TMNT are the property of Mirage now and forever amen.

Confrontations

They stood in the dojo, the first complete training session since Mikey was allowed out of bed. Meditation was over- there only remained one piece of business to be taken care of, and Leo was looking forward to it with almost Raph-like excitement.

"Jeeze, Leo!" Raph whispered, noticing the naked glee on his oldest brother's face. "You're acting like a kid! Sensei sees that look, and you'll be joining Mikey in his punishment!"

Leo immediately adjusted his features- but he couldn't keep the childish delight out of his eyes.

For months upon months Splinter had been riding him and Raph, dealing out punishment after punishment for any attempt to get back into what Leo considered his "old routine". No matter how justified Splinter felt he was in doing so, it had not been fair. He and Raph had apologized until they were blue in the face, but Splinter still treated them as if they were just out of the egg.

Now it was someone else's turn, and Leo, usually the most protective, the most willing to take the blame and spare his brothers- the most mature- was almost clapping his hands in glee.

Mikey stood out from the line in front of Master Splinter, respectful, submissive, and prepared for his punishment. Indeed, he was so unMikeylike, it was scary.

Raph, glancing from the oldest to the youngest, almost got the impression that they had somehow switched personalities. Then he shook off the feeling, and turned his attention to Splinter.

"Michelangelo," he said, stern but not angry. "You stand here because I must exact punishment on you for what you did."

"Hai, Sensei. I understand."

"You were well-aware of my order to not enter that place at all," Splinter continued, eyes only on his youngest. "I was adamant that none of you venture anywhere near that place."

"Hai, Sensei."

"Granted, you were under the influence of a high fever," Splinter continued. "These things can cloud your judgment. However, I do believe that you formed this decision before it rose as high as it did."

"Hai, Sensei," Michelangelo confirmed. "I don't remember too much about that whole thing, but I think I remember that after you put me to bed, I sort of had what I thought was a vision- a vision that Victor was trying to warn me about that rat guy, and I thought 'hey, why not check it out?' I am sorry." And he bowed, ready for his punishment.

Splinter absently smacked his walking stick in his hand, looking at this honest and penitent turtle.

"Very well," Splinter said, and three sets of eyes fixed themselves on their youngest brother. Two sets were impressed with Mikey's mature attitude; one set was seriously pleased at what was about to come. "You will do ten flips as your punishment. The rest of you are dismissed."

"That's it?"

All eyes turned to Leonardo, who looked at his father with a mixture of shock at his own disrespectful outburst, and a growing disbelief at the "punishment" dealt out to Mikey. He knew he should be quiet! His rational mind kept saying Shut UP, chucklehead! Shut UP!

His inner child kept yelling NO FAIR NO FAIR NO FAIR!

"That's it? Ten flips?"

Splinter's ears slightly flatten even as he remained in control of his temper at this uncharacteristic display by his eldest.

"You have something to say in defense of your brother, perhaps?" he asked, a slight edge in his voice almost daring Leonardo to presume too much.

Leo swallowed, hard, but there was no going back; not this time!

"Sensei, you specifically warned us that to go against your wishes was- well, was worth a punishment more than ten flips!"

"I believe that I have acted rather fairly," Splinter said evenly. "I took into consideration the situation surrounding your brother's transgression. It was agreed by all of us that his fever had a hand in his irrational behavior. You, indeed, were the lead voice in this, were you not?"

Leo was not to be put off. True, once they'd gotten him out of that horror movie of a death trap and had gotten him home, nearly hypothermic on top of a raging fever, Leonardo had been the first to voice the assertion that Mikey had to have been completely out of his mind to get into that situation in the first place.

But still- ten flips?

"Sensei," he argued. "Considering all of that, you may as well not punish him at all!"

Splinter seemed to think about this.

"Very well. I believe you have made a valid point," he replied, turning his gaze once again to Michelangelo. "Punishment is withdrawn. Your brother is correct; the entire situation can be forgiven as the act of someone who was, due to illness, not in control of his mind or actions. You are all dismissed."

Raph had such a hard time not laughing at the look on Leo's face. He could feel it building, growing stronger, welling up inside and determined to burst forth in all its glory. But Raph, utilizing all the inner strength of meditation that his Sensei has been drilling into him since they were old enough to start training, remained in control of himself.

But just barely. Leo stood there, frozen to the floor as if struck by some spell that had turned him to stone. And Raph desperately wished that he could have a picture- no, a video of the entire exchange!

"Hey, uh, Donnie- is there any popcorn left, or have you eaten it all?" Raph asked, as they headed into the living area, leaving Splinter standing there facing a confused and (increasingly) angry Leonardo.

They stood there silently for a few minutes as the others made themselves scarce- even Don did not want to be caught in the line of any fire that might take place.

Splinter's gaze never wavered as he looked passively at Leonardo.

"Is there something you require, my son?" Splinter finally asked.

Leo debated with himself. He just didn't get it! Why was Splinter being like this? Why was Mikey off the hook? Why was Leo always the one in trouble? Why was Splinter acting like a- like a-

"Nothing, Sensei," he sighed, defeated, bowing and leaving.

But Splinter knew that this was not over. He could feel the anger in Leonardo at what he perceived to be the blatantly unfair treatment of one son over the other.

"Keep thinking that, my son," he murmured softly, watching the retreating back of his eldest. "Keep thinking that. Perhaps you will find enlightenment in your anger. I know that I have."

He headed for the kitchen, where Donatello and Raphael were making yet another batch of popcorn.

It was fenced off for a reason, but other than that, nothing had been done with this property for years and years. No one remembered why, only that it had been a foundry of some sort. Old brick smokestacks still stood; the buildings, too, were made of old red brick and other materials that lent it a quality of being out of place in this day and age.

Why it had not been destroyed by now and turned into more profitable investments, like high-priced, trendy condos, or some sort of upscale shopping mall, complete with more coffee places and bookshops than there would be customers for, was anyone's guess.

It could be that there was some historical element tied to the place; it could be that whoever owned this patch of land just did not wish to sell at the moment, perhaps holding out for more money that the land was worth.

At any rate, for an abandoned place, very few gangs or groups of hooky-playing youth dared to enter it- especially lately.

The cold had played a part, and the belief that the place was haunted. No one (when hanging with his friends) would believe that latter part, professing that "I go dere alla time, dey ain't no reason to be scared!"

"Oh, yeah?" someone would invariably challenge, "den lets sees ya hop that fence and spend an hour in dere witout da resta us!"

Of course, the challenge would be accepted (reluctantly)- and the lone person's imagination would so carry him away that the hour time limit was never met.

But a few nights ago, when one such a dare was being witnessed by the jeering crowd of teenage boys, that all changed. As the group stood outside the fence, cracking rude jokes and watching the official timekeeper ticking off the minutes, a scream ripped the darkness- and everyone froze!

They had heard others scream, but not like this! This was not the scream of someone's imagination carrying them away- this was a scream that tore the lining of the throat in its terror!

The group started aiming their few flashlights in the direction their friend had gone, straining their eyes and calling his name.

The scream came again, with a sobbing plea that choked off- and then the scream again!

A few of the younger members of the group were starting to cry. One in particular had to be forcibly held back by some of the others- that was his older brother in there! Let him go! He had to help his brother!

"Angelo!" he kept screaming over and over and over, struggling against the arms that held him back.

"Damn it, someone do something!" one of the others cried. But no one wanted to go- they were too frightened-

Then into the light stumbled the boy in question, and there was such relief that they started to cheer- and to jeer and tease-

And then they saw the rats!

Hundreds of rats were chasing the boy; some had launched themselves onto him, attaching themselves to him, tearing at his clothes, hair, flesh!

Now there were others screaming as well. A few of the older boys, now that they could see the problem, to their credit went to the rescue! With whatever they could grab as a weapon, they got over the fence and managed to reach their stumbling, bleeding, crying friend- they swatted and swung and stomped and kicked-

And then the laugh rang out, causing all activity to stop! That laugh chilled all that heard it!

A sharp whistle sounded, and as quickly as they had come, the rats vanished into the darkness, somewhat reluctantly- but the Master had called, and there was no disobeying him.

With what speed they could manage considering they were now carrying their injured and terrified friend, the guys got over the fence and dropped heavily to the ground. In the glow of the flashlights, the boy called "Angelo" looked as if he'd been mauled by dogs.

The little brother clung to this sibling, and the boys made their way as quickly as possible to his house, where his mother went into hysterics and his father had to manage getting them both to the hospital.

"Rats," was all he kept saying, for the rest of the night. "Rats. Rats. They wanted to eat me. He was going to feed me to the rats. Rats. Rats."

"The authorities have searched the area in question, but no sign of the large colony of rodents that the boys claim attacked their friend could be found. In fact, the spokesman for the Department of Health said, quote, 'That is the cleanest place I have seen. There is not one trace that indicates the amount of any rat population that the boys witnessed.'

"Authorities, however, have advised area residents to be aware of any unusual rodent activity. Coming on the discovery nearly three weeks ago of the remains of-"

Click

Mikey watched the screens of the wall of televisions go black. He turned to see that Splinter had been the one to turn off the news, and he bit back the retort he was going to spout to whomever of his brothers had interrupted his viewing.

"My son, I wish to speak with you about your memorial plans," Splinter said, taking a seat on the couch next to Michelangelo.

Since his recovery, he had insisted that he was going ahead with his plans, that he knew that Victor was dead, and that he had imagined that he had seen him alive.

But he'd still been acting oddly. He put off rescheduling the event, citing that Don had to figure out the next good night when the tidal pull would meet his requirements. Then there was the reordering of the wreath. April had not made the florist happy when she'd had to cancel and reschedule the order, and that in turn had not made April happy- she did not like being blamed by the fussy owner of the business, and she had had to agree to pay an "inconvenience fee" that she was sure was illegal, but her hands were tied- no other florist would do what she wanted.

Leatherhead, a generally solitary being who walked about at night to think and relax, found himself running more and more into Michelangelo, who also seemed to be walking about at night- though possibly not for the same reasons. Sometimes he would come upon the Turtle, sitting in the entrance to the pipe that opened out onto the river front where he had told the Crocodile his plans to honor Victor.

"My young friend, what are you doing here?" he inquired that first time, shortly after Mikey had recovered from his illness. Mike had not seemed surprised that the Crocodile was present- though lost in thought, he was still aware of his surroundings.

"I couldn't sleep," he answered simply, staring out at the dimly seen river. And that was all he said, beyond the word "sure" when Leatherhead asked if he may join him. They had sat in silence for almost a quarter of an hour; then the Turtle had risen, said he had to get home now, and was L.H. coming or did he plan on staying?

"I, too, need to head back," the Crocodile responded, though he truly did not need to. But he was concerned with this behavior of his young friend, and thought that perhaps it would be best if he walked him at least part of the way home.

And, at his first opportunity, he told Splinter what Michelangelo was up to.

Splinter looked at his son, trying to discern what was going on in his mind.

"What about it, Father?" he asked, putting on his usual Mikey face of puzzlement and innocence. "Everything's in order- well, except the flowers and the tidal thingie, but other than that-"

"What day have you chosen?"

Mikey looked down; swallowed.

"Um... well, you know, what with all the trouble that-"

"Michelangelo," Splinter firmly yet kindly cut him off. "Donatello has provided you with five good dates. April needs a definite day or she will lose her money and you will have no wreath. And," he drew a breath, steeling himself, "Victor's spirit has waited long enough."

Mikey cringed visibly at this last sentence.

"It is not fair to ask him to wait any longer, my son," Splinter continued. "He needs to move on; to achieve peace. You set about doing this to honor his memory. But to me, this more than that; it is more than a symbolic releasing of the departed from this world."

"I understand, Father," Michelangelo said earnestly. "But- well-" His shoulders sagged; a frustrated sigh escaped him. "I know what you all want. And what you all say. And what- but Father! I just- I just keep feeling that maybe I was right; maybe I DID see Victor! And I-"

He couldn't go on. He couldn't explain. He couldn't accept.

That was the problem, he realized. Even after all this time, he couldn't accept that Victor was dead.

Splinter saw the tears before Michelangelo was aware of them himself. He opened his arms to him has he had done countless times since becoming their father.

And Michelangelo responded as he and done countless times since they had become his sons.

"Shizukesa aiko," he soothed, rocking his son as if he were still little and afraid and needing fatherly comfort. "It will be all right. I promise you. It will be all right."