Disclaimer: The Teenage Mutant Turtles are not my property, and I don't purport to own them one bit.

2

Life During

Laurel should not be concentrating on the four rather lumpily trench coated figures ahead of her but on the two thugs who have been trailing her since she walked out of the comics shop. They are two rather well known thugs; having made names for themselves doing the sort of errands no one else wants a part of. One is tall and round and dumb, the other is small and skinny and marginally smarter, the usual cliché pairing of partners. Tonight, though, they have no errands pending and had been rather thrilled to see a plain but jumpable looking young woman come out of "that geeky readin' place" across the street from the seedy bar they haunted when conscious.

The smaller of the thugs reaches out to grab the shoulder of Laurel's vaguely down filled jacket, and she turns not expecting him to be there, and certainly not expecting two dirty dishevelled and leering men to be standing over her. But they are and one has his hand very tightly clamped on her shoulder. She tries to push away but the other now has her arm pinned against her side and she can't move. There is no time to cry out, they are whispering lewd things to her and she will be…

Her copy of The Frogmen tumbles to the ground, falling slowly like a dead leaf, coming to rest in a gutter.

There is a sudden flash of brown and green and… blue? And her arm is free, her shoulder untouched. The thugs are being kicked down the street to a chorus of "Get outta her face!" and "Bug off!" and "You damn dirty humans!" There is a face, obscured by shadows and a wide brimmed dark brown hat, a respectful distance away and it is asking whether she is all right. She nods, her short straight hair falling in her face, being dampened by the mist and she is unsure of what is supposed to happen next. Should she thank these four, verbal and rather violent knights in trench coats?

One of them sees her copy of The Frogmen, lying forlorn and forgotten on the side of the road, and picks it up, exclaiming, "Man, I love this comic! This is such a bad rip-off of us!" He begins pointing to each of the four main characters emblazoned in garish ink on the cover. Laurel notices something strange about his hand, but it barely registers. "Look, Angry-Frog is you, Raph. And Leader-Frog is you, Leo. And I'm Handsome-Frog."

Laurel smirks, "There is no Handsome-Frog. You must be Joke-Frog."

"That makes me Geek-Frog, doesn't it?" The fourth figure came back from chasing the thugs down the street, slipping something into his coat.

"Yep. Fits ya too." Comes a voice emanating from the depths of one of the trench coats. He is wearing a red scarf.

"Um, 'scuse me…" Laurel begins, "Who are you?"

The one holding her comic book stumbles for the right words, "We're… uh. We're…um. We're tax collectors?" and fails to find them. There is a brief space of silence and then the sound of three large hands slapping three broad foreheads is heard.

Laurel woke up later, barely even realizing she had been asleep in the first place. She expected to be in the narrow little cot in her narrow little room. But the sounds she heard were not those of Samson's morning stirrings but far-away voices and footsteps. She rolled over, abruptly hitting something cushiony but solid and her eyelids flickered open. She was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the overhead fluorescents, and the blanket that had been covering her slipped off. She felt it being gently pulled back up over her shoulders and she rolled around coming nose to snout with something unusual.

A large and expressive rat's face.

She let out a sound like a clogged drain, sharply taking in her breath, and the face smiled like only a rat's face can. It's deep brown eyes twinkled. A warm but gravely voice came from it's mouth as it said, gently, " Ah. I see you have awakened. Please do not be alarmed, I am Master Splinter."

A brief note: It is very difficult to avoid being alarmed, when someone, especially someone with a very alarming appearance, expressly asks you not to be alarmed.

Laurel discovered this fact, as she sat abruptly up on what turned out to be a marginally tattered sofa, and found herself unable to speak. Thankfully she heard a familiarly in-control voice from a distance, Leader-frog or…

"Leonardo, Could you bring the tea please?" The rat asked. His voice had a soft Japanese accent, which confounded her even further.

"Here you go, Sensei" Leonardo said as he padded quietly over and the relief at hearing a marginally recognizable voice melted from Laurel's mind as she saw who exactly belonged that voice. A turtle. A human sized, incredibly anthropomorphic turtle. He was wearing a blue ribbon-like mask and was carrying a tray of white ceramic mugs, a teapot, and a plate of chocolate cookies. "Are you feeling better?" He poured her a cup of tea adding plenty of milk and sugar. "You passed out up there… everyone was worried. We didn't really know why…" He handed her the cup, and she took it gingerly in both hands, blowing away the steam rising languidly from the tea's milky fawn surface.

"I'm hypoglycemic… if my blood sugar drops way too low, I could faint or… well, there are other symptoms, but I just had some noodles…before I left the apartment. I shouldn't have blacked out like that…" She looked around, craning her neck at the high ceilings. It appeared that she was in a vast, orange-red brick cavern of square angles. There was a sunken patch farther on to the left, with stairs descending about half a foot. A second turtle type person, this one wearing a red mask, was practicing elaborate martial arts moves with a gleaming pair of sai. There were industrial fluorescent fixtures hanging from the high ceiling, brightening up a room otherwise totally devoid of windows. Across from the sofa she sat on was a large television, set to a news channel but muted, and there were a few empty pizza boxes scattered in front of it.

"Could the stress you experienced tonight have affected your condition?" The rat, Master Splinter asked.

"Maybe… probably, but…" She trailed off, unsure of how to politely ask the question that floated in her head.

A voice came from just behind her, and Laurel turned around to see another yet another turtle, leaning against the back of the sofa, his purple bandana-ed face turned to her. "But, you want to where you are, who we are, and why did we bring you here. Right?" He smiled. "I'm Donnatello, that's Leonardo, the broody guy over there is Raphael, and Mikey's nowhere to be found right now. " He reached over the sofa and took a chocolate cookie. "I can tell you've never seen a mutant turtle before. 'Cause I'm pretty sure that's what we are." He munched the cookie, finished chomping away, and continued, "Except Master Splinter's a mutant rat. Strange things happen in the sewers, don't they?" Laurel was speechless, as usual. The fact that she was in the presence of giant, intelligent animals expunged any thoughts of possible danger from her mind. All she could think was: Imagine if Professor Brook heard about this. His head would explode.

"You're under the city right now, at our place." Continued Leonardo "You fainted and I decided it would be safest if we brought you back here. We didn't know where else to take you." He poured some tea, adding only a little sugar, and handed the mug to Splinter, who nodded to him.

"Thank you." He turned to Laurel, whiskers gently flickering, " I'm sorry if we have frightened you, but now that you're awake, if you're feeling well enough, my sons will escort you home."

"Your… sons?" Images of a thousand crawling, squeaking rats appeared unbidden in her mind, and Laurel shivered.

"He means us," Donnatello explained. "Sensei raised us all, and taught us everything we know. He's our father."

Infinitely relieved, she replied, 'Oh, okay. If you want me to leave, I'll go now." She moved to get up, forgetting the unfinished cup of tea in her hands. It's contents sloshed down onto the blanket covering her knees, creating a creeping dark stain on the afghan knit. "Oh no!" She exclaimed, " I'm so sorry!" She set the cup down on the concrete floor near the sofa, trying to find something to wipe up the tea with.

"It's okay." Both Leo and Donnie said at the same time. They glanced at each other and laughed.

Master Splinter raised himself from the lotus position he had been sitting in and continued, "Please do not be worried. That blanket was in need of a very thorough washing indeed. If it is no trouble, could you wash it with your own things? It is difficult to get to a Laundromat for us, and we do not often have enough things for a full load."

Laurel nodded, "It's only fair, I messed it, I should clean it."

The old rat bowed to her, "My thanks." As he said it, a loud crashing came from above. The smiles on the two turtle's faces fell, and further away, Raphael halted his practice abruptly. Splinter's face hardened from his gentle smile to an inscrutable worried intensity "You should leave now." He ordered.