If You Think I'm Gonna Come Up With A Title For This, You're Dead Wrong

Chapter 19

"Or what she might say," Raph agrees, shutting the TV off. "But it's not like we can do anything without any leads."

"But if we follow any—"

"Exactly. We need to get Splinter or Leo involved."

"Wouldn't she call if she was in trouble, though?" Mikey fiddles with his fingers nervously.

"She didn't last time."

"Mikey has a point, though." Desperately, he smiles. "Wouldn't she say something if she felt unsafe?"

"Would a ninja give her time to text?" Raph is oddly still.

"Why does it have to be the Foot?"

"Who else would want her?"

"Kraang?" The youngest one gets to his feet. "Can't we look at the thing to see?"

"What thing?"

"You know," he snaps his fingers, trying to form the words. "The rectangle thing?"

Donatello thinks for a second. "The hard drive-looking thing?"

"Yeah!"

"The foreign technology that I can't hack into? The information all in a language we can't interpret?"

"... yeah..."

"Great plan."

"That's my line." Raph sighs, putting his head in his hands. "No use panicking right now until we have something to work with. It's not his fault she got kidnapped."

"Could you not?"

"I'm getting Splinter." Mikey runs off.

"Donnie," Raph looks up at him, "you're going to burst a vessel."

'She said this was going to happen.' He looks over at him. "I'm panicking."

"Obviously." He closes his eyes. "If you panic, though, you're going to do something stupid. Breathe."

"How am I—"

"Inhale."

Automatically, he does.

"Exhale."

He does.

"Again."

He repeats the movement.

"She's going to be fine." Raph leans back. "If it's the Foot, then they're going to want info out of her. They wouldn't kill her right away. We have time."

"But—"

"If it's Kraang," Raph continues, eyes still closed, "then they're too stupid to set a trap, and they obviously don't want her dead, so we have time."

Slowly, his heartbeat calms. "But—"

"You're not useful to anyone if you're losing your shit." He pats the place beside him. "So sit down, put the phone down, and try to think."

With a bit of nudging, he does. Leaning forward, head practically in-between his legs, he swallows back the desperation rising in his throat. Memories of you, lying in your own blood, curled on yourself with glass sticking out of you or lying on your stomach with a trail of red behind you resurface in his memory, and those, he cannot help but remember, were without intent. He can only imagine the ways they can get you to talk or do whatever they need you for.

He feels a hand on his back. 'I brought her into this.' He squeezed his eyes shut. 'It's my fault she's in this. She said this would happen.' "Breathe," Raph says, voice softer than he has ever heard. "It's okay. We're going to find her."