Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

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
- 53
- 54
- 55
Again, beware the Scots, or just hit the Glossary. It gets rare again once the Absolutes arc is over.
Suggested Listening: RUSH "Bravado," Imagine Dragons "It Comes Back to You," "I Bet My Life," Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show "Feels Good"

53: Absolutes 2
The Living Cannot Hear the Dead
Willsdale, Missouri
Day 2, afternoon
Willsdale Public Cemetery was always a calming place to Amber O'Brien—a place for quiet reflection and renewed appreciation for the life she lived. Now, on the second anniversary of her death, the cemetery was much the same as before but her feelings were different. After all, she realized with a strange sort of cringe, she was buried in this cemetery now and visiting in a new body. Once she was sure her new life was like a particularly horrible fanfiction; now she was starting to think it was more of an exercise in irony. Either way, it was entirely screwed up.
Logically, she knew she was buried several feet beneath that speckled grey headstone inscribed with her name but she also knew she was standing above that grave alive and well. Faced with proof of her death - a sagging grave housing her rotting corpse, her name on a headstone engraved with some ambiguous flower, and nosegay of wilting locust blossoms and a bouquet of silk florals - she cringed and struggled to wrap her head around it all. She was dead…but she was alive…but she was dead…she needed a drink.
Amber shook the thought away and turned to seek out Ellis Ross' grave as promised, but stopped in her tracks. Mere yards away stood a tall stately Yellowwood Tree already decked with bunches of delicate white blossoms; beneath the tree was a wrought iron bench bearing a memorial plaque. Upon closer inspection, the message became clear: This rainy day, too, shall pass. It was something she often told her loved ones in her previous life—a promise that the hard times wouldn't last forever. Sure enough, the connection wasn't just in her head—the placard also bore the words In Memory of Amber Jean O'Brien. A sad smile tilting her lips, Amber reflected on the sight. Sure, it was proof that her loved ones remembered her and missed her, but more importantly, it was proof that she finally managed to get through to them—that her reminders of patience, faith, and determination got through to them over time. Shame she had to croak for it to sink in.
Enough brooding over her fucked up existence; she promised to visit the grave of Mercy's stepfather and deliver to him proof of her success in her life after death. Upon turning her back on her gravesite, finding the Barret family plot was easy enough – Clarity Ross' birth family was one of the only local families well-off enough for their own plot, and in a coincidence that surely infuriated Clarity, Amber's grave was right outside the Barret plot's wrought iron fencing. Amber was sure Clarity would have insisted on her second husband being buried in that plot.
Sure enough, a simple stone marker bearing the name of Ellis Ross stuck out among the more elaborate stones engraved with virtue names. Beside Ellis' headstone, barely a yard away from Amber's grave, stood another – a pink granite marker engraved with the name of the also-somewhat-dead best friend Amber left behind in her new world. "Angela Mercy Ross," she greeted the unhearing occupant of the grave with an odd smile and laid her offering of wildflowers across the top of the headstone. "Funny seein' you here, Merse – yer here but I just saw ya yesterday. I know yer holdin' down the fort for me like ya promised. Just hope that you an' Raph aren't givin' Leo too much shite while I'm not there to feign disapproval."
Shaking her head and reminding herself of her purpose in the cemetery, the braided other-worlder turned back to Ellis' gravestone, retrieving a small round object from her pocket – Mercy's eight-month sobriety chip. "Hey, Mister Ross. Long time no see, huh?" Amber glanced around the cemetery feeling a bit ridiculous for talking to a rock slab but continued anyway. "Mercy says hi—I'm takin' care of 'er for ya, just like always. She misses you – you an' Ma Ross both, though she won't admit it. She always did have more heart than she knew what to do with, huh?" Enough heart, even, to worry about her abusive mother's safety, but too much pride to outright ask Amber to check on her. Typical Mercy…and typical Amber to pick up the unspoken request anyway.
"Mercy's always been a strong woman." Amber fidgited with the metallic red chip. "She's even stronger now…she's learning to get past everythin' yer crazy-arse wife did, an' learnin' to fight the demons her own mother couldn't. It's sick that Merse got stuck in an alcoholic's body after everythin' Clarity put'er through, but she's making the best of it…she wanted you to have this, proof she's happy and safe." With another awkward glance around the cemetery, she laid the chip atop of Ellis' headstone; ridiculous though it sounded, the metallic surface seemed to wink at her in the bright sunlight as though Ellis' spirit was thanking her for the message. "I never thought I'd see the day, either, but there's more…she's found someone to love. Our little Blundie is in love, Mister Ross, after so long of bein' terrified of it…she's finally realizin' love ain't gotta hurt. Raph treats her right, too, so ya won't have to worry about'er anymore. She's among friends an' we're takin' care of 'er for ya, every one of us. Heck, even my Donnie's got 'er back an' their personalities are complete opposites."
"Angela?" Amber froze, easily recognizing the hoarse, slurred voice from her previous life; her blood shot straight from temperate to boiling in a single breath. Her eyes, instantly sharp, shot over her shoulder to the pale-haired woman standing at the entrance to the Barret plot. Hovering just inside the open gate, the sickly woman visibly shook herself from some delusion or inner turmoil. Once she was lucid again, her pale blue eyes focused on Amber's moss greens, sharp as glass. "Wha—Who are you?" the woman demanded shortly. "What are you doing here? This is a private cemetery plot!"
Clarity Alma Ross…of all the people Amber didn't want to run into. Worse yet, Clarity was visibly struggling with the deaths of her husband and daughter. Her long hair was coarse, tangled, and slick from lack of cares; she was just shy of sloshed and the stench of stale tequila clung to her disheveled clothes. As if all that wasn't proof enough she was falling apart, her hair was undyed—her natural pale ash blonde shone through the grey instead of the jet black she always stubbornly wore when Mercy was alive. Clarity lost everything that ever mattered to her and she was falling apart. It was almost enough to make Amber feel sorry for her…almost, however, was overruled when she recalled the many times she found Mercy hiding in her backyard, terrified out of her wits and nursing yet another new bruise or impending scar.
"Funny," Amber remarked to the sallow-skinned woman, quickly countering the other's hands-on-hips posture with her own crossed-arms stance. "I wasn't aware I needed written permission to visit the grave of my friend…or did I, perhaps, need to purchase a ticket from you?" Predictably Clarity scowled, eyes darting to Mercy's gravestone then back to Amber.
"You're too young to have known my Angela," the older woman snapped, "and she'd never be caught dead in the company of a hussy like yourself. Your hair is a disgrace—you should be ashamed."
Amber reached up to catch one of her many greyed locks with a bitter smile; thanks to Mercy herself, those grey streaks shone vibrant blue and soft purple amidst her natural brown hair. Clarity was so sure her daughter would share her mother's small-town distaste for the slightest sign of abnormality, but just the day before, Mercy was all in favor of dyeing Amber's hair into an eye-scarring rainbow. Thankfully Kimber's 'dye' stash was down to Rockin' Raspberry and Groovy Grape. Amber tucked the dyed lock behind her ear and retorted, "If my hair's a disgrace, then you're a farkin' crime against humanity, ya blootert boot!"•
Predictably, Clarity just blinked at her, confused and perhaps a bit concerned, but Amber couldn't quite make herself regret it…yet.
"Leave," the strung out older woman ordered with a scowl, "before I report you for tress—"
"—Ya did yer damndest to keep Merse away from me in life, Clair'ty!" Amber cut her off, her temper once again going straight from irritable to near-shouting at a moment's notice; Kimber's temper, it seemed, didn't improve any with stress. "Aaron an' I were the only ones in 'er corner—the only ones who never hurt 'er! Ya couldnae chase us aff in life, ya'll sure's Heel no' chase me aff in death, ya sadestic shite-breened caow—"•
Upon recognizing the familiar insult slipping past her lips and the harsh guttural tint coloring it, it was all she could do to cut off the end. Closing her eyes, she sucked in a forceful, calming breath through her nose, hissed it back out through her teeth, and tried again. She was already caught alive; the last thing she needed was to get arrested for finally yielding to the old urge to rearrange Clarity's perfectly aligned teeth. Time to leave—she needed to get the heck out of that graveyard before she blew her cover even more. Intent on a swift retreat, Amber stalked past Clarity with a grumbled, "Go crawl back in yer bottle a'ready—yer gonna anyway, so why wait?" Clarity gaped after her, torn between bewilderment and horror.
"Who…Who are you?" the older woman demanded, her voice cracking and her pale blue eyes wide in open fear. For Mercy…this was for Mercy, Amber reminded herself with a silent snarl. Mercy mattered more than Amber's grudge against Mercy's psychotic mother.
"Y' already know the answer to that," she retorted instead—admitting nothing and answering even less. "Go home, ya drunkard—yer honkin'a worm."•
It no longer mattered what Ginny O'Brien and Glen Devon fought over. In their eyes, nothing mattered ever since Ginny's only child was killed—nothing could make her and her father see eye to eye before, and that impossibility was even firmer now. This was just another such instance, a moment when Glen was stubborn, Ginny decided to be more stubborn, and the two butted heads when they couldn't out-stubborn one another.
Hurtful words flew between father and daughter in a near-constant volley. Sharp tongues spat poison at one another, the din filling the entirety of the upper floor of their home. Over on the landing, Amber stood frozen, eyes locked on the open doorway of her childhood bedroom. One hand clenching the wooden banister for dear life, she took in the sight of her mother and grandfather, struggling to comprehend that she was seeing her own kin. Half of her didn't want to believe it—half of her was sure her family would never have turned on one another over her death. The other half, however, realized that Ginny, Glen, and Douglas fought almost constantly even while Amber was alive; without a reason to continue pretending to get along, all bets were off.
"Put yer hands where I can see 'em."
The sudden order from behind, coupled with the bitter cold of something slick and metallic at the nape of her neck, jolted Amber back to herself. Glen and Ginny fell silent, turning to confront the intruder Douglas cornered on the stairs. This wasn't going to get any better, Amber realized with a dry, forceful swallow—not unless she could diffuse the situation. Shaky arms lifting in cooperation, Amber locked eyes with her grandfather. She never intended to get caught—she never intended for her family to realize she was really there. The whole plan was to leave them messages of patience and maybe, if she found someone sleeping, to wake them and pass off their visit as a dream. Of course, since when did anything ever go according to plan?
Parallel worlds do not collide. Travel between worlds and times is not possible even with secret ninjitsu techniques. The dead do not rise and the living cannot hear the dead. All these were plain to Amber in her last life - her very reality revolved around those absolutes - but this was no longer her world. She died in this world. She rose in another world to try again. She came to the defense of her grieving loved ones to save them from themselves. Now, one of those loved ones held the muzzle of his shotgun to the back of her neck in warning.
"Who are you?" Douglas demanded from behind her. His voice was even raspier than she remembered; she already knew he was drinking more, but the increased rasp in his voice suggested he also picked up smoking again. "What're ya doin' in my home?" Amber's eyes drifted to the floor; there was no alternative. Her new body – the body of her counterpart Kimber – was very different from the one Amber died in, but there were still similarities. Ever since her revival in her new world, Amber forced herself to not consider those similarities and differences; now her very life depended on those similarities and the differences could easily get her killed for invading her own home.
"Da," she mumbled to her father with shoulders sagging. "Mum, Gran'da…it's me…ish yer Ahmber."
If Amber thought it was awkward meeting up with Aaron again, that reunion had nothing on this one. After all, Aaron didn't have a gun to her head for the better part of the explanation—thanks, Da—and Aaron didn't spend the entire explanation repeatedly interrupting her and arguing with himself every time he did so. No, Aaron's awakening had nothing on this one.
It took the better part of an hour to convince her family of the truth—she really was their Amber despite the different appearance, she was really alive despite her best attempts, and she came back to keep them from killing each other with drama.
Once Douglas' Remington 12-gauge was no longer aimed at her brainstem, nothing held Amber back from what needed to be done. She threw everything she had into her tangent—every horrifying dream, every worry for their safety, every nasty word she heard them flinging at one another in her dreams, not a single punch was pulled. It was a lot to take in, especially with her rotting corpse housed a scant block away, but after enough proof, the family finally had no choice but to accept the truth.
Messages in spilled sugar and fogged windows – ghostly hands smearing mirrors and windows – little unexpected appearances of wildflowers on the table and curtains open in the parlor – from the first moment when she was able to impact her environment in those dreams, Amber did everything she could to tell her loved one "Stay strong, I love you and miss you." Now, however, she was finding out that some of those attempts didn't exactly pan out the way she expected. Messages were spelled backward, the 'flowers' she left were actually long-dead weeds, and in one instance, the curtains weren't drawn but yanked right off the rods. Oh well, it was the thought that counted, right? She cringed.
It took a while for Glen, Ginny, and Douglas to accept that their Amber was no longer completely dead, and understandably so. When all was said and done plans were made to meet at the Staggering Rat the next day around noon. After all, the last member of the family to notify owned that bar, and no matter how crazy the world got, to the O'Briens and the Devons, booze made it all better. Now, long after the impromptu meeting was disbanded, Amber and Ginny sat across from one another on the back porch, silently considering one another over hot tea. There was still much to be discussed before Amber could be confident in her family's safety from one another.
"Ya know," Amber admitted into her teacup, "I never thought you three would fall apart like this. I hoped you'd work together, not blame each other."
"Ya wouldn't understand, Jeanie-burd." Ginny stared off into the distance. "We tried, God knows we did…it just wasn't enough. Why didn't you come home?" she demanded, completely changing the subject. Amber easily recognized the tactic as her mother's go-to method of shifting the attention from her faults to the failings of others. "When yer house was destroyed, ya went to the Hall with the rest—ya never even let us know you were safe." Amber squirmed at the hurt in her mother's eyes. "We thought ya were dead, Amber—why didn't ya come home?"
"I dunno what to tell ya, Mum." Amber sighed hard through her nose. "I wasn't really all there—if I was in my right mind, I wouldn't've gone wandering off. If I was in my right mind…well, I probably wouldn't have come home anyway, to be honest."
"But why?" Ginny demanded in an almost shrill tone. "You would'a been safe here…ya could've come home fer a spell, we'd have taken care of ya, you an' Aaron both!" The name stopped Amber's heart cold—reminded her of what Mercy told her of the fiasco at her funeral.
"Mum…don't." Ginny flinched at her harsh tone. "Mercy told me what ya said to Aaron at my funeral—you blamed him for my stupidity even after he did everything he could to protect me. Now you have the nerve to tell me you'd have taken him in?" Amber set her cup down a little too roughly and lunged to her feet, pacing away to stand at the porch railing, eyes trained on the cemetery across the way. Calm…she needed to keep calm…what was done was done and being angry over water under the bridge was pointless…but Kimber's temper never failed to sweep her away with it.
"I wouldn't have come home an' you know it," she tried again, her words stilted and sharp from her forcibly deep and steady breathing. "After everythin' your church cronies did to me an' Mercy, ya really expected me to come home to you? From the time Mercy an' I got to Glenville we suffered for it—I was harassed in public, my home was vandalized, Mercy was threatened and followed, and all because we shared an apartment and split the bills!" Ginny shook her head in open confusion, visibly lost. "Those lovely ladies in your bible study group were convinced Merse an' I were a couple. Someone kept calling the cops on us over false charges of public indecency an' we were always finding pamphlets in our door warnin' about 'the sins of homosexuality!' You set your dogs on us an' you expected me to come home when I was at my weakest?!" It finally hit her that her voice was nearing a shout and her blood pressure was spiking; Amber forcibly reigned herself in, reminding herself yet again that she didn't come here to yell at her mother over past mistakes.
"Is that why you shut me out?" Ginny's voice was quiet, almost gentle; as much as Amber expected her mother to launch into a long tirade, the unexpected softness confused her. "I didn't send anyone after you an' I never told anyone you an' Miss Ross were anythin' more than friends. I told a few friends you were leaving for college together. I asked 'em to pray for your safety an' success, an' asked 'em to check in on you if they found 'emselves in Glenville." Ginny sighed through her nose, staring off in the direction of the ruins of her old church—a ruin not visible from her home. "I take it someone misinterpreted an' ran with it." Amber gaped.
"If you consider homophobic slurs painted on the siding an' flaming bags of horseshite on the front stoop running with it," she deadpanned. "You honestly had nothing to do with it?" Finally, Ginny looked more like herself again—glass-green eyes narrowed, one fine eyebrow arched in warning, and her arms crossed.
"I've never been anithin' but proud of ya, Amber Jean," she reminded shortly. "I've worried about ya, I've tried to steer you away from danger, an' I've done nothin' but wish the best for ya. I worried over yer never marryin' but if bein' with a woman makes ya happy, I'll deal with it." Amber winced.
"I don't do women," she retorted bluntly, "yer congregation's delusional." Ginny's wrinkle-lined lips quirked into a crooked smile and she gave a low, nasal chuckle. The tension completely diffused, Amber returned to her seat, taking up her now-cold tea and considering her mother silently, from her worn canvas shoes to the streaks of ivory shining in her auburn hair. Amber knew the older woman wouldn't want any more fuss made over their long feud—it wasn't in Ginny's nature to hash things out once the air was cleared and for once, Amber was fine with it. If her mother was, indeed, mostly blameless in the rift between them, Amber neither needed an apology from her nor wanted to upset Ginny by offering one of her own. There did, however, remain a small problem…
"You worried about my not marrying," she attempted nervously, and Ginny nodded in confirmation. "I had a reason for staying single…it's hard to explain, but there was someone I was waiting for…someone I already loved but couldn't have."
"That little speccy ya used to dream about, hm?" Amber winced. "Ya told us about 'im a few times when you were just a babe—said ya knew he was real, ya just had to find' im. We didn't have the heart to set ya straight, then ya suddenly stopped talkin' about 'im; we figured ya realized he wasn't real. Ya never stopped waitin' for 'im, did you?" The younger shook her head, embarrassed. "Are ya still waitin' for 'im, then?"
This, Amber realized nervously, had the potential to go incredibly wrong…but it also had the potential to go right. Was it worth the risk? If Ginny knew her daughter was in good hands, wouldn't it be worth it? After a moment of silent consideration, Amber gave a small, wry smile.
"No, Mum," she answered, "I'm not waitin' anymore…I found 'im. I found my Dunnie, Mum, an' he's worth all the time I spent waiting."
"Ya never told us his name was Donnie," Ginny remarked with a pointed frown, and Amber blanched. "Yer computer survived the weather, Amber Jean, an' we found yer story. If the Donnie ya wrote about is the same Donnie you dreamed about, he's not even human—I'd rather see ya with another woman than—than—"
"—Well, fortunately, ya'll never have to see me with 'im," Amber cut her mother off, cheeks blazing. "I don't expect yer approval, Mum, I never have expected it." She never expected approval, Amber admitted to herself, but nothing would have made her happier than getting said approval whether as a child or now, as a woman in love. "All I want is to know you can see past it and be happy for us," she added quietly. Ginny reached out to her daughter, smoothed her fingertips over the frizzy brown hair at her scalp, and gave a weak smile.
"If he makes you happy...if he's good to you an' good for you...if he's everythin' ya ever said he is..." She sighed and shook her head as if questioning her own sanity, then gave a weak one-armed shrug. "I guess I'll try to see past the scales."
The sleep fogging Donatello's brain drifted away, leaving drowsy confusion in its wake. Fumbling upright on the old, lumpy sofa, he scratched at the cat hair stuck to his left arm and took stock of his surroundings. Two calico cats sprawled across his lap—Asshat and Assbutt, if he recalled their insults correctly—snoring in tandem. Across the room, the fluffy black mop called Numbnuts glared at him in open derision from the back of the recliner. The sunlight seeping in between the blinds was starting to fade; Aaron should be home from work in about an hour or so.
Donnie somewhat remembered falling asleep on Aaron's sofa—at least, he remembered anxiously awaiting Amber's return, pacing himself into exhaustion, then flopping onto the sunken sofa with the faded spiral notebook he smuggled along—what woke him? The answer came to him with a familiar sound—the sound of falling water and a familiar voice singing off-key. Lips curling into a fond smile, the mutant carefully relocated the two clingy cats to the sofa, shoved Amber's journal under the sofa, and hoisted himself to his feet.
Sure enough, the bathroom door was closed, the sound of rain and an unfamiliar song filtering through the particleboard. After gently knocking to alert the occupant of his presence, he stepped through and locked the door behind him. Upon turning to greet his bathing companion, though, he was struck speechless—eyes locked on the textured glass shower door and the tantalizing glimpses of curvy flesh showing between the lacy whorls and condensation. Amber's hair, still streaked with blue and purple dye, was freshly washed and filling the bathroom with the sweet scent of coconuts; suds clung to her visible skin adding mangoes and pineapple to the tropical mix. She smelled like a vacation in paradise… "Hey, you," she greeted flashing a cheeky smile at him through the glass.
"Hey, yourself," he fired back playfully and set to stripping off his own clothing and his ever-present wraps and gear, folding them up on the duffel bag by the door. After all, he reasoned setting his glasses on the vanity, Aaron's over-sized shower stall was just large enough for two, he wasn't due back for a while yet, and if Amber wasn't up for company, she'd tell him so herself. Immediately upon closing the door behind himself, he took up a spot right behind her and pulled her into his arms. She eagerly leaned back into his plastron, humming in content at his gentle nuzzles. "I take it you found your family?"
"Yeah," she sighed, her head lolling to the side as his clever lips trailed down her neck to trace her shoulder. "I got caught an' almost shot, but it worked out. Da's started smokin' again an' Gran'da's almost entirely grey now. Mum's startin' to go white, too…an' she knows about ya." Donnie flinched, turning her to face him.
"You—you told her?!" he demanded in a near-squeak, but Amber rolled her eyes at him and ducked under the spray to finish rinsing off.
"Sure, Donnie," she snarked tossing him Aaron's shower gel. "I totally just waltzed right in there an' told my Mum I'm datin' a talkin' turtle. She's thrilled an' wants grand-eggies." His nonplussed expression told her the sarcasm went right over his head for once. Heaving a pointed sigh, she snatched the bottle back, sploited some soap on her scrub cloth, and bodily turned him away to scrub his carapace. "She's my mother, Dee—mums are friggin' psychic about their daughters. She figured it out on 'er own, don't ask how. Mum's finally accepted I ain't a lesbian—now she thinks I'm farkin' Scalie."
Over the next few minutes, the rest of the story came out and Amber filled Donnie in on all the insanity of her day. By that point, both were cleaned up and the water was running cool. Reluctantly they crept from the stall, dried off, and donned clean clothing from their bag. "I've mist'cha, Dee," Amber admitted as they made their way out to the sofa. "I know it's only been one night, but I missed fallin' asleep in yer arms…missed waking up with ya, too." …and missed knowing he wouldn't wake up with a massive crick in his neck from sleeping on his stomach.
"Sure you didn't just miss waking up with your legs over my shoulders?" he teased with a knowing grin; her faint blush and sheepish smile made that grin spread. "I certainly missed it," he admitted settling on the sofa and urging her to sit sideways across his lap; a hint of familiar pheromones wafting upward told him he wasn't the only one who missed their morning antics, either. "I talked with Aaron before he left for work earlier," he related changing the subject to something less loaded. "This place only has one bedroom but the brick shed out back is set up as a storm shelter now—it's wired for electricity and mostly finished inside. He's offered it to us for the remainder of our stay…and he had me haul his mattress out there for us." ...after issuing a threat against leaving any 'sticky stuff' on it. The blond was certainly a character.
The trailer was cramped, that was for certain. Aaron and Amber were the only ones small enough to fit on the short sofa, but Amber was a bit taller now and had to sleep scrunched up into a ball. Donnie, as a large, heavy, and ridiculously chivalrous sort, resigned himself to sleeping belly-down on the kitchen floor on a makeshift mattress of linens. Amber stilled, leaning back to meet his eyes. "Has he given you any trouble?" She didn't see Aaron volunteering to sleep on the sofa without dishing out some fake whining to go with it.
"Nothing I can't handle," he promised and ducked to nuzzle his snout against her nose. "He's a handful, I'll grant you that, but he's not totally unreasonable. He kinda reminds me of Mikey, in a way…if Mikey was a smartass redneck." Her intended response was cut off by an eager yowl from the kitchen, and both turned to confront the source: a small, lithe feline with sleek black fur and bright golden eyes.
"Kirk!" Amber beamed at the cat bounding toward them; a heartbeat later he leaped up into her lap and sniffed her over, scrubbing his cheeks on everything he could reach and uttering insistent mews.
"Kirk?" Donnie asked, a little disgruntled at the cat for interrupting his cuddles.
"Short for Kirkland." Amber eased the squirmy little critter up to his favorite shoulder and grinned at how loudly he purred. "He's my lil' buddy, Dee. Aaron always wanted me to keep 'im, since he always followed me home but it never—" She trailed off, feeling around the still-squirming Velcro-cat's ribs with a concerned moue. "Kiddo, ya've lost weight—yer gettin' skinny, what gives?"
"So the little shit-brick finally came home, huh?" Aaron called out from the kitchen just before the back door slammed. Amber and Donnie exchanged an awkward wince; they never even heard the door open. Despite their compromising position—Amber in Donnie's lap and Donnie looking entirely guilty—Aaron said nothing. He just lumbered over, plopped down beside them, and reached out to ruffle the fur between Kirk's ears. "He's never around anymore, not since ya died; he just hangs out where yer house was like he's waitin' for ya or somethin'." The couple exchanged a solemn glance, one worried and one resigned, both well-aware that Kirk would only get worse if he was left behind again.
"He is a good mouser," Amber admitted turning back to the purring lump on her shoulder. "Mercy's work in the garden's gonna start paying off come spring, then we'll need some help keepin' mice out'a the veggies…" Donnie warily reached out toward Kirk, flinched away when the cat moved unexpectedly, then cautiously smoothed his fingertips down Kirk's side. To his surprise, the scrawny feline leaned into his touch, purring loudly and arching its neat white whiskers at him in appreciation.
"He's a little underweight," he acknowledged feeling along the bumpy ribs almost visible through Kirk's fur. "Leaving him here would be cruel, especially since losing you affected him like this…I'll talk to Dad when we get back, okay? We'll see what we can do." As though realizing he was being discussed, Kirk gave an absurdly cute little sigh and nuzzled up under Amber's chin, already drifting off to sleep.
Amber and Donnie knew they couldn't stay in this world long—they didn't belong there and they were needed elsewhere—but for the moment, they were content to simply breathe. Aaron was safe, Amber's relatives were safe, and Clarity Ross was safe if a little more unhinged than before. Still, problems remained to be confronted, and first on that list was Kimber Bryant.

UP NEXT: In Donatello's defense, he was unsupervised in Parallel Worlds Do Not Collide

Glossary
• Ya couldnae chase us aff in life, ya'll sure's Heel no' chase me aff in death – You couldn't chase us off in life, you sure as Hell won't chase me off in death!
• Sadestic shite-breened caow— (fud) – again, sadistic shit-brained cow cunt. Amber is NOT a CLARITY fan.
• Blootert boot – blootered – very drunk, and boot – skanky or ugly woman. (emphasis on ugly on the inside)
• Yer honkin'a worm – You reek of tequila.
• Ish yer Ahmber – It's your Amber.
• Wouldn't've – In the lower Midwest we tend to cram as much as possible into as few syllables as possible. Intimidating? This just means would not have.
- 53
- 54
- 55
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A New Lease on Life