The greatest enemy they'd ever faced destroyed their lives 15 years ago. Now, in the midst of a traumatic identity crisis, it's happening all over again... Sequel to sss979's Mourning Light and co-written with her.
This one's my first TMNT fic (excluding the little erotic piece I did for Shannon... lol). So be nice. And please review. Sss979 and I make an interesting combination when it comes to the TMNT universe... Make sure you keep the tissues handy for this one. -Danger Incarnate
This is more intense than anything I've ever written before. It's NOT for kids. If you can't handle blood, and you're against "heroes" who might do bad things for good reasons, do NOT read this. -sss979
Take
Take 'til there's nothing
Nothing to turn to
Nothing when you get through
Won't you break
Scattered pieces of all I've been
Bowing to all I've been
Running to
Where are you?
Where are you?
Did
You leave me unbreakable?
You leave me frozen?
I've never felt so cold
I thought you were silent
And I thought you'd left me
For the wreckage and the waste
On an empty beach of faith
Was it true?
'Cause I... I got a question
I got a question
Where are you?
Scream
Deeper I wanna scream
I want you to hear me
I want you to find me
'Cause I... I want to believe
But all I pray is wrong
And all I claim is gone
And I... I got a question
I got a question
Where are you?
Where are you?
-"Silence"
Jars of Clay
PROLOGUE
She was too young to be in here. Ryan knew it, but he left her alone. This was the second night in a row she'd shown up at the bar. Last night, she'd stayed 'til last call. She had to be a runaway, just looking for a warm place to sit. One drink lasted her the whole night. She sat in the corner of the bar, head down, completely covered by her long jacket, and sipped a margarita. For seven hours, the same drink.
He knew she wasn't old enough when she walked up to the bar to get that drink, with her head down and her face hidden behind a wall of black hair. Well, it was sort of black. It had bright red streaks in it, too. If she was a runaway, she certainly didn't know how to blend in with society. She'd get picked up real quick.
"Hey, Ryan." He turned and raised an eyebrow at a blonde woman seated at the bar. "Can I get another shot?"
Ryan smiled and grabbed the bottle off the counter. He threw it up in the air, spun, and grabbed its neck perfectly behind his back. "Showoff," the blonde smiled.
He winked at her as he poured the amber liquid into the shotglass. "When do you get off tonight?" she asked.
"Gotta close up."
"Wanna come over?"
"Maybe," he grinned.
"Angela's comin' over too," the woman smiled back. "Up for a threesome?"
Ryan opened his mouth to answer, but instead just shook his head. Somehow, he wasn't surprised that she'd just asked him that, within earshot of everybody, at his work.
"Hey, barkeep!"
He turned. "Yeah?"
"Got a light?"
"There's matches on the..." he started. "Shit, where'd they go?"
"What's this shit music you're playin' in here?" Adam laughed as the bartender searched for the matches.
"What you don't like Pink Floyd?" Ryan grinned. Adam had been a regular since the start of the school year. He was old enough to be in here. Ryan knew; he'd checked. Kid reminded him of a thirteen year old.
Ryan found a new box of matches. "Hey, heads up."
The man held up his hands and Ryan tossed the matches, underhand behind his back. "Hey, Ry, do your Eminem impression," Denise urged. She was sitting on Adam's lap, hugging his neck to stay balanced on the barstool.
Ryan cringed. "Guys, I don't rap too good at one in the morning."
"Aw, come on," Adam urged.
Ryan's eyes shifted to the dark shadow in the corner. She stood, tossed a few dollars on the table, and left. "Ry?"
He snapped back to the conversation. "Huh?"
"You hear me?"
"No, what'd you say?"
Denise eyed him suspiciously. "You trippin' or something?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm..." He thought of making an attempt to explain the funny feeling inside of him, but pushed the idea aside. "I'm alright. Just thinking. Need another drink, Amy?"
Ryan woke up slowly and glanced at the alarm clock. He either had to get up now or give himself a few more minutes and then race like hell to get to work on time. Neither sounded too appealing.
He yawned and stretched and felt the warm body next to him press in close. He rubbed her bare shoulder and she moaned quietly. "Gotta get offa me, baby," he mumbled. "I need to get my ass to work."
She kissed his neck, still not fully awake. "What the hell are you talkin' about?" she moaned.
"I run two jobs, babe. Remember?"
She sighed as she woke up and reality came back to her. Of course she knew that. She wished she didn't, though. She didn't want him to leave yet. But he pulled away with little sympathy. She opened her eyes to the bright morning sunlight and for a moment, she was blinded. Her eyes adjusted slowly and she watched Ryan as he pulled on his jeans from last night. He stretched toward the ceiling as he stood to his feet, and walked toward the window. She turned onto her back to follow him with her eyes.
The muscles in his back rippled as he reached behind him, stretching. Her eyes ran down his arms and she noticed that he'd already found a pen and he was absently twirling it between his fingers. It was a habit of his, and an amusing one. She could never figure out how he managed to do that without dropping it.
Ryan barely noticed what his hand was doing. He paused at the window and looked outside, and his eyes took in the scene quickly. It was ten thirty, and the sun had already risen high. He watched the people as they walked quickly through the streets, and one figure in particular caught his eye. She was standing at the mouth of an alley, looking up at the building he was in. He laughed as he recognized her. "Hey, baby, check this out," he called.
The woman had already stood and she draped a robe over her shoulders before approaching him. "Hmm?"
"It would appear I've got myself a stalker."
He watched the girl carefully. There was something about her that he didn't like, and it wasn't just the technicolor hair. Something warned him, deep inside. Not that she was any real threat to him. Even living in the City of Sin, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot that scared him. In fact, he couldn't really think of anything at the moment.
The woman looked over his shoulder. "Think she's a hooker?" Alisa suggested.
"A hooker stalking a cop?" he chuckled. "She'd have to be pretty stupid."
Alisa's robe wasn't tied, and her chest pressed to his bare back. "Maybe she doesn't know you're a cop."
"Doubt it."
She bit his earlobe gently, disinterested in the figure on the street. Ryan ducked away from her. "Knock it off, Lise, I gotta go."
He ran his fingers through his hair and found his shirt on the floor. "You gonna be back tonight?" she asked.
"No promises," he answered. "Anything could happen between now and then." He pulled the T-shirt over his head. "Hell, I could be dead tonight. Who knows?"
She smiled. "All the more reason for me to keep you here," she tried.
He grabbed his gun and his leather jacket, and put them both on methodically. He kissed her one last time, running his hands down her bare sides and around behind her. She giggled as he squeezed her gently, then pulled away. He left her apartment and took the stairs down rather than wait for the elevator. He could already tell that what little patience he had wasn't going to do him justice today.
He walked out into the street and started down the sidewalk. It didn't take him long to realize he was being followed. Shit, she either had brass balls or no brain. She was being obvious about stalking him. At the very least, she had to know that was illegal. He took a detour instead of going straight to his house. He wasn't sure he wanted her to know where he lived, and he had to go there to get changed before he could go to work.
The coffee shop was full. He never understood these places. He stood behind a woman who was waiting impatiently for her half-caffinated, non-fat, thick foam, white capped grande cappuccino with no lid and surveyed the area. The girl walked in behind him and took a seat near the door. Obvious. She wanted him to know she was following him. Some kind of a statement, maybe?
The woman got her half-caffinated, non-fat, thick foam, white capped grande cappuccino with no lid and Ryan stepped up to the counter. "Small coffee," he ordered. "Black."
He felt the stalker approach him and he tensed. She was going to make a move. "Aren't you that bartender who works in Kristi's?"
Ryan turned and studied her for a minute. For the first time, he got a good look at her. She damn well looked like a hooker. She wore heavy makeup, hoop earrings, a diamond stud in her nose, and a long jacket that covered her clothing. Leather, high heeled boots ran up her legs and underneath the jacket and her hands were covered by slim, black, leather gloves. Her black and red hair hung over her ears, and her bright, almost lime green eyes reminded him of something out of a horror flick. Underneath the gothic look, she was way too pretty for her own good.
"Yeah," he answered. "So?"
She smiled. "You're up kinda early then, aren't you?"
"I work two jobs," he answered. "I'm also a police officer."
That didn't surprise her like he'd hoped it would. "That's great," she smiled.
He crossed his arms over his chest. Did she miss the point or did she really think he hadn't noticed that she was stalking him? "You know, it's not a good idea to stalk a police officer," he informed her.
"So you did see me," she smiled, shifting her weight to one leg. "I thought maybe you did. Why didn't you ever come say hi?"
"Was I supposed to?" he asked as he grabbed his coffee off the counter.
He turned away, and she followed him. They walked outside together and Ryan's eyes were immediately attracted to a group of teenage boys whom he knew should be in school. They laughed and cursed at each other, and one of them eyed the girl at his side. They were trouble, and Ryan knew it. "You know, this ain't the best neighborhood around," he informed her. "You have a ride or do you need me to escort you back to the...?" He caught himself before he said "trailer park". "... projects."
"I don't live in the projects," she answered.
He nodded slightly. The group of guys turned and walked away. He needed to get home and get his ass to work. He was running late. "Where do you live?"
"Think I'd tell you that?"
"I told you, I'm a police officer," he reminded her. "What do you think I'm gonna do, break into your house?"
"I don't live in a house, either."
Oh, so she was funny. "Where do you live?"
"You wanna know that, you're gonna have to show me some ID."
He glared at her. He'd tried to be nice. "I don't have time for this," he informed her. He handed her the cup in his hands. "Here. Have a coffee and go find someone to screw."
She looked down at the styrofoam cup in her hands as he turned and walked away. She smiled. He was a smartass. She followed close behind him and caught up a few steps later. "I don't drink coffee," she informed, handing it back to him. "It stunts your growth."
"Your mommy tell you that?"
"You sure are different from other cops."
He stopped for a moment, and turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugged. "Well, I thought all police officers treat everyone with respect."
"You're stalking me," he reminded. "That's a criminal offense. I could arrest you."
She grinned. "Then you'd really have to be nice to me. Or else I could sue you."
"On what grounds?" he challenged.
She smiled sweetly and offered him the coffee back. "Here. It's getting cold."
He stared at the cup for a moment, then looked back at her. "You're just a kid," he noticed.
Her eyes shifted, as if she wasn't sure what he meant by that. "I'll... take that as a compliment."
"You're supposed to be in school."
"I don't go to school."
"I could arrest you."
"We've already established that." They stared at each other for a long time. Finally, she sighed and put her weight on her back leg. "Do you want this three dollar cup of coffee or should I spill it out?"
He shook his head in disbelief, then turned and walked away. She followed him. "So, what, do you want me to arrest you?" he asked.
"You can't arrest me unless you're a cop."
"I am a cop."
"Well, either that or you're some sicko who's pretending to be a cop so you can handcuff me and throw me in the back of your car."
"How 'bout I handcuff you and throw you in the back of somebody else's car?" he mumbled under his breath.
She giggled and he spun to face her again. "Look, do you want something? Because I'm about this close to hauling your ass into the station with me."
"Maybe I have information for the police," she grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Maybe I saw a murder."
He studied her closely. "What murder?" he demanded.
"How do I know you're really a police officer?" she questioned. "I need to talk to the police before I..."
He ripped his wallet out of his pocket and showed her his badge. "There," he snapped, cutting her off. "You convinced now? I really am a police officer."
She studied the badge for a moment, then her eyes raised again. "Nice to meet you," she grinned.
"What did you see?" he demanded.
She shook her head. "I didn't see anything."
"You said you saw a murder."
She grinned. "I said maybe I saw a murder," she corrected.
He felt anger boil inside of him. She was seriously trying his patience. "Okay," he started. "One, you're stalking me. And that's against the law. Two, you're wasting my time. And that's pissing me off. Therefore, I am going officially place you under arrest and your parents can come pick you up at the police station."
"I don't have parents."
He paused. "What, are you an orphan?"
Geez, why are you still talking to her?
"You mean are both my parents dead?"
"Uh, yeah, that is the definition of an orphan."
"No, they're not."
"Then you're a runaway?" he guessed.
"You think I'd tell that to a cop?" she smiled
"I think you just did."
She looked away, but didn't answer. There was something about her. He'd noticed it right away, but now it was even stronger. But he couldn't put his finger on it. Something about her was... different. Intreguing. Almost familiar. He knew her game, but he hadn't played it in so long that he'd forgotten how. Almost reminded him of being a kid again. "Maybe" was never "yes" or "no".
"Why're you following me?" he pressed.
She smiled. "Maybe I'm a serial killer."
He let that roll. Maybe meant nothing. "For your sake, I hope not."
It was almost like she was flirting with him. He considered the thought. She was way too young. He looked a good ten years younger than he was - he'd always kept his body in pretty good shape - but there was no way she could possibly mistaken him for someone under 25. And she looked about 13.
"How old are you?" he asked.
She shoved her hands into her pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels and toes. How did she do that in those heels? "Twenty-three."
He laughed. Damn, she was smooth. That just rolled off her tongue, no thought needed. "Bull shit."
"You think so?" she smiled in return.
"There's no way in hell you're twenty-three."
"Why do you ask me if you're not going to believe me?" she questioned.
"Ever hear about a thing called honesty?"
She smiled. "Truth is in the eye of the beholder."
"Who told you that?"
"A friend."
He studied her for a minute. "Do you have a reason for following me?"
She nodded. "Yes."
Finally! A straight answer. "Do you have any intention of telling me what that reason is?"
"I have to tell you something that you..." She paused and considered the word "want." "...need to hear."
He nodded slowly, contemplating that. "And what's that?"
"I can't tell you here."
"Think you could tell me on the other side of a set of bars?"
"A bar works for me," she answered, twisting his words around.
"You're too damn young to be in a bar."
She laughed. "Oh, come on. I bet you did a lot of underage drinking back in your day."
She talked as if she knew him. Not that he was admitting she was right, but he really didn't need to. She was already sure of the statement. He could tell by the way she'd said it. How did she know him? Had they met before. Maybe - he shuddered - this was a daughter he didn't know about. She was too young to be an old girlfriend or a one night stand. He got drunk off his ass, but he'd never do a twelve year old no matter how sleazy she dressed. He knew the difference. Hell, he was a bartender. He could pretty much guess the age of anyone who walked in his door.
"No bar," he stated firmly. "You don't belong in a bar."
She shrugged, looking up at the sky as the tiny snowflakes fell around them. She opened her mouth to catch them on her tongue. "Oh ah ondt," she agreed, her tongue still sticking out of her open mouth.
He studied her for a minute. "Any other ideas?"
She lowered her head and closed her mouth, then eyed him suspiciously. "I don't know. Am I under arrest? Because that might seriously put a cramp in any plans I had to tell you why I came from the other side of God's green Earth to find you."
He glanced at his watch. He'd find out later where she was from. Right now, he had to get to work. "Fine, princess, how 'bout dinner?"
She laughed. "Are you hitting on me, Mr. Police Officer?" she grinned.
"Why not?" he replied. "You're twenty-five, right?"
She crossed her arms over her chest. He was pretty good at this game, even if he did take a while to catch on. "Twenty-three," she corrected, smiling.
"If you got a better idea, I'm all ears," he answered her, slightly amused.
She shrugged. "Food sounds nice," she accepted.
"Fine," he agreed. "I'll meet you here at seven. And until then, stop following me. Got it?"
She smiled. "Got it."
"So... let me guess," he started. "Your dad is mean to you and your mom is dead..."
It was a ridiculous assumption. He didn't know anything about her, and he realized that. But he also knew how to get people to talk. "My mother's not dead," she corrected. "She's alive and well. Just got remarried, actually."
A light at the end of the tunnel. "So that's why you ran away?"
"I never said I ran away," she answered.
He ignored her. He already knew she had. He'd checked to see if anyone with her description had been reported missing, but found nothing. But the way she'd answered questions about her parents and her home was evidence enough. "You don't like the guy, is that it?"
She shrugged. "He's sounds okay. Kinda stupid, but he's nice."
He stared at her, confused. He only sounded okay? "Your mother married him and you don't know him?"
"Did I say I didn't know him?"
"You said he sounds okay."
"Oh," she smiled. "I guess I did, didn't I?"
"How does he only sound okay?"
"Well, I've never met him," she shrugged. "Hell, he lives on the other side of the country."
He raised an eyebrow. "Where on the other side of the country?" he asked.
"New York," she shrugged. "Unless she already moved to Maryland. I know she was gonna do that, but I'm not sure if she already has. I haven't seen my mom in years."
He considered that for a moment. New York. That was a hell of a long way from Vegas. "How'd you manage to get across the country in one piece?" he asked. He could think of a million things that could've brought her trip to a screeching halt.
"I said my mom lives in New York," she corrected. "I never said I did."
She was almost beginning to frustrate him. "So where are you from?"
"Where was I born or where do I live?"
He studied her carefully. "That's a trick question," he realized. If he asked her where she was born, it wasn't necessarily where she ran away from. But if he asked her where she lived, he knew she'd just gesture to the world around her. She'd already said she was homeless.
"You're pretty good," she grinned. "Where'd you learn to interrogate?"
"Where'd you learn to avoid questions?" he shot back. This was like a game, and he realized it. The girl was amusing, and she wasn't getting on his nerves yet. It was gonna be hell taking her to the station, though. Eventually, he was going to have to. Regardless of what it was she wanted to tell him.
"I've always been told my dad could con his way outta anything."
"So your dad taught you?"
"I never met my dad. He died before I was born."
"If your dad's dead, why don't you live with your mother?"
She sighed. "I don't know. Guess I reminded her too much of my father."
He studied her carefully. The more she talked, the more interested he got. The waitress brought her food, offered to bring Ryan another beer, which he refused, and disappeared again.
"You don't even take your gloves off to eat?" Ryan questioned as the girl picked up her fork.
"I don't ever take my gloves off," she answered, stabbing a forkful of salad.
"Why not?"
"You know X-Men?"
She brought the food to her lips and chewed for a moment. Ryan watched her, amused by her response. "Yeah, I've seen the movie."
"Remember Rogue?"
He smiled. "You tryin' to tell me you're some kind of mutant?"
She glanced up. "If I said yes, would you believe me?"
"I believe what I see."
She laughed. "You shouldn't trust your eyes so much, Ryan," she mumbled, taking another small bite. "Looks can be deceiving."
He paused for a moment, evaluating her words. "How do you know my name?"
She nodded toward him, and reached for her glass of Mountain Dew. "It's on your shirt."
He glanced down at the pin on his jacket. Of course it was. He'd just gotten off work, after all. "Fair enough," he answered. "So what's your name?"
She smiled. "If you don't know that by now, you don't deserve to know."
He eyed the bracelet around her wrist. "Sharon?" he guessed, reading the beads.
She didn't answer, only looked down at her food and shrugged as if she were disinterested. Ryan shook his head slightly as he looked away. He leaned back and rested his arm on the back of the booth, using his other arm to grab the glass of beer on the table. "So Sharon, if you don't live with your mother and your father's dead, who do you live with?" he asked.
"No one, right now."
"How long have you been on your own?" he questioned. Her hygene was way to upkept for her to have been on the streets for very long.
"Well the trip took four nights," she counted. "And I've been here for two. Figure I stay another night, make my move, then go back."
Shit, she did it again. He really wanted to know who was taking care of her, but she kept distracting him. She was good at it, too. He knew she was trying to distract him, and it was still working. "What move?"
"I gotta talk to someone."
"Who's that?"
She chewed for a moment, avoiding his gaze. "My uncle. He's here in Las Vegas, somewhere. I was kinda hoping you could help me find him."
He studied her. "What's his name?"
She glanced up. "I don't know."
"You're looking for someone you don't know?"
"I know what he looks like, I just don't know his name. My dad drew a sketch of him before he died." She considered that for a minute. "It was pretty good, too, considering he was half dead when he did it. He was a good artist."
He knew he was getting further and further away from the point, but at the moment, he didn't care. "So... you want me to help you track down your lost uncle and that's why you've been stalking me?"
She nodded. "Pretty much, yeah."
He sighed. This was giving him a headache. "Fine. I'll look at the picture, you can finish eating, and then I'm gonna take you to the station. I'm sure your guardian, whoever that may be, is worried sick about you."
She stared down at her plate. She didn't doubt that. "Yeah, prob'ly," she informed her salad.
Ryan watched her. She wasn't making any effort here. "You got the picture on you?" he prompted.
She set her fork down and looked up. "No."
He laughed. "Well, how do you expect to find him without the picture?"
"It's in my head real good. It was kinda like my dad's legacy or something." She sighed. "It's all screwy and hard to explain."
"Great," he mumbled under his breath, downing the last of his beer. They were quiet for a few minutes. She was taking her time eating. The silence was killing him. "So how did your father die?" he finally questioned.
She shrugged. "My mom always told me it was cancer."
He scrutinized that sentence carefully. "And you don't think it was?"
"I didn't say that."
"Let me put it this way," he grinned. "What do you think killed him?"
"I don't know," she answered. "I wasn't there."
He sighed, exasperated. Enough of that. "So who has custody of you?" he asked. "Another relative?"
"Nobody has custody of me," she mumbled. "Technically, I don't exist."
He stared at her, dumbfounded. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She ignored him and decided to go for the last question. "But I live with my sensei and, until just recently, his brother."
The word made Ryan's ears perk. "Sensei?"
"Yes," she answered.
"So you study martial arts?"
She nodded. "My entire life. You?"
He hesitated. "Not really," he answered. "Kind of a hobby, but I haven't done any serious training in... god, forever."
There was a long silence as she picked at the salad. She wasn't really hungry anymore. "What form do you study?" he asked.
"Hmm?" she questioned, as if she hadn't heard him. She had, of course. She was stalling. Something inside of her warned that he wasn't ready to hear this yet. But she was out of time. They could play this game for the next three days and not get bored. But there were only so many hours before it was over, and all of this would be for nothing.
"What form?" he repeated.
She raised her eyes slowly to his. "Ninjutsu," she replied simply.
His eyebrows raised. "Really?" he laughed, disbelief tainting his voice.
"Yes."
He crossed his arms over his chest, as if he were getting ready to prove her wrong. "Where'd you find someone to teach it to you?"
"My sensei studied it his whole life. He and his brothers."
"Brothers," he repeated, half-laughing. "So, what, they were all one big happy ninja family?"
She didn't smile. The conversation, for her, had turned serious. His smile fell as he realized this. "And where, exactly, does this sensei of yours live?" he demanded.
"New York," she answered without hesitation.
Ryan felt tension begin to build in the pit of his stomach. "New York," he repeated. "There a lot of ninjas in New York?"
"Only two," she answered. The slight tension now reminded him of an earth-shattering volcanic eruption. "There used to be more." She sighed as she set the glass down and traced the rim with her gloved finger. "But my father died and one of them..." Her eyes raised again and she looked straight at him. "Well, he ran off to Vegas."
Ryan felt emotion explode inside of him, but he held it back. The stoic look on his face revealed nothing. She knew about him. How did she know? "Why are you here?" he demanded, his voice cold.
"I told you," she answered. "I'm looking for my uncle. I need his help."
That left her father as one of two people. He suddenly realized the reason for the gloves. "No."
"No, what?"
"Whatever it is you want, no." He stood up and tossed a few dollars on the table as a tip. "Look, it's been fun, but I gotta get home."
Without another word, he turned and began to walk away. "They're gonna kill Donny," she informed.
Her words were loud enough to make a few heads in the restaurant turn. But seeing as she was saying it to a uniformed police officer in the first place, they all went back to their conversations fairly quickly. Ryan remained frozen, unable to move no matter how he willed himself to resume walking. His eyes slid closed and he took in a deep breath, then turned back to her. She was staring at him expectantly with those piercing green eyes. "What do you want me to do about it?" he demanded.
"Anything and everything you can," she answered.
"Why should I?" he challenged.
She glared at him. "Because he's your brother, Raphael."