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The Other Side of the City--Chapter 84

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The Phoenix felt a warmth at her back, and was surprised that the night had warmed up so much. As she awoke, she recognized the shape of the warmth behind her, that it was Aries. He must have come to cuddle with her sometime in the night. Aww, she thought through her closed eyes, my baby.

She opened them slowly and saw that Splinter was not next to her. She glanced at the little quilted mat, and saw that the picture of the Turtles was gone.

No! she thought. No, no, no! He can't be gone.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, her heart was beating a mile a minute. Fear grabbed her, trying to keep her on her sleeping mat, wrapped up in her son. With effort, she rolled out from Aires arm, and he opened his eyes. "Redormis, mon agneau," Go back to sleep, my lamb she said. Aries closed his eyes slowly.

She crept over him, and then made a mad dash to the larger room. He couldn't be gone. She wasn't ready for him to be gone. She had to prepare before he left. She hadn't prepared yet, she hadn't gotten herself ready for his absence. Please don't let him be gone, she prayed, please. I'm not ready yet. Just a little while longer. Please!

Reaching the other room, she saw him sitting on a makeshift seat of pallets. His head was down, and his back was utterly straight. He was utterly still, a fine statue in the midst of debris gathered from dumpsters and the sewers, she could not even see him breathing. The room matched him, no sound and no movement penetrated the space.

The expected rush of relief did not come to her, and tears came to her eyes. He's leaving, she thought in a panic. He's getting ready to leave. A gross drawing came from her solar plexus toward him, like a silver cord was attached to him and being pulled.

She felt as if her heart was breaking in two, a fissure which had only been a hairline fracture, cracking open.

It reminded her, errantly, of her first little love, at 13. William Bentfy was his name, a boy who lived in her grandmother's neighborhood. He was a playmate of her and her cousins when they came to visit Mamere in the winters, a welcoming break from tutors and gymnastics. He'd been her first crush, her first kiss, her first love. They'd written letters for two years, spending the winters together, until the summer of her fifteenth year, when he'd written that didn't love her anymore. She had cried for days and days, so that her coach's wife had had to take her out for ice cream and tell her this was going to happen to her again, and again, so she ought to get over it. She had gotten over it, it was just a first little love, after all. But it hadn't happened to her again. Stephane had been the next boy she'd been involved with, and then she had died.

Now it was happening again, only this time she wasn't 13, and she hadn't died. This time it was her enemy, most likely someone aligned with a madman, someone who she knew she would have to defeat one day, that her family would have to defeat one day, and that they had little chance of defeating, that was doing this to her, and she felt she had no recourse. Like time slipping away, half of her heart had already left her, without her permission, and he would take it with him when he left.

He turned his head, all she saw was the inside of his ear, part of his muzzle, and one of his eyes. She was struck by the beautiful color of it, amber with streaks of brown starring from his pupil.

"I thought you—" her breath was coming in gasps, and she had to stop and blink hard. Her voice didn't want to come out. "I didn't know where you were," she managed to say.

He turned away from her again, and said, "I am here."

The words hung in the air, like a tattered windsock on a calm day. Her breath was still ragged, and she walked over to him, trying to make her footfalls soft with her boots, to not wake anyone up. She turned the corner of the makeshift bench to face him, and saw he held the photo of his sons in his hands, resting the bottom edge of the frame in his lap.

Her breath stuck in her throat, and her tears began to fall in earnest. The loss she imagined he must be feeling grabbed her and squeezed, bringing forth a vision of Ailurosa in her arms. She could feel the weight of the child as she carried her, the stickiness of her drying blood, the anguish that had engulfed her for so long, until the firebird had come and burned it away. He must be feeling the same thing, she moaned in her head.

Safe, said the unbidden thought.

I will keep him safe, her voice in her head was harsh and determined.

He looked up at her, his own eyes shining. The look on his face was so expressive, a look of suffering like none she'd ever seen before, and it took her by surprise.

"Oh Splinter!" she breathed.


Splinter had stopped his morning practice when he felt a fever coming on. He fought back annoyance with his body and sat down. He took out the photo of his sons he had picked up when he had awoken that morning and looked down at it. He had each detail in it etched in his brain, if he ever lost it, he would have iota of it in his memory.

He had felt fine when he'd awoken, hearing the rustling of plastic coming from the larger room and seeing Aries was not with his brother and sister. His mother was lying on her mat, which she'd laid down skewed and collapsed upon. Her hair was strewn about her haphazardly and her mouth was slightly open, like a baby's. He turned to look at his photograph, as he did every morning upon waking, and felt his heart lurch. He reached for it, and tucked it in his yakata before going into the larger room.

Aries hadn't even looked up when he'd walked over to him. He suspected the ram hadn't known he was there, for his "Good morning, sir," was in a surprised voice.

He had noted that he looked troubled. He didn't know why he did, perhaps it was because of his own troubled feelings, or perhaps it was because it was what he would say to one of his own sons if they looked the way Aries had. He was relieved when the ram left him alone.

He was able to clear his head while in practice, but then he felt the fevered heat coming on, and had sat back down.

His sons were out there somewhere, trying to survive. How well were they doing it, he didn't know. He only knew his boys, not yet men, were out in a world taken over by madmen and aliens without him. A feeling of intense longing and defeat came over him, making him tear up. His sons were gone, and he was in little position to find them.

He heard Phoenix enter the room, and felt her presence push against his only shortly thereafter. He felt her eyes on him long moments, her breath sounding panicked. "I thought—" she said. What did she think? What did he care what she thought? But he did care, and that made the feeling of defeat even greater. He cared a great deal, even if he didn't want to. Watching her yesterday was like watching a great master in his youth, doing something amazing that he only understood intellectually and was yet unable to embody it. He knew that people could do what she did. There were many legends in every culture of people doing it. But it was one thing to hear a legend, and quite another to witness it, no matter the medium. Is this what people saw when they watched him? It had been so long since he had seen anything like that.

He never would have thought that such power, spiritual power, power of presence, could come from that little golden thing that stood behind him, who sounded afraid simply with her breath.

He turned to look at her, only his head. He could see her out of only one eye, her hair disheveled, her clothes rumpled. Her corset, which she usually removed before bed, was a little askew, so that the lacing was settled slightly to the left.

"I didn't know where you were," her voice was strangled.

The words made him nauseous, and he turned from her heart sick. "I am here." He heard the defeat in his voice when he said it.

She walked over and stood in front of him, looking down with a look of compassion, he knew. When he looked up, he was surprised it see it was not compassion, but of a determination, as if she was going to plow through something. But the moment she looked into his eyes, the looked changed to the one he was expecting, and she exhaled, "Oh Splinter!" with tears running down her face.

He knew she was going to move, that did not surprise him. It was what the movement itself that did. She bent over and took his head in her hands and pressed it to her chest, her body heaving as she did so. She laid her cheek in between his ears and breathily sobbed, "I am so sorry," the exclamation was voiceless and violent. "I am so sorry for everything!"

She let out another sob, and he felt wetness on his head. He could bring himself to do nothing, simply to sit there, holding the picture in his hands, the bottom of the frame resting on his lap. The position he was in caused her to have to lean to hold him, but that didn't deter her, she kept her arms about him and continued to cry.

Words that his father had once told him came to his mind, "We choose what holds us back and what moves us forward." The words were in his voice, he had said them to his own sons, he was sure of it. It could have been at any time, many were the maxims he repeated to them. However, words unbidden always meant something important, and he always paid them heed.

He had conquered his fears long ago, he had wrestled with the new ones that emerged and defeated them. Now, in his weakened state, for he was sure that is what it was, the feeling of being defeated engulfed him.

"You have a fever," Phoenix whispered through her sobs, and he felt the gathering of heat from where her hands lay on the side and back of his head.

"Do not," his own voice was choked. He didn't want what she let in, he didn't want to feel anything of hers. What he felt of his own was strong enough.

"Please," her voice was imploring, "let me."

He didn't answer her. The heat stayed only in her hands, warming up as if gathering to burn him at her fingertips. It suddenly occurred to him that he had not been comforted by another person in over 16 years. He had lost everything, all those whom he loved, who would have comforted him. He had fled to New York City, alone and afraid. He had raised his four sons, the only source of comfort for any of them being him. They couldn't offer him comfort, they didn't know how to offer him the comfort he would have needed.

"Let him mend his soul," Leondardo had told his brothers when he grappled with Miwa's mutation. After finding something precious, he lost it so soon, he had been a sea with defeat, with no comfort in sight but what he could give himself.

Why could he not accept comfort from someone he had found worthy of giving it?

He parted his knees, put his arms about her, and pull her to him in one motion, so quickly that she gave a small gasp through her crying. She was able to reposition her cheek on the back of his head, and tuck the rest of it under her chin. He still held the photo of his sons in his hand, his arm about her lower back, his other hand at her shoulder blades.

"I am so sorry," she whispered again, the heat from her hands seeping into his body and spreading to his chest. "I would take it all away if I could."

He believed her. Whatever 'it' was she referred to, he believed she would take whatever pain it was away if she could.

A feeling of loss almost overwhelmed him, loss that didn't belong to him, but to her. How was he to heal when had to deal with emotions that weren't his? How was he to deal with his own feelings of defeat, with his own weakened body, when she assaulted him like this, with feelings that did not belong to him? Whatever loss she felt, he knew it was nothing compared to his own, to losing his brother to jealousy, losing his wife, losing his daughter, not once, but twice, losing all of his family, losing his entire clan, losing his home, again not once, but twice, and now losing his sons. He knew her loss was nothing compared to all of that. But he did not want her feel it, whatever it was she had lost.

The loss swept through him and away, and was replaced by a grasping feeling, like one holding on for dear life to some treasure they had found quite by accident. It was so intimate, he could not tell if it belonged to him or if it belonged to her.

Possessiveness grabbed at his gut, he didn't know who it belonged to, but it was so strong he reached for it firmly and held it with a vice-like grip. Phoenix gasped again through her soft sobs and tightened her hold on him, pressing her cheek into his head and his head into her chest. He simply held onto the feeling of 'mine', listened her to her heart beat and the strong breaths wave in and out of her lungs, and allowed himself to be comforted in a way that now felt foreign to him.

There are so many mutants in TMNT2012 whose stories will never be told.  This is one of them, both before and after the Turtle madness came on the scene in NYC.

<--The Other Side of the City--Chapter 83
The Other Side of the City-Chapter 85-->

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katstories's avatar
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Overall
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Vision
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Originality
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Technique
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Impact

A very emotionally and visually riveting piece in the overall scope of the work.
The feeling of loss and grief is palpable in both characters. The Phoenix's sense of self and need is a completely overwhelming emotion, shown in minute but precise inner dialogue. Her overall emotional state is this overflowing fountain that continually drowns the reader, immersing them in her very "real" events of her life and struggles within that life. Splinters continued, and overall very interesting emotional evolution, takes you by surprise and shows a depth to the character that you want to assume is there during the show, but very rarely appears on screen. The premise that he's not been comforted, as an adult to another adult, for sixteen years makes sense; though the idea of it catches you off guard even when you consider it. But in truth Splinter acts as a strong Japanese traditional father/sensi model, one you assume rarely shows emotion and must remain strong for the sake of family and face/honor. To read "see" those traditional walls slowly erode under the care of the Phoenix will be interesting to see, how overall, it works to his detriment or betterment. The fact that there is the "love" growing between the two of them, even if it remains platonic, is between two perceived enemies still holds sway over the remainder of their situation. I'm not sure if the assumptions of alliances can be addressed, or should be addressed within the scope of the story. Although it would be nice to have them look at each other from something beyond behind enemy lines. The further emotional toil brought on by the perceived divide only makes the "love" growing between them that much more tragic and emotionally resounding.