Thank you to those who've read and appreciated this story thus far.
Disclaimer- I own a stuffed Raph I got off fleaBay... does that count?
Chapter Two:
"Goddamnit shit bastard hell!" I raged through gritted teeth, incensed and fumbling with my keys, the stupid lock to my apartment door being as goddamned stubborn as a loaded mule. I entertained thoughts of kicking the door in for a moment, like I'd had to do several times when I lived in the barracks in Japan, then ruled it out when Reason poked me saying, 'The Landlord won't like this, and it'll cost you unnecessary dough.'
Taking a calming breath, attentive to the heavy breathing wracking my injured charge's body, I jiggled the handle. With a 'pop' and a 'snick', the lock tumbled, and I shoved the door open, flicked on the lights, ready and anxious to haul this thing to my living room. I paused at the linen closet, wrangled a few towels out and half-dragged it to the couch, threw the towels down on it to cover the cushions, and wrestled him into a lying position. He was half conscious, which made it all the harder.
"A..April..." It rasped, eyes slowly shuttering closed as unconciousness settled in, while I fanangled the frustratingly bulky trench coat off. I paused, unable to respond. Before they shut completely, I saw pain riddling those tawny brown eyes. Beneath that, though, I thought I saw something else, an emotion like sorrow, possibly even shame. I tut-tutted, patting it's arm reassuringly before pattering off to the laundry room to toss the trench in the washer, hurrying back lest it roll and fall off the couch if I stayed away too long.
Blessedly, it had blacked out but hadn't rolled off and caused complications. I reached out, tentatively at first, because I was nervous about it for damn sure, and took it's pulse. Shockingly, it had skin that leaned towards forest green in the light of my small table lamp, and hunter in the shadows. It had the look, but definitely not the feel, of lambskin leather, small spots sprinkling up and down its arms, legs, and face- almost like my freckles did me. Sixty seconds passed and satisfied that the pulse was within normal, okay, human range, I went to my kitchen pantry and fished out the first aid kit I'd compiled for any kind of kitchen hazard, deep cuts included. You never knew when your klutzy (and slightly crazy) little sister was going to try and slice turkey and accidentally fillet her arm. Again.
Setting out the supplies I needed, I gave the creature a quick once over. Determining the ragged, seven inch head wound was the gravest and needed to be seen to first, I set the flame level on my lighter to hotter than hot and sterilized a hooked needle and cuticle scissors. Setting those aside, I grabbed a large gauze pad, soaking it in iodine solution before pressing it firmly to the trickling gouge. The creature hissed, and I paused, startled. I waited for a few moments, gently cleaning out the dirt, but apparently it was still out, so I set about my nauseating task. I hated doing stitches, but was thankful for the training I'd received from our 'Doc's' in the field. Before that, I'd been taught some of the lifesaving techniques, but nothing intricate, like surgery and setting bones.
The wound rinsed in solution and wiped clean, I threaded the needle with fresh 'catgut', knotted the end, and pinched the farthest edge of the wound's skin together. Gritting my teeth, I pushed the needle through, pulling the skin tightly together.
Quickly as I could, I sewed it shut, rinsed the wound again, this time in an alcohol solution to kill any germs I may have transferred during the gloveless surgery, and cut the thread, sighing in relief. That was the hardest part, made easy with the creature out. I ran to the kitchen to wash my hands before I did anything else.
Hands clean again, I set about rinsing out and dressing the melange of superficial cuts and abrasions this poor thing had suffered during it's mugging, much more relieved knowing that at least it wouldn't bleed to death on my couch. Still, better to take no chances, so I resolved to watch it through the night. It's wounds dressed and pressed, I went to my kitchen sink, washed my hands again, grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in cool water. Once cold, I wrung it out, and laid in on the creature's forehead before taking some well deserved 'me' time. Looking down at my wet clothes clinging to me, and the massive wet spot on the floor where I'd sat working on the beast, I gave a wry chuckle. Double-damn, more work to do before bed- fuck it, that can wait till morning.
'Modesty be damned, I gotta get warm and dry before I catch cold!' Stripping on the tile of the foyer, I slung the clothes into the wash with the trench coat and set it on a hot cycle, hoping the blood on them would come out easy. I streaked through the living room, hit the shower at full tilt, cried out as the blast hit my skin painfully, with what felt like boiling, rather than tepid, water. I growled a nasty streak of curses as my hypothermic skin crawled with fire-hot pins and needles, slowly growing more accustomed to the temperature as increasingly foul words ground past my lips.
A half hour later, warmed and clean, I wrapped myself in my big, fluffy, very overpriced cotton terry robe from last Christmas, wrapped my hair up in another towel and peered out into the den, checking in on my charge before crossing over the threshold into my bedroom seeking out my flannel pj's and a few blankets. I dumped the blankets down on the floor next to the couch, and changed. Digging through my closet produced a down quilt, which I brought into the den to keep it warm through the night. It was, after all, reptilian from first glance, and from feeling its blood between my fingers, either suffering from hypothermia or simply cold blooded.
Draping the quilt across it, I settled down in my lazy boy recliner, pulled the blankets over me, and popped the foot rest up. For a long while I watched it, my eyes tracing it's contours under the quilt, mind finally slowing down to really see it for what felt like the first time since we'd crossed paths.
It was a turtle, from what I'd seen. It had the customary shell, of course, scratched and nicked from God knows who and what, and deep green skin that seemed to change color in the light. But it was also so human, in the fact that it was bipedal; it had two legs, and two arms just like me- it's skeletal layout probably just like mine too, but denser. That much I could tell just from carrying half it's weight for nearly a mile, and up four flights of stairs. It's head was tilted down at it's chest, offering me a quarter view of it's face, the features standing out in sharp relief from the lamplight.
It had large cheeks and a broad mouth under what I took to be a beak with two barely perceptible nostrils under the prow, and large, heavy lidded eyes. I'd removed the cloth mask it'd been wearing before I got to work on the stitches, hardly paying it any notice until now, as it dried over my radiator. Red, a color that suited and wouldn't stain something awful. I thought more about the torn up shell, and guessed that there was a very real reason it'd chosen that color. I didn't understand it, though, why wear a mask if you obviously don't look human as it is? What are you trying to hide? I pondered these thoughts for a little while, listening to the soft whuffling breaths, watching the slow rise and fall of it's chest under the blanket for any sign of distress.
Plastron', I thought, abruptly remembering biology lessons from years past.
I woke with a start, a rustling sound jerking me out of the dreamless sleep I'd fallen in during my self-induced stint as a night watch. Flinging the blanket that I'd pulled up over my head away, I glanced blearily at the clock on the wall, annoyed at what I saw. 'Zero-seven thirty. I've been asleep for six hours! Some watch you are, old girl.' Another rustle quelled my growing irritation, as the creature rolled over in slumber, mumbling incoherently. I could make out 'Splinter' and 'Fearless-one'. 'Mike' was another common utterance, and I giggled quietly, watching it twitch like a puppy chasing cars in it's dreams. Yawning hugely, I decided that I'd take it easy today, since Saturdays were usually lazy days. Sundays were reserved solely for distance running through the city- as that was my way of communing with God and nature, plus the city was less noisy and dangerous on those early mornings- and an afternoon of reading at my local Starbucks.
Mm... Starbucks. 'I could sure go for a coffee right about now'. My stomach rumbled its assent as well, and I stifled the urge to laugh long and loud. I returned the lazy boy to its upright and locked position, rose, gathered my blankets and threw them on the king bed in my room, and padded to the kitchen to rummage through my pantry for breakfast.
Not long had passed before I had bacon sizzling in my industrial sized microwave as I poured the last of the freshly mixed pancake batter into a hot, buttered pan, inhaling the rich aromas wafting about. My stomach growled louder this time. "Not much longer, hang on," I said, patting my empty, frustrated belly. I smiled as the microwaved dinged that the bacon was done, neatly flipped a cake over, set the pan down to go pull the plate out. Unrolling a few paper towels, I speared the slices with a fork and lifted them from the grease laden plate over to the clean towels on another. Bacon accounted for, I slid the final cake out of the pan onto a waiting stack, and set it aside.
Digging through my kitchen drawers produced two forks and knives, which sandwiched the small plates on the four person round table in my dining room (really just a part of the kitchen, but I like to pretend I actually have one), as did the plate of cakes and bacon. Eggs were next, since they were quicker and easier. I mixed four eggs, cheese, garlic, and pepper in the same pan I'd cooked the pancakes in, until well scrambled, and dumped the pans contents into a large bowl. That also went on the table, along with maple syrup (from Canada), butter, whole wheat toast, and two coffee cups. The coffee wasn't done yet, so I went to check up on my guest (Guest, hah!), and found it sideways on the couch, eyes open and clear, staring me down.
I put my hands up in a calming gesture so not to startle, frighten, irritate, aggravate, ANYTHING-ate the beast in my living room, and spoke slowly. "I have breakfast, pancakes with bacon and eggs, if you're hungry." I emphasized the last by patting my stomach, and pointed to the kitchen.
The large brown eyes clouded over with what I thought was annoyance, then amusement rippled over. The creature nodded, and rose to a sitting position, wincing a little at the movement. I rushed over.
"Careful now," I fussed, taking hold of one arm to help it up. It jerked away from my touch, slowly- defiantly- rising on it's own, staring me down the whole time.
"Well, fine," I huffed, stepping back a pace, arms reflexively crossing over my chest- something I did when I was miffed. It took a step forward on unsteady legs, almost spilling over in the process. I snorted, and took hold the arm again, with a firmer grip this time, and, despite the smoldering glare I received, guided it around my coffee table to the kitchen. "Hey, humor me. I stopped the fight, patched you up, and hey," I said, tossing it a sideways glance and a smile, "I'm even throwing in a free breakfast. So humor me, and stop being a baby about getting helped around."
It raised an eyebrow at me, before looking back at the inviting table. Nodding once, I took that as an invitation to take it to it's seat. It even looked affronted when I asked, "Can you even eat this stuff?" and nodded so rapidly, I worried for a second that it would loosen the stitches! All right, all right. Here," I said, piling three pancakes, five strips of bacon, and a mound of fluffy, cheesy eggs onto it's place. "Eat up, you need to get your strength back so you can go home." I watched, fascinated, as it grasped the fork and knife with easy grace, and took a few careful bites of the pancakes, eyes going half-mast as it ate. I chuckled a little, filling my own plate up, and pouring coffee. "Want some?"
The face it made was so amusing, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, no coffee. Water?" It shook it's head, looking at me pointedly, like there was something I was missing. I stared back, perplexed. "All I have left is some Earl Grey, want that?" it nodded assent, and I set about fixing it some tea, while it snarfed down the remaining food on its plate. Tea ready, I set it down with some lemon juice and sugar cubes, and giggled at the mournful way it was regaling my plate.
"I can always make more for you, you know." I said around a mouthful of bacon. "Just let me finish mine first, kay?"
It nodded again, eager for me to finish 'quick quick and in a hurry'. I declined, chewing slowly, watching it as it watched me eat, regarded my kitchen, my living room. Just looking at everything with the bored curiosity of someone waiting for something else to come along. It's gaze rested back on my own as I finished my meal, the two of us just sitting there- one human, and a giant turtle-man sharing a quiet breakfast above the noisy Saturday morning streets of NYC.
Author's Note: Woof. Chapter two done, on to chapter three. I promise I'll update TwoO as well later this week, promise! Mikaela