A/N: This thing is getting plotty. Sorry not sorry.

FYI, I did go back and re-upload the last chapter because I uploaded the wrong version originally - the vast bulk of it hasn't changed, but there's some stuff about timeline (specifically about Casey's apartment and a few other things about his interacting with Mikey and the others) that would probably make some stuff in this chapter not make as much sense. Apologies for the n00b error, will try not to make that mistake again.

-Then-

The moment the last of the energy from the portal device sputters out from existence, Casey, April, and Vern bolt for the nearest exit. Donnie's image had flickered from the screen when they lost connection moments after shouting at them to close the portal, and for all her yelling, no one's been responding to April since it happened.

It's a big cause for concern, and for about the eighth time in as many hours, Casey finds himself worrying over the state of four mutants that two days ago he had no idea existed.

Instead of the world getting brighter as they emerge from the warehouse, it gets darker — the Technodrome is blocking the sun, and it's nearly complete. "Oh my god, it's enormous," Vern breathes.

"The portal's closing — why isn't anything happening to the Technodrome?" April says, eyes as wide as Vern's as she clutches at Casey's arm. "If that thing is still in one piece when the portal shuts—"

"They'll take care of it," Casey says, banishing any doubt from his words or his thoughts. "They'll do it, just give it a moment."

"Waiting until the last second is something that's only good for movie suspense," Vern mutters. "Not for famous celebrities who are liable to get heart conditions with all these Doomsday events."

As the final pieces make their way to the machine, a tiny shadow of something suddenly shoots out and away. "Look!" April exclaims, pointing as the huge Death Star-like contraption suddenly… shudders, for lack of a better word, as the machine starts disassembling and following the beacon back into the portal.

"They did it!" Casey and Vern shout together, laughing almost maniacally as all three of them start jumping up and down in excitement, whooping and cheering as the sun starts peeking out from behind the steadily shrinking machine.

April suddenly freezes, one hand gripping Casey's right arm and the other clenching the left sleeve of Vern's coat. "How are they going to get out of there?" she croaks. "They're going to get pulled through the portal, too!"

"Shit," Casey hisses. "They can handle high falls, right? They'll probably head back for the Chrysler Building."

"See if you can reach Donnie," Vern adds — unnecessarily, as April's already dialed. "I do not want to have to attempt an interdimensional rescue!"

"But think of all the accolades you would get if you pulled that off," Donnie suddenly interjects over the phone, his face appearing on screen through a video. "I'm pretty sure they might actually give you a key to, like, the planet or something."

"Oh my god, Donnie, you scared me half to death!" April says, a huge grin spreading across her face. "Are you guys okay?"

A three-fingered hand shoves Donnie's face out of the shot and a moment later, Mikey's there with huge eyes and his maniac grin. "April, April, you missed it — I totally went vertical and the Krang dude looked like a giant piece of gum and Leo made the best bad pun ever, seriously, we need to add like five points to his score."

The phone jerks out of Mikey's hands and Leo's face is suddenly there, a relieved grin as he sees all three of them staring back. "We can catch up later — you guys okay?"

"We're fine," April reassures him. She nudges Vern's shoulder. "This one actually took down a few bad guys all on his own, so I think you guys are rubbing off on him." Ignoring Vern's sputtering at the unexpected compliment, she slings an arm around Casey's neck and jerks him in closer to the screen. "This guy managed to take out Bebop and Rocksteady and shut down the portal."

Leo's eyes narrow as he studies Casey's face before he smiles. "Good work, Casey — thank you," he says.

It's a short and simple sentence, and it's coming from a mutant that's way younger than him, but Casey can't help but feel a strange sense of acceptance — something he hasn't felt in a long time. Since the early days of Foster Family #5, really.

He's not entirely sure what to make of it, but that's the moment he resolves that, if this strange family will let him, he'll stick around long enough to figure it out.

-o-

-Now-

Walking into police headquarters at 8:45 the next morning, Casey can't help but think back to the last time he was here — nearly three months ago, though in a lot of ways it feels like a lifetime. He passes different spots and remembers back to that night — he walked through this same security checkpoint with April; that spot was where he nearly got caught by Vincent; that was the window Don and Leo smashed their way through trying to stop the Foot; there was where Mikey and Raph were forced to kneel down, hands behind their head and guns pointed in their faces as fearful and hateful glares stared back at them.

Sometimes he wonders if the dreams where he and April were too late — where they moved too slow and one of the boys got a bullet to the brain, or where he moved too slow and it was April getting cut down by gunfire instead, dying to defend her brothers — will ever stop coming. They've lessened slightly — down to about twice a week or so, usually overshadowed by the transitions to nightmares from his childhood — but his long and troubled history with sleep suggests that this, too, is going to be a constant part of his new reality.

As Casey follows Vincent's assistant, who's escorting him straight to Vincent's office, he forces himself to keep his pace and posture nonchalant, especially when seemingly every single person he passes in an eight-foot radius turns to watch him walk by. Some are gazes of confusion; others of recognition and admiration; others of suspicion; a couple are even outright hostile. He makes special note of those, hoping he can keep a wide berth away from them in whatever this new role is that he's stepping into.

The woman escorting him knocks once sharply on the doorframe of Vincent's office. "Casey Jones to see you, Chief," she says crisply.

"Thank you, Jade," Vincent says without looking up from the pile of paperwork on her desk. "Close the door and sit down, Jones."

Casey obeys, giving a silent nod of thanks to Jade and trying to keep his face as neutral as possible as he settles into the chair a few feet in front of Vincent's desk. He waits, forcing himself not to drum his fingers or show any other general sign of nervousness, as she finishes scribbling her signature and a few notes on four more sheets of paper. He knows this tactic – make the perp sit and wait and stew on the things they're trying not to lie about to the detective sitting in front of them.

It's pretty effective, Casey has to admit, but since he hasn't done anything wrong – well, anything wrong lately, and certainly nothing the NYPD would probably care about at this point, since Internal Affairs has apparently cleared him – he's not about to let it break him needlessly.

Vincent's office is neat, clean, and fairly undecorated, aside from some old black-and-white photographs mounted in a frame on the wall to Vincent's left. Casey can't quite tell when the pictures were taken from where he's sitting, but it's easy to tell the top one is an old photo of a military unit. Judging by the jungle behind the men, he'd guess Vietnam. The bottom is a young couple standing in front of some nondescript suburban ranch-style house; the woman is very obviously pregnant, and the man is dressed in military fatigues.

"So you want to be a detective in the NYPD."

Casey looks away from the photo to see Vincent staring intently at him. "Yes, ma'am," he says. "That's been my goal since I was a kid."

Vincent's eyes narrow slightly as she taps the end of her pen on the desk. "And how long do you expect the process to take?"

"I was planning to take the exam right after I finish up my degree next spring," Casey replies.

Vincent nods once. "And then after you take the exam?"

Casey's eyebrows furrow a little at the line of questioning. "Work my way up the ranks to full detective in a couple years and help clean up the streets along the way. Keep people safe. That's what it's about, at the end of the day."

He's not one hundred percent sure, but he's pretty sure he sees Vincent's eyes soften just a little bit at that as she nods again. "It's a pretty good plan. Admirable even." She sets her pen down and and holds out the top sheet of paper to him. "I'm going to offer you another one. It's up to you if you decide to take it after we're done talking."

Both of Casey's eyebrows shoot up as he takes the document and starts reading it. Special Liaison to the Bureau Chief, it says in bold print across the top, with a brief bullet list of responsibilities and benefits, an annual salary that's nearly double what Casey made before the Incident… and there, at the bottom in an arrangement of size 12 Times New Roman letters that almost makes his heart stop before it starts beating again at a rapid-fire pace: Liaison will have rank equivalent to Detective First-Grade (to be awarded upon completion of education requirements).

"Wait — is this — what is this?" he stammers, looking back at Vincent.

"Let me make one thing clear, Jones," she says firmly. "I think — no, actually, I know that you're not the smartest guy on the force. You're a hothead and reckless — don't think I've forgotten about the phone, or that I don't know about your misuse of force at the Horseshoe Bar," she adds, narrowing her eyes.

Casey swallows hard as she sighs. The firm line of her shoulders softens just a touch as she says, "But you have passion, you work hard, and you're honest – possibly to a fault – and that's something this force always needs. I can't think of anyone who would've tried to sell me some bullshit story about a garbage truck chasing down a bunch of ninjas on motorcycles who were trying to break the world's most dangerous criminal out of police custody."

"Well, when you put it that way," Casey starts with a grin, pausing when he sees the look on Vincent's face. "Sorry, Chief; shutting up now."

"Most importantly, you have the connections we need," Vincent continues. "Officially, this new role is special liaison to me. Unofficially, it's special liaison between the NYPD and the Heroes of New York."

Casey can hear the capital letters in the title, and he has to fight back a laugh. Mikey will be shouting about that one for at least a week – longer, if the press starts using it regularly.

Then he blinks, and the growing excitement he's feeling fades a little as he realizes what she's implying: They want me for my friends. "Why me? Leo already told you that you could go through April if they're needed."

"I'm well aware of that," Vincent says. "But I've read April's notes about their escapades, and the amount of crime they've stopped in this city is impressive. They can move around in stealth and bring down criminals the NYPD can even dream of touching. We're facing growing dangers from unknown threats on multiple fronts — and that was before we found out aliens were real and mutants are a thing. I need to be able to utilize that resource to keep this city safe."

"So you want the NYPD to rely on information — and maybe even manpower — from a group of teenage mutant ninja brothers that the majority of this city has no idea exists? How is that going to hold up in court?" Casey asks.

"That's where you come in," Vincent replies. "You know procedure; you're nine credits away from completing a degree in criminal justice administration — yes, I know all about that," she says at Casey's surprised look, waving a hand at him, "and judging from my interviews with your instructors and professors, I bet you'll be a prime candidate for an advanced degree beyond that, if you want one. You know which rules must be kept, and which rules can be stretched. Between you and April, you can deliver any evidence the turtles uncover, and cite anonymous witnesses when needed. And you'll be the one to make the call when the NYPD needs to step into situations where official oversight is needed."

Casey chews his lip as he looks back down at the description. "Chief… what does all this have to do with what happened at my apartment yesterday?" he asks finally, looking back at her. "How did you even know that was my apartment?"

Vincent does not seem surprised by the question. "I can only answer that after you answer this: Do you want to take this position?"

"What makes you think they'll trust me enough to follow my judgment or tell me what we need to know?"

Vincent raises an eyebrow. "They trusted you enough to show you where they live and help save the world, didn't they?"

Casey huffs out a laugh. "Those were pretty extenuating circumstances."

Vincent sits back in her chair and studies him for a moment. "After knowing them for less than eight hours, you were willing to step in front of gunfire for them and take the fall for them," she says finally.

"Yeah, well, those were also pretty extenuating circumstances," Casey says with a sigh. He rubs his scalp for a moment before folding his hands in his lap and leaning forward a little in his chair. "Look, I'm not gonna lie — I do want this position, even if everything in me knows that there's another shoe that's going to drop as soon as I take it. But you're asking me to accept a position and a role on behalf of an entire team that's so far outside the jurisdiction of the NYPD it's pretty laughable to even consider the possibility that they'd be working regularly with you guys."

Vincent crosses her arms. "You do know every new position has a ninety-day trial period, right? It doesn't have to be permanent. And if it doesn't work out, that doesn't mean you'll necessarily be out of a job, either. I can't guarantee you'd keep the detective badge — you'd just have to earn it the normal way — but I meant it when I said you've got something this force always needs. This position is unique because it involves an outside team, yes, but that doesn't change the fact that you are the person I want in this role."

Casey blinks. Vincent stares back at him.

He blinks again. Vincent raises an eyebrow.

"I… thank you," he says finally, because he literally can't think of anything else to say. Other than maybe you have no idea what you're talking about, or if you knew who you were talking to, you wouldn't be saying that, but she's saying everything with the exact same serious expression she had when she declared she was taking over the Shredder's escape from custody, and Casey's pretty sure she won't take kindly to him questioning her judgement.

"I know you don't believe me," Vincent says. "Trust me when I say this won't be the first time I've continued doing what I do in spite of a lack of someone's belief in my judgment. That's nothing new. But you did something that has happened only a handful of times throughout my career — you made me rethink my first impression. I don't take that lightly." She tilts her head slightly as she looks at him. "So. Last chance. Do you want the position?"

Casey glances from her to the sheet of paper and back again. "What happened at my apartment yesterday?" he asks finally, trusting her to recognize the answer for what it is.

Something akin to a smile flits across Vincent's face before she looks serious again. "What have you been told about the status of your building?"

"That it's structurally unsound and needs repairs, but the landlord has gone missing and there's been some sort of hold up in the process," Casey replies.

"Only one part of that sentence appears to be true," Vincent says as she tugs open one of the drawers in her desk and pulls out a padded manilla envelope. "Your landlord is indeed missing, but the building was not damaged in the Incident."

"What?" Casey says with a frown. "But I was there — for a bit, at least, when I was grabbing my stuff. I definitely saw some damage on the corner of the building near my apartment."

"The best my inspectors can tell, that is purely superficial damage, and it looks like it happened after the event. None of the other buildings in the neighborhood were damaged, and video footage shows that all of the pieces of the Technodrome had more than enough clearance over that part of town to avoid damaging anything under ten stories," Vincent replies.

"Then why—"

"The NYPD has been told by a secret agency of the federal government — the same agency that first made us aware of your apartment when they came asking questions, I might add — that the investigation is out of our hands," Vincent interrupts, pushing the envelope across the desk in his direction. Her voice is flat, though Casey can pick up the tones of barely restrained anger. He's pretty sure she's reciting verbatim some missive handed down to her by the feds as she says, "It has been removed from my jurisdiction, and none of my officers are to investigate further."

Before Casey can protest anything, she reaches down and tosses something else onto the desk next to the envelope — a small duffel bag. It's the one Casey had stored in his locker when he was working with Corrections. "Before you sign the paperwork with HR to officially become one of my officers, I first need to return some of your personal effects we confiscated during the course of our IA investigation. Please take a look inside and verify that all the items on this list are included inside and are in the condition you last remember seeing them," she says with a completely straight face as she sets another sheet of paper on top of the envelope.

Casey fights back a knowing grin as he approaches the desk, scoops up the inventory list she'd just set down, and unzips the bag, making a show of looking through it. "Looks good to me," he says, dropping the inventory list — and the envelope he'd also picked up, which weighs next to nothing — inside before zipping it up and slinging the strap over his shoulder.

"Good," Vincent says, pulling another folder out of her drawer and passing it over to him. Unlike the envelope, the folder is heavy — nearly an inch thick, held shut with a large binder clip to keep papers from flying everywhere. "After you finish your orientation this morning, I want you to start on your first official assignment. We're still having trouble tracking down the whereabouts of Dr. Baxter Stockman. I want you to take another look through all his grants, partnerships, sales, research articles — anything from the last five years. As far as we can tell, that seems to be when he began his association with the Shredder. Considering the number of revolutionary developments he made public over the past few years, there's no telling what sorts of things he invented specifically for the Foot."

"No one's found anything so far?" Casey asks, thumbing through the the sheaf of papers. Half of this is copies of patents of inventions with schematics that look way above his head, and taped to the inside of the folder is a thumb drive. Donnie is going to have field day with all of this, he thinks.

"Nothing solid. A lot of loose threads and dead ends," Vincent replies. She smirks a little. "You'll officially have a desk, but as long as you check in regularly over the course of any active investigations you're involved in, you don't have to be there all the time — you can make use of your other resources as needed."

Casey grins back at her. "Got it, Chief," he says. "I won't let you down."

Vincent gives him one last look before turning back to the stack of paperwork on her desk. "I'm counting on that." She waves a hand toward the door and then picks up a red pen. "That's all for now — Jade will help you get to where you need to go for the rest of your orientation. Welcome to the force, Detective."

Casey's grin gets even bigger at the title. "Thank you, ma'am," he says, adjusting the duffle bag on his shoulder as he heads for the door. Just as he's about to step through the threshold, he pauses as a memory filters across his brain. "So… I guess I'm not so much of a loser, then?" he asks, looking back over his shoulder.

"Oh, no, you're definitely a loser," Vincent says without missing a beat. She crosses out a huge line of text on the paper in front of her and then looks up. This time, there's no mistaking the small smile on her face. "But here's the secret that no one tells you — the best people on this force are losers. Gives them extra incentive to be the best."