Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

The Containment Clause	By : hummerhouse Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 2278 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The TMNT are not mine. No money being made.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
The Containment Clause

Part 2
            “Ya’ know you’re fuckin’ crazy right?” Raph asked for the fifth time.
            Don sighed and answered him exactly as he had the first four times, “Yes.”
            “So why are we doin’ this? And more to the point, why the fuck are we doin’ it behind Master Splinter’s back?” Raph wanted to know.
            “I think Bishop’s telling the truth, Raph,” Don explained. “Several different independent news agencies are reporting on the Omani cargo ship that is being held in quarantine just inside the U.S. territorial waters. None of them know why, or what contagion they’ve supposedly been infected with. Apparently, no one has had radio contact with the people on board for several days.”
            “Ya’ realize that ship might be a coincidence that Bishop’s exploiting ta’ gain your trust, right genius?” Raph asked.
            All Don could do was shrug. He could argue that he’d also seen reports of black ops helicopters flying out towards the quarantined ship, and that he was pretty sure those helicopters belonged to the Earth Protection Force. At least, that’s what it looked like to him from the grainy photos he’d seen.
            Or maybe he wanted to believe those were EPF helicopters rather than thinking himself to be a big, gullible fool. Either way, he didn’t bother to say any of that to Raph, who was leaning against a storage shed, well inside the shadows. The only part of his brother that was visible was the periodic gleam of moonlight on sai, as Raph absentmindedly flipped one of his weapons on his hand.
            It was a nervous habit of Raph’s, one he probably wasn’t even aware of, and Don wasn’t going to point it out. As long as Raph twirled that sai to release his nervous tension, then he wasn’t blowing up at Don.
            “Just so ya’ know I ain’t a fool Donatello, I know why ya’ asked me ta help ya’ with this rather than talk ta Leo about it,” Raph said in a low voice.
            Don glanced sharply in his brother’s direction. “I’ve never thought you to be a fool, Raph.”
            “Okay, just sayin’,” Raph went on in a deep, gravelly monotone. “Ya’ keep avoidin’ the question when I ask why ya’ didn’t tell the rest of the family about Bishop contacting ya’. It’s ‘cause he said he’d let ya’ play with his big, shiny toys.”
            “That is not why . . .” Don began somewhat heatedly.
            “Oh, can it brainiac,” Raph interrupted, and a brief glimpse of teeth shone in the moonlight. “Ya’ get a fuckin’ hard-on every time ya’ see any of his tech stuff. Master Splinter and Splinter Junior would have both told ya’ no, end of story. Ya’ called me ta come cover your ass in more ways than one.”
            “I didn’t call for your help in order to manipulate this situation in my favor,” Don insisted.
            “Whatever,” Raph said with another flash of his knowing smirk. “I had a choice too, I coulda told ya’ no, or I coulda told Leo. I didn’t pick either option and here I am. If this turns out ta be a trap and we fall into it, I’m gonna beat the shit out of ya’ after I take care of gutting Bishop.”
            “I love you too, Raphael,” Don said with a hint of a smile.
            “Princess,” Raph teased, his bass voice shifting again to something more vibrant.
            Don loved Raph’s voice; the way his brother could put so much emotion, so much passion into words. It was one of the reasons he preferred having Raph help him with projects; especially ones that required someone read instructions to him while both of Don’s hands and his eyes were occupied.
            That voice was speaking again, this time the tone was dry. “He’s got five minutes bro’, and then we’re out of here.”
            “Then I made it with time to spare,” Bishop called from the other side of the rooftop.
            Neither ninja heard him arrive. Raph was instantly on the defensive, his sais in hand and his body lowered into a crouching position.
            Don’s bo was likewise held defensively across his body as he eyed their old adversary with distrust. The man was standing completely still however; his arms extended from his sides and his jacket unbuttoned so that they could see he was unarmed.
            “I’m going to slowly lift my jacket and turn around so that you can see I’m not carrying a hidden weapon,” Bishop told them.
            Waiting a moment to make sure they understood he was not going to make any sudden moves, Bishop pulled his jacket up with his left hand and turned around slowly. Once he had made the full circuit, he let the jacket fall back into place, and stood unmoving again.
            “Ya’ try anything Bishop, and I’ll plant a sai right between your eyes,” Raph growled.
            “Fair enough,” Bishop replied without shifting his gaze away from Donatello. “Since you called and said you would meet me, I’m assuming you’ve verified my story?”
            “As much as I could,” Don acknowledged. “As Raph pointed out quite eloquently to me, that ship could simply be a happy coincidence for you.”
            “That puts us at an impasse,” Bishop said wryly. “I know I’m telling the truth, but our history together leaves you mistrusting of me and I have no way of proving myself. What should we do to resolve this dilemma?”
            “Ya’ could stop trying ta seduce my brother with your fancy new gadgets,” Raph said.
            “I hadn’t realized that was what I was doing,” Bishop responded. “If that’s all it would take, he would have been mine long ago.”
            “Tell me what you’ve done so far,” Don asked.
            “Good, keeping it strictly businesslike is an excellent beginning,” Bishop said. “We have the ship’s manifest broken into categories. We are gathering samples of anything on that list that is soluble, chemical, ingestible or capable of being absorbed into the body.”
            “Following protocol,” Don murmured.
            “Of course. I told you my scientists are very traditional thinkers,” Bishop said. “We have also drawn blood and tissue samples from the mutated subject.”
            “Have you run them through a DNA sequencer?” Don asked.
            “We have. The results are quite fascinating and highly unusual, but also a huge mystery. One of the molecules appears to have adaptive qualities, which is perhaps why the original vaccine isn’t working on this strain,” Bishop told him.
            “Continuous adaptive qualities?” Don asked, beginning to sound excited.
            “Yes. So far, everything we’ve tried on it has failed to have any effect because the molecule shifts its basic structure upon contact,” Bishop answered.
            “Fascinating,” Don murmured.
            Raph stared at his brother and saw the gleam come into his deep brown eyes. Don’s face took on the look of concentrated obsession that he got when truly challenged, and Raph felt his heart plummet into his stomach. No way were they going back to the lair tonight.
            “How quickly does it infect a host? Have you run any experiments on that yet?” Don asked.
            “Our animal lab is running them now. A rhesus monkey injected with a sample of the mutated blood transformed in less than eight minutes,” Bishop said.
            “Eight?” Don nearly shouted. Visibly calming himself, he said, “Eight minutes is much faster than the original ooze was capable of transforming things. Eight minutes is potentially catastrophic.”
            “I am completely aware of that,” Bishop said in his most even tone. “That is why I called for your assistance. I truly hope this is an isolated occurrence, but if it isn’t . . .”
            He didn’t finish the sentence. Don turned his head to look at Raph, a silent question passing from him to his red banded brother.
            Raph was in no way thrilled with the situation, but he had to admit that if this was an elaborate trap of some sort, it was way more complicated than it needed to be.
            At some point during the exchange between Bishop and Don, Raph had begun to listen to the man’s tone and timbre rather than his actual words. He had also studied Bishop’s body language. One thing Raph had noted about Bishop was that while adept at hiding most of his emotions, frustration was not one of them.
            Bishop was well and truly frustrated by something, and it didn’t seem that something had anything to do with mutated turtles.
            “Your call Don,” Raph finally said.
            “We’ll go with you,” Don told Bishop quickly, almost before Raph finished speaking. “But I will take a few precautions first. I’m sure you understand.”
            “Time is critical,” Bishop reminded him, his anxiety momentarily overcoming his usual stoicism.
            That more than any of his previous words made Raph start to believe Bishop might be telling the truth.
            “I’m aware of that,” Don said as he pulled his laptop from his duffel bag.
            While Don typed something on his keyboard, Raph eyed Bishop. Both of Raph’s weapons were still in his hands and his defensive stance hadn’t shifted.
            “I am not a threat to you Raphael,” Bishop said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.
            It didn’t work. Raph continued to sneer at him. “The only time ya’ won’t be a threat to me and mine is when you’re dead Bishop. And don’t expect flowers.”
            Bishop smiled slightly. “I won’t. Please forgive me for not rushing into a grave in order to set your mind at ease.”
            “I’ve just sent a time delay message to let the others know what we’re doing Raph,” Don cut in. “I’ll send another when we reach our destination so that they will know where we are.”
            Placing his laptop back into his bag, Don turned to Bishop. “I’ll be sending reports on a regular basis, each message coded in such a way that they can’t be faked by someone else. If they don’t receive an encoded message at the correct interval, they’ll come looking for us.”
            “I needn’t tell you that plan isn’t foolproof,” Bishop said. “I’m trying to remain honest.”
            “Duly noted. There are only so many contingencies that can be accommodated. At some point, I have to give you some trust. Just remember, if this is a trick, it will be the last time I’ll ever trust you, and someday you might really need me,” Don told him.
            Bishop nodded once in affirmation. “My truck is below. You can ride with me or follow in your own transportation, whichever suits you best.”
            “We came through the sewers, so I guess we’ll be ridin’ with ya’,” Raph said. “Lead the way.”
            Bishop went over the rooftop ledge using a rope and rappelling skillfully to a fire escape platform several floors below. The brothers followed, keeping a wary eye on the man as they joined him in an alley.
            As he approached a large black panel truck, the rear doors were pushed open by a soldier. Raph’s hand shot out and he grabbed Don’s arm.
            “We ain’t getting in there with any of your soldiers,” Raph said. “Leave ‘em here on the sidewalk and let ‘em catch a cab.”
            Bishop spun on his heel, his frustration showing plainly, but bit it back at the look on Donatello’s face. It was obvious that whatever Raph decided was going to be followed by his genius brother.
            “Fine.” He moved to the back of the truck and said something to the soldier.
            Immediately, two uniformed soldiers and one in civilian clothes jumped out of the back of the truck and moved across the street to the opposite sidewalk.
            Bishop stepped back and waved a hand at the truck’s interior. Raph approached cautiously, peered inside and verified it was empty save for the driver.
            “I’m riding in front with that man,” Raph told Bishop. “If anything happens that I don’t like, I’ll feed him some cold steel and worry about the collision later.”
            “Understood,” Bishop said, watching as Raph leaped into the truck and moved to sit up front next to the driver.
            Don got in next, and then Bishop stepped inside, pulling the doors behind him.
            As the truck got under way, Don once more got his laptop out and asked Bishop, “Give me the location of where we’re going.”
            Bishop’s face softened into one of mild amusement. Seated across from Don, he could clearly see the Turtle’s youth, but also the grim determination of a maturity that had been thrust upon someone at an early age.
            “It’s a parking garage on McKenzie. At the intersection of McKenzie and seventeenth,” Bishop said.
            “You hear that Raph?” Don called as he typed the information into his computer.
            “Yeah,” his brother yelled back. “I know where that is and I know how ta get there.”
            Raph’s sai was out as he turned sideways in his seat and placed the tip against the back of the driver’s neck.
            “Go anywhere but straight there and you’re gonna be sportin’ another hole in your head,” he growled at the man, whose hands visibly tightened on the steering wheel.
            Laughing lightly, Bishop returned to his perusal of the olive skinned mutant. Of the four, Don had always fascinated him the most, the brilliant Turtle almost an anomaly amongst anomalies.
            While he still sometimes found himself thinking of the Turtles and their Master as freaks, he found himself less inclined to do so when regarding Donatello separately. If fact, he had begun to notice a tendency to regard the Turtle with respect and grudging admiration.
            “Your brother is quite protective of you,” Bishop said, breaking the silence.
            “We are all protective of each other. Raph’s a very skilled ninja,” Don remarked.
            “As are you. Yet in a fight, you tend to defer to your brothers. Why is that?” Bishop asked.
            Don thought of the best way to answer. “Sometimes I tend to overthink things,” he said.
            “Or become easily distracted?” Bishop observed with a flash of insight. Seeing that Don wouldn’t oblige him with an answer, he asked, “Is that why you’ve not moved on from the bo staff, the first and most traditional of weapons?”
            “Partly that,” Don admitted and then stopped, contemplating something deeper.
            Bishop waited, unsure as to whether the young Turtle genius would explain further, but curious nonetheless.
            “Our lives are complicated enough,” Don added.
            Bishop could see there was more. “Yours more than the others, isn’t that correct?” he hazarded. “Leonardo’s responsibilities are predicated upon his bushido abilities, so he is allowed to devote his time to the study of weapons and the perfecting of his ninjitsu skills. Raphael’s place is that of the warrior, fiercely proud of his fighting ability, his way is similar to that of the Spartan soldier. Your brother Michelangelo is naturally gifted with raw athleticism and excels at most things without much effort.”
            “More than a casual observer, Bishop?” Don asked, mildly sarcastic.
            “I have to be,” Bishop explained before continuing. “Yours is the intellect of the family; the problem solver. You’ve trained as a martial artist because you grew up in a martial arts household, but for you that is simple survival, not something you embrace as do your brothers.”
            “There are only so many hours in the day, Bishop,” Don told him.
            “And so many things requiring your attention, isn’t that correct? So many things dragging your mind away from the ebb and flow of a fight?”
            “I prefer the bo because it is pure and simplistic,” Don suddenly admitted, surprising himself.
            Carrying on an intelligent, non-threatening conversation with Bishop was completely foreign to Don, but even more so was the underlying sympathy and understanding in Bishops voice. It had pulled a deeply personal response from the purple banded ninja faster than any torture Bishop could have concocted.
            “Opposite ends of the spectrum, so to speak?” Bishop said, instinctively comprehending Don’s statement. “Makes for a more perfect balance.”
            Raph watched through narrowed eyes as his brother seemed to cozy up to Bishop. Agent Bishop was still a mortal threat to them, and they weren’t going into his stronghold because they were going to be playing footsy with the man.
            When they reached their destination, Raph was sure as shell gonna pull Donatello aside and take a few minutes to remind his brother that Agent John Bishop was the enemy.
TBC….
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Containment Clause