A/N: This story is dedicated to MayoDiamond.

A/N 2: I don't own the Ninja Turtles, but Michelle Robinson is my own creation.

--Edited...again...--

Reminisce

Rated: T

Chapter: One

It was late.

Michelle Robinson noted this as the bell to the gas station she was working the grave shift at chimed the arrival of a new customer. It never failed. Just when she was counting down the seconds towards the end of her shift someone always had to walk in. She looked up to glare the the hooded person, but froze when she realized that she was nose to barrel with a gun.

Heart leaping into her throat, Michelle found herself suddenly wishing she'd never moved to New York. Screw the Cosmetology degree. She should have gone back to Colorado to work at her sister's stupid wanna-be pet store.

Even though, he hunched slightly, the man towered at least a foot over her, but the hood of his sweater was pulled so low that she could not make out his face. Only his chin, covered in craters and scars, was visible. The hand holding the gun trembled, though it didn't seem like it was in fear. The skin of his hand was dry and yellow. It seemed to be stretched too thin over his bones.

"Give me the money," He muttered, his voice muffled as if he spoke through gritted teeth.

"I'm um... sure we can work this out, friend," She said shakily, raising her hands in what she hoped the man would take as passiveness.

The man's head lifted jerkily and wide, blood shot eyes focused on her. The sight of the man's face was frightful. His cheeks were gaunt and his skin was yellow. His eye's seemed to have sunked into his head and were rimmed by dark circles as he hadn't slept in years. His pupils were almost fully dilated and seemed unable to focus on her as they darted back and forth over her face. His nose was running, the mucus trailing over his chapped and scabbed lips to disappear under his chin. Around the bottom edges of his nose was a dark, peeling substance that appeared to be dried blood.

Michelle couldn't stop herself from wrinkling her nose. Even though he still didn't seem to have really looked at her face, he apparently caught the expression of disgust. She tried to mask it, but his features twisted in anger.

"What are you looking at, bitch? Give me the damn money or I'll put a fucking bullet in your head!" He snarled and the woman cringed away from him as spittle speckled her cheeks.

"Look, I was getting ready to close there isn't any money in the-Ahh!" Michelle tried to explain. The man growled and fisted the front of her red polo shirt, yanking her not too gently closer to him. Their noses were almost touching and she could smell the stomach churning stench of sweat and urine. She swallowed thickly as the cold barrel of the gun pressed firmly against her neck.

"Give me the fucking money!" The man demanded again, shaking the fist that was balled in her shirt.

"I-I can't! There's no money in the register!" the woman cried, half hysterical. She wondered suddenly if she was going to walk away from this. Trembling she struggled to looked the man in the eyes, hoping he'd see that she was telling the truth. He looked away and glanced towards the windows.

To her horror, two more men wearing hooded sweaters were advancing on the store. Both stooped, their heads hanging, and had their hands shoved into the front pocket of their dark hoodies. The pockets bulged and Michelle didn't need to be told what they were concealing inside.

The man released her, though not before shoving her roughly and jumped over the counter to fiddle with the register. Michelle hit the glass cabinets that held their tobacco products and the paneling shattered from the impact before she fell to her knees.

Trying to ignore the shard of glass piercing her palms, the woman pushed from the ground, standing and looking over her shoulder. The man seemed thoroughly preoccupied by the cash register, so she took the opportunity to run. Unfortunately, her escape was cut short by a rather solid blockade. One of the men from the parking lot grinned darkly at her from beneath his hood and she backed away only to have an arm wrap around her neck.

The first man had abandoned the register and pulled her body against his.

Stubble scratched her cheek as the man behind her rubbed his face against hers.

"So smooth..." The rough voice commented," Where is the money?"

"Tell us and we might let you go," The man in front of her reasoned. Though his voice was softer and lighter, his face was haggard. Noting her stare, he smirked and swiped a hand over his head, letting the hood fall to his shoulders. The man had to be in his thirties, judging by the very few strands of gray that speckled his hair. He had a thick beard but no mustache and he smiled, baring yellowed teeth.

"How old are you, sweetheart? Seventeen? Eighteen?" He asked," We know you don't wanna be any trouble. Just tell us where you put the money and we'll let you walk out of here."

Michelle shuddered in disgust as he leaned closer, eyes half lidded. His wry smile made her skin crawl. With a grunt, she lifted her legs and kicked out. To her delight, she connected solidly with the man's stomach and he took several steps backwards, doubled over. Jerking her shoulders violently, she struggled to break free from the man holding her. He fell back on the register and hissed in pain, but only held tighter, one hand moving to her neck to squeeze.

"You must have a death wish," Growled the man containing her, pressing the tip of the gun under her jaw, forcing her chin upwards.

The man she kicked recovered and his face was red with fury. He'd pulled out his gun and was also aiming at her, though the third man was chuckling, obviously amused by the whole ordeal.

"She's got some fire. Best keep this one alive a while longer, eh Ted," The third man commented, elbowing man number two, who only sneered at him.

Why? Michelle silently asked any entity that might listen, Why is this happening to me?

"It really takes three of you to beat up on one defenseless chick?" A new voice asked from behind the two men. They barely managed to turn and re-aim their guns when suddenly they both collapsed.

Michelle squeaked and tried to see who'd come to her rescue, but there was no one there.

"What the-?" The body against her back tensed and the hand on her neck tightened a fraction, then suddenly let go as a crash sounded behind her. She whipped around in time to see the man's feet disappear over the side of the register.

Rubbing her neck and struggling to catch her breath, Michelle slowly turned around. Her chocolate hues stared directly into startlingly blue orbs.

"Are you okay, dudette?" A husky surfer accented voice asked.

Michelle blinked and took in the orange mask, green skin and short, rounded snout. The creature was smiling at her, but she could only stare silently back, her grateful thank you dying in her throat. Unsure of whether she should scream or not, she settled for staring.

"Yeah, I usually have that effect on women," the creature commented, rubbing his head and laughing," My rugged good looks must have taken your breath away!"

Michelle frowned uncertainly when he wiggled his eye ridges at her. She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped as she saw a hooded head rise from the other side of the counter. The first man was shaking even more violently than before and was staring in fear at the... thing... that had saved her. His gun was pointed at the creature's... shell?

Michelle had read in books that in situations like this, time seemed to freeze and before then, the idea seemed quite ridiculous. However, as she saw the man cock the gun, the world seemed to have indeed, stopped spinning. Her savior was staring at her, ignorant to his attacker, his eyes bright and friendly. Perhaps the innocence behind those depths was what made her do it, she wasn't completely sure, but in an instant, she lifted her hands and shoved the green skinned creature out of the bullet's path.

As if someone had covered her ears, the sound of the gun firing seemed muffled and despite her attempt to back away, her shoulder exploded in pain. Hand instinctively rising to the wound, where warmth was all ready spread, eagerly soaked up by her shirt, disbelieving chocolate eyes lowered fearfully. All ready her hand was covered in rich red and her heart hammered. Airways suddenly closing, she took a few panicked gasps before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped backwards, her head hitting the ground with a sharp crack.

Michelangelo's eyes widened as his shoulder hit the broken case. Glass cut into his shoulder, but he ignored it as he watched as this woman he didn't even know took the bullet. She was looking down at herself, face pale and twisted into an expression of horror. Trembling violently, she collapsed. The woman didn't get up, but he didn't have the time to worry about that because the gun was on him again.

"Didn't your mom ever teach you not to play with guns?" He asked, kicking the offending weapon out of the man's hand. In one swift movement, he brought the heel of his palm against the base of the man's neck and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious for real this time.

"What a charmer," the orange banded turtle commented lowly before turning to check on the girl. She hadn't moved from the position she fell in. Her head was turned away from him and she was leaned slightly on her side, one arm hanging over her hip and the other thrown out.

"Hey, girl..." he called timidly, but received not response. Groaning, he glanced over his shoulder as he heard sirens in the distance. He couldn't just leave her there, not after she just probably saved his life. Dropping to her side, he gently touched her shoulder. Her body shifted slightly and he saw that the bullet had actually only grazed the top of her left shoulder, though it bled heavily. The left side of her face was also covered in tiny scratched from the glass littering the ground.

"Ah, shell..." He murmured as he noticed the slowly growing pool of blood around the woman's head.

Whimpering, Michelangelo looked around for help, but his brothers had sent him on a simple mission. Get some coffee and snacks. This should require but one turtle. Of course, they'd been to this corner store a million times and it had never been held up before.

He didn't have time left to wonder if what he was doing was right. He could all ready see the red and blue lights rounding the corner. Without further stalling, he slipped one arm under her knees and another under her head, dashing out the door and leaping onto the roof.

"Donnie is so gonna kill me..." He groaned, then looked fearfully down at the woman in his arms. Her breathing was ragged and uneven. He was no doctor, but even he knew that that was not a good thing.

"Please don't die," He begged as he leaped from from roof top to roof top as quickly as he could.

A/N: I owe a huge thank you to Lola Hard for you advice with Michelle's gun wound and for your help with bashing her head. I really appreciate your input!