Hello to any and all readers (I'm not expecting too many). I have rated this fic T just to be safe, but that's mostly because of future fight scenes and Hun's relationship with his wife (OC).

DISCLAIMER: Of course, I own nothing of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in this story. I do own all YWAM characters. They are all shamelessly based off of people I know that are real Missionaries, just names changed about for potential security reasons.

Read on, my little friends!

I stand here, watching the scene onstage with more trepidation than I'm sure I should be feeling; a disorganized-looking, rag tag group having a chat-session. One small college age kid, in flip-flops and messy curly hair sitting next to a guitar case seemed to be regaling his two buddies with an animated retelling of some kind. One was a large (not as large as me, of course) rather hairy-faced thing and a redheaded girl with a couple piercings, both wearing head kerchiefs and aprons, obviously kitchen staff…Too many talky people in coffee shops. At least the boys won't find me here. If they did I could very well kiss my already-weakening control goodbye. Here I can have space, think about stuff. Some things have been bothering me a lot lately, but the air in here is different, somehow, and I don't really know what to make of it.

An extremely mellow waitress with a nice tan and a boy's haircut shuffles to my table.

"Nice night out, eh?"

Interesting. You don't meet too many Canadians in New York City. Well, not in this area.

I shrugged. "It's OK."

"Can I get you anything?"

I sigh as I look back at her. No looking up, even though I'm sitting. I used to think I'd get used to being bigger than everyone. Interesting that nobody in here seemed intimidated by me, though. "I'll have the Cappuccino, and two Boston crèmes."

"Awesome." She takes my menu out of my hands. "We've got a club-sandwich special tonight too, and, as you can see, our cooks could use something to do."

I chuckle, surprising myself. "Um, yeah, I guess I could use a club. Make that two, and a soda to go with."

She smiles languidly and turns around. "Hey! Nathan and Geneva!"

The aprons spun about so fast they nearly knocked together with a chorus of 'Wha?' and 'You called, oh grand Canadian One?'

"Orders up!"

They grin and make a bee-line for the narrow swinging doors, the large one pulling the girl to a halt by her apron strings before shooting in just in front of her. Her protest only preceded her entrance by a fraction of a second. The waitress shakes her head and heads to the coffee bar to fix my drink.

I leaned back in my chair, hearing it creak beneath me and wincing. I was the largest person I knew, and so often I felt smaller than I knew other people saw me. Well, master did see me as small, that much I could tell. I accepted it, wanting, striving for his acceptance, his approval, any pride in me at all.

Until that strange kid with the dreadlocks at the bus stop, going on about ninja sloths. At first I thought he was serious, but quickly learned otherwise. He didn't stop talking for a while, and honestly, for the life of him, I couldn't really remember everything the kid had said, but I did know it was making sense. Maybe a little too much sense. That's why I was here tonight; the kid promised to show up and talk. I ran a hand through shorter hair than I had had in a long time. It helped the tension, and I pondered my previous decision to grow it longer again. Nah, I liked it this length.

"David Hunnington? Good to see you again!"

Ah, the crazy kid. I smiled my greetings. SMILED? Crud. I'm going nuts. Dreads slid into the chair across from me as I realized exactly how glad I was to see him. Can't remember the last time I had met someone like him.

"Do you like the place?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "It's nice."

Dreads' smile widened. "The food's better. Two certified food addicts run the kitchen."

"The hairy one and the redhead?"

Dreads nodded. "Yup, Neeves and Nate."

The food arrived with my coffee, perhaps all too soon, but I was more than a little relieved. I could just ask a question, not have to talk, just eat and listen. I took a bite of my first club and nodded my approval.

"Good?"

"Good."

"David, I was wondering if you had any question from the last time we talked."

I shrugged, more to myself than in response to him. I wasn't sure really. Just one thing that kept bugging me.

"Grace?"

And the fountain poured from his mouth. Things I had always wanted to hear. Things I knew when I heard them, but knew not how I had known. Truth and chaos and…perfect love. Two words I had never known could exist like that, together. And I stopped hearing the kid after a while, but could hear the other kid on the stage, and his voice is thinner, softer, but I feel it punch through me.

Wish I had what I needed

To be on my own

'Cause I feel so defeated

And I'm feeling alone

My hands clench.

And it all feels so helpless

And I have no plans

I'm a plane in the sunset

With nowhere to land

My feet aren't on the ground. I'm falling, my head breaking.

And all I see it could

Never make me happy

And all my sandcastles

Spend their time collapsing

My hands are shaking and my head is buzzing around the music forcing itself into and through ears so long unhearing.

LET ME KNOW THAT YOU HEAR ME

LET ME KNOW YOUR TOUCH

LET ME KNOW THAT YOU LOVE ME

AND LET THAT BE ENOUGH

"God?" I hear myself croak. I am shaking all over, and I clench, trying to still myself, trying to look in control. I'm almost angry. Almost.

"What the hell would He want with me?!"

And Dreads tells me. He tells me exactly what God wants with me.

"Another master?" I splutter, trying to pull my mind, myself, into submission.

"Yes. Another master. One that cares. One that loves you more than you could ever love him."

And what would I do with such a master?

"One that is more faithful that you could ever hope to be."

What would such a master say to me; a failure?

"… 'Well done, my good and faithful servant…'"

LET ME KNOW THAT YOU HEAR ME

LET ME KNOW YOUR TOUCH

LET ME KNOW THAT YOU LOVE ME

AND LET THAT BE ENOUGH

And I am reduced to shame. I bow my head, lower than that of the kid sitting across from me. A kid who has never seen what I have…who has never done what I have.

I weep.

And not a single person in the café says a word. They leave me to my shame, but as I rain across the old tabletop, the pieces of my pride falling just as quickly, I know that this fear, this fist that has held my heart in its iron grip for most of my life, is falling away, and being replaced by something I have never felt before.

Peace

Comfort

Fullness

Fire…not of anger, but of desire, of connection.

Dreads says nothing for a very long time, even walks to the kitchen. When I am finished, however, my tears dried, my face, I am sure, resembling that of a small child, he reseats himself and places a large mug of steaming tea in front of me.

I speak, my voice betraying and frustrating me. Weakness. "What?" I pick up the mug and take a long drink, feeling…thankful. I don't know if I'm going to get used to this. "Do you want to watch me shame myself more?"

Dreads smiled, the tired smile of a war comrade. He knew…he knew everything.

"Nah. The kitchen staff was just wondering if you wanted anything else." He passed me a menu. "They both tend to get hungry after being…spoken to."

And through my broken self I smiled back. I will get used to this. It just might take awhile.