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A New Lease on Life	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 3159 -:- 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
- 21
- 22
- 23
Ladies and Gents, stay out of splatter-range…Amber and Donnie are about to go boom.
Warnings: Even more angst out the ass, explosive fighting, non-graphic violence, fire-starting, and in case I didn't mention, ANGST. Cannot elaborate enough for this chapter! Also, we've got a couple instances of heavy speech relapse from Amber in this chapter. I've defined the more difficult ones at the end and the rest should be easily discerned based on responses and body language.
Suggested Listening: Mumford and Sons "Ditmas," Linkin Park, "I'll Be Gone"

21: The Smell of Blood and Salt
May 15th, 2016
It seemed years since the Lair was so fraught with tension. Leonardo cast wary blue eyes on the doorway to the Lab, almost afraid to wonder what started this particular fight. Gone were the long awkward staring contests between Donatello and Amber – gone were the hesitant, shy glances they shot at one another over the dinner table – gone was their budding friendship and their easy camaraderie. Donnie and Amber weren't acting like friends anymore…
…they were acting like rivals.
"I'm tellin' ya," she snapped as she burst through the door like a shot, "I ain't seen yer damn papers! Why the fark would I steal anything, much less a pile'a blueprints?!" Donatello followed, eye twitching angrily.
"You and I are the only ones who even go in the Lab!" he bit back. "I certainly didn't lose them! That leaves you – you and your obsessive cleaning!" Just listening to them made Leo tired. It was the same thing, over and over, every single day. Ever since the twelfth of March, Amber and Donatello were at odds and neither would tell anyone what happened. Amber was angry, Donatello was suspicious, and the slightest hint of trouble set them at each other's throats.
Leo missed Beverly…she was calm, considerate, and had the patience of a saint, and compared to the two knuckleheads fighting in the living room, she was perfect company. He hadn't seen her in weeks, and he missed her more than ever.
Of course, he reminded himself silently, if he'd just bite the bullet and introduce her to his family, he wouldn't have to hide her or Bree anymore. Introducing them would mean admitting he'd been seen, though, and he'd never hear the end of it. Leonardo wasn't careless—he was the complete opposite of careless!—but admitting that he'd made a mistake, no matter how minor, would open up further possibilities of insubordination in the team. How could they realize he wasn't perfect without seeing him as incompetent?
"Hey!" he shouted at the arguing pair. Two pairs of eyes met his, one full of hazel fire, the other full of green indignation. "Break it up—Donnie, Dojo." Donatello hesitated, nostrils flaring as he scowled down at Amber, but finally followed. Amber wilted right before his eyes; she knew from experience that Donnie was in trouble—deep trouble—and Leo intended to get answers even if it meant sparring for hours.
"Please be gentle, Leo," she pled softly, then made her way back to the lab. He watched her retreating shape melt into the dark lab, shook his head, and sighed; why couldn't those two knuckleheads get themselves together already?
Shouts, concussions, and kiais rang out in the dojo. Amber stood in the middle of the Lab staring around wearily, searching for any hint as to the location of the missing blueprints.
The fight with Donatello was just one of what seemed hundreds—they were fighting almost constantly now and she couldn't understand why! He'd act suspicious and distant, she'd put up with it until she broke and called him on it, he'd accuse her of lying and hiding things from him, and sparks would fly. Even as they shouted at one another, though, she knew she was in trouble. Her heart pounded, her pulse raced, she'd catch herself holding her breath in anticipation…even with the object of her affections practically spitting at her in anger, she was about ready to tackle him. Something, she'd decided, was screwed up in her head.
"Focus, Amber," she grumbled, stalking over to the desk. "Maybe those prints aren't lost—maybe they're just not easily seen…perhaps buried under stuff?" The desktop wasn't exactly clear; she counted no less than five used coffee mugs clustered in one corner and a couple of dirty plates waited nearby. For a moment she hesitated, troubled by Donatello's barb about obsessive cleaning; if she found the lost blueprints, though, at least he'd know she didn't lose them herself.
Lost in thought, she set to collecting the dishes, starting with the two plates; their absence revealed a stenographers' notebook, open about halfway through and covered in Donatello's neat handwriting. Amber stared down at the paper, noting several entries numbered by date and time, all brief and concise.
"He keeps a diary?" she wondered under her breath. "How…unexpected…" She felt torn—torn between her loyalty to the stubborn turtle and her concern that he was in some sort of trouble. After all, his behavior changed practically overnight and they'd been at odds ever since. What could have driven him away from her when they'd only been growing closer? She shouldn't read it—it wasn't right, wasn't respectful, wasn't her!—if she read his diary, she might find something she'd wish she hadn't!
Fuck it. She set down the dishes and flipped back to the date everything changed: March 12th. As she read on, she realized her suspicion from the day was true…everything was about to get worse.
"What're you doing?!" Donatello bellowed from the doorway. Amber didn't answer—she just slowly turned to him with a venomous glare, his log clenched in her shaking fist like a weapon. There was no doubt in his mind what occurred during his hour-long sparring session with Leo.
"What'm I doing?!" she snarled at him, shaking the log at him. "What're you doing?!" She glanced down at the log, whipping backward several pages. "Subject's temper control has been rapidly decreasing," she read aloud venomously. "She also may be developing a concerning preoccupation with violence!" She flipped back several more pages and read again. "Subject missed a dose of antianxiety medication, was late for her weekly appointment with her doctor, and was hesitant to undergo a scheduled Exposure Therapy session. Does she even want to get better?!" A few more pages backward. "Subject cannot be trusted to relay her true feelings—anyone capable of hiding their feelings is capable of keeping secrets, and secrets are dangerous. Subject claims to be stuck in the body of a known Purple Dragon but has yet to be contacted by anyone from the gang—no one has come after her, no one has attacked her despite being out in public, she hasn't even been mugged! We know nothing of her world that she won't tell us… "
Her eyes were full of fury—and hurt—when she met his, reading off the last, her voice cracking. "—was she a Purple Dragon in her other life?" Silence stretched between them like an unspoken challenge; somewhere in the distance, a clock noisily counted down the moments to total disaster. "How could you, Donatello?" she demanded fighting tears, her twang slipping and roughening from the overwhelming emotions drowning her. "How could ya?! I've ne'er been untruthful with ya—ne'er given ya reason to suspect I meant ya harm—you an' yer family're all I've left, why would I endanger ya?!"
"You've been hiding things, Amber," he reminded stonily. "Lying by omission is still lying—what you're hiding could put us in danger!"
"It's keepin' ya safe!" she shot back shrilly. "I'm doin' it fer yer own damn good—ya wouldn't understan'!" There was no point in lying anymore—she was hiding something from him, terrified that the secret would break him the way it was breaking her. Her heart pounded—her lungs shuddered—even as she raged at him and justified herself she wanted nothing more than to give in and beg for mercy.
"Secrets don't save lives!" She paced, yanking on her braids and scrambling for a way to salvage the situation. "If you're so damned worried about our safety, just tell me the truth!"
"Ya—I—" She faltered, adrenaline spikes making her jumpy. "I can't—Dee, please!" When she turned to plead with him, though, he stood right behind her, his eyes full of hazel fire and his strong arms crossed defensively. Her lungs forgot their purpose; like a surprised doe on a twilight stroll down a backroad, she froze, unable to even move.
"Amber," he warned sharply, "no excuses…I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong!"
One moment Donatello was staring her down and barely containing his temper; a split second later he found himself yanked downward by his suspenders into a frantic embrace. Distantly he heard their glasses scrape together and felt lips pressed desperately against his own, salty from the tears trailing down her cheeks. He froze, unresponsive and unbelieving—the bottom fell out of his stomach. Torn between anger and hurt, he wrenched himself loose and shoved her away. How dare she use try to distract him with a cheap mockery of affection?! How dare she?!
"Don't change the subject!" he snapped. "That's not gonna work with me!" He'd never expected her to kiss him but the loud slap was even more unexpected. Stunned, he just stared at her, numbly reaching up to cover his still stinging cheek without even pushing his fallen glasses back up. Her shoulders shook, her eyes hidden from him; though he couldn't see them, it was hard to miss the water splotching her lenses and the shiny salt trails streaking her cheeks.
"Bastart," she whispered brokenly. "Ah…Ah told ye…ya dinnae…" With a strangled sob she bolted out the door; by the time he shook off his shock she was gone, wandering the empty tunnels and more lost than ever before.
Finally out of hearing range, Amber slid to the tunnel floor stifling tears in her knees. How could everything have gone so wrong so fast—how could she have been so stupid as to think he might actually understand?! Her phone dinged in her pocket—a text from Donatello bearing only a single word…why? She choked up and closed the message without replying, only to find herself staring at the screen…or, rather, the date on the screen…
May 15th. As if everything wasn't shitty enough. 'Perhaps,' she wondered weakly, 'I was always meant to die on this day, if not at the hands of my worst nightmare, then by a broken heart.'
Amber wasn't quite sure where she was and was even foggier on how she got there. All she knew for certain was that she couldn't go back…she had to go, even though she had no idea where to go. She was sure Donatello would never forgive her and might even hate her, but all she wanted was to run back to the lair, apologize, and cry into his shoulder. They had a strange relationship from the start—she cried, he came running to put her back together; now she couldn't stop crying, but she was entirely alone…he wouldn't be coming to her rescue.
"Hey." She didn't look up at Leo, too mentally exhausted to be startled. "Up."
"Ah cannae go back," she rasped. "He'll…Ah - Ah can't go back, Leo."
"Who said anything about going back?" he asked seriously, perplexed by the sudden change in her voice. She'd always spoken with a pronounced twang that tended to change in moments of stress, but he'd never heard the brogue now just beneath the surface. It certainly explained the phony-ness of her twang and the feeling that it was too carefully exaggerated...was this what she really sounded like? Was this an old habit come back out of stress? "I just told you to get up…there's something you need to see." Though she wanted nothing more than to just sit there and cry, she accepted his hand up and shuffled along beside him. "Did you mean it?" he asked, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Your secret was that you cared about him?"
"I love'im," she admitted. She was well tired of secrets. "I've loved'im longer'n he's knawn - known me." She mentally shook herself, pushing off the slipup; she'd said it before, she tended to talk like her Gran'da when all Hell broke loose, and of all the things she didn't need right now, memories of her previous life were among them. "I knew if he found out, he'd realize that y'all did sorta' exist in my world…an' he wouldn't stop until he knew everything. My world would only cause'im horror and heartache…" She shook her head, her eyes shimmering. "I'd do anything to spare'im the ugly truth of how I knew'im, even if it meant pushin'im away."
"And we see how well that worked," Leo remarked dryly. "What could be so horrible?—were we…we weren't allied with the Foot, were we?"
"Remember the story of Pygmalion?" she asked vaguely; he nodded.
"An artist found every woman he met lacking," he summed up thoughtfully. "He couldn't find a woman worthy of his love so he created one—carved her out of a block of ivory—and fell in love with his creation. Aphrodite pitied him and brought her to life." Amber nodded.
"Statues don't really come to life," she admitted softly, "but people can still fall in love with dreams. Donatello was just that…he was a dream." Leo wasn't sure exactly what she meant, but found he didn't really want to know; perhaps her world would bring the genius nothing but pain. The beam of his flashlight glinted off of a bronze plaque on the tunnel wall, reminding him why he brought her there. "Where are we?" she asked.
He eyed her curiously, coming to a standstill and passing her the light. "Where this life began," he answered vaguely. Bewildered at his evasive answer, she cast the light beam around her. She drew closer to the plaque and stared in disbelief; the flashlight fell slack in her grip. Leo retrieved it from her loosened fingers, centering the light on the dusty bronze plaque. Tears stung her eyes as she absently traced the ridges and grooves.
"The abandoned City Hall station," she whispered tremulously. "I've wanted to see this place for years...to think I'm actually here..." His words from before finally sank in. "Wait...where this life began? What're ya talkin' about?" Without a word, he vaulted up onto the platform and crept to the utility box. With a flip of the switch, the whole station filled with dim yellow light.
She jolted, backing away fearfully. She knew this place, knew it better than she should, but she wasn't sure how. Images flashed before her mind's eye. Splitting pain wracks her skull. Distant voices grow nearer as the world explodes in yellow light. Bewildered, she accepted Leo's hand up and wandered the cavernous room.
Bitter cold burns her bones as foul smelling rubbish burns her lungs. Someone calls to her and shakes her shoulder. Her memories guided her to a rubbish pile in the far corner. Gentle arms gather her close, emanating an almost painful warmth. A grinding roar splits the silence and mutterings, triggering a downpour of traumatic memories. Remembered screams echoed through her head—her screams, though she hadn't known at the time.
She knew this place.
"We found you here," Leo confirmed without being asked. "We came so Donnie could check on a tripped motion sensor and damaged security camera. He was really worried about you when we dropped you off at April's, anxious that you weren't going to make it." He reached out to grip her shoulder reassuringly. "He didn't know you, but he was afraid you would die."
"Of course," she mumbled, "even experienced doctors can be hurt by losing a patient."
"Even geniuses can be idiots about people they care for." His words stilled her. "Give him time, Amber…he'll come around eventually." She shook her head, sighing.
"I can't go back yet, Leo…I just need some time." Even as he led her onward, she couldn't stop wondering…time for what?
April didn't answer the door. Amber stood in the hallway a moment, staring listlessly at the doorknob, wondering where she could turn. She couldn't go back to the lair…but where could she stay? Perhaps…She glanced over at the next apartment, considering her options. Daron let Mercy come stay…maybe he'd let her stay a few days?
Before she even realized it, she was knocking; at the first touch of her knuckles, the door creaked open. Something wasn't right… "Daron?" she called out softly. "It's me…you okay?" A crash echoed from the parlor and she bolted through the door. Daron lay motionless on the carpet, dark bruising staining his bare skin.
The door slammed behind her, and Amber spun about, staring in horror at the man leaning against it. His head and face were shaven clean, his steel-blue eyes full of unspoken threats, and his lips were curled in a perpetual sneer. She'd seen him in the bus station many times and had recently assisted him with a fare home. With his jacket off, the vivid purple dragon tattoo sprawling along his right bicep left no room for debate…she was in trouble.
"Hey, Kimber," Northpaw leered down at her. "Miss me?"
Another group session ran late, Mercy brooded as she skulked down the hallway clutching a heavy stone planter; Red Fern had a sale going on, and she'd gotten the planter of aloe for a steal. It wasn't like she was in a hurry, but Amber had a habit of dropping by to visit around the time she got home and she'd hate to miss a visit because someone wouldn't quit whining. The fact that she stopped at the florist after group ran late was conveniently ignored—plants kept her sane, after all.
Group therapy was turning out to be a double-edged blade for Mercy…being among others fighting the same problem could help, but personality clashes were common. Mercy was brusque, reserved, and more comfortable with plants and animals than with people, and she had little patience for anyone who willingly got themselves hooked on alcohol. Growing up with an abusive alcoholic mother made her resent the addiction even more, and that resentment often spread to the people trying to help her. She was ready to be done with the whole situation.
At the door of Daron's apartment, she dug for her key but a loud crash stilled her fingers. Someone cried out in pain—Amber!—and the blonde saw red. As quietly as she could, she unlocked the door and slipped through, scanning the apartment for answers.
Daron sat crumpled against the wall, bruised, bleeding, and clutching his left side. Amber cowered on the floor sobbing, insisting that her assailant was mistaken about her identity. Her face and arms were heavily bruised, one eye blackened, and her lower lip was split and bleeding. The bald punk standing over her lashed out again with a kick to the ribs and shouted obscenities.
Mercy'd had enough—screw the plant. She heaved the planter at Northpaw's head and gave an admittedly sadistic grin at the loud crack of stone impacting skull; she'd needed that all day! North fell to the floor in a heap. "I can't leave y'all alone for a minute, can I?" Mercy quipped as she helped Amber to the sofa but the attempt at humor fell short at the sight of her friend's injuries. "Can ya stand?" Amber shook her head. Every time she put weight on her right foot, pain shot upward; she suspected she had a fracture.
"I couldn't stop him," Daron groaned hoarsely. "We've gotta get out'a here—he called Hun, he's on his way! He'll kill us!" Amber shuddered, her eyes wide and panicky, and Mercy was sure she was one step from another panic attack. The blonde scrabbled for options, her roommate freaking out on one side and her best friend freaking out on the other. In her previous life, Mercy would never have been able to help them—would have been freaking out right along with them—but she wasn't who she once was.
She was stronger.
Denim blue eyes darted around the apartment as she formulated a plan. "We'll get out—grab what ya need, ya got one minute." While Daron complied Mercy ducked into the bathroom, upended the metal trash bin on the floor and piled rolls of paper in it it, returning with rubbing alcohol and the tie from Daron's bathrobe. Without further ado, she hogtied Northpaw—hands to ankles and ankles to sofa leg. "Need fire an' water—an' we need'a leave a warning for the cops."
Daron tossed her a lighter and bottle of water and dug for a pen and paper. Mercy soaked the carpet by the front door with water, doused the inside of the trash can and the tissue in alcohol, and set it right in the middle of the puddle on the carpet. "Ready?" she snapped over at Daron.
"Yeah," he answered leaving the note by North's head. Broke in and attacked us, the note read. Northpaw Jackson—Hun Williams on his way—set fire to save our asses! Daron helped Amber to her feet. "Lean on me, Ki—" Instead of correcting himself, he just cringed and hoisted her over his shoulder, wincing at the pain in his ribs. The moment the three were out the door, Mercy blocked it open with the now-empty planter and lit the tissue in the bin.
By the time the fire alarms went off, they were long gone, heading for the only safe place they knew…the place Amber just ran from.
Donatello wasn't sure how long he'd spent staring into space. The fight was over and his anger faded into hurt, and Amber was gone…maybe, he wondered melodramatically, never to return. Even though he resented her dishonesty the idea of losing her hurt.
Shouting outside the lab brought him back to himself. "What's going on?" he called out on his way to the door but found himself almost run over. Mercy, Daron, Raph, and Leo poured into the Lair, the latter continuing to the Needle room. Donnie stared in horror at the battered brunette his brother carried.
"Anytime, Don!" Leo reminded sharply. In that moment, the brother, friend, and ninja faded into the background and the doctor emerged.
"Know any first aid?" he asked Mercy bluntly.
"Livestock count?" He'd take it—he'd need all the help he could get.
Almost an hour later, Donatello stood in the dojo staring vacantly through the weapons wall. It was one thing to patch up his brothers—they were tough, had thick skin, and could handle pain. Patching up humans was nerve wracking. They were soft, squishy, easily injured, and seemed to never stop bleeding.
Aside from bruising and abrasions, Daron's bruised ribs were the worst of it; even after a pain pill, he kept up a steady cadence of breath too deeply, hiss, swear loudly, then hiss again because speaking hurt too, and every few minutes or so he'd start all over. Amber, on the other hand, was worrisomely silent. Her right fibula had a hairline fracture courtesy of Northpaw's steel-toed boot, her left zygomatic bone was fractured, and she was black, blue, and bloody from head to toe. Still, she just lay there on the cold metal exam bench silently staring up at the ceiling. Even when he had to stitch up a deep cut on her side, he was the only one flinching.
Months before, she'd told him about a horrific accident when she was in college—an accident that left her partly crippled and dependent on opiates and a cane. At the time he'd wondered if she was exaggerating; now, faced with undeniable proof that she could handle pain, he knew she wasn't.
"I hope ta God she slapped you," Mercy snapped from the doorway. Almost in a daze, he turned to acknowledge her. "Leo told me what happened, Donatello—everything! When I told ya she hid stuff, I wasn't sayin' dig fer somethin' that ain't there!" The blonde laid into him, chewed him up one side and down the other, and took no prisoners, but he didn't respond. After all, he'd already endured a similar less vehement and more profane dressing down at Daron's hands, a stern lecture from Leonardo, and disappointed frowns from Splinter...and none of it held a candle to the way he was berating himself. Finally, Mercy ran out of steam, shook her head at him in disgust, and stormed off to some unknown corner of the Lair.
Before he even realized it, Donnie found himself at the open door of the Needle room, staring at the far bunk. Amber lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, defeated.
"Hey." He didn't really expect a hey, yerself, but the lack still hurt. "Can I get you anything? A drink maybe, or a snack?" No response. Growing increasingly frustrated he padded over to her, fully intent on scolding her for being belligerent; that intent faded the closer he grew, leaving only a painfully insistent urge to pull her into his arms and just hold her. He'd spent months pushing her away, observing from a distance, and squashing his attraction to her out of worry that she meant his family harm, but none of it worked…he still cared, too much, possibly.
She kissed him…she cared…maybe it wasn't all a lie? His cheek still burned from the slap, but hers was fractured; he'd have given anything for the roles to be reversed if only to spare her the pain. After all, he was a ninja…he was used to pain.
"Braids." Still no response, still she stared up at the ceiling, eyes dry and unfocused, her breaths unnaturally even. As though his own body betrayed him, his hand reached out for her, the rough pad of his thumb carefully brushing a smear of dried blood away from her split lip. He'd spent months wanting to taste that lip for himself, and the only chance he got, he just tasted saline. Amber turned away, hiding her eyes from him and shrugging off his touch.
She was always running, always hiding, always fighting not to let herself get too close…for the first time, she'd hadn't run, hadn't hidden, and had veritably thrown herself into his arms…and he'd been too blinded by anger to catch her. He crept out of the room without a word, haunted by the smell of blood and salt filling the room.
Splinter met him in the living room, watching him expectantly; without a word, Donatello led his father down the hall to the perpetually locked door. Maybe eleven hours in the hashi would help him forget the salty taste of her lips and the burning sting of his cheek.

*≈*≈*≈* End Part I: Time to Burn *≈*≈*≈*

UP NEXT: the story continues in Borrowed Words

Glossary
• Ah…Ah told ye…ya dinnae… - Brogued relapse speech. I...I told you...you don't...
• Bastart - Scots, Bastard
- 21
- 22
- 23
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A New Lease on Life