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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
- 36
- 37
- 38
Precautions for sensitive topics, mild cliffhanger, and a brief bit of sexual content. (oral, male receiving)
Suggested Listening: Crowded House "Don't Dream It's Over," Sick Puppies "You're Going Down"

36: Dragons at the Door
July 10th, evening
When life seems intent on throwing crisis after crisis at you, the good times can seem that much sweeter. Some people will throw themselves headlong into good food, drink, and company, and drown their worries in frivolities. Sometimes they are even able to forget, if only for a moment, the demons waiting to pounce when the festivities are through. In her previous life, Amber was very much the sort of person who lived for the day, if not in the moment; in this life, she can't tear her eyes away from the demons in her dreams and the dragons at her door.
Suddenly, she realized the obvious: the smoke detector was going ballistic and she just spent a good ten minutes staring down at the bowl of salad as though it was responsible. If the rest of the small, strange family didn't already think she was bonkers, this surely took care of that. Jolted from her stupor, she rushed to save dinner. Smoke belched out of the oven the moment the door was yanked open and the shrieking smoke detector was joined by matching shrieks in the lab, utility room, and the bathroom. Drippings from the two over-filled casserole pans igniting on the heating element drew a strangled curse from the frantic brunette. Worst of all, the cheese on top was absolutely blackened.
By the time the smoke was cleared and the oven was turned off, Amber was a complete mess. The main course was irrevocably ruined. Not half an hour before Beverly and Briallen were to arrive for their first official visit, and dinner was already a disaster.
"What in the name of—" Donatello blurted, skidding into the kitchen. A quick survey of the room revealed the answers—no fire, two burned lasagnas, and a frazzled brunette slumped over facedown at the table, her face buried in her shaking hands. "Where's Mikey?" he asked hurrying to her side. "He was supposed to be helping!"
"Cleanin' his room," Amber grumbled into her palms. "'pparently Bree's a neat freak…my guess is he thinks a clean room will mean tuna for dessert." The dry jab was followed by silence, and sure enough, she looked up to find him completely nonplussed. "Never mind." No way was she explaining that one to him! She already had sex on the brain all the time, no need to prove it to him!
"He was supposed to be in here with you," Don reminded, glancing pointedly over at the scorched pans. "This was a two-person job, you handled the salad and sides and he'd manage the oven and table!" Frustrated at his younger brother's refusal to adhere to the plan, he tugged at his neck, scanning the rest of the kitchen. The loaves of garlic bread weren't burned, Mercy's homemade pesto was fine, and they still had a large dish of naked penne and salad…and, of course, there was Donnie's specialty for dessert, already chilling in the fridge. The main course was ruined, true, but dinner could be salvaged.
"Whoa, Dude!" Michelangelo uttered from the doorway. "What happened?"
"You walked off and left her holding the bag," Donnie reminded him shortly. "My guess is the lasagna caught fire."
"Mid salad-toss," Amber grumbled. "It shall be mourned."
"But dinner—!" Donnie cut off Mikey's whine with a stern glare.
"Pizza." If not for his older brother's disappointment and his sister's embarrassment, Mikey would have been happy enough to cry. "I'll order, you fetch. Got it?" With a nod and grin, the youngest took off for his bedroom like a shot; mid-way, he leaped up into the air with an air-punch and an excited whoop. The genius quickly called in a pickup order to the usual parlor, then set to helping Amber set the table. "We should've just done that to start with, huh?" the genius shrugged, and his girlfriend gave a wry laugh.
"Hindsight, right?" Her smile fell away as she stood and paced toward the fridge. "Sorry…I jus'—I got distracted. It wasn't Mike's fault, I should'a—" Unable to put her thoughts into words, she started over. "I just can't help feeling something horrible's 'bout to happen, Dee," she admitted. "I mean, think about it—We've been dodgin' the bullet this whole time but things jus' keep getting' worse; now we fin'ly have a break—a chance to breathe! Hell," she swore, her nose crinkled in annoyance, "if I was writing this story, this'd be when I'd randomly gank some poor sucker to force the protagonist's hands!" Sometimes she really worried him…
"That's just it, Amber." She turned to face him again in confusion. A rough-skinned hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing along her healed cheekbone; unwilling to sit idly, the other hand sought her own. "This isn't a story," he reminded softly, his eyes gentle but insistent. "It isn't a dream. This is our life, Sweetheart, and sometimes in life, you just have to take things day by day. Enjoy the good times without looking for foreshadowing…when crises happen, they tend to happen without warning."
"Sometimes I wonder," she admitted wearily. "Sometimes I feel sure this is all jus' some radge-arse dream—that I'll wake up on Ma Willis' lumpy old couch an' hear Aaron retching in the other room." Amber shook her head in disbelief, remembering the last normal day she had: waking up on that sofa, Aaron hung-over, bullshitting their way back to Willsdale and bickering about music…true to life, there was no warning before everything changed.
In this life, she found omens at every door. Ticking clocks filled the white noise and impossible dust glowed in warning. Intuition and premonition crept along her skin like a creature with more legs than substance. Everywhere she turned she found reminders of her old life and faces she thought she left behind. All the while, her dreams were full of Donatello, of pleas for remembrance, of her loved ones falling apart without her. Who was to say which was the dream and which was reality? Someone once said All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream; perhaps, she considered silently, it was never a matter of dream or reality, but of many shades of grey.
Michelangelo watched silently from the doorway as Donnie folded Amber in his arms, nuzzling nose-first into her hair with a sigh. Something happened after the youngest left the kitchen, but what, he wasn't sure. Even so, it warmed his heart to see the progress the pair made. At one time, Amber was too busy pushing the genius away and trying to convince herself she neither loved nor needed him; Donatello spent much time unable and unwilling to believe he even had a chance and hung up on his suspicions.
What a difference a few months could make. Their feud was over, if not resolved, and ever since they stunk up the pantry, they were growing closer together. Shell, they were even sleeping together! Granted, they claimed it was so she wouldn't have nightmares, but Mikey wasn't fooled in the slightest. Before they 'moved in together,' even a shy glance from Donnie would send Amber's hormones into overdrive; the most innocent of gestures left her reeking of chemical come-ons.
Now, though the two were increasingly touchy-feely, the air was clear, not a whiff of horny people to be smelt. Someone's gettin' some! The realization brought an ear-to-ear grin to Mikey's face, but he couldn't help feeling proud; all his meddling paid off after all. Before they could realize he returned and assume he was suddenly growing in maturity, he nipped that in the bud. "D'aww…our lil' Donnie's all growed-up." Sure enough, Amber's eyes flew open in surprise at the sudden tease, but Don didn't let her go; if anything, he held her closer and shot the youngest a warning glance over her frizzy hair.
"Your turn," he reminded Amber. Without ever leaving his arms, the embarrassed woman snatched a plastic spice shaker off the counter and chucked it at Mikey, nailing him right between the eyes. Even as he whined about the blow, Mikey knew it could have been worse…she could've nailed him in the nads. Again. She was definitely gettin' some.
The first time Amber met Beverly Hardy, she was struck by how strong, capable, and confident the woman came across. Bev didn't really look sick, just tired and a little worn. Now, after yet another relapse and a sudden drastic downturn, no one could ever doubt she was incredibly ill.
The woman shuffling along beside Leonardo was pale and tired, and her cheeks and arms were thinner than before. A pair of damp marks on her pant leg and shirt sleeve—sweaty imprints of two three-fingered hands—indicated Leo carried her most of, if not all of, the way to the lair. She was visibly unsteady and weak and seemed to barely have the energy to keep herself upright. Even though her molasses-brown eyes were slightly sharp behind her glasses, she had an air of being too tired to bother acknowledging what troubled her.
After the initial re-introductions were through, Leo led Beverly to the kitchen table and helped her to her seat. Even after she was seated—under silent protest and sharp looks at the eldest—he hovered awkwardly and set about making sure she was as comfortable as possible. By the time he brought over a cup of fresh tea—another of Splinter's special 'medicinal blends' that seemed to only make people sicker—it was blatantly obvious that Leo was being more than over-protective of her. When Mikey arrived with the pizzas and hurried over to give her a hug, he found himself blocked by a six-foot guard turtle.
Amber and Mercy locked eyes from opposite sides of the kitchen, unseen by the rest. A silent understanding passed between them shared in a series of facial expressions and discreet gestures, and Mercy strode out the door. "Hey, Stick-Ass, ya got a sec?" the blonde called over her shoulder. "Need a hand with somethin'." He visibly hesitated, glancing warily at Beverly, but she steadfastly refused to look at him; instead, she turned to strike up a conversation with the brunette already fussing over Bosco. Something was wrong, Leo could feel it…but what? He'd done everything he could to make her comfortable and ensure she lacked for nothing…right? Finally, he followed Mercy out to the dojo.
In the kitchen, Beverly's irritation finally broke through her carefully maintained mask. "I'm gonna clobber him," Bree groused under her breath. "He's been treating ya like a china doll all night! Not to mention last time he brought you that tea it made ya puke."
"Not surprisin'," Amber admitted with a lopsided smirk. "It's not one of Splinter's better blends. Feel like somethin' that tastes better?"
"You wouldn't happen to stock bourbon, would you?" Bev asked awkwardly.
"Daron keeps Bourbon, but he only ever shares it with Raph…if he comes out, I'll ask, but if he doesn't, it'd be rude to just help ourselves to it." Despite the negative response, her eyes lit up in excitement. "Wait…Bourbon's a variety of Whiskey, right? Y'ever tried Scotch Whisky?" Like a cat hearing a can-opener, Raphael rumbled through the doorway the moment the bottle came uncapped, and eagerly held out his usual glass.
At the first sip, Beverly's face seemed to almost turn inside out—bourbon is made primarily from corn and is much sweeter than Scotch, and she wasn't expecting the strong bite. By the second smaller sip, notes of spice, heather, and smoky wood shone through the strong liquor. Perhaps, she mused as she joined Raphael and Amber in a cross-cultural toast for good health and better company, she would fit in with this family better than she first believed.
From the moment Mercy led Leonardo into the Dojo, he was bullish and impatient. Now, after being warned that he was babying Beverly, he was beyond irate. "I'm not being overprotective," he insisted sternly. "You don't know her—you don't know the sort of challenges she's faced, or what she has trouble with! How could you even begin to believe you'd understand what's called for and what's excessive?"
"No, Ass-Breath, I don't know her," the blonde grumbled at him. "Other'n what ya've told us, I dunno a damn thing about 'er, but it don't take knowin' someone to see the obvious. She's feelin' stifled, I kin guarantee it."
"And on what are you basing this assumption?" he demanded staring her down. "Your addiction?!"
"Fracture in L3 and L2," Mercy recited in an almost deadpan. "Surgically fused to L1 an' L4. Stable fracture in right kneecap. Four ribs bruised, two cracked. Hairline fracture in left hip socket. Nerve damage in back surroundin' fractured vertebrae. An' on top of that," she added with a stern glare, "three years restricted to a cane, four years 'a torture disguised as physical therapy, an' a whoppin' eleven years of pain management an' opiate pain pills." For a few breaths, Leonardo just stared at her in disbelief, then he stated,
"You lost me." Denim blue eyes rolled, their owner heaving an exasperated sigh.
"I'm saying I' been in yer shoes, Dumbass," she clarified shortly. "I' seen what happens when ya get too careful with those ya care about. That braided lunatic," she called out loudly enough to be heard in the kitchen, "thought it'd be fun ta jump in front of a bus!" Sure enough, Amber hollered out from the kitchen,
"Oi! I was hit by a van in the crosswalk—there's a difference!" Mercy grinned at the familiar banter and turned back to the non-plussed leader.
"Amber was hit by a drunk driver after I moved out," the blonde elaborated in a lower tone. "That list was jus' the major stuff…healin' took years, an' she never really got past the worst of it. Aaron 'n I spent a lotta time treatin' her like she was about to break, 'n it pissed 'er off like crazy." That was the simple explanation. A more accurate one would have acknowledged that the two blondes' over-protective bubble-wrapping nearly broke the trio's long-time friendship. Mercy swatted away the memory like a mosquito and added without emphasis, "Yer makin' the same mistake with this Beverly person, an' it ain't gonna end well."
At the beginning of the conversation, Leo was angry and denied any wrongdoing. As the skinny blonde spelled out her reasoning and explanations, though, he began to wonder if she had a point…and remembered the day he and Beverly got into their first serious fight. 'We don't want to die!' the ill woman had snapped at him, turning his 'royal we' back on him with surprising fire. '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!'
He was her blind spot; it was only logical that she was his, too. "I don't know what to do," he admitted softly, his feet itching and his shoulders tight. "I don't know how to help her…how to protect her…how to stop—stop worrying about her." Two sets of blue eyes met, the lighter pair helpless and the darker pair awkward. "She's strong—the strongest person I've ever met—and she's been through so much…far too much…" He broke the awkward gaze and turned instead to stare through the meditation corner, picturing the day he finally came clean to the rest of his family about the Hardy cousins. "All I've ever wanted was to help her, to keep her safe, to take away her pain, but I just keep causing more instead."
The ninja fell into silent rumination, never noticing Mercy's eyes stray to the open door. As she suspected, Briallen hovered nervously just outside the door, one fist poised as though she'd intended to knock. At the blonde's wink—a gesture completely unnoticed by Leo—Bree retreated to the kitchen with a lighter heart, seamlessly blending in with the cheerful gathering crowded around the kitchen table.
Beverly was Bree's cousin, but honestly, they were more like sisters than cousins; they were raised together, lived together, and clung to one another in the hardest of times. Leo was the man her cousin liked, and as Bev's cousin-slash-sister-slash-BFFFE, it was Bree's job to hate Leo's guts and see him as not good enough to shine Bev's shoes. Despite the younger woman's determination to live up to this unspoken job description, and despite months of forcing herself to be less-than-civil every time he was around, she was starting to realize the truth.
Leonardo wasn't human, or at least not fully human, and he was undeniably male…and even human men weren't known for being bright or sensible. He was a bit of an idiot about Bev, and a bit of a meathead about his brothers, but his heart was in the right place. Maybe, she considered as the eldest brother slipped through the doorway, she should give him a break. Maybe she should lay off for a while. Better that he was too careful of Beverly than careless of her.
Dinner went surprisingly well after the drama was over, and it was quite clear the two families would be able to mesh relatively easily. Amber, Beverly, Donatello, and Master Splinter discussed the arts in great detail. Bree and Mercy compared their college education—one was studying to be a teacher, the other focused on a degree in agriculture. Other than a few rough spots—a couple passing trains, a minor flashback, bad table manners from Raphael and Michelangelo, and a perfectly timed bout of teasing that resulted in Amber spraying her water all over Donnie and Mikey getting beaned with the parmesan shaker—the dinner was a success.
Hours later, Mikey and Bree were ready to head back to the loft, even though Beverly wasn't quite ready to call it a night. The two families quickly came to an agreement: Mike would escort his girlfriend home early and Leo would bring Beverly back in time for her evening IV dose. Eager to have the loft to themselves for a change, the two lovebirds gladly seized the chance. After a long shared shower, they crawled into her bed to get dirty again.
Out of the blue, a loud thump echoed from the lower floor of the building. The naked couple froze, her lips still stretched around his shaft and his fingers still buried in her curly hair. Their eyes met in blatant alarm; Bree pulled away and ninja or not, Mikey couldn't help whining at the loss of her mouth. Sure enough, that thump was followed by two more, then a harsh curse. The ground floor of the Hardys' building housed a small-time electronics parts store, but…
"The place downstairs is closed, right?" the mutant asked under his breath. Bree nodded, and the sound of shattering glass nearby tore a frightened gasp from her lungs. "Closet," he urged tugging his shorts back on then shoving his shell cell at her. "Sound the SOS then call the cops—don't move 'til I come for ya!" He winced; it wasn't meant to sound sexual! "Better get dressed, Babe." Before she could talk him down, he crept out to the dark parlor, intent on getting answers.
Bree watched him disappear into the shadows, her eyes watering and her fingers clenching his cell. She knew about his training—knew he could more than hold his own in a fight—but in the moment, watching him vanish into the darkness felt a little like losing him. Shutting that thought off at the station, she jabbed the big red button on the phone's display and ducked into the closet. "Be safe, Blue Boy," she murmured, waiting for the police dispatch to pick up on her phone. "Please be safe…"
Leonardo and Donatello arrived to find an impending disaster—the Hardys had Dragons at their door. Lefty hovered awkwardly at the mouth of the alley, his shifty blue eyes darting around for threats. Northpaw and Hun weren't anywhere in sight, but the back door was wide open—the shattered windowpane told the leader how they got in.
On the rooftop next door, Donatello fixed a venomous glare on Lefty. The con seemed so sincere in the storage unit, so concerned about righting the wrongs of his leader…now he was acting like any other punk. How could they have trusted him?
A barely audible thump marked the arrival of the youngest ninja, and the duo turned to acknowledge him, only to freeze in disbelief at the state of his shorts "Good grief," Leo grumbled at his younger brother. "You couldn't at least tuck?"
"Ya think I planned this?" Mikey grumbled. "Like I'm gonna sit this out over a tent?! Sorry, not sorry." Leo face-palmed. "Stupid Purple Dragons…they're gonna turn my balls blue." Donnie opened his mouth to start in on a perfectly logical but entirely awkward reminder about facts and myths regarding testicles; just in time, Leo issued a brain-duster to the youngest and the genius' teeth met with a snap. Right…maybe not the best time.
The team quickly scattered. Mikey and Leo hurried into the loft for Bree, the girls' go-bags, and Beverly's medical supplies, while Donnie monitored the situation on the outside. Approaching sirens effectively scattered the trio of troublemakers. With the cargo gathered and the police apprised of the break-in, the brothers and Briallen took off for the Lair. Whether or not Hun or his goons realized the connection between the brothers and the Hardys was uncertain, but for the time being, everyone was officially grounded to the Lair proper.
Time for hesitation was at an end—the time for action was at hand. No longer could the strange family wait for Hun to lose interest or put off what must be done.

UP NEXT: SMUT in This is How the World Ends

A couple notes:
Radge-arse – Radge is a Scots slang term for crazy, therefore it's a crazy-ass dream.
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." – Edgar Allen Poe.
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A New Lease on Life