Day 5: Heartbreak

Garret stood back from the telscreen with a satisfied smile. At last! The sun should rise promptly at 6 am, and then the new communications system would be fully operational!

"A communications system?" Garret whirled in surprise to see Leo standing in the doorway. He hadn’t realized that he was speaking aloud; but then, maybe he wasn’t. Leonardo was a telepath, and there was no keeping secrets from those nuisances....

"Especially not when you think so clearly and loudly, Garret." Leo’s eyes flashed dangerously. "What kind of communications system is this?" Don’t lie to me, Leo added directly to his mind. Garret tried to think of a way to forestall the inevitable...

He gave up. "I’m going to establish a communications link with Houston Camp."

Leo’s eyes froze. "Houston Camp?" Garret knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Look, Leonardo, this is an incredible break-through. Our communications system is finally able to access solar power. No more tight-line communications; we can use the telscreens to talk to ANYBODY! There’s finally communication between the camps!" He wilted under Leonardo’s glare. "Isn’t that great?" he finished lamely.

"You mean," Leo said slowly. "You’re going to use the solar panels that have been attached to this structure for months?" At Garret’s nod, he continued, "You mean you could have established a communications link with Houston Camp at any time?" Garret looked away, and suddenly Leo’s calm attitude broke and he attacked. Garret found himself instantly on the floor with Leonardo’s fingers gripping his neck, pinching his windpipe closed. "YOU MEAN YOU RISKED MY BROTHERS’ LIVES FOR NOTHING?!!!! YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH! RAPH COULD BE DEAD NOW BECAUSE OF YOU!!!!!!"

Garret struggled with the words, gasping, "Leo...please...not like that...you don’t understand..please let me...’splain..."

"I don’t UNDERSTAND???" But Leo let up a little on Garret’s throat.

"Leo, it was their risk; I asked for volunteers, I said it would be dangerous!!!" Leo snarled in reply. "It wasn’t just the message!" he blurted out. "That was way too important and secret to send over an open communications link anyway, someone might have picked it up! But that’s not the only reason they were sent!"

"What was the other reason," Leo said flatly.

"A computer chip...a chip, Leo, I swear."

"Excellent, you risked my brothers’ lives for a computer chip." Leo squeezed slightly tighter.

"NO, not JUST a computer chip!" Garret gasped. "I can’t explain it all, Leonardo. It’s just...we needed a way to get our troops to Mastermold’s headquarters...It’s the only way to destroy him! But he’d see our troops, realize what we were planning....There are too many Sentinel patrols." Leonardo snarled again. "With them planning to attack Houston Camp, it was the perfect opportunity! We had to notify the Camp secretly, and we had to have some kind of distraction to keep them from noticing we’re going to attack!"

"We distract them, and while they are secure in the knowledge of their own attack on Houston Camp, we send our mass force in and destroy them. A sneak attack." Leonardo grew slightly calmer.

"Yes!" Garret exclaimed, coughing. "Now let me up?"

"Maybe. I think you should explain the details of this little attack plan to me. And I would like to know what the computer chip you mentioned has to do with this scheme."

"Let us remember," Garret said, trying to affect an attitude of haughty indifference. "That I am still leader of the MHA."

"And let us remember," Leonardo said softly. "That I am still leader of the MHA ninja group. And I cannot guarantee their support."

Garret glared. "Are you threatening to withdraw your ninjas from the MHA?"

"Maybe." Leonardo finally got up and moved slightly off. He calmly picked up the bottle of red wine on Garret’s desk and poured himself a shot. "I do not know if I can guarantee support to a man whose crazed attack plans I only half understand." He swished the wine in the glass and took a sip. "Californian ‘08," he remarked almost to himself. Then he grew thoughtful again. Garret slowly stood up and glared. "You can lead a blind-folded soldier to battle," he said quietly. "But you cannot make him fight."

"All right, all right, I get your point," Garret groused.

"I have three questions. You will answer them."

"And if I don’t want to?" Garret disliked Leonardo’s arrogant, pushy attitude.

"You will answer them." He took another sip as Garret reached to pour a glass of his own and sat down in the desk chair. "One. Will we be able to determine Donatello’s condition using your telscreen?"

"Wait a minute," interrupted Garret. "Thought you guys were all mentally linked. Why don’t YOU determine his condition?"

"I have been unable to reach him." Leonardo obviously did not like admitting his fallibility. "Two. Will we be able to release Raphael at any point during this....battle? Three. What is your itinerary for the next several days?"

"Well," Garret began. "One, yes. Two, maybe. And as for three, you better sit down, cuz this will take quite a while."

* * *

Raph woke slowly. Not this time to the feeling of roaring pain, at least. He peered about his cell in confusion. No instruments of torture...apparently they had been removed. But the dark Tracker stood above him. Raph’s lips curled in a snarl.

"Still being stupid, I see," the Tracker said casually, gently toeing his injured leg. Raph bit off his scream of agony. "Ooopppss, sorry." He bent to examine the turtle. "Something different today, I think." Raph didn’t make a sound. The Tracker waved forward another white-coated figure, who again brandished a needle. Raph could not stop a moan from passing his lips. The Tracker grinned as the "doctor" bent and injected a bright green liquid into Raph’s arm. "Enjoy it, Raphael, you’re breaking new ground in the world of torture." The Tracker laughed to himself.

Raphael began to sweat. Uncomfortable emotions of anger and hatred swept through him. He couldn’t control them. Wave after wave of pain swept through him, but it almost seemed pleasurable to his mind. The Tracker watched carefully as Raphael slumped back. "Gotta love those controlled substances. Enjoy your pain, I’ll be back to check on you later." With a jaunty wave which Raphael barely registered, the Tracker was gone and the door slammed shut. Leaving him alone. Again.

* * *

Mike softly knocked on Leo’s door. "Leo?" he called. When he got no answer, he keyed open his brother’s door, unlocked as always, and stepped in. Leo was sitting in the dead center of his room, with his back to the door. "Aw, Leo," he groaned. "Meditating again. Don’t you ever-" He reached out and grabbed Leo’s shoulder, but Leo immediately fell onto his side and curled into a fetal position. "Shit!" said Mike as he knelt to look at Leo. His eyes were wide open, but they were bloodshot and Leo looked as though he was completely out of it; peering into a distant world only he could see. Or more likely, Mike thought, into a world only he and RAPH could see.

Mike silently cursed his brother yet again for being unable to block his emotions so that they would not be transferred to Leo. Leo’s fingers clenched and unclenched. His breathing was slow and shallow. "Nuts," Mike said aloud. "Bro, this time you aren’t gonna argue." Literally impossible, Mike thought with something close to amusement, looking down on his oblivious brother. "You need someone to keep an eye on you." He reached down and scooped his brother up, hefting the weight over his shoulder. "You are one heavy sucker," he grunted. Mike had never been the most muscle-bound of the four...that title was reserved for Raph alone.

Face creased in a frown again, he wondered, Am I the only one of us who isn’t completely screwed up? He keyed open the door again and stomped down the hall to the Infirmary, opened that door and slapped the buzzer to summon the intern on duty to come to reception and see him.

"Hellfire, sir." The young man gave a quick salute as he came into the room and saw Mike. He nodded grimly in response.

"I’d like to speak to Dr. Errins."

"Yessir." The man disappeared for a moment, and they returned, followed by the doctor, a woman slightly over middle age with silvering hair.

"Can I help you, Michaelangelo?" she asked, addressing her old friend by his given name.

He managed to smile faintly. "Yeah, Maddie. My bro here has a sorta psychic connection with another brother of mine, Raph....It’s sorta hard to explain, but Raph keeps getting hurt and stuff, and transmitting his pain to Leo. I’m just afraid to leave him alone any more. And now something is weird with him...." Mike trailed off.

"Yes, I heard about that. I am sorry." Mike shrugged and Maddie laid a hand on his arm. "But let’s see what we can do for Leonardo." She led Mike, still toting Leo, into a ward near the back, and pointed to where he could deposit his cargo. Maddie Errins closed the door to the little room and came back to the bed. Leo, once dropped, had immediately curled up again. Errins peered into his eyes, felt the muscles in his arms, legs, and hands, and frowned. He was completely tense. She exited the room and quickly returned with another doctor and several needles.

"Mike," she said. "From what you say, it sounds like Leonardo is experiencing some kind of pain, but it is within his mind. If that is the case, we can’t really help that much. But we can do some tests on him, and keep him under observation for the time being. Okay?" Mike nodded mutely. Errins gave him a quick hug and motioned to her colleague to get started.

* * *

A short while later, Mike was summoned to Garret’s office. "Sir?" Mike stood in front of Garret’s desk and watched his superior pace around the room.

Garret suddenly turned and looked at him. "I heard Leonardo was in the Infirmary."

"Yes, sir."

"Something to do with Raph again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did Leonardo tell you about our little conversation this morning?"

Mike shook his head in surprise. He knew Leo disliked Garret intensely and avoided him whenever possible.

Garret scowled. "Good." He stood in front of the telscreen. "Your brother requested that I check into Donatello’s condition."

Mike almost laughed at Garret's furious demeanor. Probably more like "ordered" than "requested," knowing Leo!

"Since he is indisposed, would you like to talk to the Houston Camp med wing?"

"You mean--the Infirmary, sir?" Mike radiated alarm.

"I’m told that’s where he is. Fireball, the camp director, told me, but he didn’t know much more than that."

"How are we going to contact them? I thought we didn’t have a communications link."

"We do now." He hastily added, "I hope you understand better than your brother did that the message I sent your brothers with required absolute secrecy and HAD to be delivered by hand. Please understand that it is crucial to our plans."

"Which are?"

"Full frontal assault on Houston Base." Mike gasped. "But we have to GET there first," Garret said grimly. "And that requires surprise.....and also a critical piece of hardware I sent with the message to Fireball. Please trust me on this one for now, Hellfire." Garret preferred to use Mike’s professional name. "You’ll get your full disclosure when the time is right. I wish your brother had been as patient." He uneasily rubbed the bruises at his throat. "Ready?" At Mike’s nod, he punched the number which would dial the telscreen into Houston Base’s med wing.

The face of a calm, serious man appeared on the screen. "Yes?" he asked calmly, then nodded as he recognized Garret. "Sir, what can I do for you?"

"I understand you are currently holding a mutant named Oracle, or Donatello, in your Infirmary, Doctor Trevowski," Garret said. At Trevowski’s nod, Garret yanked Michaelangelo forward into view of the telscreen. "This is Hellfire, the Oracle’s brother. He wanted to check on Oracle’s condition."

"Yes," said Mike. "Why is he still in the Infirmary? Didn’t he get there last night?" Mike licked his dry lips and felt sweat trickle down his arms. Fear gripped him. "Is something wrong?"

"Your brother came in almost unconscious. He has the sun-sickness, and badly too. I have no idea how he managed to crawl his way up to our very gate in his condition." Mike swayed slightly and felt light-headed.

Is-is he okay?

The doctor frowned. "In a manner of speaking. He’s still rather sick from being out in the heat for so long. His fever is quite high. But so are his odds at recovery; worst case of sun-sickness I ever saw, and I’ve worked in Texas all my life. But your brother is strong and will recover."

Mike sighed in relief and felt the tension seep out of him. "Can I-can I talk to him?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not yet, I’m afraid. He will recover, but it may take a few days. His fever, as I said, is quite high, and he has been having some strange delusions."

"Delusions?"

"Yes. He doesn’t seem able to reconcile his surroundings; he keeps talked to someone as if he were really there."

Mike felt another chill. "Who?"

"The name he has said is Raph."

Mike broke the connection and sank to the floor with his head between his knees.

* * *

Splinter headed back to his room during a break in classes. He was almost done for the day. One more class, then dinner, then a spar with Trisp later in the evening. Then he could stop running around and get some sleep. Now, Splinter planned to meditate for a while and compose his mind. But first, he went to a cabinet and got out two pills to take for his persistent indigestion.

* * *

In a lonely cell in Houston Base, Texas, heart of the Sentinel empire, Raphael lay in a fetal curl. His eyes flicked to random locations around the cell, his muscles expanded and contracted with a will of their own, and his mind writhed in the grip of a powerful hallucinogen. Visions far stranger than anything he had before imagined spun through his head. At least he was not plagued by the nightmares today. But that was little consolation in the face of the misery the drug produced in him. Misery coupled with pleasure. Pleasure coupled with pain. Raph was crying, although he was unaware of it.

He wanted to go home.

* * *

Splinter smiled and beckoned to the young woman. Trisp looked back at him doubtfully. "Come, Trisp," he said sternly, though almost playfully. "Do you doubt your master’s abilities?" She seemed embarrassed, but still hesitant to advance on him with the katana she gripped loosely in both hands. Splinter was almost overcome by his own doubts, as well as by the indigestion which refused to go awa. Pushing them both back, he held his bo carefully in his wrinkled and nearly crippled talons of hands. He quickly snapped the bo towards her, and she lifted her katana to block the strike. He smiled at her. "Good. Now attack me." His expansive gesture was an obvious invitation. Encouraged, Trisp held her katana in proper position and darted it towards him.

A quick movement of his bo blocked it. The exercise progressed, the two alone in the room. Master and student going through the motions of a simple spar. So why did the air feel so heavy to Splinter? He was sweating more than even a heavily-furred rat in Texas summer should. Well, he thought to himself. I am no longer a young ninja. It is to be expected. But he did not feel so weak that he could not continue, and so said nothing. Trisp’s blade sliced the air as she made attack after attack. With each stroke that Splinter repelled, she grew more confident and bold, dodging for narrower openings in his defenses, trying to find a way around what seemed to be impenetrable defenses.

Meanwhile, Splinter tried to ignore the weakness. Ridiculous. Just a simple spar....he shouldn’t be so tired. Splinter silently cursed his feebleness as he blocked one of Trisp’s moves. Far too slow, he thought. I almost let that one through. A momentary pain shot up his left side. He thought about quitting, but felt all the more determined to continue, prove to himself as well as Trisp that he could still fight, that he was still worth learning from. How could he expect students to respect a master who couldn’t even endure a spar? So he ignored the slight dizziness, assuming it to be a product of his weakness. The pain in his chest was mild, he might even have imagined it...

He suddenly stumbled, without warning, in the middle of another of Trisp’s strikes. She watched with horror as her blade whistled dangerously close to Splinter, nicking his cheek. She paled, instantly crying out an apology, but Splinter barely heard. He felt the sharp metal bite into his flesh, the blood trickling down his cheek, and he heard the blood pounding in his head, fast and loud. The pain came in red, dizzying waves, the blood pounded more quickly, and the world seemed to freeze for one silent moment when his heart was completely still. And then he felt something like a muffled explosion in his chest, propelling his heart into his very throat.

* * *

Leonardo woke suddenly in the Infirmary, sitting straight up in bed. He felt as he never had before; something was being torn away from him. It was as if a vital part of his body had just been cut out of him and he was swept by the overwhelming sense of loss.

* * *

Donatello lay barely conscious in the Houston camp infirmary. Through the haze, a lightning bolt struck, and for an instant his mind was paralyzingly clear. And his new knowledge burnt him far more than the Texas sun.

* * *

Alone and in pain, Raphael listened in the dark. For a moment, it had seemed a single voice cried out to him, and then was gone. And with a shock, he was overwhelmed by anguish...and fear.

* * *

Michaelangelo rose from the chair before his computer console. In an instant, the anguish, fear, and pain of not one, but five rushed through him. But he could put a name to source of these emotions. "Splinter...."

In an instant, Mike had slapped the button on his telscreen and punched the number for the med wing. Screaming something he hoped was comprehensible, he made for the door and turned his panic-wracked body toward the training rooms. The first door he opened yield nothing. The second, nothing. But through the third, he beheld his small master crumpled to the ground. With a choked sob, Mike dropped to his knees beside him as the first of the medical teams sped into the room. Mike cradled the small body in his arms even as one med team member pushed him gently away, reassuring him.

Heart still racing madly, Mike stood back to let the teams work. His mind retreated, leaving him barely able to hear the conversations around him, and totally unable to comprehend the meaning of the words. Phrases picked themselves out and danced across his fevered mind.

"...stress..."

"...heart attack..."

"...no warning..."

"....no vital signs..."

"...attempt...revive..."

"..defribulator...current...."

"...possibility...brain damage..."

"..understand..."

"...old age..."

"...low probability....revival..."

Mike attempted to stagger to the wall. He needed something to brace himself against, so he could get a grip and try and take control of his body. Unseeing, he tripped over something in the back corner of the room. Looking down, he saw a person, a woman, doubled over with her face to her knees, rocking back and forth. Mike squatted to look at her face, and it was one he recognized. Trisp, one of Splinter’s better students. Struggling for control, Mike reached out his hand to hold hers, gently murmuring, "It’ll be okay," and wishing he believed himself.

Trisp’s hand was slippery with blood. He stared at her hand in surprise, not understanding. "I did it," Trisp whimpered. Her face was streaked with tears, and she moaned softly as she rocked on her heels. Apparently in shock...she needed to be taken care of. "I did it......It was me...It was my fault. I killed him, it was me, it was me, it was me....." Her voice died to a low moan, but she couldn’t stop repeating it, over and over. Mike reached for her again, to try and comfort her, and saw what he had not before.

The blood-stained katana gripped in her right hand. The blood soaking her clothing. The entrails spilling out of a gaping abdominal hole into her lap. Mike again fought the urge to vomit. He felt panic again....She needed medical care, immediately. But it was too late, he realized as he looked into her eyes. They were already blank and staring, and the light in them was fading fast. She still murmured repeatedly, "It was me." Mike cried out for a medic; but knew she was too far gone for anyone to revive her. He stood and stepped back as she toppled to the floor on her side, voice and eyes mute, katana still clenched tightly in her right fist.