Duplicity

"Du-pli-ci-ty n. 1. Deliberate deceptiveness in behavior or speech. 2. The quality or state of being two-fold or double." (The American Heritage College Dictionary)

AN. This one's shorter than the others. It didn't really fit on the end of the last chapter and it's not really the right thing to start the next one so it'll have to stand alone. Also, I made a slight change in chapter eight. You might want to go back and glance over it.

Disclaimer: The Turtles and all their friends are the property of Mirage Studios. I do not own them, but am grateful for the opportunity to use them in the unleashing of my own imagination.

Rating: This story is rated T for violence and battle related injury. Language is very mild.

Chapter 10

Your focus determines…

The alcohol burned against his flesh as Sorin dabbed carefully at his wound. His face was on fire and the pain medication he had taken earlier had had little effect. He knew he was at risk of infection, leaving it open like this, but he couldn't very well stitch his face up by himself and he'd been forbidden from seeking outside treatment. The most he could manage on his own was to keep it clean.

After clearing away any dirt particles that had entered the wound during his trip through the city, he reapplied the special ointment, provided in his personal first aid kit, which aided in blood clotting. Considering the location of the injury, this was extremely useful. Head injuries had a tendency to bleed out quickly. He'd been lucky to receive that much care while he'd been unconscious on the floor of the warehouse dojo. Someone had been ordered to apply pressure to the wound while and a single treatment of ointment was applied.

He'd woken up alone, just where he'd fallen; his face throbbing and covered in dried blood. The whole room had smelled like bleach and he knew why. His had not been the only blood spilled in the room that morning. Jared was dead. Sorin was lucky not to have met the same fate.

Then again, Saki would not have so carelessly done away with his prized son. The turtle knew how much of an asset he was to the Foot. He was essential to their mission and, despite his moment of disobedience, he was too valuable and irreplaceable to destroy.

Still, Sorin had expected worse. The wounds, while gruesome, really weren't that deep. In reality, Saki had merely grazed him with his blades. It had been enough to cleanly slice through his skin, but Sorin imagined that Saki had purposefully avoided damaging his eye. He was thankful for that.

Now if only he could get the swelling to go down, he would actually be able to see again. As he applied several butterfly sutures to help hold his injury closed, he recalled Donatello's words from earlier that evening. Put some ice on that wound.

Ice would help. He sorted through his first aid kit and pulled out an instant cold pack. He squeezed the pack to start the reaction that would make it icy cold and gingerly held it over the left side of his face before lying back on his bed with a sigh.

His thoughts drifted back to his brothers, whom he'd left less than an hour ago; sending them home to rest up for their battle tomorrow. He frowned, thinking about the battle and what it would mean.

A part of him couldn't believe that they were all so willing to follow him, especially Raphael, whose own status as leader should have caused him to be suspicious and wary. When it came down to it, they barely knew him, just as he barely knew them. They had no reason to trust him the way they did, to follow him so blindly.

Sorin shook his head. It didn't make any sense. How could the simple fact that they were brothers overshadow seven years of separation? How could Michelangelo be so quick to show physical affection to a turtle who was, more or less, a complete stranger? How could Donatello be so caring as to insist upon personally treating any and all wounds that appeared on someone he barely knew? How could Raphael so easily step down from the pedestal of leadership, ready and willing to trust himself and his family to someone they'd only just met, based solely on the foggy memories of childhood?

It made absolutely no sense. It was ludicrous really. And yet it was these ludicrous facts that were going to make their mission tomorrow a success.

Somehow, this thought didn't comfort Sorin.

He didn't know his brothers very well. He wasn't even entirely sure how he felt about them. Michelangelo was hyper and loud. Donatello was brainy and absentminded. Raphael was brash and stubborn. And yet, Sorin felt comfortable around them – more comfortable then he'd ever felt around anyone.

Perhaps it was the trust they seemed to so easily place in him that made him want to trust them - especially Raphael.

For a moment, Sorin had been tempted to tell him everything.

Surely, if any of them would understand, it would be Raph. Raphael would see the truth for what it was. Raph would understand why Sorin did what he did. Raph would follow him anywhere.

It was that last realization that had stilled the older turtle's tongue. It was too much of a risk. They were so close to finishing this, ending it all for good. They couldn't afford to take any additional risks.

Raph would follow him anywhere – to battle, to death. Sorin knew this already and there was no reason to put that knowledge to the test. Not yet.

But somehow, that same knowledge scared him.

He'd found something in his brothers – something he hadn't expected and didn't really understand. It was feeling that he couldn't shake, like he was bonded to them, somehow. He'd never felt a connection like that with anyone and now that he felt it; he didn't think he could bear to lose it.

But where did that leave him. The final battle was tomorrow. There was a lot of risk involved, any number of things that could go wrong.

Sorin found himself wanting to call the whole thing off, wanting to end it right there, and say he couldn't do it.

But he couldn't do this. All of his training, everything he'd done for the past seven years, had led up to this night. This was his purpose, his mission. And once this was over, he'd finally be free from his past.

He just needed to focus - to clear his mind.

At that moment, a knock sounded at his door. Sorin stood, tossing the ice pack in the trash as it had already begun to warm. He had to fight a wave of dizziness as he walked to the door. He'd put on a brave face when he went out to meet his brothers. Now that he was home, it was harder to pretend to be fine while his face protested every movement.

The young Foot messenger bowed respectfully when Sorin opened the door.

"Dr. Stockman is waiting for you in his laboratory."

Stockman. The doctor was back from his trip. He'd certainly been gone long enough. Sorin smiled wryly. The good doctor would have exactly what he needed to clear his thoughts.

Dr. Stockman had heard rumors of Sorin's injury by Saki's hand that morning, but he wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him when the mutant turtle walked into his lab.

"My goodness, Sorin! He did quite the number on your face! I take it you're forbidden from receiving treatment?"

Sorin nodded. "It is the law of the clan."

Stockman shrugged. "Well, what Master Shredder doesn't know won't hurt him. Come; let me take a look at it. I'll even give you a shot of antibiotics to ward off infection."

Sorin sat down on the hospital bed that had been provided specifically for his use, although he hadn't used it in nearly two months since Stockman had left on his trip. There was no point in arguing with Stockman about treatment for his injury. Stockman would do whatever Stockman wanted to do. He wasn't Foot, so he didn't have to follow their laws and he was also too valuable to be easily replaced.

While the doctor worked, he talked about his trip. Sorin tuned most of it out. He wasn't even sure where Stockman had gone and his brain was too full to try to follow what the doctor was saying.

"You're not listening to me, are you, Sorin?" Stockman finally asked.

Sorin sighed. "Sorry, doctor. I'm having trouble focusing tonight."

"Ah, of course. How forgetful of me. It's been far too long since your last dosage of my special serum and after this morning's events, I'm not surprised that you didn't suffer a full relapse."

Sorin nodded. He'd been a long time without the serum before, but usually not while under as much stress as he'd dealt with in the past few weeks. When he was younger, he'd had to receive treatment at least once a week for his condition but he'd gotten better and could now go several weeks at a time without relapsing.

"I'm glad you didn't though." Stockman continued as he pulled out a case and prepared the serum. "I would hate to see you lose your focus at a time like this. Master Shredder tells me there are big plans in the works, something about a very important mission."

Sorin only nodded again. His mind was cloudy. There were too many things shuffling through his memory – thoughts of his brothers, of his master, of his mission; memories flying by too fast to make any sense of them. It was all so confusing.

Stockman needed to hurry up.

He needed the serum.

He needed to focus.

Suddenly, his mind latched on to a single memory. It was a recent one.

"Hey Fearless, catch!"

Raphael's voice.

A blade, perfectly balanced, glinting in the moonlight.

A name lovingly etched into the metal.

令夫奈琉努

Leonardo

His name

Leonardo

"You've always been our Fearless Leader, bro."

Fearless Leader

Brother

Leo

He felt the sting of the needle as it pierced his skin. He lay back on the bed as the serum rushed through his veins. Soon it would do its work and his mind would clear. Soon the confusing thoughts would vanish and be replaced by focus.

He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him, knowing that when he woke his doubts would be gone. He would know his purpose. He would fulfill his mission.

…your reality.