As he scaled the first building to the top, Leonardo took deep lungfulls of the polluted New York City air and grinned to himself. It was good to be out of the lair for the first time in days, good to be breathing air that wasn't stale and stank of sewer. In no time at all he was situated on the roof, looking out over the city, scanning for trouble. He didn't expect much, even though it was a Saturday and there were more people out than usual. He kept moving, leaping from one rooftop to the next, making a familiar path through the city on his usual patrol route.
Since their victory against Krang two years ago, the city had stayed pretty quiet. The Shredder was gone, sent to another dimension with Krang and his ship, and with Bebop and Rocksteady locked up there just weren't any enemies left. Karai and the rest of the foot clan were seemingly in hiding. Anymore, the worst thing the turtles dealt with was petty theft, and boredom. Raphael, especially.
Leo paused to catch his breath on the top of an apartment building, looking at the streets below with mild interest. He was in no hurry to get back to the lair. Raph was in a mood again, and if Leo had learned anything with age, it was to pick his battles. He'd been trying harder over the last couple years to be more empathetic with his brothers, to be a more understanding leader, and mostly things had gotten better. He and Raph fought less often, and he was trying to be more patient with Michelangelo's and Donatello's eccentricities. It was day by day, but they were all growing and maturing together. Master Splinter was quite proud of how his boys had grown up, which was really all Leo needed.
As Leo got back to his feet and moved on to the last stretch of city on his patrol, he grudgingly admitted to himself that the boredom was getting to him, as well. There had been such a rush in being the hero, unsung though they were. He missed having a goal, something to go after, something to defeat. He refused to show how much it bothered him to be essentially collecting dust, as Raphael put it, but the feeling was there. All the training they did seemed to be for nothing lately, and truth be told he found himself wishing, just for a moment, that someone new would step up to the plate. Leo craved a challenge, something to push him and his brothers. But that also meant people would be in danger, lives besides his own would be at stake, so whenever he caught himself missing the old days he'd scold himself and set an extra hour of training as a punishment for his selfishness.
The lair was mostly quiet by the time Leo was coming down the main tunnel into the commons room. Raph and Mikey were probably in bed, as late as it was, and Donnie was undoubtedly in his lab working on some experiment. He didn't bother checking on them like he used to when he was younger, and instead headed straight for his room.
Patrol duty had Leo especially wound up that night. He felt like he could have been out for hours longer, been around the entire city if he'd wanted to, if only for the physical challenge. But he knew that being out for too long was risky, and better judgment had won out. It was late, too late for practicing his katas or training. He would have to calm himself down with some meditation, instead. He sighed as he positioned himself on his bed, crossing his legs and relaxing his shoulders. Energy was humming through him, begging him not to be sitting still, but he ignored it and concentrated harder.
After only about ten minutes he was startled out of his thoughts by a loud ringing coming from the other corner of his room. He scrambled out of his bed, going to see what the source of the noise was. He followed it to his bookshelf, where sitting on one shelf was a small cell phone, its screen lit up and ringing away.
Donnie had given him the phone as a safety measure, insisted that he keep it on him. "Mostly so April can easily get a hold of any of us," he'd reasoned, tossing it at Leo. He'd caught it easily, placed it on the shelf in his bedroom, and promptly forgot about it.
Until now, several weeks later, when it had started ringing. He studied it a moment, unsure if he should answer or just ignore it. It rang again, the sound of an old rotary phone. He picked it up and stared at the screen. It was a number Donnie hadn't programmed into the contacts list. He let it ring until the machine picked up. He waited, but whoever it was didn't leave a message, so he shrugged and set the phone back down.
After a few minutes, it went off again, a different noise this time, like the ding of a timer.
Leo picked it up again. It was a basic flip phone, pre-paid, no internet access or anything unnecessary. Donnie had figured he wouldn't need any extras anyway. He flicked it open and examined the screen, trying to figure out how to open the text he'd just gotten.
Are we still on for tonight?
At first, he was just going to delete it. Then he figured he might as well let them know they had the wrong person, if only so they wouldn't keep texting him and interrupting his meditation.
I believe you have the wrong number. Short, to the point. He set the phone down again, thinking that would be the end of it, but the second his back was turned the phone ding'ed again. He sighed and took it back to bed with him.
Well shit. What's your name then?
"Huh…" Leo debated not answering, but eventually shrugged. What's the harm, really?
My name is Leo.
He waited, keeping his eyes on the phone. When it went off he hit the open button immediately.
Leo, huh? Sounds hot. He snorted, not expecting such bluntness. He was about to reply, when another message came through. I'm Samantha, but you can call me Sam.
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Samantha Thomas sat perched on the edge of a rickety folding chair on her tiny New York City apartment balcony, staring at her phone. In her other hand was a wrinkled napkin with a phone number scrawled on it, which she'd typed into the 'To:' bar of a blank text message. She was debating whether or not to even type out the message, still not sure she had the energy to go back out after her double shift at the bar.
The guy who had given her the number had been nice enough, if a little eager. He'd spent most of the night at the bar, shamelessly trying to get her attention and ignoring the buddies he'd come in with. She'd relented finally and accepted his number, giving him a firm maybe. She knew already that it would just be a onetime thing, which she was completely comfortable with. He would be good for a night of fun, then easy to forget in the morning. And he had been pretty cute…
She sighed and ran a hand through her long, dark hair, putting her phone down so she could light a cigarette and take a couple drags, then picked it up and backed out of the empty text. She dialed the number and waited for it to start ringing.
It rang on and on, and she wondered if he'd gone to sleep already. It was just after two, so it would be fair. She hung up just as the automated answering machine picked up. She'd send a quick text, and if he didn't answer it was no big deal. She was almost relieved, knowing that she wouldn't have to leave again. She was putting her cigarette butt out and getting up to head inside when her phone buzzed. She started thinking of excuses to get out of it, having resigned to staying in at this point, when she opened the text.
I believe you have the wrong number.
"Huh," she mumbled to herself, wondering if she'd copied the number down wrong. She compared the napkin to the one she'd dialed, and sure enough they matched. She shrugged it off and was about to delete the text, but on a whim she typed out a reply and sent it. She definitely wasn't going out again, but she wasn't going to bed anytime soon, either. Might as well fill the time with something more than just cigarettes.
My name is Leo.
"Very direct, Leo," she said to herself after she read his reply. She wondered if she was bothering him, or if she woke him up. She supposed if he didn't want to talk he'd just stop answering, and sent a reply more on the flirty side to test the waters. Then before he could reply she sent one more, telling him her name.
What has you up so late, Sam?
She smiled, and lit another cigarette before typing out an answer. She leaned back on the folding chair, enjoying the warm summer night, and was grateful for the way her evening had turned out.
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Grumbling to himself angrily, the head chef for Rose Rouge hit the lights to the huge commercial kitchen and let himself out the back door. He hated the weekends, hated being rushed, hated all the uncultured fools that didn't appreciate his culinary genius the way he felt they should. He hated this city, loud and putrid and overpopulated. His muttering continued as he made his way to his car, quietly voicing his distaste for pretty much the entirety of the human race as he squeezed his overweight self into the driver seat of an overpriced, flashy sports car.
He peeled out of the parking lot and into traffic, cutting someone off, all the while thinking how he wouldn't be at all upset if the entire horrid city were to burn to the ground.