TMNT are the property of Mirage. Baker and Grant are the property of me. "If I Only Had a Brain" is the property of its owners. When you multiply two "real" numbers, you get a "real" number, and this operation is the property of Closure...

Contrition

If you only had a brain."

The current assistant, registering the fact that someone was singing, froze in disbelief; that could NOT be who he thought it was.

Turning slightly from his computer screen where he'd been analyzing and reanalyzing their latest results, his eyes confirmed what his ears had told him. Baxter Stockman was indeed the singer.

Stockman seemed positively jolly. Engrossed in his work, he was carefully studying what was left of Bishop's brain. He had to admit, the body appeared as fresh as if he'd just died the gruesome death that the turtles had dealt him. Flesh showed no sign of decay or corruption; organs were intact, indeed had "healed" as it were, regenerating slowly but surely. It had been several months now, and the body had been quickly recovered before the underwater base had been destroyed and carried for some time before it could be put in the preserving tank, yet it looked as if Bishop had only recently died.

The brain was the most damaged. While it showed signs of renewal, Stockman still thought that Agent Grant was asking the impossible.

True, he had known of Bishop's unique make-up, of his mysterious past; he, indeed, had helped him with that one transfer of consciousness into a new body when the "old one" was breaking down.

But that was the thing- consciousness.

"It's not going to work, you know," he addressed the assistant. "Oh, we may be able to bring- this-" and he gestured one robotic arm at the body- "back to life as it were, but as for bringing back Bishop?"

He shook his head; there were limits, even to Science. What Grant wanted bordered on the religious; a resurrection as it were, whole body, sound mind.

Lazarus, come forth!

"And I lack the qualifications for resurrecting the dead," he muttered to himself. "Well, at least that aspect of it."

And he returned to his work, leaving the assistant to once again question whether Stockman was a madman or the only sane person working for this organization.

"The city is shut down, Mistress," her assistant reported. Karai, staring out of the window of her penthouse bedroom, did not need to hear such news when her eyes were witness to it all. Nothing could be seen except white. The nearest building to her own was but a ghostly illusion, and the sound of the storm could be heard even in her well-insulated room. "Our operatives have been called back to base. Everyone has reported in. Training is proceeding as ordered. And the weekly business report is ready for your review."

"Very well, Tanaka," she said, dismissing him without breaking her gaze from the window. After a hesitant moment, her tall, bald assistant bowed, leaving the reports on her bedroom desk as he left her room.

damn you!"

Well, it was not the first snowfall, but the haiku captured her feelings. This storm was like her worst enemy. She could not get the humiliation out of her mind, the humiliation at failing to bring back a man- the defeat of her mission, the defeat of her superior numbers and highly trained Ninja at the hands of Leonardo and his family- five mutated freaks against the might of the Foot!

in the mist"

Oroku Saki would have had her beaten. She deserved it, she knew it. She had failed miserably, bringing shame upon the honor of the great Shredder, who had raised her as his own, had trained her up to be more than this pathetic failure.

He would have had her beaten.

Though he, himself, had run up against them time and again, and had failed to destroy them...

Yes, Issa may have meant a literal mountain, but to Karai, the turtles were the real view- the turtles and the Foot's failure to deal properly with them!

With a sigh she turned from the window and walked into the living room, ignoring the business reports. They would wait. Going to the bookcase she retrieved a precious item, a most treasured gift from a father to a daughter.

Exquisitely and specially bound in rich leather with gold lettering, Karai carefully opened the book that held original haiku by the great Kobayashi Issa- in his original calligraphy, the ink faded slightly but still clear and crisp. On the flyleaf of this specially made book was the writing of another person:

"To my daughter on the occasion of her acceptance into the Clan. You bring honor to your father."

Karai quickly closed the book; she did not want to stain the pages with her tears.

"Do you see, Leonardo?" she angrily spoke to her enemy as if he were before her. "Do you see how he loved me? And you took him from me! And I will take your father from you!"

Replacing the book, she left for the dojo, a plan already fomenting in her vengeful brain.

Which a sudden jerk Mikey woke up, blinking in momentary confusion. As his brain finally caught up with his body, he realized that he had dozed off on the couch, dinner untouched. Raph was next to him, equally bundled in blankets but eating his soup (and making several pointed comments regarding the scorched taste), while Don sat in Splinter's chair and tried to keep from killing his brother.

"Raph, I said I would make some more!"

"Why waste food? I mean, this is the third attempt. You've been through two cans of soup already."

"Raph-"

"I mean, jeeze, Don, why didn't you just stick it in the microwave?"

Embarrassed silence from the turtle who had been addressed; understanding dawning on the one who had asked the question.

"You nuked it, right?"

"Um, do you guys want some tea? Mikey, you need to eat something hot!" Don, trying to change the subject, chided his younger brother. "Splinter said you're to eat something hot and then go to bed."

Mikey eyed the bowl of canned soup distastefully, and not because his brainy brother had managed to burn it. Mike preferred homemade, and next to Splinter, no one could make good homemade soup except Mikey.

Though he had to admit, when Raph made soup the other week for him, following his recipe, it had tasted good...

"I'll just drink some tea and eat some toast," he opted, making to get up to help himself, but Don ordered him to stay put.

"I'll get it! I don't need you collapsing in the kitchen- besides, knowing you, you'd find a way to fix something that would not be good for you to eat at the moment." Don hurried away.

Mikey eyed Raph, still eating his soup.

"How can you stomach that?" he asked. Raph shrugged.

"Used to it," he said. "Don ain't the only one who scorches the soup. Leo does a fair job of it as well. So do I for that matter, only I know how to hide the flavor."

"I always wondered about your famous 'Raphael's Worchester style Tomato Soup'," Mikey grinned, then proceeded to yawn, stretching mightily. In the process his blanket shifted, and an involuntary shiver ran through him. Though he had warmed up nicely, he was still not fully recovered. Neither was Raphael for that matter, but Raph was good at hiding such weaknesses unless they would net him some hot cocoa with all those tasty little marshmallows in it. Unfortunately, they were out of both at the moment.

"Go to bed, Mikey," Raph advised, slurping the last of his soup and picking up Mikey's bowl. "You need the rest."

"And you don't?"

"Nope! I'm the original Iron Turtle!"

"Iron rusts."

"Then I'm the Turtle of Steel."

"Steel rusts, too."

"Go to bed, Mikey!"

"Raph, do you believe in ghosts?"

Raph nearly choked on the soup. He eyed his brother critically; nope, Mikey had a sane- well, a serious expression on his face. There was nothing of the goof ball about this question.

"Is this about that whole Victor thing again Mikey?" he finally asked, reaching one hand out to feel his brother's forehead. Mikey roughly knocked it away.

"Its only that while you were trying to get the manhole cover off, I thought I saw him- there in the snowstorm."

Raph bit back several very natural Raph things to say. He put down the soup bowl and placed a hand on Mikey's shoulder.

"It's a hallucination; a snow mirage. That is all it is. Victor is dead, Mikey- we all saw the body. He is dead, just like Bishop that fucking bastard is dead, and nothing is gonna bring either one of them back."

It was now Mike's turn to bite back several responses. He'd made these "what if" statements before, and they had always been explained away.

But what if Victor had lived...

"Go. To. Bed." Raph stood up, dragging Mikey with him off of the couch and pushing him toward the stairs. Mike reluctantly headed for his room, hesitating only once- then sighing and continuing on his way.

He got into bed and snuggled under the extra blankets. He hated to admit it, but he felt tired and his feet still felt frozen. He remembered how Splinter used to put socks on their feet in winter to keep their toes warm, and he wondered if April could find him any that might fit him now.

Drowsily his mind turned to that place where the snow mirage had appeared.

What would it hurt to go check it out later? Once the storm stops, for example? Just for the heck of it, you understand, not because I expect to find anything there... like Victor...

Baker awoke with a cry, breathing rapidly, heart pounding so loudly he could hear it rather than feel it. He looked around, dazed and confused; he was in a bed, covered with a large quilt, in a darkened room lit by one small candle.

Was he back in the Turtles' home? Had they found him?

Shivering, he got up, and saw that his clothes had been removed, and he'd been dressed in what was an extremely large sweat shirt and sweat pants! A giant must own these, they were so large. The shirt alone hung to his knees, and Baker was not a small man.

As soon as he started to move, the pants came tumbling down. With a hasty grab, he hauled them up, marveling yet again at the amount of material needed to make this outfit.

He looked around the chamber. Obviously someone's bedroom, but sparsely furnished, though it was cluttered with various books and scientific equipment like tubes, vials, wires, a couple of microscopes, and other items he couldn't identify in the glow of the one candle.

Voices. He could hear voices... one was definitely the voice of the mutate Rat. The other... deep, pleasant, very well-spoken... NOT one of the Turtles...

Curiosity is a bitch he ruefully thought, and he boldly made his way out of the open door and into a large chamber!

It looked like some old train station. Stairs led down from this level to the main floor; bits of furniture were scattered here and there. It was well-lit, and he could see countless activities going on, all revolving around Science! Noise, smells, bubblings, whistlings, whirrings, sounds of metal and of machinery... and voices.

"I am glad that we were able to prevent you from doing this deed," he heard the Rat say, and as he descended the stairs, he finally spotted the speaker. "I am sorry that we had to attack you like that however. I hope we did not hurt you too much."

"Not at all, Master Splinter," the deep, resonant voice responded. "I, too, am grateful! You have no idea how grateful I am that you prevented me from such a deed! I had thought that I had control of myself, but alas I was mistaken..."

"Uh, don't come closer!" Leo suddenly barked out, having spotted the approaching man. As he spoke, he leapt up from his seat to place himself between Leatherhead and Baker.

But Baker could not obey. Eyes filled with the sight of the giant Crocodile, he moved forward as if in a dream. Clutching the incredibly large sweatpants to him, he moved on numbed, bare feet, eyes never wavering from the huge reptile who had now risen from his own large chair and turned to fix this man with a glare.

Baker stared into those eyes- those intelligent eyes-

He stopped, and fell to his knees.

"Please, forgive me," he quavered, unable to take his eyes from this being whose life he had tormented with his "scientific inquiry"; this being who had nearly bitten him in two. "Please-"

With a swift move that caught even Splinter off guard, the crocodile was past Leonardo and looming over the cowering man. His hands came down, he bent down to reach his former tormentor- and gently helped him to stand, guiding him to the couch.

"We will discuss that later," he said, a cold note in his voice, but otherwise civilized and polite. "For now you must sit down and stay warm. You were drenched when I- when I found you."

Baker could not take his eyes off of Leatherhead. It came rushing back to him; how close he'd been to being chomped in half by this creature- no, this being! They are BEINGS, not CREATURES!

"So, I'm still alive," he murmured, even as L.H. grabbed a handy blanket and draped it around the scientist.

"Yes, you are still alive," Splinter sternly replied, as the giant crocodile resumed his seat. "For the moment. Do such a stupid thing again, and you will NOT be alive! I will NOT have my family and friends put at risk of discovery because of you!"

Now Baker's eyes ripped away from Leatherhead to take in the seriousness of the Rat's face even as his mind registered the depth of the threat. He saw that Splinter meant it.

"I am sorry I tried to leave. I've been on the run forever, trusting no one- not even my closest friend, the one who has been helping me," he sighed, shivering slightly. "It's true, she works for a government group that would love to see Bishop's organization brought down, but... in the end, she is one of 'them'..."

"Bishop is dead," Leo flatly stated. "My brother and I killed him. Why stay in hiding?"

"Death is not the end of all our problems," he replied, staring at the floor.

"You must remain hidden," Splinter sensibly pointed out. "You are well-hidden here. The storm above ground shows no sign of letting up soon, and even when it does, it will be nearly impossible to go above ground for a short time. I must insist that you stay below ground with us!"

"I concur," Leatherhead said. "It is too dangerous- for us as well as for you- for you to go above ground for the time being. Many people are still looking for you. They know the spot where Splinter and his sons rescued you. They are a determined enemy, and will return as soon as possible to try to locate them- and you."

"I still want to know why the Foot is after you," Leo said simply. "Karai herself was there- what did she say to you? I know that she had you in her limousine. What did she say?"

"Only that her organization had been recruited to locate me; that her brother's group as well had been looking for me. She wanted to know WHY everyone seemed to want me. She didn't want to turn me over to anyone who could use my knowledge to attack her group. That is all she said."

"More questions," Leo muttered, pacing the floor. "Karai went to a lot of expense and trouble; that place her spies were staying in was well-stocked and up to date. I thought I would have to fight Don to keep him from raiding the place."

All the while the crocodile stared at the man, eyes reflecting nothing of his emotions, yet still containing that "intelligent" look rather than the cold reptile eyes of a mindless killing machine.

"We can not allow any of these people to have this man," Splinter stated yet again, then turned to the scientist. "We can not let you leave, Dr. Baker. If you wish to consider yourself our prisoner, I can not stop you, but until we discover an answer to this problem, you MUST stay with us, willing or no."

Baker sighed, realizing the truth behind these words; for their safety more than his...

"He may stay with me and Professor Honeycutt," L.H. suddenly cut in, eliciting a shiver of fear from the scientist. "You will be safe here- and you will be safe from me. I pledge this. I have yet to forgive you. I may never get to that point in my life. But you will be safe here."

And, God help me if I try to leave, Baker thought to himself, wondering if he were finishing the sentence for the crocodile.

He nodded his thanks, shifted on the couch.

"May I... May I ask a question?" he finally said, breaking the short silence that had followed his agreement to stay with Leatherhead.

L.H. inclined his head.

"Where did these clothes come from? They're so..."

"Large? Yes. I need large clothes to keep warm," L.H. responded without a trace of embarrassment. "Those pants you are wearing are new- I've not had the chance to alter them to accommodate my tail. And Professor Honeycut does not wear clothing-"

Baker looked up, startled. Was this crocodile rooming with a nudist?

At that moment, Honeycutt walked in, and Baker, who thought he had finally seen it all, realized that he had not even seen a tenth of it all...

"Hello, Dr. Baker," Honeycutt politely spoke, offering his robotic hand to the human. "I am ever so glad to make your acquaintance ..."

Baker felt the room spin just a bit, then he felt as if he were sagging backward on the couch.

Dimly he heard the robot speak again.

"Oh, dear... was it something I said?"