Cold Fire Rising

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

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Michelangelo found himself wondering if he should at least call for Dr Honeycutt to keep the oxygen mask on hand. He was starting to panic. Just a little. He was alone. He had wanted this. He had asked for this! He had probably hurt Raphael's feelings. Probably? Who's the empath here? Oh gods and Buddha, this was too confusing. What was he doing? What was happening to him? It was too fast. This was too fast! But it had been three months. But he just woke up! Five days ago. But shouldn't he at least be a little stronger? Leo woke up after three months in a fucking bathtub, put on his gear, and ran out into the damn woods to battle a freaky plant monster!

Leo hadn't tangled with The Alchemist.

But. Leo had tangled with The Shredder.

And. And. And. Gyargh! His head hurt so much. Okay. Okay, Mikester, think. You told them just a few minutes, right? You told Raph you would meditate. Okay. Do something.

Do WHAT? Be telepathic at myself?

He blinked. Wait. Waaait. No no, there was a better idea, yes. This telepathy thing wasn't much. It seemed pretty limited. The empathy thing, that felt fairly developed. But the telekinesis thing. Oooh. Yeah, he could play with that.

Straightening, centering himself, Mikey held out his arms, palms forward. He closed his eyes and began to meditate.

See, he had never enjoyed meditating. Sure, he could barely sit still, could barely focus his thoughts. But that was the thing. The way his family did it... that was just one way. He read books on it. There were lots of ways to meditate. You could do it standing up. You could do it moving around. Dancing. Even fighting! April's dad once told him that a lot of people with ADHD meditated while fidgeting and moving around, that dancing really was their meditation.

Mikey couldn't dance right now. He couldn't stand. He could barely move. His legs screamed with pain even though he didn't move them. His left thigh felt like it was covered in bees wielding tiny knives. From the inside.

He took a deep breath. He tapped his toes. He played music in his head – one of the techno songs from the party. It was called "Wide Open", it was The Chemical Brothers, and he found himself recalling the entire thing in his head. It was a slow, deep beating rhythm. His feet moved. He let his hands do whatever they wanted, sweeping like small birds and curling and flaring and his fingers were tapping and dancing, and his wrists were twisting, and his forearms were moving, and he was a conductor at a silent concert, and suddenly his mind went totally, absolutely still.

In that complete stillness, things stirred.

"Slow me down, it's getting away from me..."

That was the song. But that was also him. No. It WAS the song. On the MP3 player. It was playing. It was playing! Yes! Good! Okay!

His thoughts stirred like leaves in the wind. He turned them silent. He brought his arms inward, positioned them, flowed outward, a crippled kata.

Something was happening. There was a very heavy weight in his mind, and it kept pressing and growing. He had to keep it afloat, he had to keep it moving. Keep dancing. He continued his upper body kata. He felt his torso move, like when April had taken his hands and danced from the waist up. He thought of the wind when it was cool and cutting. Of the water when it was swift and rushing. Of the earth when it was rumbling and bursting. Of the fire when it was roaring and snapping. Inside his mind, he rolled them into a sphere of force. Very carefully, he leaned in and breathed Spirit, Essence, Energy, into the center of that sphere. He brought his palms together and dropped his head to his chest.