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A New Lease on Life	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 3157 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, any of its characters or devices, or any songs/books/movies referenced. No money is made from this story. I DO own any & all OCs included in the story...and a Woozle.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Suggested Listening: Maroon 5, "Harder to Breathe"
12: Only More Questions
Right, left, right, left—feint, left—haymaker, chin-check, left again… With deadly, practiced precision, Raphael's fists sunk into the old, worn punching bag in an almost endless barrage. Crack ribs—dislocate shoulder—bruise kidney—break jaw. The unending concussions mingled in a mind-numbing cadence, not unlike the pounding of a heartbeat. With every impact, he pushed himself further—harder—faster—anything to block out the memory of sly green eyes smiling at him from a waterfall of red.
'Relax,' the temptress murmured from memories full of inviting smiles and bedroom eyes. 'We got all night, Shugah…don't rush, yeah?' Harder. Faster. He had to block out the memories, even if it meant breaking his knuckles—anything to forget—"
"Hey." The sudden voice in the doorway sent him reeling and before Mercy could've said 'whistlin' Dixie,' he had her trapped between the wall and his own armored chest with one hand on her throat, clearly startled. Despite her predicament, she showed no signs of fear at his instinctual reaction; her mother's cooking was still scarier. "Ah," she mumbled tiredly, "got it—don't sneak up on the ninja. Sorry."
"What," he huffed as he threw himself back into his assault on the punching bag. She shrugged, leaning against the wall with blatant indifference.
"Jus' wanted t'apologize," she answered, her voice failing at hiding her exhaustion. "Prob'ly castrated yer ego when we first met—wasn't my intention." He said nothing, struggling to lose himself in the steady thump and smack of fists on leather. "Y'alright?"
'Jus' shut up,' he thought through a growl. 'Get da Hell out'a here, I don't need dis now!' Instead, though, he simply remained silent, hoping she'd soon grow bored and leave of her own accord.
Mercy watched him in confusion, searching for the key to the puzzle before her. Somewhere in the mass of pieces piled before her, she knew the answer lay waiting to be found, but finding it wouldn't be easy or quick. "You got somethin' to say to me?" she asked dryly, crossing her arms defensively. "Ya've been pretty damn' rude, an' all I did was apologize. What's yer deal?"
Raphael's fists stilled, one still sunk knuckle-first in the sandbag, as he fought to reign in his temper. She's only human, he reminded himself darkly, she'd never been through what his family dealt with every day. Blazing amber eyes met hers over his shoulder, and to her credit, she didn't flinch.
"What's my deal, huh?" he rumbled. "I'll tell ya what's my deal…"
"Rate your reaction."
"You're kiddin' me, right?"
"Amber, we've been over this." There's that Royal We, she thought with a snort. "Before we can put together a plan for your exposure therapy, we have to get a good idea of what your limitations are. Start small, remember?" Despite her annoyance, Amber sighed and glanced at the photo on the screen, then back at Donatello.
"Donnie, it's a cloud. I'm not afraid of clouds, just what comes out of'em." How could he be so patient when she felt ready to scream, she wondered? He pointed at the written scale again with a humoring smile.
"So, anxiety level 1 or 0?" he asked simply. Without a word, she jabbed the zero with a deadpan glower. "Excellent. Next!" Silence hung over the room like a moldy shower curtain.
"...it's another cloud, Donnie," Amber pointed out dryly. "I'm still not afraid of clouds."
He grinned slyly at her, gesturing to the photo - a bright sky overhung with clouds that resembled Mikey's last attempt at giblet gravy. "Yes," he acknowledged, "but what's important is when they appear. The formation is called 'mammatis;' they typically occur after a tornado has touched down in the vicinity." Amber's face turned sheet white, her pupils constricting. Right as her breathing patterns began shuddering into gasps, he minimized the window and pulled her chair closer. "Breathe, Braids," he reminded gently, framing her face in his hands and anchoring her focus on him.
After a few minutes of quiet, guided breathing and gentle reassurances, she let out a huge, exasperated sigh. "Better?" he asked. With a self-deprecating cringe, Amber tapped the scale again...a low five.
"Grats, Dee," she quipped. "You just turned a zero into a five. I think I'm okay, now...next?" Before he could change the slide, though, the dojo echoed with shouts and grunts. Without a word, everyone bolted to the scene only to find themselves speechless in the doorway.
"What's happening?!" Amber cried, forcing her way through the row of stunned ninjas. "Move, move—Mercy?!" Yes, Mercy, she realized in horror. Her friend sat on Raphael's chest, one knee on each arm, and her hands clenched around his throat, throttling him. It was a familiar sight, but usually she saw Mercy pin Aaron like that. "Oh, Holy Moses," Amber groaned as Raph's skull cracked against the floorboards. "Here we go again…ANGELA…MERCY…ROSS! Let'im go!"
Though blue fire still burned in Mercy's eyes, though her face was still contorted in fury and hate, she visibly reigned herself in, her arms shaking as she wrenched them away. With a final crack to Raph's jaw, she swept off of him and over to the wall, pinning him under her glare.
"What happened?!" Amber demanded as she rushed over to Raph, offering a hand up. As she'd expected, though, he swatted the offered hand away and clambered up on his own, a growl deep in his chest.
"That—That bastard!" Mercy snarled as Donatello checked his brother for injury only to be swatted away as well. "He—He—" As suddenly as her tirade started, it ceased, only a glare left on her face, aimed at Amber. "You know what he called me," Mercy spat.
Amber knew right then that Raphael had crossed the line, but not the line Mercy claimed he had. Mercy was a terrible liar.
"Lab, Mercy," Amber warned. "Go pack a bag." As Amber knew would happen, her friend blanched; with a hurt expression, the blonde retreated. Once the door shut behind her, Amber turned to Donatello with a weary sigh. Though they knew not why, Mercy just blew her only chance of staying with them…and horrible as it sounded, Amber wasn't the least bit surprised.
"We need'a talk." Raph scowled at the words—words no man ever wants to hear from a woman. Words like that only led to fighting, women crying, and men getting blamed for everything from Daddy issues to the common cold. Despite knowing what was happening, he turned to face Amber, not at all surprised that she was silently fuming.
"I' got nothin' ta say to ya," he groused. She responded with no more than an arched eyebrow. "What?"
"I know you, Raphael. I know who you are, what you're like, an' what you will an' won't do. I also know you're not the type to call a woman a bipolar bitch just 'cause she annoys you." So that's what Mercy told her he did, he thought around a scowl. "Mercy's 'bout as tough as an overcooked noodle right now, Raph—if ya fought back or even defended yerself, she'd never'a gotten as far as she did."
"I don't hit women," he snapped at her. No reaction.
"I know," Amber acknowledged dryly. "What she did was wrong, we both know that. Thing is, the Mercy I know flew off the handle like that over one thing, an' one thing only…" ...other than Aaron's immature behavior, of course. Amber met Raph's gaze, glaring at him over her glasses. "...that's someone intentionally, heartlessly spouting vicious lies about someone she cares about."
'Bingo,' she thought tersely when his eyes widened in surprise. She didn't know whether to be relieved that Mercy hadn't changed, or angry over what led the blonde to go ballistic. "So," she continued without emotion, "here's the deal. Master Splinter will not be happy to hear about this when he gets back. Mercy's out'a control. I've contacted someone willin' to take her in for a while, 'least 'til she's made some progress in rehab. Meanwhile, Raphael, you have a decision to make: Is your grudge against me worth all this?"
"What?!" he demanded.
"—you know damn-good'n-well what I mean, Buster!" she cut him off, her voice growing gruffer and more gutteral with every word. "I dunno what I did to piss ya off, but yeh've been a complete arse to me since we fook—FARKIN' met!" She paused a moment to reel in her temper; it was never a good thing when she started talking like her Gran'da - when she forgot to monitor her speech and fell into old habits normally under control. "Yer better than this, Raphael—if ya got a problem with me, just bloody tell me!"
Just for one moment, Raphael wasn't seeing Amber, the crazy brunette who'd been living with his family since January. Just for one moment, she was replaced with another woman—a woman with sensually painted lips, blazing red-dyed hair, and sly green eyes full of dark promises and 'come hither' glances. His memory filled with the reek of cheap booze, foggy green eyes, the sting of a palm on his cheek, and a litany of verbal abuse tinted with the smog of Jersey City. He backed away, momentarily incapable of hiding behind the mask he was so used to wearing. "Kimbuh," he muttered, never realizing he'd spoken.
Just like that, all Amber's anger faded away; she knew that expression, knew that tone. Finally, all the pieces fit, but the finished puzzle wasn't anything she'd expected—the question was answered, but with a plethora of even more questions. She shook her head, gently touching him on the shoulder.
"Amber," she reminded softly. "Amber, not Kimber." Lost for words, she did the only thing she could think of…
She left the dojo.
Daron Williams answered their knock with a cold-pack clutched to his cheek, his normally sour expression weakened by a black eye and split lip. "What happened?" Amber asked in concern as Mercy, Leonardo, and Donatello climbed in off the fire escape, Mercy gaping and mentally comparing him to Aaron Willis. Daron spared the turtles only a glare but answered her.
"Hun's getting impatient," he mumbled awkwardly as she fussed over his swollen cheek and eye. "I'm supposed to be finding Kimber…been leading'im in circles. He's not happy."
"Not sure I like his idea of a pep-talk," Don remarked dryly as he shoved his goggles back up. "You've got a couple bruised ribs, your left zygomatic bone has a hairline fracture, and he got a good shot at your right kidney—I'd be surprised if you weren't passing blood."
"TMI, Donnie," Leo grumbled. "Daron, look, he's going to figure it out—Hun's not as stupid as he looks."
"Actually, he is," Daron retorted. "He keeps checking for Kimber under my couch." The two brothers exchanged a dubious glance; the couch stood less than three inches off the ground.
"Why's Hun hounding you for information?" Amber asked. "Because you and Kimber were close?" Daron held his silence, glaring out the window.
"She deserves to know, Daron," Donatello prodded. The blond shot him a lemon-sucking scowl.
"Go back to your sewer, Turtle," he spat. "Stay out'a this." Over by the window, Mercy rolled her eyes; clearly she found a kindred spirit.
"Girls, yer both pretty," she snarked. "There's enough'a Amber to go 'round."
"MERCY!" Amber shrieked with a predictable blush. "Ohmigosh, you did not just—"
Daron cut her off. "He's…" he mumbled, avoiding her eyes in shame. "He's my half-brother."
For a moment, Amber just stared at him, searching her memories for what she knew of Hun—blond, muscle-bound, a walking human tank…how could someone as small and shrimpy as Daron be related to that? Even as she struggled to believe it, Donnie's words from the day she met Daron returned to her. We know him alright…have more problems with his brother, though…guy's a total thug.
With Daron's admission, Amber finally understood his attitude problems. Hun wasn't known for tact or kindness; he was known for violence and cruelty. It wouldn't surprise her if what happened to Daron was only the latest in a long string of beatings. Hiding her eyes, she fought to reign in sympathetic tears. Pity always annoyed her—surely it would enrage Daron, who had more reason for receiving it.
"Say something." It finally hit her that the room had fallen silent. Daron still stared out the window but his shoulders were trembling, his posture stooped. She considered his words a moment before responding.
"Does it really matter?" she asked honestly. "We can't choose our kin…if it were possible, I wouldn't be goin' grey." As expected, Daron smirked.
"That's all you'd change?" he snorted. Through the scowl and blustering, though, Amber could tell he was relieved that she wasn't horrified by his secret. A polite cough drew their attention to the front door; Donatello stood by the intercom, having studied the device silently.
"If you had enough warning," he pointed out blandly, "you could avoid another attack. I'd help you with that if you'd let me—it's no trouble at all." For a moment, no words were exchanged. Daron stared down Donatello who stared right back, both waiting for the other to blink first. Finally, the standoff broke; Daron scoffed, skulking into the kitchen.
"I'll think about it," he grumbled as he dug through the fridge for a bottle of Mtn Dew. Without so much as a goodbye, he gestured for Mercy to follow him, intent on showing her around. Despite the brushoff, Amber insisted on a hug from both protesting blonds. In no time, she and the two mutants were out the window and on their way.
Silence hung over the lair when the tired group returned. Amber hovered in the doorway of the dojo, torn by what-ifs and why-nots. On their way down the fire escape, the brothers and the other-worlder with them recognized a familiar voice in April's apartment. Casey was visiting…and venting. Out of the din, scattered words stood out like sores. Trouble, stubborn, Raph, and broken stood out among a variety of expletives and slang terms for loose women. Finally, Amber got her answers in the form of a single sentence. Kimber ruined him.
Now she hesitated, one foot in the beast's den, one poised for flight. She had her suspicions—suspicions that both angered her and broke her heart. What to do, she wondered wearily? Confront Raphael, demand answers she felt sure would only hurt him? Let it go and pretend nothing was wrong? Blow it all off and focus on befriending the temperamental turtle despite it all? Caught between fight and flight, she hesitated, searching for answers that wouldn't come.
A sudden snarl startled her from her thoughts. Upon facing the source, she found herself pinned by furious amber eyes. In that moment she finally saw through Raphael's posturing. He didn't hate her—he didn't resent her. Every time his eyes met hers, he fought to suppress his instinct to run; every time he lashed out at her, he smothered his pain at her presence. The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter, she recalled with painful gravity, "often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter - in the eye." How had she been so blind?
Without a word, he shoved past her, storming out the front door into the dark sewer tunnels. For a moment, she just stood there, staring into space. After what seemed to her an eternity, she wandered to a room lit by candles and perfumed with the fading scent of tea and incense.
'How could I not see it?' she wondered as she settled wearily at the low table. 'Raph doesn't hate me…' Wet green eyes met Splinter's as he strode toward her; she shook her head, swallowing painfully. 'He loved Kimber.'

UP NEXT: the first part of Raphael and Kimber's untold history in Scattered Breadcrumbs

Note
* "The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter - often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter - in the eye." - From Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte.

Glossary
• "I dunno what I did to piss ya off, but yeh've been a complete arse to me since we fook—FARKIN' met!" - Moderate speech relapse, closer to how Amber spoke as a kid than has been shown before. No, this won't be the last instance OR the most intense - it's a stress-related behavior and she's only just starting to get stressed out. 'I don't know what I did to piss you off, but you've been a complete ass to me ever since we fucking met!' Farkin' is just a weird little non-explicit oath Amber uses that means basically the same thing as fucking/fooking, and she sometimes substitutes forking.
- 12
- 13
- 14
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A New Lease on Life