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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
- 24
- 25
- 26
I'm not defining the unfamiliar words in Amber's journal passages in this chapter, (still marked with • for clarity's sake) and I have my reasons. Donnie wouldn't understand these words, Amber's aware of it, and she's unintentionally intentionally being confusing to semi-sorta protect herself. All that matters is that the reader gets the gist of what's being said. If you get more, kudos, but it's not necessary this time.
Precautions: the usual plus excessive borrowed words.
Suggested Listening: Toad the Wet Sprocket "All I Want," Breaking Benjamin "Diary of Jane"

24: Plans and Promises
May 25th, about an hour before dawn, the Hardys' loft
The first thing Michelangelo noticed was muted moonlight dancing across his face; the second was the soft, warm, feminine body curled up against his own, delightfully bare beneath the sheets. That's right, he realized with a slowly spreading smile—he came to visit Bree last night while Leonardo did recon, and as so often before, they wound up falling asleep together. Not for the first time, he wished they could wake up together as well.
Why Leo still insisted on keeping Briallen and Beverly a secret from their family, Mikey couldn't comprehend. The older ninja insisted their brothers wouldn't understand and that bringing the girls into the family would put them in danger, but Mike begged to differ. He knew the truth…Leo was blinded by his own fears, too blind to see that the Hardy cousins accepted his family shells and all.
Bree mumbled into his neck, smiling softly; he couldn't help wondering what dreams flitted behind her eyes. Just as he reached to brush a stray curl behind her ear, his cellphone vibrated on the nightstand. He recoiled, glancing nervously over at the offending object. Be on the roof in 5, the text read shortly, or you won't be coming back. It was a familiar threat and one that always worked. If only he could stay at least once—at least long enough to greet the dawn with the girl of his dreams!
As the errant ninja met his impatient brother on the rooftop, Bree's eyes slid open to greet the cold, empty sheets and the deep turtle-shaped indention in the mattress. On the pillow next to hers lay a small origami turtle—folded from a pizza parlor flier—the only proof that Michelangelo was ever there. Proof, and a promise that he'd see her again soon. Another paper promise for the shelf, she mused nestling into the pillow still warm with his scent; it would fit quite nicely between the takeout menu ninja star and candy bar wrapper heart.
Though she missed him already, she dozed off with a smile; some things never changed, but some might change with time.
Not for the first time, Mercy wanted to rearrange Raphael's teeth with her knuckles. Unfortunately, her hands were occupied with the weight bar shakily suspended over her ribcage. In her previous life, she could have thrown it around as easily as a bag of chicken feed, could have lifted it as easily as a Holstein calf, but in this life, she could barely keep it aloft. "Straighten ya wrists, Blondie," the hulking ninja reminded gruffly, lightly smacking her bent wrists for emphasis. "If ya keep bendin 'em, ya'll fuck 'em up."
"Torn ligaments are no laughing matter," Donatello piped up as he passed the dojo. "Neither are sprains or breaks and you're risking all of those by bending your wrists when you bench."
"Bite…me," Mercy grunted as she fought to straighten her wrists yet again only to have her arms collapse on her. "Fuck!" Raph caught the bar before it could drop more than an inch and shook his head at her.
"Kid," he drawled as he replaced the empty bar on the rack. "We got our work cut out fer us…ya can't even bench da base 45." Cowed by embarrassment, Mercy sat up on the bench rubbing her sore arms. Donna Mays' body had been wasting away for years—her muscles were atrophied and her bones weak from illness, addiction, and malnutrition—but it wasn't Mercy's fault she revived in that broken body. Despite being blameless, she felt guilty and ashamed for that weakness.
"I miss the ranch," she grumbled instead of admitting the thoughts plaguing her. "Didn't used to be so weak…this blows." Raph's massive right hand clapped her on the shoulder in support, knocking her forward a little; the unintentional reminder of his mind-boggling strength drew blood to her cheeks even as she fidgeted with the hem of her tank top.
"Ya'll get dere," he reassured with a confident smirk. "It's just gonna take a while…keep pluggin' at it, a'right?" Ridiculously exhausted from what amounted to a few minutes of work, Mercy collapsed backward onto the bench again, boneless and sore. At her side, Raphael averted his eyes sure his cheeks were darkening; though she was too skinny she was well-endowed, and laying back like that only emphasized the full breasts nearly falling into her armpits and almost spilling over the neckline.
"What's going on in here?" Leonardo demanded from the doorway. Raph met his brother's eyes, rankled, while Mercy rolled hers to the leader as well, refusing to sit up. She was officially too tired to give a rat's ass, no offense to Splinter.
"Just a lil' strength trainin'," Raph answered his brother lowly as he approached. "Da kid's weaker dan a kitten…she needs ta build her strength up." Mercy stared up at the rafters of the dojo as the two brothers argued in hushed tones. She was torn. Leo insisted that their training was a closely guarded secret—not something to share with others willy-nilly. Raph insisted he wasn't training her to be a ninja, just helping her build up her strength so she could help out around the lair. Mercy always hated being the center of attention and froze when it happened, but what was stronger—her discomfort with attention or her desire to become stronger?
Harsh words flew back and forth between the brothers, the whispers sharpening into hisses; finally, she spoke up. "I ain't gonna be a damn ninja, stick-ass," she snarked over at Leo. "I jus' wanna get stronger…jus' wanna help protect my friends, 'at's all. 'z'at so much t'ask?"• Leo bristled and fixed a hard stare on her, refusing to back down and evaluating her countenance. Finally, he must have found what he was looking for; he broke the stare, glaring over at his brother.
"Just the basics," he reminded sharply, his pale blue eyes icy. "No secret techniques, no ninjitsu, no making her kunoichi. Got it?" Raph scowled but nodded agreement. "Family meeting in the kitchen—five minutes." Without another word he stalked out the door, leaving the two friends glaring at his back, one openly flipping him off and the other wishing for a middle finger.
"Asshole needs ta get laid," Mercy grumbled as Raph lumbered back over to her. "Either that or we should throw chocolate an' run." Raph laughed lowly as he offered her a hand up, easily hauling her upright. Upon finding herself face to face with his nearly bare plastron, she felt a faint blush streak across her cheeks; as so often before, her lungs were flooded with his salty, musky scent. Above Mercy, golden hazel eyes searched hers, their owner sobering, marveling at the soft grey blue behind the glare.
"Mercy?" he asked, his voice rough and low. "Yer doin' great…stuff like dis takes time, ya know…jus' keep at it an' ya'll get dere, okay?" The blonde sighed, staring through his plastron into a memory of a short woman with sleek black hair, hateful blue eyes, and painted lips that spouted cruel words. Realizing the direction her thoughts took her, she blinked and shook her head to clear out the cobwebs. A thick, callus-roughened thumb brushed her spiky uneven bangs aside, stilling the breath in her lungs and spurring her heart into a sprint. Wide denim blue eyes darted up to meet Raph's; he gave a small, hesitant smile. "Ya ain't gotta do dis alone, Kid."
"I…" She faltered, forcing a swallow. "I can't yet…these things take time if yer doin' 'em right. Nothin' ya do quick'll last, right?" He nodded, his smile widening.
"Yeah," he replied chucking her chin, "anythin' worth it takes time an' we got all da time in da world. No rush." The staring contest stretched on between them, their eyes saying what their lips could not. Both knew they were no longer discussing training; both felt their hearts race in anticipation. Perhaps, they wondered hopefully, love didn't have to hurt after all.
When the Lair housed only five ninjas, the kitchen was comfortably spacious; with five ninjas and four humans, one on crutches, it became unbearably cramped. Regardless, the family, Amber, Mercy, Daron, and April crowded around the table meant for six. The air in the room smelled of fresh greenery and coffee and crackled with tension. Amber and Donatello and Mercy and Raphael sat across from one another, the first two stubbornly avoiding eye contact and the second two sneaking furtive glances at one another. How ironic, Splinter considered regretfully, that one pair would grow closer while the other grew further and further apart.
"Kimber Bryant is gone," Leo summed up bluntly. Over in the corner, Daron winced, pointedly staring through the black and white tiles instead of at the woman who unintentionally took over his best friend's body. "Hun most likely doesn't know, but if he knows, he doesn't care—he's still after her. The Purple Dragons have gotten out of control and need to be knocked down a peg if not stopped entirely." He leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands together, and met everyone's eyes in turn. "We need to find a way to take Hun out for good. Thoughts?"
"It's too dangerous for Daron or Amber to go above ground while Hun's looking for them," Donatello remarked blandly, "but the Lair's facilities weren't meant to support this many people. With only three toilets and four showers, there's been a problem with wait times—if anyone brings home a stomach bug, we'll be in trouble." Amber winced, recalling him explain that very problem to her…before they blew up on each other and started feuding. "In addition, the barracks still needs some work and the pantry isn't capable of holding enough supplies for a whole week." He shoved his glasses up his snout, his hazel eyes serious. "We need to get the other restroom operational, increase the pantry space or designate a secondary storage area, and the barracks needs some work—the flickering lights could be a sign of bad wiring and the whole area's still cut off from the furnace and air conditioner."
"A primary objective, then," Splinter accepted with a nod. "All the planning in the world will do us no good if we cannot remain safe and secure while we plan."
"Mikey and I have been running extra patrols for some time now." Leo knew his father and master would recall why, and didn't explain; the family didn't need to know about Beverly and Briallen. "We can still increase our patrols, however, and do recon to gather intel. Raph's assistance would be invaluable on these runs."
"His help would also be appreciated here." Don's bare brows pinched together in thought, and he threw a pensive glance over at Amber; she hadn't really spoken to anyone that day. Before he could fall further down that rabbit hole, he reminded himself that she made her choices, and one of those choices was to push him away. God, that hurt… "The renovations won't be easy," he continued, tearing his eyes from the silent brunette, "and the girls and Daron aren't strong enough for the heavy work. Perhaps you could alternate between patrol and construction?" He glanced curiously over at Raphael leaned against the counter, arms crossed, chin low as he watched Daron suspiciously; the ninja grunted in agreement.
"Gonna need a hand with somethin', den," he muttered. "Been givin' Blondie some strength trainin', workin' up ta basic self-defense. If I ain't got time, she's gonna stay weak…an' weaklings are a risk we can't afford." Mercy bristled at the jab, but her hackles lowered at the grin in his eyes. Halfway between nervous and shy, she stared down at the bamboo and aloe planters piled in the middle of the table and ran her fingers through her already messy hair.
"Perhaps I can be of assistance." Splinter stroked his beard in thought, already visually assessing his new student. "You boys have made great progress in your training, nearly beyond what I can provide…a new student would be a welcome distraction in these hard times."
"We can't just keep those three trapped down here, though," April pointed out gesturing to the other three humans. "Mercy's undergoing detox still and supposed to be attending groups at least weekly—Daron's apartment is empty, too, and Hun's going to notice. Not to mention Amber's got bi-weekly appointments with Dr. Morris—even if she weren't on crutches, she couldn't go above ground because of Hun, but she can't skip out on those appointments—they're vital!" Amber flushed darkly, staring into her coffee, but didn't say a word in agreement or opposition.
"Perhaps she could video chat the appointments for the time being?" Donnie suggested. Maybe talking like she wasn't there would provoke a reaction from her… "I've got our internet signal scrambled and bounced around enough to prevent anyone tracing it back here…even if Dr. Morris's computer is compromised, the signal puts us in Osaka." Amber glanced over, impressed, and he shrugged. "It's worked so far, and the odds of that changing are astronomical." The silence stretched for a moment, then Amber shrugged as well.
"Why not," she agreed but said no more. The subject changed, the rest discussing and conversing, but Donatello remained silent, watching Amber for any explanation behind her uncharacteristic silence. Long after the rest of the family broke away and scattered to the four corners of the Lair, she sat scribbling another entry in her journal and he sat opposite, staring down at his coffee. Every now and then he'd nervously glance up at her, searching for explanations. Finally, one of them broke the silence.
"I'm fine, Don." The assurance came so suddenly he was left staring and blinking at her; he forced a swallow, averting his eyes.
"You don't look it," he admitted softly. "If I don't know—"
"I know," she interrupted bitterly. "If ya don't know what's wrong, ya can't fix it…but there's nothin' to fix. I'm fine." The tall turtle hesitated a moment, searching for words—so many words he had at his disposal, but none would come to mind! With no resolution in sight, he sighed and rose from his seat, nudging the chair back under the table.
"You're not fine...until you're ready to admit it, you won't be fine. When you need to talk, you know where I am." Without another word, he did exactly what she could not…
…he walked away.
Long after Donatello's retreat, Amber sat at the kitchen table staring down the hated mess of borrowed words sprawling across her journal pages.
Nothing's so loud
As hearing when we lie.
The truth is not kind
And you've said neither am I.
Nothing's so cold
As closing the heart when all we need
Is to free the soul,
But we wouldn't be that brave I know. ♦
Why couldn't she ever express herself without using the words of others? Why was it so hard to get words together unless she had hours to arrange—She stilled, realizing the truth. Writing a journal on paper didn't necessarily have to be that different from writing fiction on a computer. Sure, she didn't have a backspace key, but she could scratch out what didn't work. It wasn't what she was used to…but… Amber flipped to a new page, staring it down in worry.
Where to start? What to say? She gripped the pen like a lifeline, dreading what could spread across the page should she use her own words. I… "This shouldn't be that hard!" she snapped aloud never realizing someone stood in the doorway, watching her struggle with conflicted hazel eyes. "Jus' get a grip an' spill it!"
I feel…lost.
After those first words, the rest followed in a sudden rush; someone once said 'There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.' Never before had the meaning been so true for her—she bled her heart on the page in staggered, shaky prose.
I feel lost. I feel betrayed. I miss my family, my world, an' cannae always express it, but it never goes away! It's not all aboot me, I know that, but sometimes it's hard to keep my troubles from affecting the family. I've done my best, God knows I try, but it doesn't get any easier!
I'm not afraid things won't get better, but it feels like this has gone on forever! ♦♦
It seemed borrowed words would always sneak in, she realized begrudgingly. Perhaps, though, it wasn't such a problem—borrowed words are better than none—so long as she didn't hide behind them.
I miss being able to sleep without waking up screaming—I miss being able to get through the day without being haunted by unwanted memories. Most of all, I miss Dee…I miss being able to trust him, miss being able to rely on him…but how can I trust him when he won't trust me? How can I confide in him when he's so convinced I'm 'talkin' oot my fanny flaps?'
Perhaps…
Perhaps what? She scratched it out and tried again; if she wanted him to be honest with her, she needed to be honest with him.
The kicker is I AM lying to him—lying by omission is still lying! But…but what I'm hiding…my world holds only nightmares for him, if not a farkin' existential crisis!
…I wish I could share that burden, wish I could go back to the day we met and spill my guts. If my life were a fanfict a story, I'd totally have done that—I'd have spilled my heart the moment we met. He'd have accepted and understood, and he'd feel the same, an' a'thin 'd be dandy 'tween us. If only life were so simple…this isn't a fic, it's a bad joke, a travesty! If he knew a'thin'...if he knew how I feel an' how long I've felt it…God, when ya never seen a body fizzog to coup'n, it's all well'n tekul to fancy yerself lovin'em, but meet'em in person, an' a'thin' changes! Lovin' a man ya never met an' then meetin'im…I feel a sleekit stalker!
Alright, she decided suddenly, time to stop the word vomit before she confessed something she couldn't take back. For a moment, she considered scratching it all out—even ripping the page out, burning it, and starting over—but a cleared throat in the doorway stopped her cold. "Coffee," Don explained simply, pouring the last of the carafe into his mug; when the coffee ran out before the cup ran out, his snout crinkled in annoyance, bringing a weak smile to Amber's face. If she'd somehow forgotten the feud between them, the fact that he announced his purpose in the kitchen was sufficient reminder.
As the genius went about the motions of setting up another pot of coffee, Amber considered the journal before her. Every fiber of her being urged her to scrub out everything she'd confessed—while it wasn't much and the worst was hidden behind jargon and other dialects, it was far more than she was comfortable with sharing. That was the problem, though…she held everything too close to her heart and never shared her weaknesses…and it was a trait she'd vowed to change. Not so many years ago she told the Donnie of her dreams everything...but despite the uncanny resemblance, this clearly wasn't her Donnie.
While Donatello chucked the coffee grounds into the compost bucket and measured out new, she scribbled out a few more borrowed words for him to puzzle through. Half of her feared he'd understand, feared the vulnerability the lines created; the other half, a smaller, secret part of her that longed for nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, wished he'd read between the lines.
I know if I could do it over,
I would trade, give away all the words that I saved in my heart
That I left unspoken…
Lovin' you is what I was trying to do.♦♦♦
When Don turned to break the silence with smalltalk while the coffee pot percolated, the table was vacant, Amber's journal left invitingly at his usual place. For a moment he stared down at the faded cover. As every time before, he wondered why they were still fighting—why they couldn't just get over themselves and apologize.
You won't trust me, an' I sure's Hell ain't gonna trust you. Amber's words had cut him to the quick, and the wound still burned. Neither was willing to give in and neither was willing to forgive and forget; when two hearts are intent on being separate, nothing can bring them together. Unless something changed, their situation wouldn't improve, he realized begrudgingly as he flipped back to the last entry he read.
I never really sleep anymore
and I always get those dangerous dreams.
I never get a minute of peace…
I know the reason behind it, but I gotta wonder what it means. ≈
Through the utility room, he heard Amber crutch into the bathroom; a few moments later, the nearest shower kicked on. For a time, she simply grumbled aloud to cover the sound of the showerhead, but finally, gave in to her normal habit of singing over the racket. Unbeknownst to the turtle, the poorly-sung tune was a favorite of her Gran'da's and featured in some of the best memories she had of Granny Devon. When the coffeepot silenced, her words came clearly to the turtle hovering curiously in the open utility room doorway.
Come by the hills to the land where legend remains; the stories of old fill our hearts and may yet come again. Where the past has been lost and the future is yet to be won, and the cares of tomorrow can wait 'til this day is done. ≈≈
'Sound advice,' he decided solemnly as he regarded the potted vegetables lined up on the utility room table. 'Hun must be taken care of, and soon, but the cares of tomorrow can wait 'til this day is done.'

UP NEXT: an unexpected ally appeard in Loyalty Wears Many Faces
Glossary
• I jus' wanna get stronger - I jus' wanna help protect my friends, 'at's all. 'z'at so much t'ask? - I just want to get stronger - I just want to help protect my friends, that's all. Is that so much to ask?
Borrowed words
* Toad the Wet Sprocket, "All I Want"
** Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Good Intentions"
*** based on Rascal Flatts, "What Hurts the Most"
≈ based on Meatloaf, "It Just Won't Quit"
≈≈ from "Come by the Hills," traditional
Sit at the typwriter and bleed - This is reported to be a quote by Ernest Hemingway but there appears to be some debate over whether or not he actually said or wrote it.
- 24
- 25
- 26
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A New Lease on Life