AUTHOR'S NOTES
If you've read my story "Mainstreaming", this story is a direct result from that one. I was about halfway through when I decided I needed to at least mention Bebop and Rocksteady. So after some thought, I figured out how to put them into the story, and put in a bit of back story for them as well. But surprisingly, I grew really attached to this little subplot, and thought it deserved to be told completely, as a whole story. I decided to put "Mainstreaming" on hold, and concentrate on this one, instead...and I'm glad I did. It was a refreshing change to write from Rocksteady's point of view, and it was fun to flesh out a character that had basically been "that dumb strong mutant" up until now. This may not be my most popular story, but I have a definite soft spot for it, and I'm very happy with the way it turned out. The turtles don't even show up much until Chapter Six - by necessity. And, to paraphrase Monty Python, if you enjoy reading it even half as much as I did writing it, well then, I enjoyed it twice as much as you.
Rain isn't unheard of in New York City in the spring, but nobody but the oldest residents could remember getting quite this much. To Rocksteady, it was just another messed-up component of this already messed-up part of his severely messed-up life. He sighed, and watched the city lights zoom by through the haze of the downpour. It was a sure sign he was distracted - he hardly noticed Bebop's typically haphazard driving. Only when the van slipped into an alley and slammed into a dumpster did he raise his head. He considered yelling at Bebop, as usual, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. Glancing out the window, he realized that there was no way he could squeeze out the passenger door; there was a brick wall about two inches from the window. So he leapt up and made his way to the back door. After opening it up, he ran through the rain to the warehouse door, with Bebop following. Rocksteady examined the lock on the door and grinned - he'd broken this type before. He grabbed it and yanked down with all his might, but his hand simply slipped off.
"Durnit," he muttered. Turning to Bebop, he said, "Gimme a rag or sumthin'."
Bebop glanced around, then picked up an old rag and held it up. Rocksteady grabbed it, but almost immediately tossed it away.
"Dat's no good."
"How come?"
"Cuz it's all greasy is hows come! I need sumthin' to dry off this lock, and dat'll just make it slipp'rier!"
Bebop snorted, but resumed his search. After poking around a bit, he came up with an old sock - it was dirty and ripped, but it was dry. Eagerly, Rocksteady grabbed it, wiped the lock with it, then wiped his hands on it as well. Tossing the sock away, he again swallowed the lock into his oversized palm and pulled downward. The lock broke into several pieces, and he let them fall to the ground. Bebop stepped up and helped him raise the warehouse door.
They walked into the abandoned building, shaking and wiping the rain off their faces. Bebop felt along the inside wall until he found a switch. He flicked it a few times, with no result. Snorting, he began cautiously making his way towards the opposite side, while Rocksteady simply danced from foot to foot, looking around. It wasn't a very large warehouse - it had only been used by the Foot as a sort of staging area for stolen and otherwise sketchy goods. As the Foot fell apart, it had fallen into disuse, but fortunately, Rocksteady had remembered its location. A few of the metal shelves remained assembled, but most were piled up in pieces in the near corner. A small window up near the ceiling let in a trickle of light.
Bebop got to the opposite wall and found what he was looking for - a door to a bathroom. He walked inside, turned the sink on, and grinned as water came pouring out. After turning the faucet off, he found the light switch and tried it a few times.
"Hey," he said loudly as he made his way back to Rocksteady. "We got water, but no juice."
"No juice?" Rocksteady echoed. "How we gonna get by wit'out no power?"
"Relax - it's jus' f'r now. We'll be fine." Bebop yawned and stretched. "You ready to get th' stuff?"
Rocksteady considered. Honestly, he sort of wanted some time to himself. Things had been happening at an insane pace, and he really needed some time alone to get his head back together. Plus, the idea of going back out with Bebop in the van didn't really appeal to him.
"Um..." said Rocksteady, trying to think of a reason not to go back. "Mebbe one of us should stay here. Y'know - now that it's unlocked."
It was the lamest of excuses, and Bebop knew it. But he had seen how distracted Rocksteady had been. He knew better than to talk about it, though. "Yeah, OK," Bebop said. "I'll go get da stuff. C'n you kinda set up stuff in here?"
"Yeah," said Rocksteady, a bit too relieved. "Yeah, I c'n do that."
"Cool. See ya in a bit." Bebop shot Rocky a grin, then ran back out into the rain.
Rocksteady went to the door and watched the van peel out, backwards, back into the street. He shook his head, then shut the door. Turning around, he faced the empty warehouse and softly tapped his fists together. Letting himself relax a bit, he felt the thoughts well up in his head - the panicky ones that he kept forced down. "No," he said out loud, in an attempt to keep them at bay. "No no no. Not now. Gotta get this place ready." Lessee, he forced himself to think. No power. If we got no power, it's gonna get cold. So we gotta have a fire. And if we're gonna have a fire, we gotta have a place for the smoke to get out. He remembered a time, a year or so back, when he and some other Foot soldiers had smoked themselves out of an abandoned building by not taking such steps.
He slowly ambled through the warehouse, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. Finally, he came across the kind of thing he was looking for - a bolt. He picked it up and walked back to the window. Sticking his tongue out in concentration, he threw it up towards the window. It flew a bit wide of the mark, striking the wall with a loud clang that reverberated through the empty warehouse. Unperturbed, Rocksteady walked over and picked the bolt back up. Again he took aim and threw it at the window. This time, his aim was better, and the window broke with a surprisingly quiet tinkling sound. Rocksteady, greatly pleased, laughed out loud and shook his fist. Well, that's for the smoke, he thought. Now for something to burn.
Rocksteady tried to think of what would burn - paper, wood...wait! He spied a large stack of wooden pallets near the main door. Hey, perfect! He walked over and carried the entire stack back underneath the window. Using just his bare hands, he began wrenching them apart one by one, tossing the pieces into a pile beside him. Unbeknownst to him, he almost gave himself several pretty vicious splinters, but none of them could penetrate his extremely thick skin. After the pile got quite a bit smaller, Rocksteady stopped and gave it the once over. Hm - only six left. Maybe we could sleep on those. Better save em.
Sighing, Rocksteady climbed the stack of pallets and sat down in the center of them. Now that his work appeared to be done, the depressing thoughts began coming back. This time, he let them come, succumbing completely to self-pity.
Everything's gone kablooie, he thought.