A/N: I know this topic is more than a bit Taboo, but I'm gonna explore it. If you are a bit too uncomfortable with this, please move along. I mean no offense. So, consider fair warning. Okay?

You really need to read, No Antidote found under my Drabbles - Ch 2 - to understand just who the hell KoKoa is and what happened to Leo. The boys are no longer boys, they are closing in on fifty years old, the traveling through the 'twilight' years so to speak. Thus the title. KoKoa is Leo and Karai's surviving daughter. This has no relation to the Tender Trap series and is its own little evil creation existing in conjunction to No Antidote. Rated M for a really good reason. You'll see you naughty sweethearts...now, let's get on with it! Shall we?

Lost in the Gloaming

The motorcycle rumbled to a halt and even before the engine completely halted, Raphael slammed the kick stand down and leapt off the seat. His left knee throbbed with the arthritis he'd developed from injuring it time and time again over the years. He limped through the alley, head swinging left and right as he looked for her. Her call had been urgent and ended before he could get much more out of her than a location.

"KoKo," he hissed.

"Hi, Raph," she said, emerging from the shadows in a smooth effortless way that would have made her deceased parents shine with pride. The easy way she addressed him by his full name was a sore point that she continued to ignore whenever she wanted. Only referring to him as 'uncle' in front of Don or April or Mikey.

He ripped his helmet off, felt the familiar shock of seeing his dead brother's eyes reflected before him in the young woman in such precise detail that still, after nearly fourteen years, it hurt to look upon. He spent her childhood staying away from her. As far away as possible. It hurt too much to look into those stormy blue eyes and see Leo there over and over again like a punishment. It was hard enough to come to terms with the fact that his brother had given up trying to live and had left him and his brothers behind with this painful reminder of his absence. What made things worse was that as she grew up she became something more than special because of who she was.

As she got older, he tried even harder to keep his distance. Everyone thought he disliked her, even hated her. He liked it that way. It was easier that way. Because he couldn't face the truth. There was something wrong with him.

He'd never admit it to his brothers or himself but there was another reason he didn't want to be around her. A shame that he did his best to keep buried. He was old enough to be her grandfather, not to mention she was his niece, whether or not Leo and he were related by blood or not, it was wrong. But still, as she grew from an annoying kid into a young woman, he found her extremely attractive. Hell, she was gorgeous. A perfect blend of human and mutant turtle characteristics. It didn't help anything that she had her mother's dangerous charm. And his exact eyes. Those beautiful fuckin' eyes.

With Donatello's urging and Mikey's determination to make a relationship work between them, Raphael had come to grudgingly accept there was no way around it. He did his best, but they continued to drown him, completely unaware that their good intentions were slowly tearing him to pieces.

He eventually stopped disappearing when she came to the lair where he and Mikey lived and started to accept the invitations that Don and April sent to him for family gatherings. Don and April had practically raised the girl. But since Master Splinter's death, when she turned seventeen, KoKo had started a rebellious phase that she didn't seem to realize put her and the rest of the family at higher and higher risk. She'd been sneaking out and getting herself into dangerous situations, causing April's hair to gray and Don to get deep circles around his eyes. Everyone turned to him to intercede, thinking and reasoning, that of them all he'd understand best what she was going through. He was shoved into her secret life, forced into a role he never wanted, but couldn't refuse.

God damn them.

Despite his aloof demeanor towards her or perhaps because of it, she became ever enamored with him. She had an unfortunate habit of draping herself over his shoulders when he was trying to read. Of tracing her fingertips along the back of his shell. Torturing him without knowing what she was doing to him . . . at least he wanted to believe in her innocence in the matter. It was up to him to remain composed and keep things familial and proper.

He was her uncle. He was the keeper of her secrets. He was her rescuer. And she was his everlasting torment.

He clenched his jaw and opened his mouth to start a lecture that would have made his brother proud when the words died in his throat. KoKoa stumbled forward. He dropped his helmet and lurched forward to catch her. The old leather of his jacket and pants creaked with the motion. His knee screamed in protest from the swift movement. He caught the smell of hard liquor and blood. When he looked up he saw a man lying in a crumbled heap in the shadows.

"KoKo, what the fuck?"

She got her feet under her and scrambled to stand, but Raphael held her elbows firmly in his large hands. She raised her storm-colored eyes up to him and gazed at him from under a heavy fringe of black lashes. His heart tripped and he pushed away any errant thought that drifted around the edges of his mind. He gave himself a mental shake and her a physical one. Gently though, she was so petite that his fingers touched his thumbs around her upper arms. He would never hurt her. Not in any way.

"Okay, girlie. Spill."

She winced and grimaced. She folded closer to him, nuzzling her tiny, soft frame into his broad chest. She whined quietly into the front of his throat, her voice vibrating against his skin and breath tickling it in such a way that goose pimples rose up over his body. He shut his eyes. Trying to close himself off. Put the wall up between them, but failing miserably. It was wrong. Over the liquor and blood she smelled like summer rain.

"Can we just go home?"

Sometimes she seemed too old for her years and other times too young. Much, much too young. Raph kept his hands out, not touching her, not encouraging the physical contact, but doing nothing to stop it. She writhed, a slight curl of her chest, brushing her curves enough against him to make the shame knot in his gut and the desire rise and tightened in his loins.

Dammit.

He reminded himself whose daughter she was. That she was his niece. A mantra he'd had to adopt over time. A protective chant that lulled his lonely nights to sleep when thoughts drifted to uneasy, uncomfortable territory. He swallowed loudly. Then with gentle motion he pried her away from his warming, traitorous, body already missing and longing for the touch of her nubile form. He cleared his throat.

"First tell me about this guy."

"I will on the way home," she replied with a sly smile, eyes twinkling and he crumbled.

The feel of her arms clinging around his torso, fingers splayed across his chest, the front of her body pressed tight to his shell, inner thighs against his outer, felt like sweet damnation as they rode home. Even the cool night air against his bare face, did little to cool his rising temperature.

She is Leonardo's daughter, he reminded himself and clenched his jaw.

His stomach flipped and dropped when he found Michelangelo was not home. His mind and body immediately split down the middle. No. This wasn't happening. It was up to him to be the adult here. He marched through the turnstiles and stomped to the phone in the kitchen. KoKoa followed behind, slowly removing his helmet. She tossed it in the corner where a pile of his outerwear lay. Then pulled off her boots and tossed them next to it.

"What are you doing?" she called out.

"Calling Don."

She gasped. "What?"

Her eyes were wide as he pinched the phone between cheek and chin. She ran over to him. The silky material of her short skirt hugged her thighs and clung to her bouncing breasts in a way that made it impossible not to notice that she was bra-less. Raphael spun around and braced one hand against the bricks and swore under his breath. Why did April let her go out dressed like that? She stood on tip toe, hands clasped together in front of him. He turned his back to her.

"Uh, hey April. Don there? Yeah."

KoKoa scurried to the front of him and followed again as he spun to avoid looking at her, effectively wrapping himself around with the cord of the phone.

"Please, please, please, Uncle Raphie," she pleaded, using the hated nickname as well as his proper title.

He smirked. He was doing the right thing. He should be proud of himself. But something felt like disappointment in the pit of his stomach. She bounced again in front of him. He pressed his mouth into a thin line. He knew it was a bad idea. But a part of him wanted this, even though he'd never admit it to himself. He looked away as Don's voice came through on the phone. He scratched at his brow, leaning onto his elbow.

"Hey, Don. Uh, Just wanted to tell you, uhm, oh yeah, I hear him, tell Mikey I said hi, too. Yeah, uh, I just . . ." his eyes darted to KoKoa who was giving him the most pathetic look, he rubbed his forehead with the side of his finger and couldn't help but give her a wry smile. Fuck it. "I just wanted to tell you that KoKo's staying here tonight. That okay?"

There was a pause. A stretch of silence that said too much and Raph's face grew hot with each passing second. If Don had suspected something more than dislike or a reminder of their deceased brother kept Raph from being around KoKoa, it would have been because in the past year or so, he found himself flushed and flustered around her. Especially at times like when he'd come over to watch a movie with them. KoKoa would run over and snuggle up with him to watch it. Right in front of Donatello and April. Draping her legs over his thighs and wrapping her arms around his neck, pinning him in place like an insect under glass.

He couldn't move her away without making it painfully aware that he was flustered and aroused and yet, if he continued to sit there, it looked bad. Really bad from the way Don was looking at him; with a piercing, intense scrutiny. She was constantly putting him in these desperate situations. And something told him she enjoyed every minute of it. She was too much like her mother. Perhaps Donatello recognized the behavior as well. He'd finally let his anger guide him and in a huff he'd stand, knocking her clear on her ass to the floor and march out of the house.

He cleared his throat roughly. "That okay with you? I could send her home," he offered and from the corner of his eye he saw her shake her head miserably. His offer seemed to snap Donatello out of his thoughts. The reluctant permission was given. The words ground out and forced. And Raphael cursed himself and his brother for his silent accusations.

Maybe if the guy who always wanted to 'talk' about things actually came to him and was honest about what he suspected, maybe Raph would have someone to confess his confused feelings to. Maybe he could be saved from the deep shame and his very real fear that he was nothing more than a creep. Then again, he was never good at talking with any of his family. He was doomed. He slammed the phone down after a gruff goodbye. Then stood there, staring at the phone; wondering if this was a good idea after all.

Her fingers were suddenly on him, undoing the cord around him. Her soft arms brushing against him, the scent of summer rain, had him jerking away and ducking. Freed, he wheeled around and attacked the fridge, ducking his head inside. He emerged with a juice box for her and a beer for himself.

She caught the offending drink and glowered at him. "You do know I'm an adult."

"Hardly," he teased.

"I'm eighteen," she bragged and threw the juice box onto the table.

"Exactly. Just a kid."

She cocked her head to one side in a manner that was too reminiscent of her mother. A sharp look came into her eyes that looked too much like a challenge. He twisted the cap free from his beer and drank deeply, thinking that he needed another one before even finishing the one in his hand. He set down the bottle and started to take off his jacket when she was next to him helping. Once again, too close. Much too close.

"Givin' grandpa a hand?" he teased with a chuckle even as he sidled out of her reach, backing up and away from her like she was a coiled viper.

She made a disapproving sound with her mouth. He kept his eyes glued to the bottle as he threw the jacket onto the back of one chair. Then snatching up the beer, he moved into the living room. As he sat down he heard the fridge open and close and then she was there sitting in the worn love seat that her father used to sit in to read. Raph closed his eyes and rubbed them to remove the vision. When he opened them again KoKoa sat there, smiling triumphantly at him as she took a drink of beer.

"Hey, KoKo, what the fuck, you ain't old enough ta' drink," he tried. But he was never good at disciplining her, leaving that up to her pseudo parents and Mikey. He just tried his best to stay out of the way.

"It's just beer."

He rolled his eyes. He switched gears. "You wanna tell me about the guy we left in the alley?"

"Oh, him?" She wrinkled her nose. And it sent a strange feeling through him. He dropped his gaze to the bottle in his hands, studied the label with intense scrutiny. "He was a grabby asshole." His amber eyes snapped back to her. Face turned to the side, eyes narrowed.

"Come again?"

She motioned with one hand towards her small but rounded breasts with a clawing motion as she drank another long slow pull from the bottle. He felt the back of his neck heat uncomfortably. She kept her eyes glued on him as she actually squeezed her breast. His eyes widened. And he swore to god she knew what she was doing to him. And it was all wrong. In so many ways. She licked the mouth of the bottle and Raphael's mouth went dry as his mind blanked.

Then casually she clarified, "You know, hands all over the place. A grabby asshole."

The words sunk in and then the meaning struck home. Raphael's blood turned to ice then boiled. He jumped to his feet, gripping the bottle in one fist. KoKoa quailed back into the chair, blue eyes in circles.

"What?!" he roared.

"Geez, relax."

"Relax? How the fuck do you . . . what were you doin' . . . how the hell did he get close enough to ya . . . KoKo, start explainin' now!" he hollered.

She shrugged. "It's no big deal. He was really cute and

I was curious."

The edges of his vision clouded red. If the guy wasn't dead he was gonna be in a minute.

A/N: God help me. I'm having too much fun with this.