Another Time and Place

by LuckyLadybug

1987 series, my Exit the Fly verse. The Turtles never thought they'd have to think again about when they had to fix time after Professor Moriarty turned it on its head. But now it seems that they aren't the only ones who remember. And the reasons why Irma was absent and Vernon was in the resistance are both dark and unexpected.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 1987

Another Time and Place

By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! It heavily draws from the episode Elementary, My Dear Turtle for inspiration and explores both why Irma was absent in the damaged timeline and why Vernon joined the resistance movement against Moriarty. It's part of my Exit the Fly verse, so Baxter is human and an ally of the Turtles and his brother Barney works for Shredder.

Baxter sighed to himself as he sat at the kitchen counter and sketched a design for a possible new invention. He had sketched it more than once and something still felt off. But for the life of him, he could not think what else to do with it.

He frowned, leaning forward and running his hands into his hair. Naturally he was completely out of practice after all this time. He hadn't been able to think clearly enough to invent anything since shortly after his cross-fusion. Now he was human again, but maybe he never would have the knack for inventing again. Ideas still came to him, but this showed that he couldn't quite put them together right.

Barney would probably sneer at him for that. Or at least, he would have. Baxter wasn't sure what Barney would do now.

He gave the sketch a wary look. Maybe he was putting himself down too much. It was normal for all inventors to struggle with their designs for a while. His Mousers had certainly gone through many revisions. Something had felt off about their initial design as well. It had taken him weeks to sort out the problem.

He half-smirked to himself. It was nice to tell himself that was all it was, at least.

Maybe he was still suffering the effects of Shredder's many verbal abuses. It was ironic and rather repulsive, actually-Shredder had almost constantly put him down and insulted his intelligence, yet one of the few clear memories he had from the time he had been cross-fused was of Shredder quite delighted for Baxter to have fallen into their midst again and calling him one of the greatest minds since Einstein. Krang's response had simply been to mock Baxter's then-current state of being encased in ice. But Baxter had been aware of everything being said and his fury had given him the added strength needed to break through his prison and escape the Technodrome. He certainly hadn't been about to work for Shredder again. Krang had upset him, but not as much as Shredder. His seemingly positive words had angered Baxter more than pleased him. Shredder hadn't appreciated Baxter when he had been there and had instead been the catalyst for turning him into that horrific creature. Appreciating him after all that was just meaningless, and Baxter supposed he had to be grateful that he had realized that.

I wish I'd learned not to be a pushover before I ever met that man, he thought to himself with a touch of remaining bitterness. I was far too tolerant and mild. No wonder Barney was disgusted with me. He never let anyone push him around, not even as a child.

A glance at the clock had him shoving his design into a folder and then into his briefcase. That was more than enough of unpleasant memories and frustrated ponderings; he had to get to work. Maybe if there was some downtime and some new inspiration, he could work on his invention more then.

xxxx

The Turtles' morning was also fairly low-key and peaceful. They had just finished morning training and were settling in for Michelangelo's new variety of breakfast cereal pizza, while Splinter opted for a more traditional Japanese breakfast.

"What better way to prepare to face the day than with a slice of Michelangelo's mondo Froot Loops, Cap'n Crunch, and Cookie Crisp pizza?" Michelangelo chirped.

"I can't think of one better," said Raphael.

Splinter grimaced and did not comment. Instead he said, "It has seemed unusually quiet for the last several days without Shredder and Krang attempting to raise the Technodrome."

"You said it, Sensei, and boy, does it feel good," Raphael proclaimed. "The only one we've heard from since Christmas is Barney a couple of times." He scowled. "And we could have done without that, especially the last time he showed up."

"When he screamed at poor Baxter for 'putting him through so much' when he thought he was dead?" Michelangelo frowned. "I've really tried to cut the dude some slack, but now it's even hard for me."

"Michelangelo, I'd be worried if it wasn't," Raphael said. "Who acts like that?! He should have been grieving to think his brother was dead and feeling bad for what Baxter was going through." He chomped into a piece of pizza with finality.

"Well, according to Baxter, he was," Leonardo said slowly. "But in his own way."

"Yeah? Well, I detest 'his own way' and so would most decent people," Raphael retorted. "And Baxter is still making excuses for him."

"Baxter understands him in a way we never could," Leonardo said.

"Okay, I'll give you that," Raphael conceded. "But it doesn't change my mind one bit. Uh uh. Barney Stockman is rotten, plain and simple. There's just no way around it."

"You've been awfully quiet, Sensei," Donatello spoke up. "What do you think?"

Splinter looked up. "I think," he said calmly, "that Barney Stockman is a highly troubled individual. His motivations are complex, his feelings contradictory, and his future clouded."

"But do you really think there's any hope for him?" Raphael prompted.

"I do not like to say that anyone is beyond hope," Splinter said. "Particularly if even one person still believes in them. That belief can always lead to hope."

"So you really feel like Barney can be redeemed," Raphael surmised, unable to keep the doubt out of his mind.

"I feel that it is not out of the question," Splinter insisted. "But it is not a sure thing; the future never is. Barney is treading a very dangerous path, one that may instead lead to his destruction and perhaps others' also."

That grim thought brought an end to conversation at the breakfast table for several minutes. The Turtles and Splinter ate quietly, troubled as they thought on what could come to pass.

"I wonder if Baxter's doing okay," Michelangelo said at last. "He hasn't wanted to talk a whole lot about what happened to him and Vernon."

"Would you?" Raphael snarked. "He was with Vernon."

"And they both thought they were dead," Leonardo said. "That would be scary for anyone."

Donatello nodded. "I haven't wanted to press Baxter about it, but I've really been curious to know what it was like."

"It is good that you are waiting for him to be ready," said Splinter. "It may yet be some time before he feels able to discuss the experience in more detail than he has hitherto done. Or he may never feel ready. If that is the case, his decision must continue to be respected."

"Even if he acts like he's really shook by it?" Michelangelo frowned. "He might need to talk about it to, you know, feel better."

"Then all we could do would be to calmly and gently encourage him and wait," Splinter said. "To push him would only make it worse."

"Yeah, I guess," Michelangelo said slowly.

"But I wouldn't worry," Splinter added. "Dr. Stockman is very resilient."

"Maybe we should invite him over to just chill for the evening," Michelangelo suggested. "Have dinner, kick back, maybe share a few memories. We could tell him some of the bizarro experiences we had that he hasn't heard about."

"I don't know how relaxing that would be, but inviting him over for dinner sounds fine," said Raphael. "Just as long as Shredder doesn't try to conquer the world between now and then."

"Whatever they're planning next, it must be something big," Leonardo worried. "Whenever they're quiet for a while, they come back with a vengeance."

"And I aim to fully enjoy the downtime," said Raphael.

"Me too," said Donatello. "Maybe Baxter and I can finally start peeling back the secrets of that weird power source with another session or two. If we could just isolate the component in the Turtle-Comm that it's reacting unfavorably to, we really might have something."

"Well, good luck with that," Raphael said dryly. "Let's just hope that when you have something, it won't, say, blow up the entire Lair in one go. And oh, incidentally, take out the whole planet with it."

"I knew we shouldn't have watched the second Planet of the Apes movie last night," Leonardo lamented.

"Man, those things are mondo depressing," Michelangelo proclaimed. "Give me a good old Gorgonzola flick any day."

"That's not a bad idea," Raphael said. "We should rent one to pass the time until dinner."

"Just one?" Michelangelo countered.

Splinter sighed and shook his head.

xxxx

The rain was beating down hard that night. She could feel it pounding mercilessly through her hair and over her skin. Before it had completely obstructed the view from her glasses, she had seen it mixing with the blood running over her hand and down her arm. She clutched the wound almost numbly, mechanically, not wanting to let go even though she knew it was too late for her.

Maybe she was also trying not to let him see. She hated to think what the sight of that much blood would do to him.

He was there, kneeling above her, sobbing hysterically and screaming for someone to call a medic. But for some reason everyone just hurried past. No one wanted to stop and help, or to get involved. It wasn't apathy in their eyes, but absolute fear. He yelled after them that they were all cowards, that she had been braver than everyone else in this miserable city put together, that if they were all like her they would have overthrown Moriarty by now.

It was strange to hear him talk like that. He was censuring himself as much as he was everyone else.

He knew she was done for, although he didn't want to believe it. Her senses were fading, but she felt him prying her hand away from the wound and choking out a cry of strangled horror. She wouldn't have been surprised in the least if he had also choked out his dinner, but he didn't.

Funny . . . she had never thought anyone's injuries but his own could make him fall apart like this. She whispered to him, telling him it was no use, telling him he needed to get out of there before Moriarty's men dragged him in just for trying to help her, but he refused to go. As the last strains of life faded from her, she felt him lift her into his surprisingly strong arms and continue to cry.

"Irma . . ."

Irma snapped awake with a shot. As she took in the sight of the familiar outer office and felt the discomfort of the keyboard impressions in her cheek, the realization of what had happened filled her with frustration and dismay. "Oh no! I fell asleep at work again!" she moaned aloud. "And that creepy dream . . . !"

She hadn't been aware that she wasn't alone. The sudden voice made her jump a mile. "Are you alright, Miss Langinstein?"

She spun around, the color immediately spreading over her cheeks when she met the gaze of the man she had called standoffish and arrogant yet somehow still nice. "Oh . . . Dr. Stockman," she stammered. "Y-Yes, I'm fine. . . . It's nothing to worry about; it's just silly."

Baxter didn't look convinced. "You haven't been sleeping well for the last several days," he commented. "This is the third time in a row that I've come in and you were asleep at your desk."

"Really?" Her shoulders slumped and she folded her arms on the desk before resting her forehead on them. "If Mr. Thompson sees it even one time, I'm dead." Then she flinched. "No . . . I don't want to say that." She shuddered at the memory of the dream.

Baxter came closer to the desk. "Your trouble seemed to start right after the experience that Mr. Fenwick and I had," he noted.

Irma gave a helpless shrug and shook her head. "It was so awful," she whispered. "We thought you were both dead." Finally she looked up. "I guess that is what brought it on. It's the only logical explanation. And yet it's not much of an explanation at all. It's all just so bizarre!"

"I'm willing to listen, if you want to talk about it," Baxter said.

Irma considered that. Normally she might have graciously declined, but somehow she didn't want to this time. "Well, hey, maybe since you're a scientist, you could help me make some sense of it," she said with a weak laugh. "I know it's stupid and crazy and all, and it's probably just a role-reversal kind of thing, but I keep dreaming that I'm dying. I don't really know what happened, but there's this feeling like I was fighting against some tyrant or something and he had his men plow me down in the street. I called him . . . Moriarty or something weird like that."

"Moriarty?" Baxter raised an eyebrow. "The antagonist in some of the Sherlock Holmes media?"

Irma blinked in embarrassed surprise. "That's where I've heard that name before," she exclaimed. "Boy, dreams really are stupid! Imagine, pulling his name out of thin air like that! Oh brother." She looked back to her computer screen. "I'd better not tell you any more of this."

"It's your decision, Miss Langinstein," Baxter replied. "I still don't mind listening."

Irma peered up at him over the top of the monitor. ". . . I guess I might as well," she said, half-masking her pleased surprise at his patience and seemingly genuine interest. "The weirdest thing of all was that I wasn't alone. There was someone with me, and he was . . . well, devastated. He was yelling at everybody that they were cowards for not helping me and that I was so brave and that Moriarty would've been overthrown ages ago if everyone had been like me." She flushed. "I know it sounds like some mushy goop that I might dream up about a hunky guy, for him to praise me to high Heaven like that, but it wasn't like that at all. You see, the guy with me was Vernon."

"I see," said Baxter. "You're right that on some level it sounds like a role-reversal dream, especially considering what you'd just experienced with him in reality. Dreams are that way at times. But have you been having that exact dream repeatedly since then?"

"That exact one," Irma nodded. "It always ends with me dying and Vernon . . . well, grieving over me. Gosh, it sounds so arrogant." She held a hand to her forehead. "Dreaming about me meaning so much to someone, especially Vernon. . . ."

"Recurring dreams are generally the mind's way of trying to tell you something about yourself," Baxter said. "But only you can determine what that something is."

"Yeah, I guess." Irma sighed. "Thanks for listening, Doctor. I'd better get some work done or Mr. Thompson is gonna blow his stack."

Baxter nodded. "I should get to work as well." He pulled back from the desk.

Irma paused. "You know, that's so funny about Moriarty, though," she mused. "Vernon's had this thing against him ever since we came back from an extended assignment in Europe a year or so ago."

Baxter raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"We show old movies sometimes, really late at night, you know? And sometimes it's some of those ancient Sherlock Holmes movies. Any time it's one with Professor Moriarty in it, Vernon just balks at it like crazy. I always just dismissed it as another of his weird quirks. But it's funny that he was never that way before the trip to Europe." Irma shook her head. "Oh, nevermind. I don't know what I'm saying. It's not like there could be any significance to it. My mind obviously just took that as another random element for my crazy dream."

"Apparently so," Baxter nodded. "But if you really want to know why Mr. Fenwick is behaving that way, you could simply ask him."

"Oh, I did. And he told me he didn't know why; just that he couldn't stand that creepy mad scientist and didn't know why anyone would want to watch something with him. He couldn't explain why it hadn't been a problem for him before, either." Irma rolled her eyes. "Typical Vernon logic."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Baxter said. "Good luck with solving your personal issues and stopping that dream from recurring." He paused. "And I'm sorry for my part in the disaster that brought it about."

Irma smiled. "It wasn't your fault, Dr. Stockman. You were a victim. But . . . thanks."

She started to type as he walked past to his office. "He really is a nice guy," she said to herself. "I'm glad he's here."

xxxx

The rest of the day was fairly peaceful. Baxter was glad to accept the Turtles' dinner invitation and they and Splinter shared a pleasant meal before settling in the living room with one of the Turtles' scrapbooks.

"This one's all about our Europe vacation," Michelangelo said proudly. "I put it together."

"Europe vacation?" Baxter raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you ever left the United States except to go to Dimension X."

"We did once," Leonardo said. "Michelangelo won us all a free trip to Europe about a year ago."

"Yeah, and if you can believe it, Shred-Head caused trouble for us there too," Michelangelo said.

"I believe it," Baxter sighed. "But a year ago? Was that around the same time the Channel 6 people were on assignment there?"

"Yep," said Michelangelo. "Funny how we all wound up in the same place, wasn't it?"

"But typical." Baxter slowly turned the pages of the scrapbook. Most were shots of the Turtles and Splinter in front of assorted historical sites. Some were of them in front of pizza parlors. Some included April and Irma.

An unusual picture on the last page gave him pause. He stared at it in disbelief, holding it farther away from him and then drawing it closer. "What is this?"

"Oh, that's the prize of my collection," Michelangelo declared. "Us with Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, and Inspector Lestrade! I'm mondo glad my camera worked back in their time!"

Baxter set the album on his lap and turned to stare at Michelangelo. "But those people aren't real," he protested. "They were all the brain-children of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!"

"Apparently not," Leonardo said with a funny smile. "We met them all when an atomic clock sent us into the past."

Baxter slumped into the couch. "How many impossible things am I going to have to come to believe in?" he said in overwhelmed bewilderment.

Splinter looked amused. "When the Turtles are involved, Dr. Stockman, I am sure there will never be an end to what you-and I-will discover."

Baxter shook himself out of his daze. "But what's this about an atomic clock?" he demanded, looking to Donatello.

"Oh, it was truly fascinating," Donatello exclaimed. "But you really had to be careful with it. You could get swept into other time periods so easy."

"Yeah, and like, Professor Moriarty wanted it to make a time machine so he could do totally uncool stuff," Michelangelo added.

Again Baxter shot a Look at him. "Moriarty?!"

Michelangelo gave a vigorous nod. "He swiped the clock and changed the past so Sherlock Holmes never got born. Then he made the future over in his own image! He made himself the emperor of the world and had guards to chase down anyone who opposed his rule."

"Oh. . . ." Baxter slumped against the couch arm on an elbow and ran a hand into his hair.

"And we met April and some of the others in Moriarty's new time," Donatello said.

"She talked with an English accent," Michelangelo said. "So did Burne. Coming to think about it, Vernon was actually part of the resistance movement! Wow."

"It wasn't really our Vernon, though," Donatello said.

"But it was, Dude!" Michelangelo argued. "Remember, April found the apple core I ate in her bag after we fixed time! That means that both Aprils were one and the same! It's just that she and Burne and Vernon were plopped in a different environment in Moriarty's time."

"I still haven't been able to figure that one out," Donatello admitted. "At least not any other way. But it still seems so incredible."

". . . What about Miss Langinstein?" Baxter asked.

The Turtles stopped and blinked. "You know, I don't know," Michelangelo realized. "She wasn't there. But she was probably just out on a mission or something. I'm sure she was part of the resistance movement."

"Anyway, it doesn't matter now that we fixed time," Donatello said.

". . . Maybe it does matter." Baxter sat up straight. "All of you remember what happened even though that timeline was erased. What if other people start to remember as well?"

"No way, Dude," Michelangelo objected. "How can they remember something that never happened? . . . And yet it did happen, because we had to fix it. Only by fixing it, it didn't happen, so . . ." He trailed off, scratching his head in confusion.

"There's so little that we understand about time-travel," Donatello said. "But from all occasions, it seems like time really isn't chronological."

"It's not logical at all!" Michelangelo exclaimed with a wild gesture. "It probably really is a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff!"

Baxter facepalmed.

"Okay, nevermind," Michelangelo said. "What do you mean, Baxter Dude? What if other people start to remember? Would that be a bad thing?"

"That would depend on what they remember," Baxter answered.

Splinter looked to him. "Are you speaking hypothetically?" Something in his tone indicated that he sensed otherwise.

"No, I'm not," Baxter said. "But I also don't have the right to repeat what I was told."

"This sounds mondo serious," Michelangelo said in concern. "So what do we do?"

"I think we all need to have a long talk with Miss Langinstein," Baxter said. "And I'm afraid she isn't going to appreciate the contents."

xxxx

Irma was spending a quiet evening at home, just as Baxter had heard she would be. Her eyes widened in surprise when she answered the door and found the group standing there. "Oh, hi," she blinked. "What's up?"

"Hey, Irma," Michelangelo hesitantly waved.

"Good evening," Splinter nodded.

"I'm sorry for us to barge in on you, Miss Langinstein," Baxter said. "I learned something tonight that I felt you should know." He looked at her with kindness and regret. "It will probably be painful."

Irma took a step back. "What is it?"

"Um . . . Professor Moriarty is real and we fought him through time?" Michelangelo said hesitantly.

Irma gasped and went sheet-white. "You told them?!" she accused, glowering at Baxter.

Baxter flinched. "No, I didn't," he insisted.

"Baxter wouldn't break a confidence like that," Michelangelo defended. "We honestly have no idea what you told him, Dudette."

"Just listen to their story," Baxter implored. "Then you can tell them yours, if you want to. I won't."

Irma bit her lip. "Okay. Come in then." She stepped aside and allowed them to enter.

As the Turtles told their experience again, Irma gradually grew rigid. Baxter watched her with sympathy as she trembled and her eyes filled with tears. At the conclusion, she looked very close to completely breaking down.

"And that's what happened," Michelangelo said. "Irma, what's wrong? It's not that bad, is it?!"

Irma shook her head. "I wasn't there because I was dead!" she wailed. "I remember being killed, and Vernon being upset, and . . . !" She sobbed, covering her glasses with her hands.

The Turtles and Splinter looked at each other in shock. "Oh no," Michelangelo gasped.

"Incredible," Donatello breathed. "In that timeline Irma was killed, but that timeline wasn't the way it was supposed to be. When we reversed time so it regained its proper course, Irma was alive again."

"I really don't think this is the time for scientific fascination, Dude," Michelangelo frowned. "She's truly upset!"

"It's never easy to learn that something you thought was a bad dream actually happened," Baxter said quietly, kindly. "I had something distressing like that happen to me just recently."

"Yeah?" Irma mumbled.

"Yes. It wasn't distressing in the same way as this, but I was extremely devastated by it." Baxter looked at her. "I remembered hurting my brother when I thought I hadn't. At least you can have the comfort of knowing that you didn't do anything to hurt anyone."

Irma slowly looked up. "I hurt Vernon," she said softly. "He was so upset. He was calling everyone cowards for not helping me and he said that Moriarty would have been defeated a long time ago if everyone was like me."

"I'm sorry, Vernon said all that?" Raphael said in disbelief.

Irma nodded. "I wonder if he'll remember too."

That spread a sick look over all Turtles. "I think we'd better find Vernon before he does," Leonardo declared.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

xxxx

When April had heard that one of the rebels had been found and publicly punished, she feared the worst. She followed the gossip chain through the streets to where the townspeople said the girl had been gunned down in cold blood. The rain was still fiercely coming down, but she scarcely noticed. Her heart thumped frantically as she ran. Although she prayed desperately to not find the sight of her best friend dead in the street, she had very little hope.

She wasn't expecting to find Vernon kneeling in all the blood, cradling Irma's body and sobbing in grief-stricken anguish. "Vernon!" she cried. "Is she . . . ?"

"Irma's dead," Vernon confirmed. "They killed her! And no one would even do a thing to help her." He looked up and his eyes were haunted. "They were all just like me."

xxxx

April had never seen one man change so much. Ever since Irma's death, Vernon had not been anything like the cowardly buffoon April had come to know so well. He was cold and hard and serious. He did his work coolly and efficiently and without complaint. Under other circumstances, April would have found it a relief. But because of the reason why Vernon had changed, it just felt empty and sad. Two people had died that night instead of just one. April didn't even know Vernon anymore.

She was more than a little surprised when Vernon came to her office one afternoon not long after, still as icily somber as he had been for days. "April . . . I want to join you," he announced.

April blinked. "I'm not going anywhere right now."

"No, I mean, I want to join your group," Vernon elaborated. "The one Irma was in."

Now she stared. "Vernon, are you sure?"

"Yes." His voice and face left no room for doubt.

She came out from around her desk. "Well, I'll have to speak with Mr. Thompson, but I'm sure he'll say Yes . . ."

"Good," Vernon replied. "Then we'll be that much closer to overthrowing that madman."

"Vernon . . ." April gave him a sad smile. "Irma would be proud."

"Irma is dead," Vernon said bitterly. "I won't forgive Moriarty for that." As he turned away, it sounded like he added, "And I won't forgive myself, either."

April's heart twisted. She laid a hand on Vernon's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault," she said softly.

"You don't know that," Vernon answered. "What if it was?"

In those words April heard a vulnerability that had been absent since the night she had found Vernon holding Irma's body. And even though she was a reporter and supposed to always know what to say, right then she had no words. Instead, the poignancy of Vernon's grief and guilt pricked her eyes with tears.

"Then at least," she finally said, "you've matured and want to make sure it never happens to anyone else."

Vernon could only nod.

xxxx

Even with everything April had seen through the years, there were still some things that surprised her. The sight of Vernon staying late in his office with what looked like a jug of eggnog stolen from the employees' lounge was one of those things.

"Vernon, what are you doing?" April asked as she peered into his office.

"Trying to get drunk on eggnog," Vernon sniffled. "How much do you think it'd take?"

April threw up her hands in exasperated disbelief. "If that's leftover eggnog from the holiday parties, Irma's is non-alcoholic and you know it." She walked into his office. "And why on earth do you want to get drunk on anything?"

"Because maybe then things will make sense again. Everything makes sense to a drunk, you know. Or at least, they don't care if things don't." Vernon leaned forward on the desk, still drinking from the glass of eggnog.

"What doesn't make sense, Vernon?" April pressed.

Vernon slammed the glass on the desk and looked up with bloodshot eyes. "Why I keep dreaming about Irma dying and me being so upset that I go and join some bizarre resistance movement against a tyrant that she was part of!"

April had to admit, she was taken aback. "Wow. I guess those discussions on not running out on your friends because something horrible might happen to them really sunk in," she stammered.

"It wasn't my fault that she died!" Vernon snapped. "Or at least, I don't think it was. . . . She was gunned down by the tyrant's guards for plotting against him. I was right there, helplessly watching." He sneered at her. "So not running away didn't help that situation at all!"

"Okay." April folded her arms. "And just for the sake of conversation, who was the tyrant?"

She was half-expecting Vernon to say "Burne" or something else equally outlandish, but she never expected what Vernon really said. "Professor Moriarty, from the Sherlock Holmes stories." Vernon shuddered. "I can't stand him."

"You didn't used to care," April pointed out. "It's only been in the last year that you decided you absolutely couldn't handle anything with him in it."

"Well, I can't," Vernon shot back. "Trapped in a world with him as its emperor. . . . Could it possibly get any worse?"

A strange look passed over April's features. "Moriarty as the emperor of the world? Where would you come up with an idea like that?"

"I don't know!" Vernon stared at April. "You know I don't like it when you sound like that. What is it, April? What are you thinking?"

"About something the Turtles told me," April answered slowly. "But I know I never told anyone else. . . ."

"What did they tell you?!" Vernon demanded.

"That when we were in Europe, they had to stop Moriarty when he stole an atomic clock and rewrote time in his image," April grimaced. "I never knew he was real, but I don't have any reason to doubt the Turtles' story. And coming to think of it, they mentioned a resistance group and said you were in it. And Irma wasn't. . . . Or at least, they didn't see her. . . ." She trailed off, sickened at the thoughts dancing through her mind.

"Then it was real?!" Vernon shrieked.

April jumped. "Oh, Vernon, I don't know," she said helplessly. "But the Turtles fixed time, so does it really matter?"

"Does it really matter that I saw Irma lying in the street with a hole in her stomach?!" Vernon wailed. "Don't you care?!"

"Of course I care!" April exclaimed. "Irma's my best friend! But it's hard to think about that as anything other than a far-off nightmare when I know she's alive and well! . . . And when I'm not the one remembering," she added softly.

"Then you admit it's a memory!" Vernon pounced.

"I don't know what it is," April insisted. "All I know is what the Turtles told me . . . and that what you're saying would fit in with it."

"Oh. . . ." Vernon slumped over the desk and dug his hands into his hair.

"Vernon?"

Both Vernon and April jumped when Irma suddenly joined the conversation. "Irma," April said in surprise. "What are you doing back here?"

"I was hoping to get here before Vernon remembered something awful," Irma said guiltily. "It looks like I didn't."

"I started 'remembering' the night Dr. Stockman and I were nearly killed," Vernon retorted. "And it hasn't left me alone since then. Several days of that was just too much, but I can't even get drunk on your eggnog."

"Oh Vernon." Irma walked into the room and over to the desk, while the Turtles, Splinter, and Baxter entered but stayed by the door in case their perspectives or memories were needed. "It really bothers you that much?"

Vernon rested his arms on the desk and looked over at her. "Of course it bothers me," he retorted. "You don't think it would be horrible to stand there and watch someone you work with every day suddenly get gunned down in the street for resisting some megalomaniac that's taken over the entire world?! To watch her fall while thinking of all the times she tried to convince you to follow her lead, because of course one can't just let tyranny walk in and take over, and now she's gone and proved why it's just as foolhardy as you've always said? To kneel on the cold ground in all that rain and blood and know that she's dying and you just stood there and did nothing, because of course there was nothing you could do, and she's still preaching her nonsense about fighting tyranny and no one will stop to help because they're all as big of cowards as you? And then she's gone and you're left with the empty shell of a girl with lofty dreams and high ideals and you know she'll never gain any of them now because she's lying dead in your arms! And suddenly you're struck by how pointless everything seems . . . now that she's gone. . . ."

As he had ranted, he had stood and come from around the desk. Now he was standing over Irma and glowering down at her. She looked up at him.

"You really mean all of that," she said softly. "Those nice things you said to those people who wouldn't help. . . . Did you mean those too?"

Irma's voice seemed to break the spell. Vernon paused and blinked, as though coming back to the present-day situation. ". . . Yes, I imagine I did," he said slowly. "But . . . that wasn't this time and place. April's right; what does any of it matter now?"

"Because it was you and me," Irma replied. "We were the same people there that we are here. If some nut tried to take over the world, I'd be right there in the frontlines of any resistance group against them. And I'd probably try to get you to come along. And if something happened to me . . . you'd be just as upset here as you were there." She started to smile. "That means a lot."

Vernon suddenly looked overwhelmed. "Does that mean I would actually join a resistance group if something happened to you?" He shook his head. "No . . . I can't believe I would ever be that foolhardy."

"Wait, that's why you were in the resistance group?" Raphael exclaimed in disbelief. "I can't believe it either."

Seeming to notice him and the other Turtles for the first time, Vernon shot a black look his way. "Who asked you?"

"You don't believe that Mr. Fenwick could ever care about someone so much that their death could have such an effect on him?" Baxter spoke.

"I don't think he could care that much about Irma, that's for sure," Raphael retorted. "Not after all the times he's just left her to face danger without him."

Baxter glanced to Vernon before answering. "No one is challenging that he's a coward, or at least, that he has been. But I don't think he ever meant to hurt Miss Langinstein, or Miss O'Neil, for that matter. As he himself said, he felt they could handle the situations much better than he could."

Raphael folded his arms. "Of course you would say that. You know, Baxter, you think you've made a lot of progress, and yeah, you have. I'll give you that. But you're still a doormat."

Baxter looked to him in shock, as did everyone else.

"Raphael!" April exclaimed.

"That is mondo uncool, Dude," Michelangelo frowned.

"Okay, I know it sounds harsh," Raphael said, "but as I see it, it's the truth. He stands up for little creeps like Vernon and big creeps like his brother. He lets Barney stand and scream at him for something that's not even his fault and just says he understands and lets it go." He looked to Baxter. "Then you come back here and make excuses for the jerk. You're being a doormat for your brother, just like you wanted to avoid."

". . . I can see how you would see it like that," Baxter said after a moment of shaken silence. "Maybe to some extent you're even right. I don't think Barney will ever fully give up a lifetime of hating me. How could I fully give up a lifetime of being a pushover? But . . ." He sighed heavily. "The dark path I walked, combined with the kindness and compassion I was shown when my humanity was restored to me, has left me with a greater understanding and sense of compassion for others who are stumbling. I couldn't change that about myself if I tried. If that is being a doormat, then yes, I'm guilty."

". . . Maybe you should find a balance between showing them compassion and not letting them walk all over you," Raphael said, also after hesitating to absorb Baxter's words. "Or should I say, him. Barney is really the only one you're that way with, even though yeah, you show compassion to Vernon and others."

"Maybe I should," Baxter agreed. "Maybe I can. Or maybe I feel I'm handling Barney in the best way for now. While I appreciate your concern, Raphael, I will have to ask you to continue to respect that."

"You don't know how hard I try," Raphael said. "Alright, I'll keep trying. But we already know you're not happy with how Barney treats you. If you don't figure out a better way to get some of that across to him, someday you just might snap with him like you did with Shredder. None of us want to see that."

Baxter looked down. That was admittedly an angle he had not considered. "You're right," he said quietly. "I don't want that to happen. I will try to think what I can do. But right now, I think we've hijacked these people's problems long enough." He nodded to Vernon and Irma.

". . . Yeah," Raphael said gruffly. "I guess we have. Sorry, Irma."

"You were just worried and protective," Irma said. "I can't fault you for that." She looked to Vernon. "And yes, Vernon, I think you would join a resistance group if you were that seriously affected by a death, including mine. Like I said, it was us, just in another environment. It's not like we were alternate universe counterparts or something. If we were, we wouldn't have the memories! It was like when we went to Dimension X. That was us. Well, so on this trip we went to an Earth that Moriarty had taken over."

"That's hardly the same kind of trip," Vernon snorted.

"But it was still us taking it," Irma insisted. "Dr. Stockman was right about you all along. You're stronger and braver than you can even believe."

"More foolhardy than I can even believe," Vernon grumped. "What would be the point of joining your resistance group after it was already too late for you?"

"So it wouldn't get too late for anyone else you care about, like your family. You can find your goodness when you really have to." Irma hesitated, then laid a hand on his wrist. "I just hope that it won't always take a tragedy to bring it out."

Vernon stared at her action, then at her. He was out of arguments, and really, out of words altogether.

"We all hope that," April said. "Come on, guys. I don't think there's anything more we can offer here. Let's go." She headed for the door.

The Turtles, Splinter, and Baxter followed quite agreeably.

"I would like to know how they're remembering something that didn't even happen now that you fixed time," April remarked.

"We still don't know how we know," Donatello replied.

"I haven't studied time-travel and its many theories in depth," Baxter said, "but I do wonder just how permanent supposedly erasing time actually is. Maybe since it did happen, there are still particle traces of that timeline in space, even though you set time back on its correct path and technically destroyed the other outcome."

"Right now I guess any theory's game," Donatello said. "Information can never truly be deleted from a computer or from cyberspace, so why would it from time?"

"Or from the human mind," Baxter added.

"The important thing is not to allow oneself to be shackled by such memories, especially if they are from a destroyed timeline," said Splinter. "One should instead strive to learn from them so as to improve oneself and not repeat unnecessary tragedies."

"The same as they should do for any other memories," Leonardo added.

"That is correct, my student," said Splinter. "Irma has dealt with her feelings and is learning that principle well."

"Sure, but do you really think Vernon will?" Raphael retorted.

"We can only wait and see," Splinter replied. "I will keep the faith in him for a while yet."

"Sounds good to me, Sensei," Michelangelo chirped. He looked to Raphael. "But man, Raphael, I can't believe you called Baxter out like that in front of everybody."

"I was surprised and mystified by it myself," Baxter spoke.

Raphael scowled. "You're right, I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. I just suddenly got so frustrated, trying to deal with the idea that Vernon could actually care and you standing up for him and thinking about how Barney treated you the other day. I don't want you to get hurt by people again, but here I go being the one to hurt you instead."

"And how would you have wanted me to handle that?" Baxter replied. "I could have gotten defensive and angry and screamed at you and only made the scene worse. It was actually tempting. I didn't appreciate being humiliated in front of my coworkers and my other friends. But instead of exploding at you-not letting myself be walked over, shall we say-I decided instead to respond with dignity . . . especially since I knew you didn't mean to hurt me." He stopped at the elevators and turned to face Raphael, folding his arms.

". . . Okay, you got me," Raphael mumbled, his shoulders slumping. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Barney didn't mean to hurt you. I get it."

"Had I not been in as calm a mood, I might have exploded," Baxter continued. "I don't have a short fuse like Barney, but I can be pushed too far. That hasn't changed about me, but it still takes a lot to get me to that point." He turned, pushing the button for the elevator.

"I'm glad I didn't push you to it," Raphael said.

"I'm sure we all are," Leonardo declared.

Splinter smiled as they began to board the elevator. Raphael had learned a lesson tonight. He hoped it was one that Raphael would keep hold of going forward.

"So are Irma and Vernon coming?" Michelangelo wondered.

April glanced back up the corridor. "They'll come later," she said. "They probably still have a lot to talk about, what with all these weird memories and timelines that are coming back to them. I wonder if I'll start remembering things too," she sighed. "That probably won't be fun."

"Yeah. I wouldn't think so," said Raphael. "Not if you remember things in connection with Irma being dead."

"When did Irma join Channel 6?" Donatello wondered. "I don't remember her being there when we met you."

"You just didn't see her. Irma and Vernon were actually both already working at Channel 6 when I joined," April explained. "I'm not sure how long they'd known each other by that point."

"Oh really?" Raphael commented.

"It was Irma who helped me get my apartment in her building," April smiled. "She knew about a vacancy that had just opened up next-door to her."

"Well, that was convenient," said Raphael.

"It's been nice," April said. "And we both like having you in the building too, Dr. Stockman." She looked to Baxter, who was pleased.

"I definitely appreciate having quiet neighbors," he said. "And neighbors who are also my friends."

"Sounds like the perfect combination," Raphael smirked. "Now if only Michelangelo could figure out how to accomplish the first."

"Heeey!" Michelangelo frowned. But he wasn't really angry.

April chuckled.

Splinter smiled and looked to Baxter. This was normalcy.

Baxter looked back with some amusement in his eyes, but also a hint of wistfulness. He and Barney had never had such a close relationship. It was hard to comprehend what it was even like, but it looked wonderful.

Reading the silent words in Baxter's eyes, Splinter rested a hand on his arm.

Baxter relaxed, appreciating the quiet gesture.

xxxx

Irma watched as Vernon settled down at his desk and poured another glass of eggnog. "You know, Vernon, you really can't get drunk on that."

Vernon didn't acknowledge that. ". . . Do you remember what happened to you? I mean, after you . . . died? . . ."

Irma paused. "Not very well," she said. "I do remember it being warm and peaceful, and someone telling me that everything was going to be okay, that time had got all messed up and I wasn't supposed to be dead, but that it was going to be fixed. I was supposed to wait there until it was."

"So you . . . waited there and didn't see what was happening?"

Irma stared off at the opposite wall without looking at it. "I think I saw what was happening even though I was waiting there. I have some memory of seeing April really sad and crying . . . and you going all hardcore." She looked back to him. "I wanted you to join the resistance, but I didn't want you to be so miserable. I wanted to tell you things were going to be okay, but I couldn't."

"That sounds familiar," Vernon grunted. He gulped down a good portion of the eggnog.

"It is pretty hard to communicate," Irma said softly.

". . . How was it when you . . . came back?" Vernon wondered. "Were you just suddenly alive again in the right time?"

"I remember being told to get ready, that time was being fixed and soon I wouldn't remember any of what had happened," Irma said. "Then there was a weird tornado thing and it must have carried me off or something. I woke up in my hotel room, right where I'd been before all the crazy stuff happened."

Vernon shook his head. "Incredible."

"And now we're remembering again," Irma mused.

"Do you think there's any significance to that?" Vernon worried.

"I think we started remembering because what happened the other night was so upsetting," Irma said. "We probably wouldn't have otherwise."

"But we shouldn't remember at all when it was fixed so it didn't happen," Vernon objected.

"But it did happen," Irma insisted. "For something that awful, the memories couldn't just go away forever."

"I wish they would," Vernon muttered.

Irma's shoulders slumped. "Yeah. . . ." She gave him a weak smile. "I guess we're just going to have to deal with it."

"I guess," Vernon scowled. "And just how do you suggest we do that?"

Irma poured a glass of eggnog as well. "Together?"

Vernon looked at that and slowly nodded. "Together."

They clinked glasses and started to drink.

xxxx

Barney's laboratory aboard the Technodrome was uncharacteristically quiet that night. He worked in silence for some time before at last he lowered the screwdriver and looked to the motherboard on the table. "Are you still angry at me?" he asked.

"I don't like how you spoke to Baxter," the alien computer replied. "I've been patient with you through all of your complex moods and I've tried to understand your side as well as Baxter's. But your behavior after Baxter's experience of unwillingly astral-projecting was repulsive."

Barney folded his arms on the table. "I know it was." He glowered at the assorted parts and pieces spread across the work space. "I don't know what's wrong with me. No one treats their brother like that, not if they really care about him."

"Barney, the problem is that you care so much you just don't know what to do," said the computer. "You can't let go of your hatred, even though you know it's not logical, and that interferes with your other feelings."

"How do I feel different?" Barney shot back. "Can you tell me that?"

"No, I can't," said the computer. "Only you can do that."

"And since I can't figure it out, and will probably continue to be angry, how will you feel?"

"Sad."

"But you won't turn against me," Barney prompted.

"No. And I hope I never will be pushed to that point. You need someone, Barney, especially since you continue to push away the one person who would have always been there for you if you'd only let him."

"Why doesn't he give up on me?" Barney muttered.

"Because for all the times you've hurt him, you've also tried to make it up by helping him when you can. He recognizes what you've been trying to do for him and he sees the goodness in the person who would do that." The computer paused. "Yet you don't see it in yourself. Why do you think you try to help him, if not for that reason?"

Barney shrugged. "Because I shouldn't have done what I did to hurt him and I'm just trying to make it right."

"And that's not showing goodness?"

"If I was good, I wouldn't have hurt him in the first place," Barney retorted.

"No one is perfect, Barney. Well, except for computers. All humans make mistakes, Baxter included. He isn't always good. And you aren't always bad."

"But some people manage to live better lives than others," said Barney.

"You certainly could too. You don't have to stay here."

Barney shrugged. "I probably do. I doubt I would ever be allowed to leave." He picked up the screwdriver and started back to work. "And even if I left, that's no guarantee that I could find a better life. I wasn't doing so great on the surface, either."

The computer sighed. "Oh Barney. . . ."

"I know, I'm hopeless," Barney dryly smirked.

"You're not hopeless, Barney. That's what Baxter and I try to show you. But you certainly make things challenging."

Barney didn't comment. But as he worked, he seemed happier.