Description: With the Foot rebuilding and the Rising Hand expanding, the turtles find themselves in conflict as well as uneasy alliance with both ninja clans, forcing them to make wrenching decisions as they fight to preserve their own honor and survival.

Genre: Action/Drama

Rating: T for language and violence

Disclaimer: The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are creations of Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird and are owned by Nickelodeon.

Author's Foreword: The Clans is a sequel to Terms of Allegiance (which you can find by navigating to my profile page or searching this site). I highly recommend reading that first; this story will make a lot more sense if you do.

Other Info: This novel is complete. As with all my fics, it takes place in a TMNT world mostly in line with the Mirage/First Movie universe. I really appreciate reviews - please take a couple of minutes to leave me one, it really helps to know that someone is reading. Enjoy.

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Chapter 1

"Can we go yet?" Raphael asked.

"Almost. I've pulled out a couple of thermostats I can try using, but I want to get an evaporator fan too in case that's the problem." Donatello cast a quick glance around the corner of the refrigerator he was disassembling. Raphael was sitting on top of one of the three "1-800-GOT-JUNK" trucks parked several yards away, his legs hanging off the side of the cab, his heels tapping a dull beat on the driver side window. Even from a distance, his boredom was palpable.

Donatello turned his attention back to the inside of the fridge. It was one of a handful standing together awaiting recycling or disposal. People throw away perfectly good stuff, Don thought as he unscrewed the part he was looking for. Nearby, a roll of carpet sat propped against an old water heater, and a stack of sheet metal lay piled next to a large box filled with computer parts. He was tempted to browse, but resolved to limit himself to what he'd come for. He didn't want his impatient companion to ditch the excursion in search of greater excitement.

When he'd told Leonardo earlier that afternoon that he was going to find replacement parts for their dying refrigerator, his brother's response had been quick: "Great. And take Raph with you." The time that Raphael had spent recuperating from poison, surgery and injury was wearing on him, and, like a feral cat in a house, he exuded twitchy restlessness from every pore. No wonder Leo had jumped at the chance to have him out of the lair for the night. But in a low voice, he'd added, "Take it easy," to Don just before they'd left.

Don placed the parts he'd gathered into his backpack. He screwed the back panel of the fridge back on, scuffed flat the gravel he'd disturbed, and hoisted the bag onto his shoulder. "Okay, all done," he called. Raph hopped off the truck and the two of them scaled the chain link fence and dropped to the pavement on the other side of the junk depot.

The first leg of their convoluted route home involved catching the B line subway. They descended into the tunnels via a service duct and flattened themselves against the side of the concrete wall as the train roared past just inches from them before pulling into the station. As the doors began to slide shut behind the embarking passengers, they sprinted to catch the end car and hung on, rocketing breathlessly through the muggy darkness. As soon as the train pulled into the next station, they slipped off and navigated the service routes back up to street level, emerging into the humid summer air that clung tenaciously to the city like a damp, pungent blanket. They picked up their pace, racing against the first light of dawn. Conversation was sporadic, interspersed with long, comfortable silences.

"So what else you got going on?" Raph began after one such lull. "Besides fixing all the stuff we break."

"This and that," Donatello replied with a shrug. "Remember how last year I built that voice modulator for Mike as a gag gift and he thought it was hysterical?"

"How could I forget," Raph muttered.

"Well it quit a while ago and he wants me to make a new one."

"Christ, no. I will hurt you."

Don chuckled. "The more important project is figuring out how I can adjust the ultrasonic motion detector in the east tunnel so that they it doesn't go off every time a rat goes by." He was lost in thought for a minute. "I can't figure it out. I'm sure I calibrated it the same way as the one in the west tunnel and that one works fine. I could go back to a passive infrared system, but the ultrasonic has such better coverage, I hate to give up on it."

He stopped, figuring that he'd reached the extent of his listener's interest, but when he glanced up he was surprised to see Raphael still looking at him and paying attention, or at least valiantly trying to.

Something subtle had shifted between them this year. It wasn't because Don had saved Raph's life; that might be expected. It was that he'd set up and won such an outrageous gamble, and he'd gone around Leonardo to boot. That was worth major points in Raphael's book.

Or maybe my kidney is rubbing off on him, Don thought in amusement. Encouraged, he continued, "So I'm thinking maybe I could try installing a hybrid sensor that would be less prone to false triggering. But then I would have to order new parts..."

Raphael had definitely stopped listening now. But it wasn't just out of boredom; he was focused intently on something else, his gaze flickering all around the quiet side street they were walking through. "We're being tailed," he said.

Although he managed not to break stride, Donatello careened into battle alertness. It took no more than a couple of seconds to realize that Raphael was right. There was a man walking deep in the shadows on the other side of the street, staying slightly to the rear but keeping pace. Don couldn't see the second man directly behind them, but he could make out the steadily gaining footsteps.

Why now? he wondered, his spirits sinking even as his adrenaline rose. Ever since that dramatic day three months ago when the Rising Hand had dealt a major blow to the Foot, the streets had been seemingly devoid of ninja activity. He had allowed himself to hope that with the two clans regrouping against each other, his family would no longer be a target. So overly optimistic, he admitted now.

It did not help that his brother had a familiar anticipatory gleam in his eyes. Raphael before a fight was like a thoroughbred horse before a race: seconds away from being completely in his element, and barely able to stand it. "Alley on the left side," he said.

So much for taking it easy.

Perhaps sensing that they had been detected, the two men started running forward, nearly closing the gap just as the two turtles ducked into the gravel alleyway and pivoted about to face their pursuers, drawing weapons and falling into fighting stance.

The men came to a dead stop. One of them raised his arm in a signal.

A sniper. They leapt to either side as the whistle of the first arrow cut the air. It thudded into the ground between them, and half a dozen more followed suit, staking a neat line between the turtles and their opponents.

Barely missing a beat, Raphael vaulted over the row of upright arrow shafts, diving into the cover of the wall. To his angry surprise, both men turned and fled like jackrabbits into the shadows on either side of the street. "Why you little-" Raph cursed, pulling his arm back to hurl his sai between the nearest man's shoulder blades.

"Wait," Don grabbed his brother's wrist before the weapon could leave his hand. Raph spun and turned a confused glare on him as Don pointed to the first arrow that had hit the ground. It was too far off the mark to have been meant to kill. The shaft was bright red and there was a white cloth furled and tied around it.

Donatello dislodged the arrow and slipped the cloth off of it. It fell open, revealing the Japanese words written in black ink. He was out of practice reading kanji and it took him a few minutes, with Raphael scowling over his shoulder, to read it through, twice. "The Foot," he said.