feverish.
The thought stoked flames of guilt and shame.
Her body is fighting more battles than anyone that delicate should have to endure.
"Mmm..." Sharra gave up the struggle for open eyes. "Feels good."
His throat closed when she leaned into his touch, almost nuzzling his palm. That would never happen in reality. But here? In his dream world — he could be the one to relieve her suffering.
Over and over he stroked her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips—with cool hands, relieving the agony with dexterous fingers. All the while humming a half-remembered lullaby Splinter used to use under his breath.
Her breathing softened as she dropped into a more restful slumber. But he could not bring himself to halt the tender caresses and fold his hands into his lap as he ought.
When he gingerly stroked the angry red line on her neck however, Sharra roused and spoke again.
"Is Mikey getting better? When will he come and get me?"
The question jolted Leo from the serene moment. His mind knew, even while unconscious, she wasn't his to comfort. The snarky bastard wouldn't let him forget for a single moment. As irritated as he was at the reminder however, he would not take his frustration out on Sharra.
Never again...
But he did draw back his hands.
"Soon," he soothed. "And if he can't, I, or one of the others, will locate you and bring you to him. I swear."
She nodded as noiseless tears slid down her face.
"I miss him," she murmured.
"I know," he answered in a voice full of misery. "I'm so sorry this happened."
"I'm trying to be patient, but can you tell him I'm waiting? Please?"
And with that tiny plea, Leonardo officially could not take any more.
"I will," he promised.
He smoothed the droplets of tears tenderly away, pressed his lips to her hair, and rose to end this dream. This torture.
If waking were not possible, at least he might run the rooftops and leave this water tower behind until the dawn called him forth from sleep once again.
But he didn't move any farther than a step because Sharra reached up and captured his hand, though shifting so quickly made her flinch.
"Leo?"
"Yes?"
"Is this a dream?"
He tilted his head and examined her closely. Had one of his dreams, even the lucid ones, ever asked HIM if they were in one before?
"Yes," he conceded. "I believe it is."
"That explains it then."
"Explains what?"
"Why you're being so nice to me. My brain must be genuinely scrambled not to acknowledge you hate me as much as you do."
"I don't hate you," he protested, letting his eyes caress her face. "I was... afraid." He wouldn't admit such things under ordinary circumstances, but here, in the dream state, talking to her was easy. "I'm not sure of what, and it doesn't matter. I shouldn't have pushed you away."
She licked her lips nervously.
"Then could you maybe wait with me? Just for a little while."
"Wouldn't you rather have a dream Mikey do that?"
There was a long pause as she considered. Silence had never burned him before, but this one began to hurt. The longer it stretched, the more he wished he hadn't asked a question he already knew the answer to.
And he couldn't believe his mind would grant him this much leeway anyhow. Any moment now, his phantom brother counterpart was sure to burst in and sweep her up in his arms. Such wishful thinking as Sharra desiring HIS companionship could not be allowed to continue.
But they remained undisturbed.
Finally, she shrugged a single shoulder, babying her ribs.
"I don't think so. I asked for company, and you're the one who showed up." She gave a forlorn little half-laugh that died out quickly. "I guess that's not a sterling recommendation, but you did give me a lovely massage, so... at least the dream you has some redeeming qualities."
"I... don't know what to say."
"We don't have to talk. Maybe just sit and keep me company? Because... I- I'm scared too. Of being left alone. Please, Leonardo? Will you stay?"
He'd never really liked his full name until that moment, always preferring the shortened version his family used. But when Sharra spoke, it rolled off her tongue like music.
His legs collapsed as if swept from beneath him, as he lowered himself once again to her side. Reflexively, he assumed a kneeling ready stance with his toes tucked under—as if he might be called upon to leap up and defend her.
She blew out a deep breath, closed her eyes, and timidly rested one palm on his thigh.
"Thank you. I feel better knowing you're there."
He dared to lower his hand over hers, and his heart exalted when she didn't pull back. Hesitantly, he reached out with the other to resume stroking her face.
"I'm right here," he reassured, as she once more nuzzled her cheek into his palm. Her heat made his whole hand tingle, and the gesture meant even more since she decided to repeat it.
"I'll stay as long as you want me."
"Oh, just until you're tired is fine..." she whispered, her voice sleepy as she drifted off. "Or, you know, forever. Whichever lasts longer."
She slept then. Soundly. Oblivious of the beating her words delivered to his poor heart. And he knelt by her side, wishing he could give her more. Longing to be her cure—her protection from the world.
Ancestors! I would give her anything. Everything...
But all he could do was worship her inflamed skin with nimble fingers until daybreak. He counted her every breath and watched her eyes for the flicker of nightmares, but they never came.
And at last, as the room faded before him with the grey transition of morning light, and he fought to keep her small hand tucked inside his own—he understood why there was such hunger in Michelangelo's eyes.
And why he will never give her up...
With a shake of his head, Leonardo cleared the fog from his mind. He had no business dreaming such things. Much less dwelling on them.
Sharra didn't want him. Plain and simple. If Mike was right, she thought he hated her. And even if she did—by some grace of the ancestors—find a way to forgive him someday, Leo would never betray a brother's trust to make a move. As long as Michelangelo claimed her, Sharra was off limits. Whether she resided in the lair or not.
Raising a surreptitious hand, Leo stifled a yawn. Midnight wasn't so late for them. There was no reason for him to feel so drained. He forced a smile for Michelangelo and rejoined the conversations in progress, but his thoughts remained with the missing girl.
Soon. We have to find some hint of her location soon. Or we are all going to lose our minds.