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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
- 30
- 31
- 32
Precautions for the usual plus Bev's illness, uber-drama, a couple mildly-suggestive bits, and maybe a possible suicide trigger. I say maybe because the situation was not a suicide but is misconstrued as a suicide attempt and other than Leo's pride, no one gets hurt.
Suggested listening: Nickelback "Someday"

30: Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures
Leonardo wasn't sure where everything went wrong. There must have been signs—signs that he was headed down a road he shouldn't be—but for the life of him, he couldn't recall a one. His father was gravely silent, neither defending him nor reprimanding him. One of his brothers stared at him in blatant disbelief, another one shook his head in disappointment; the last knelt before the sofa consoling the hysterical brunette he brought home without warning. Finally, Mikey shot him a surprisingly stern glance over his shoulder.
"No more secrets, Leo," he insisted. "They deserve to know." Leo didn't answer; he just stared at Briallen in dismay. Her state could only mean one thing…something horrible happened to Beverly. His stomach in his throat, he strode past his brother to the dojo and disappeared inside. Raph and Donnie exchanged glances with each other, then with Mercy and Amber, but no one had any answers.
When the brothers entered the dojo, Leo stood before the weapons wall staring off into space, his eyes suspiciously wet. "What's going on?" Donatello asked, glancing out the door to Bree and Bosco and back again. "Who is that, Leo? How's she know about us?" Finally, the truth came out.
"Back in September we got separated during a patrol," Leonardo reminded his brothers as they settled around the meditation corner. "I didn't find you for over an hour. Do you remember?"
"Yeah," Raph answered with a smirk, "ya gave us da silent treatment all da way home."
Donatello gave him an impatient look that clearly said you're not helping, then added, "I take it there's more to the story?"
Leo nodded gravely. "While I was looking for you, I heard a ruckus coming from a subway station—the one closest to that high school in Brooklyn." He could still remember the moment as though it happened yesterday—he could still hear Beverly's pained screams and whimpers— "There was a woman in trouble…I thought she was having a stroke." He avoided his brothers' eyes from shame. "I called for an ambulance and stayed as long as I could, but she left her purse behind…I followed to the hospital to return it…but…"
"Ya got seen," Raph finished when it became clear Leo couldn't.
"No," Leo admitted, "worse…I got attached." Just then, Mikey padded into the room and settled down with his brothers.
"Master gave her some of his sedative tea," he reported with none of his usual zeal. "Amber gave up her bed so she could rest—she said she won't mind bunking with Donnie if Bree needs the bed." Don's eyes darted back to Leo, sharp with accusation.
"Bree, huh?" he stated accusingly. "How cheesy." To his credit, Leo looked like one of those kicked puppies Amber was alway going on about.
"Ya got attached," Raph prompted when the eldest hesitated to continue.
"Yeah…I thought…I never thought she'd remember me, but she did. She was in the ICU for well over a week and like a complete idiot I kept going back to check on her." Aching for something to take his mind off the story, he lunged to his feet and paced restlessly; why did he always end up pacing when Bev was on his mind? "Her name's Beverly Hardy; she developed an abscess in her brain after a tooth went bad. The doctors put her through biopsies, surgeries, draining operations, and endless testing, and for the last eight months, she's been stuck at home undergoing IV antibiotics via home-hospice."
"When Leo kept takin' off," Michelangelo picked up, "I started snooping—found out he was visiting Bev at the hospital after hours. If I told anyone, I'd'a wound up in the Hashi."
"Damn right," Leo muttered. "She's dying—she doesn't need the O'Neil treatment." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Once they moved her to the hospice, she asked if I'd be willing to fetch something from her apartment—her cousin forgot to bring her tablet charger. The place was empty but Mikey and I had trouble finding what she sent us for. Next thing we knew the cousin was collapsed in the doorway screaming like a banshee."
"Bree's got this thing about blue eyes." Mikey shrugged. "They freak'er out pretty bad, long story. Other'n that, she don't see anything wrong with us—she and Bev are like Amber an' Mercy, they treat us like we're normal!" He fell silent again, his eyes drawn to the wall separating the dojo from the hallway to the Barracks. All was quiet for a moment, then Raphael broke the silence.
"So you two ain't been goin' on extra patrols after all. Ya been up on da surface visitin' a couple'a chicks…an' ya din't even think ta tell us?" He shook his head at Leo with a scowl. "Did ya really think we wouldn't understand? –What, ya thought we'd blame ya fer gettin' seen?"
"For a time, yeah," Leo admitted, "but I figured it out eventually. I wasn't ready to bring Bev and Bree into the family...not because I didn't trust them or didn't trust you—Bev was dying, guys! She could still die from this if she—if she hasn't—!"
"Oh, she's alive," Mike cut in as if it hadn't even occurred to him that Leo would assume the worst. "Bree said she had a relapse—she's been transferred upstate so her "Doc Crane" can take over." A shudder of relief ran through Leo's body at the news. Not dead…Beverly was not dead, she was still alive... Though he knew that could still change, the news made him feel weak from the knees outward and it took everything he had to remain upright.
"Stress can sometimes worsen serious illness." Donatello's forehead pinched and wrinkled in concentration. "You were trying to protect her…and to protect us if the worst happened…weren't you." It wasn't a question; they all knew the truth. Even so, Leo nodded, his eyes downcast. "We understand. –right, Raph?" Raphael bristled at Donnie's stern glance but nodded, his teeth gritting almost painfully.
"We ain't kids no more," he pointed out halfway between a growl and a snort. "Ya ain't gotta treat us like'em. Next time jus' tell us, a'right?"
"Am I the only one wonderin' 'bout the mutt?" Mercy piped up from the doorway. The four ninjas startled at her sudden comment and three of the four turned to face her. No longer having to pretend they weren't snooping, she and Amber strode over to the gathering and took seats, one sprawling out beside Raph and the other sitting cross-legged between Donnie and Mikey. "What?" Mercy asked as though she and Amber hadn't been eavesdropping the whole time. Amber shot her a hard stare; Mercy returned it by sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes.
"Bosco's a service dog," Leo explained. "The abscess affected Beverly's eyes—she can't see anything in the left field of either eye and she has problems with double vision. Bosco compensates for her blind spot." Donatello cocked his head to the side, eyes up as if the rafters had answers, then mumbled,
"Homonymous hemianopsia."
"Gesundheit," Mercy quipped.
"It means her eyes no longer register anything in the left of her vision field," Donnie explained with a peeved glance at Mercy, "like she has blinders over the left sides of both eyes. Depending on where the abscess formed, it's probably impacted her optic nerves—the diplopia is probably caused by the same thing. Both are pretty common in survivors of stroke, brain cancer, and traumatic brain injury." Out of the corner of his eye, Donnie noticed Amber blush and glance away. It seemed she always got flustered when he started off on one of his intellectual tangents; maybe she liked it when he 'talked nerdy?' Something hit her a moment later.
"Oh!" Amber turned to Mercy wide-eyed with realization. "That explains why she kept reaching too high or too low that day in the tea shop—took'er three tries and she still fumbled that box."
"Vertical double vision," Leo agreed softly. "It's all been really hard on her—she was a music teacher and tutor but now she can barely handle a few private lessons a week. She's not adapting well."
"Enough'a dis," Raph interrupted sharply. "Yer gal's in da hospital, Leo—da fuck are ya doin' here?" Leo's eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.
"Sh-She's not—!"
"Yeah, yeah," Mercy drawled socking him in the arm, "tell someone who believes ya an' git goin' a'ready." Mikey, Donnie, and Amber slipped out of the room while the other three weren't watching, exchanging awkward glances.
"I'm startin' to regret throwin' those two together," Amber admitted under her breath as Mercy and Raph ganged up on the embarrassed eldest turtle. "They make a helluva tag team."
Mikey nudged her in the side with his elbow, finally grinning his typical Mikey grin. "Don't take all the credit, Sis," he teased. "They'd have found their way even if ya hadn't meddled."
"Bree, was it?" Big brown eyes met Amber's over the younger woman's shoulder.
"Hey," Bree mumbled turning back to her mug of cocoa.
"Hey, yerself," Amber fired back automatically, then winced. "Sorry…habit. Name's Amber O'Brien."
"Briallen Hardy." Bree sniffled in embarrassment as Amber paused to pour herself yet another cup of coffee, dumped in a slop of milk and enough sugar to choke a goat, then invited herself to the table. "Bree for short. Sorry to burst in on you guys like this…it just happened so fast…I didn't know where else to turn."
"Hey, now," the elder soothed chancing a supportive touch to the shoulder; a breath later she realized just how she looked every time she dove into Donatello's arms for comfort. The petite woman shuddered into her shoulder sobbing, and all she could do was shush her, pet her curly brown hair, and rub her back. Once it was over, Bree slumped back in her chair and scrubbed her eyes dry.
"S-Sorry," she mumbled in embarrassment. "I—"
"Oi, don't go beatin' yerself up—us lahssies gotta stick together, right?"
Through the utility room doorway, Bree heard Mercy whistle and holler, "Heeeere, Lassie—C'mere girl!"
"Haw!" Amber shouted back, "put a sawck in it, ya bleach blonde!" Bree stared at Amber like she just grew antlers, seeming to have forgotten her embarrassment and sadness; mission accomplished.
"Lassies?" Bree repeated in confusion, one brown eyebrow disappearing behind her curly bangs. "You're Irish?" Amber laughed aloud at the thought; her Gran'da would have turned red and sputtered oaths at the thought. It was bad enough that his only daughter married a man with an Irish surname.
"Hardly, Hardy. Mum's family's from Scotland, some of it stuck." The younger woman sat silently contemplating things for a bit, then admitted something aloud.
"Mikey was right."
"Pardon?" Bree blushed slightly but gave a sheepish smile.
"He wasn't allowed to tell his family about us, but he told me all about you guys…he said you're compassionate and unfiltered, Mercy's sarcastic and bristly, and that you're both a riot and prone to spontaneously insulting each other." Amber chuckled into her coffee at the thought.
"That's us a'right," she admitted. "We've been friends too long to take each other seriously."
"That'd imply I take anyone seriously," Mercy snarked bustling through the door. Just shy of the table she turned a shit-eating grin to Amber. "What's wrong, Lassie? Is Timmy in the well?"
"Bite me, Blundie." Mischief managed, the blonde held her dirt-stained hand out to Bree with a lopsided smirk.
"Mercy Ross, professional plant nut; looks like ya a'ready met the crazy Celt." Bree couldn't help smiling as she accepted the handshake.
"Actually, Mike said you're both a little crazy…crazy can be fun, though, right?" Noticing Amber's gaze drift toward the pantry, Mercy gave a suggestive eyebrow waggle. A dark blush streaked from the brunette's nose outward and she suddenly became utterly fascinated with the lip gloss print on her coffee mug.
"You've gotta be a little crazy to keep up with this crowd," Donnie pointed out as he strode toward the coffee maker, a dimpled smile splitting his face. "Welcome to the family, Briallen." Bree took note of the shy smiles passing between Amber and the bespectacled turtle with interest. Could it be, she wondered with a wistful half-smile, that she and Beverly weren't the only ones who saw the brothers as more than mutants? Whatever the answer was, she was sure it would become clear with time.
The first time Leonardo found himself in a hospital room was both eye-opening and traumatizing. The stench of antiseptic, the incessant beeping of monitors, the frigid air that stung his skin…hospitals, it seemed, were all the same. Now, months had passed since that first visit, and his skin crawled from the feeling of déjà vu. Beverly lay still as a corpse in the narrow bed, stuck full of a multitude of needles and tubes.
She was still beautiful. She was always beautiful to him—even with her long dark hair bound up, her tilted brown eyes hung with shadows, and her cheeks growing thin and sunken, she still took his breath away. Leo hovered restlessly in the shadowed corner of the room just soaking in the sight of her, convincing himself she was really there, really alive. Every time the heart monitor faltered, his lungs balked at their work. As focused as he was on the rest of her, he completely missed the moment her eyes weakly slid open.
"H…Hogo…sha…?" she rasped trying to focus in on his face. Everything seemed more a blur than usual, but at least her head wasn't splitting anymore.
"What were you thinking?" It wasn't supposed to come out—he'd meticulously planned out what he'd say to her when she woke, mentally charted out a multitude of promises, consolations, and vows—but nevertheless, those words were shoved out of the way in the moment. Fully coming to, Bev struggled to pull herself upright in the bed; before she could hurt herself, Leo stalked over and jabbed the controls to raise the incline.
"Pardon?" she mumbled, then realized she wasn't at home. "What…what happened?…I don't…" When it became clear to her just where she was, she looked ready to cry. "I relapsed."
"That's an understatement," he bit out. "Bree filled me in on the way here—you've been having headaches again, you've been dizzy and nauseous, and you never once gave Doctor Crane a call. You just blew it off entirely!" As so often before, he found himself pacing in fury. "God, Beverly, do you want to die?!"
"Away from the edge, Beverly," Leo warned from the safety of her blind side. Bev said nothing, silently contemplating the steady stream of traffic oozing along the street several stories below. She never intended for Leo to find her up in the rooftop garden, much less near the end of her rope—it started as a simple quest for fresher air and a view of the night sky, but somehow she found herself standing at the widows' walk, contemplating the distance with disinterest.
"It's been over a month since you found me, Hogosha," she reminded in a murmur. "I've undergone treatment for a month now...there's been no improvement." Shuddering from the cold, Beverly wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she'd thought to grab her shawl. Was she always so cold before the abscess, or was it a matter of all the weight she was losing? "I'm...I'm not getting better. For so long, they smiled and reassured me, and insisted I'd be recovered in a few months; now they're not smiling or reassuring...they're asking if I've written up a will. How do you respond to that?"
"Stand down, Beverly." Leo inched toward her. She'd never seen him before and he didn't want to change that, but if it was a matter of being seen or letting her jump to her death, he knew the choice he'd make—he'd make that choice in a heartbeat. "There's still hope—there's still a chance! Don't give up, please!"
A sudden wave of dizziness crashed through Beverly; though she'd been steady on her feet all day, she felt herself tip dangerously and latched onto the waist-high concrete wall. With a hoarse shout, Leo dove for her, snatching her from the edge, tucking her against his front, and rolling with the landing. Once the spinning stopped Bev found herself sprawled across his solid plastron. She took a moment to catch her bearings, puzzled by the dusky tan surface beneath her, but quickly closed her eyes. After all, her hogosha didn't want to be seen; he made that abundantly clear and she promised to respect it. A surprisingly gentle hand cupped her chin and tilted it upward—an invitation? She hesitated, then complied, meeting his eyes between the shadows in hers.
Molasses brown eyes focused on pale blue and widened in disbelief—disbelief, wonder, even bewilderment, but not horror. "Hogosha?" Leo heaved a frustrated sigh and stared right back at her.
"Leonardo," he corrected dryly and brushed a smudge of soot off of her cheek. "I saved your life, you stubborn woman…don't throw it away."
Leonardo's accusation hurt—hurt as though he slapped her instead of rebuked her—but Beverly's blood boiled with anger more than pain. "I have never wanted to die!" she snarled at him as the heart monitor beeped in protest. "I'd never do that—I'd never leave Bree alone! How—How dare you, Leonardo?! How dare you?!"
"What am I supposed to think?!" he shouted. "You know better than to blow off symptoms—you know you can't write it off as nothing—if you don't get better, you'll DIE!" His voice cracked at the very thought.
"NOW you care!"
"I'VE ALWAYS CARED!"
The cat was officially out of the bag. Beverly's eyes narrowed in disbelief—his crestfallen expression changed that disbelief to shock, then finally to a soft wondering gleam. Right as her lips parted—to argue or confirm?—hurried footsteps bolted toward her door. The mutant and his companion turned to the door as one then sprang into action. Beverly switched on the television and began channel surfing like a life depended on it; Leonardo dove into the dark bathroom, latched onto the shower curtain rod, swung himself upward, and wedged himself up against the ceiling in the tiny alcove.
The hallway door swung open and cracked against the wall. "Miss Hardy, are you—" The tech's panicked expression morphed into a cringe at the sight of Beverly apparently glued to a god-awful soap opera. Onscreen, a man and woman screamed obscenities then tackled one another and tore at eachother's clothes.
"Shush!" Bev scolded the tech with all the tenacity of a crazed fan, "this is the best part—he's been cheating on her!"
The tech's face seemed to turn inside out at the thought. He made a passable attempt at checking the room for any signs of danger, then stomped back out the door grumbling under his breath. "Sick people'll watch anything!"
The door swung shut at a reasonable volume this time, and Bev focused intently on the departing footsteps. When the hallway was silent and still again, she switched off the TV with a scoff.
"He's cheating on her?" Leo remarked dryly, leaning against the door-frame to the bathroom.
She rolled her eyes. "It's a soap opera, Leo. Of course, he's cheating on her."
Earlier that month, Leonardo witnessed yet another loud altercation between Donatello and Amber, and finally intervened. 'Do you two even know why you're fighting anymore?!' he'd demanded, but neither had an answer. They betrayed each other's trust, found out in the worst way possible, blew up all over each other without talking it out like responsible adults, and proceeded to spend three months squabbling like children. Fast forward to that morning, the two idiots were zonked out in each other's arms looking sickeningly cute, and whaddaya know, they weren't fighting anymore.
Could it be, Leo wondered with a sinking feeling, that he and Beverly were falling into the same trap? The very idea appalled him, but he couldn't dismiss it. He pushed Bev away just like Donnie pushed Amber away; she got too close, got too comfortable with him, so he shut her out just like Amber shut out Donnie. Just like Donnie when Amber found his log, he blamed Beverly, provoked her into a screaming match; just as Amber had, he let his heart show at the worst possible moment.
Stress can sometimes worsen serious illness, Donatello had warned that evening. If he'd been more intent on supporting Beverly than proving his point, he would have handled this crisis in a more rational manner. That said, though, the heart was hardly rational. When he looked back up, a pair of molasses-brown eyes watched him expectantly, their owner thoroughly unimpressed by his long awkward silence.
"I know," he admitted when he finally broke that silence, but he wasn't sure exactly what he was admitting. "Sometimes these things just happen and we don't recognize the warning signs."
"Nice royal we," Bev pointed out sharply. "We don't want to die—We have been doing everything in our power to not die, thank you very much, and we certainly don't appreciate being treated like a brain-damaged invalid."
"I know," Leo repeated, abashed; already he was feeling the urge to pace again. "I just…" He trailed off with a heavy sigh through his nose. Silently, he padded over and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed - gently, so as not to jostle her. "Bev, I'm sorry…I didn't mean what I said." She arched a brow at him but said nothing, clearly waiting for him to try harder. "I've always got my emotions under strict control—I don't let things get to me, I don't waste time on things that don't matter, and I certainly don't lose my temper like that, not easily!" Heat spread through his cheeks and he turned to stare at the floor. "Whenever you're involved that all goes out the window," he confessed at half his previous volume. "I pace—I get flustered—I overreact—I don't think before I speak! I—I don't understand..."
A sudden feather-light touch on his face—an elegant hand cupping his cheek—cut his train of thought off at the station and blew up the tracks behind it. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he met her eyes. "Gee," she commented in a deadpan, "that sounds pretty familiar, huh?" The pad of her thumb brushed over his suddenly dry lips. "Leonardo, you're my blind spot…it's only logical that I'm yours."
Her blind spot…the very thought made his pulse stutter. "Yeah," he mumbled in embarrassment, "that...sounds about right…I've never had a…a blind spot...before."
"You'll get used to it," she promised with a teasing smile then patted his cheek and folded her hands in her lap. "Worst case scenario, Bosco gets a girlfriend." He cringed at the image that popped into his head at the statement then shook his head violently to rid himself of it. Some things even meditation couldn't fix. "You didn't just realize this, Leo…why'd you hide it, to begin with?" He sighed.
"Relationships mean emotions. Emotions mean stress, stress means losing sleep and losing energy, and that can affect your health—the last thing I ever wanted was for you get sicker." She stared him down and it was all he could do to not squirm like a guilty child. Beverly had a knack for getting answers out of people and she seemed especially adept at getting answers from him; sometimes he didn't even need to say a word. This was clearly one of those times.
"You stubborn ass," she grumbled at him, the last word surprising him; he'd never heard her curse before. "Do you think I'm selfish enough to demand a relationship with you? –when I could still keel over without warning? I wouldn't wish that baggage on anyone, much less my Hogosha." It took a moment for the words to process.
"You weren't…you don't…?" That soft hand caught his cheek again but she otherwise maintained her distance.
"I do," she admitted, "but until I'm healthy, it wouldn't be fair to start anything." Wait for me? The request was implied but rang clearly anyway. It was a request he had every intention of honoring.
Late that evening, Leonardo made his way to Bree's usual hotel; he was tired and sore, and longed for nothing more than a comfortable bed and several hours' sleep. Instead he found a sock tied to the handle of the balcony's sliding glass door and Bosco sulking by the railing sans harness. Leo heaved a frustrated sigh at the dark room beyond the glass door and blackout curtains. He should have expected this, really; Mikey insisted on accompanying them upstate to 'comfort his Babycakes,' but apparently Mikey had a strange view of comforting her. Perhaps, Leo considered as he lowered himself to the cool pavement in an easy sprawl, the canoodling couple inside deserved a little time alone. He'd put them through a heck of a lot of hardship in his misguided attempt to protect Beverly; he only hoped they'd forgive him with enough time.
Bosco whined in greeting, his tail whumping against the concrete as he army-crawled closer to Leo. "They locked you out, too, huh?" he asked the dog. "Probably for the best—you don't need that kind of education." The retriever gave an annoyed snuffle and dropped his chin back onto his paws, one blue eye and one brown watching the distant traffic. Leo buried his fingers in the dog's thick brown fur; he found 'the spot' almost immediately scratched until Bosco was rendered a contented groaning pile of pooch. Bosco was, after all, off-duty so long as he wasn't being Beverly's eyes.
The sky never seemed so clear back home. Leo loved New York—he loved the noisy city rank with smog—but all the light pollution and the ever-present blanket of exhaust blocked out the stars at night. To think that only a few cities away, the night sky shone as much light as Broadway. Could Beverly see that skyline from her hospital room? Silly though it may seem, he hoped she had the best view in the whole city.
"You have strange tastes in art." The unexpected comment startled a yelp from Bree but Beverly smiled into her book. The mutant lounging along the kitchen windowsill only just announced himself, but he'd been there for quite some time yet.
"Oh, look Bevvy," Bree snarked, "your stalker's here."
"Come in, Leonardo," Bev greeted instead of rising to her cousin's bait. "Care for a closer view of the Garden?" Instead of answering, Leo hopped down to the floor and paced into the parlor to silently consider the newest addition to the army of prints—a massive three-paneled lithograph hung proudly between a star-spangled Von Goff and a surrealist print of an impossibly endless staircase. Leo wouldn't quite call himself a master of art appreciation, but he wasn't sure what to make of the new print—a trio of paintings that all seemed one giant orgy gone wrong. At his back, Bree grumbled something about 'sewer-savages who can't appreciate art' and retreated to her room, presumably to sulk. Beverly gingerly rose from her recliner and dragged her IV stand over to him, standing at his side in admiration of the bizarre images.
"The Garden of Folly," she explained in quiet reverence. "It's one of Jerome Bosch's most well-known works, and it's his most infamous triptych. Not an artist has walked this earth with such talent and vision as Bosch had…" She shook her head, her dark brown eyes shimmering. "So many artists paint only what they see…If El Bosco painted what he saw, what demons the man must have had in his head."
At a sudden snuffle nearby, Leonardo shoved Beverly behind him, both swords drawn in the blink of an eye. "Relax, Hogosha," she chastised, "it's just Bosco." Leo blinked in disbelief, wondering if he misheard her. "Come, boy...it's okay, he's friendly." A shape crept from the shadows of the sofa—a Labrador with warm brown fur, a brown left eye and a blue right. A vibrant orange harness with a handle stuck up from his back and a large obnoxiously bright drool bandana—helpfully emblazoned with the name "El Bosco"—hung around his neck. As the dog went about acquainting himself with Leo's bare feet, Beverly filled in the blanks.
"Doctor Crane says my…my vision damage will probably be permanent. I'm not legally blind so I didn't merit a full-fledged service dog, but Bree insisted I'd be safer with some help." Bosco growled at Leo's left foot as though expecting it to attack him; an unexpected twitch of a toe sent Bosco nearly through the roof with a terrified yelp and he dove behind Beverly for protection. Beverly chuckled and bent to scratch behind his ears. "He's a service training washout—something about being too rambunctious?—but he's more than enough for me. At the very least, he can cover my blind spot."
As Leonardo dozed against the glass door, he almost fancied he saw the stars begin to ripple and spread, and the distant skyscrapers weave and dance. Even as the world around him turned topsy-turvy, a pair of molasses-brown eyes grinned at him from his memories. In dreams, it was quite clear to him: Beverly didn't need the best view in the city.
She was the best view.

UP NEXT: beware the loincloth in Strength and Weakness
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A New Lease on Life