Raphael yawned. The stereo was blaring the sounds of "Santa Clause is coming to town". The little kid singing it made a point to scream the word "Santa" each time opportunity presented itself. As if ruining his breakfast wasn't enough, it was as though he needed to be told he was being spied on by an old fat guy in desperate need of a razor and more celery. The kid yelled "Santa" again, and Raphael sighed. Something he seemed to be developing a talent for lately.

"Saaanta Clause is coming to town!" Raphael winced.

"'Ay, Mikey-"

"Saaanta Clause is coming to town!"

"Mikey, would ya' just-"

"Saaaaant-ah Clause is com-ing, to to...wn!"

"Mikey!" Raphael shouted over the commotion. "Would ya' knock it off already, it's too early!"

"Well bahumbug to you too, bro." Michelangelo wore one of those red Santa hats with the fuzzy little white balls on the end. Raphael pointedly decided those hats stirred up murderous impulses. Swinging gingerly around to the table chair nearest him, Michelangelo sat down. In turn, two absent brothers sauntered over, stomachs gurgling as they came.

"So what's your big hairy deal this morning," the hat wearing Mikey asked the rather crusty Raphael. "Sound pollution," came the curt reply. Michelangelo harrumphed. "What, so I guess now you just don't like good old Christmas tunes?"

"Show me some good ones, and I'll let you know." Raphael responded without looking up from his bowl. This provoked a sour look from his younger sibling.

"Okay," Michelangelo conceded. "The hippopotamus song I can understand," taking a sloppy bite from an apple, he continued. "Rudolph and Frosty I might even be able to empathize," he downed the mouthful noisily. "But honestly, you gotta like most rest of them."

Raphael ate another spoonful. Slowly crunching, not seeming as if in any hurry to answer. He swallowed. "Nope."

Rolling his eyes, Donatello joined the conversation. "Oh, get over yourself. . .everyone likes Christmas music to some degree, and you've always enjoyed it too."

"Not anymore, I don't."

"Raaph. . ." whined Mikey. "Why wouldn't you like them now?"

"I just don't."

"But why wouldn't you like them?"

"I. Just. Don't." The responce held a bit more irritability.

"Yeah, but-"

"Would you lay off already?" Raphael's fists bounced the table.

There was silence momentarily. "Okay Raph, chill," Donatello persuaded. "Mike's just being. . .well, himself. It's nothing to get bent out of shape over."

"Just ignore him," Leonardo reached over for the cereal box. Michelangelo glanced at Raphael, then shrugged his shoulders and averted his attention else where. "You know, ingredients in some of those cereals can be hazardous to your health."

"If it was hazardous, they wouldn't be putting it in the cereal, Einstein," Donatello addressed him while he poured himself a bowl.

"No, really, I read about it," he assured them. "Just look at this one for example. . ." Reaching across the table, he snagged the box out of Leonardo's hand, sending stray fruit puffs across the table top. "Nee-ah. . . Nee-oh-sum-o. . . Nee -ah-simo-medi-" he put the box in front of Donatello's face. "What's that word?" "Niacinamide."

"Right, that one," he retracted the box. "That Niacinnamon stuff, for example. Did you know. . .that if you give that stuff to a frog, it will explode?" This attracted the attention he seemed to have been seeking.

"What?" Donatello demanded. "Really?" Leonardo was intrigued. "I have never heard anything more absurd in my life!" Donatello seemed merely offended. "Michelangelo, Niacinamide does not make frogs, or anything else explode!"

"Yeah-huh! Does too, I read about it! You're just shocked it's been in your breakfast this long, and you might explode now too! You're like a ticking time bomb. . ."

"Mikey, you are being ridiculous." Donatello crossed his arms.

"Tick. . .tock. . .tick. . .tock. . ."

"Just where did you read about this?" Leonardo decided to intervene before things escalated. "The Internet." Michelangelo returned brightly. Leonardo sighed. Donatello shook his head. Raphael ignored them completely.

"Mike," Donatello reasoned. "Niacinamide is a water-soluble B-complex vitamin. It's used for diabetes prevention." Perhaps acquiring a large, red stamp which read "clueless" was in order. It would have gone nicely with Michelangelo's forehead at the moment, Raphael decided. Naturally, he would settle for the classic "dunce" cap in the mean time.

"But. . .I read about it. . ." Maybe they should skip the stamp and cap and find some sort of mental restrainment device instead. Otherwise their confused brother might kill another brain cell at his current concentration level (and in Raphael's opinion, they were endangered these days).

"Mikey, buddy, the Internet is not always a reliable information source!" Leonardo counseled. "I mean, if everything on it were true, Raphael over there would be with Elvis conducting the polar express right about now." Unappreciative of being interjected into the conversation with that particular association, Raphael shot a glare.

"Donny gets a bunch of his facts and sciency research stuff off the Internet! What about that!" Michelangelo pointed accusingly as though this proved all his points. It didn't appear he would go down without a fighting chance. Admirable in some respects.

"I use reliable, well established sources, and I use more than one before confirming anything," Donatello defended. "Besides, I don't solely use my computer, there's a marvelous thing called books, and published papers." End of round three, the final blow had been delivered, TKO. Time to call in the nurse. All attentions focused uneasily on the youngest sibling for a moment, waiting to see how he would respond.

"Hm." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm getting a waffle. Anyone else want one?" When he didn't receive any answers, he waltzed away carelessly. While he carried on, the remaining turtles shared glances, then also shrugged in accordance.

Donatello resumed his business, and retrieved the much debated box of cereal. Beginning to pour, his arm hesitated, and he turned the list of ingredients towards him once more. Michelangelo tip toed over from the toaster quietly from behind as his brother continued to study the list. "BOOM!" The shout was deafening. The fruit puffs sailed threw the air like a meteor shower, landing in various locations and ranges. Merry Christmas, Raphael thought.

-----------

Raphael hit the punching bag continuously. Left, right, left, right, kick, kick, left. The strokes all melded together mechanically after a while.

He went on, rotating different exercises as the afternoon slowly crept along. Lunch was forgotten or forsaken. Like a game, straining each muscle, each body part just to the brim of enough, the changing focus to a new aria to allow the previous wind-down time.

Sweat covered his body, trickling down his brow, neck, shoulders. It ached. He ached. However, it was not an altogether unwelcome feeling.

Pain was it's own little diva. Prominently taking center stage and stepping on toes to do so. Where woes, worries and joys were often courteous enough to share the limelight all a once, it was a lesson clearly never learned in preschool by pain. A single spotlight was enough for a single act, as far as it was concerned. A preformance he didn't always un-appreciate.

Nevertheless, Raphael did not, and would never condone pain in the form of self inflicted wounds. It seemed as cowardly as it was feeble in his mind. Hiding in some dark little room or corner, imagining some great and noble rescue from a monster as real as the one in your closet as a child.

No, Raphael needed, nor wanted any rescue. He was better than that, stronger. Where others needed a savior, he was more inclined to save himself. And so he continued, in the preferable way to kill two birds with one stone. Free his mind, shoving the skeletons back a little farther into the closet, and forging his own safeguard.

Breathing heavily, he counted leg presses with difficulty. Difficulty mainly between executing the presses and remembering how many were left to endure. Such things became hazy quite regularly when you body is shouting one thing, so in turn your brain decided to shout another back, and between all the noise you have a hard time discerning one thing from another. Feeling it was close enough, Raphael let the weights drop with a heave.

Loudly, he sighed with content. There weren't really many useful descriptions of how you felt after a difficult work out. Accomplished, exhilarated. . .desperately in need of a shower. Upon waiting for the feeling to return to his legs, staring at what lay overhead seemed the only options. Unfortunately, a good portion of what lay overhead consisted of wreaths, tinsel, strung popcorn (which mysteriously seemed to become shorter each time he examined it), paper snow flakes on fishing wire, and a rather large, brightly colored sign that read "Merry Christmas" with the letters "Christ" in red and "mas" in green.

Raphael exhaled noisily and sat up. Perhaps he would find the remainder of feeling for his limbs elsewhere. The kitchen seemed a good place to start.

Through the loudly decorated lair he traveled stiffly. Past the red nosed reindeer figurine whose entire snout lit up, rather than solely the nose. Past Nelton, currently in his non-voice box hours. Finally past the child sized Frost the Snowman, which looked more like a failed attempt at the marshmallow factory than anything constructed by happy schoolyard children. He had the sudden urge to kick it to see if it would bounce and how far it could go. (He refrained from doing so.)

Mercifully, his destination was quite empty. He opened the refrigerator only to discover someone had changed the regular light bulb for a green one. Obsession, he decided shaking his head.

Snatching a carton of eggnog, he drank from the container. The clock read ten 'till five. There was a scrapping sound as he pulled a chair out from under the table and plopped himself into it. Gulping another mouthful of sweet milky liquid (which, he decided has a pleasant after kick reminiscent of chi tea), he slowly stretched his legs. Flexing and un-flexing different muscles as he did so. "Ahhh. . .TGIF," he sighed contently.

Such as in life, anything enjoyable was not to be long-lived. His solitary, for instance, fit that bill. The front doors opened and Michelangelo (who Raphael somehow suspected had been the ring leader of the entire decorating scheme in the first place) made a boisterous entrance. To Raphael's dismay (and undecided horror), he was towing a very large, very real pine tree in his wake.

"Hellooo, turtles!" he called merrily, as though he had reason to be proud of the great monstrosity he was toting. Adorned, of course, in the red Santa cap (becoming a regular occurrence these days). The doors closed behind him, almost like an ominous reminder that they were now all trapped in the same home with that great bushy green thing. "Come out and see what daddy brought home from wooork. . ."

Compulsively, the luring remark did its job. Donatello emerged from his laboratory in a white lab coat (having seen it's better days since Turtle-Bomb warfare projects had begun and abruptly been put to a stop) with a pair of bug-eyed goggles on. In turn, Leonardo poked his head out from his room curiously to peer down at the commotion. The reaction was unanimous. "Righteous!" "Radical!" Raphael thought he might choke on his eggnog.

While the two excited turtles raced to ogle the new marvel, Michelangelo beamed with delight. "It's huge!" "Enormous!" "Where did it come from?" "Mikey, you didn't chop this down did you?" "This is so awesome!" "Because I'm sure there's a law against that somewhere..." "Lets put it by the Karl and Carol carolers!"

"Calm yourselves, my bro's," Michelangelo instructed raising a hand for peace. "Your little brother has indeed come through again. I know, I know. . .no need to thank me. I understand how lost you would be without me. . ." dramatically he bowed, hat swinging with him. "Of course if you want to show your appreciation, cash, checks and groveling on your knees will now be accepted."

"But Mike, seriously, you didn't cut this out of the park or anything, did you?" Leonardo seemed a tad concerned. "Relax Leo," Michelangelo rolled his eyes. "I didn't even have to raise a butter knife."

"Yeah?" Raphael's interjection came finally. "Well how did ya' get it then? It ain't exactly like yous' can just waltz right up to the shopping center and go 'excuse me, while I'm here for the potpourri, would you mind delivering a tree as well?'" Skepticism seeped from the accusation.

Gingerly his younger brother let the tree drop. As if it were of little concern to the red capped turtle, he replied casually. "Oh, you know. . .art of the Ninja, way of the shadows and all that. . ."

"Mikey. . ." they prodded. "Oh, all right," he conceded."April gave it to me."

Leonardo raised an eyebrow. "No, really!" Michelangelo persuaded.

"Mikey, it's a gigantic ever green. People don't just keep a spare in their broom closet," Donatello chided folding his arms.

"But she did! Oh, well, give it to me, I mean. I don't' think she has a broom closet. . ." Donatello rolled his eyes. Michelangelo continued. "Remember how I went over to help April out with decorating and everything?" He paused for their nods of affirmation, confirming Raphael's earlier suspicion. "Well, it just so happened that today was also her delivery day."

"Her what?" Raphael asked.

"You know, a delivery is when. . ."

"I ain't an idiot, I know what delivery means," he interrupted his younger brother crustily. "What was the delivery for?"

"Oh, yeah. For the tree." he stated simply. "She was using that new Christmas Tree place. The one that pushes their business by delivering to save you time. Anyway," he carried on. "Today they were delivering April's tree."

"Okay, not to say that isn't great for her, but how does it land us with one?" Leo inquired. "Yeah," Donatello interjected. "I'm not seeing the connection."

"Well I was getting to that part! You say Raph's impatient..."

"What?" Raphael spat indignantly.

"Case in point. But anyhow, she ordered a little tree because her apartment ceiling isn't that high. The delivery guys showed up with this," he tapped the tree with his foot. "It was too big to even fit in the entryway. So here we are!"

"But why would they just give away a perfectly good tree?" Leonardo pondered taking another look at the ever green. "It doesn't make sense."

"Um. . .well. . ."

"Mike. . .quit stallin'," Raphael said suspiciously.

"You know how April live three flights up in her building?" Michelangelo asked tentatively. His brothers nodded in unison. "Well. . .they made the first flight of stairs back down okay, but the other two. . ." he began to twiddle his thumbs when the rest of the reply seemed to escape him.

"They dropped a full grown pine tree down two flights of public stairs?" Donatello asked in astonishment.

"That would explain why looks crooked," Leonardo said rubbing his chin.

"Don't forget the broken branches," added Raphael.

"Well, they couldn't re-sell it, and they were just going to throw it away!" Michelangelo defended passionately. "I mean, look at it! All ready and grown for Christmas. . .thinking it had a perfectly good home with ornaments and lights and presents to stand over. . .then just like that, wham! All it's hopes crushed! I couldn't just leave it like that. . ." he said bending down as if to console it.

"Mike, it's a pine tree." Raphael stated blankly. "It doesn't give a crap about anything but dirt and water. Even then, it can't really give a crap at all."

"Okay, okay, so it's a little bent out of shape," Leonardo intervened. "But we were just saying the other day how classic it would feel to have a real Christmas Tree for once."

"We?" Raphael asked in a double take.

"Sure! Maybe Mikey's right," walking around the great needled mass on the floor, Leonardo clasped an arm about Michelangelo's shoulder. "Maybe, all it's really in need of is a makeover and a little TLC." Michelangelo began to beam once more.

"Let's fix 'er up!"

"I'll get the ornaments!" Piped up Donatello before scurrying away to some unknown location that apparently held even more "holiday cheer". "Don't forget the tinsel!" Mikey called after him with a hand cupped around his mouth.

In a state of dismay, Raphael merely eyed his family as though each had sprouted a second head. Leonardo grasped hold of one side of the mountainous ever green while Michelangelo took the other. Apparently it was easier to drop down two flights than to bring upright. Struggling under the weight of the large plant, Leonardo peeked out from behind a branch. "Hey, Raph, would you mind giving us a hand, here?" Heaving a breath, Raphael begrudgingly trudged over to assist.

It was quite heavy after all. Huffing and puffing, they shuffled across the dingy floor in search of a place vacant of yoyos, skate boards, scraps of tinsel, wrapping paper, pizza crusts, decorations and Fruity puffs. Many calls of "left! left!" and "no wait, your other left! my left!" filled the lair.

"Okay," Leonardo managed to get out between his fast paced breaths. "What. . ." pause for breath. ". . .now?"

"Well," Michelangelo wheezed in reply. "All we have to do now is put it in the tree stand."

"Sounds great," Raphael grunted. "But where is it?"

Michelangelo opened his mouth as if to reply, then slowly closed it in a silent "O". He lowered his head as if to seek sanctuary in the voluminous green needles. Leonardo and Raphael however, were not put in any way at ease by the sudden, and uncharacteristic quietness their brother was exhibiting.

"Mikey. . ." they called warningly in unison. "Where. . .is. . .it?" Raphael demanded peering through the branches in which his younger sibling was hiding. Without replying a word, Michelangelo slowly and guiltily turned his head in the direction of the front doors. There sat a little red stand.

Silence momentarily reined. This time when they repeated his name, it held no question, but rather accusation. "Oops?" he shrugged.

Donatello rounded the corner with three worn cardboard boxes in his arms. They looked as though they had repeatedly been patched with masking tape, and permanent marker lined the front side of each. Some of the writing was crossed over to divert attention to a new labeling while others simply had tape placed over old titles and new ones written on top. It appeared as if his line of vision was completely blocked by the pile of boxes reaching over his head.

"Donny!" the three tree bearing brothers cried together. "Huh?" Donatello replied from behind his cargo. "Put the boxes down!" Leonardo desperately requested. "Well, where should I set them? I don't suppose there's a chair around here somewhere. . ."

"Anywhere!"

Reluctantly, the boxes were placed on the floor, allowing full view of the current predicament. "Oh my!" Donatello exclaimed. "Uh, do you need assistance carrying that?"

"No! Just get the stand!" Donatello looked about himself. "I don't think I see one," he scratched his head. "There! By the door!" a voice hollered from behind the tree. "Well what is it doing over there?" He waltzed over retrieving the little item of dispute.

Heaving sighs of relief, the pine was finally lowered into it's rightful place. Michelangelo dusted off his hands."There,"he stated cheerfully. "That wasn't so bad." Raphael took a moment to shoot a glare.

They stood silently for a moment. One could almost sense the level of reverence radiating from the littlecluster of admirers. Like an invisible bubble of unpolluted awe had captured them within its ubiety. "It's lopsided." The bubble popped.

Leonardo sighed. "Aw, come on Raph, give it a rest."

"Yeah," chimed Michelangelo. "It is!" Came the repeated protest. "Just look at it!" A finger was pointed accusingly.

"Well, it's had a rough day," Mikey defended. "Let's see you fall down a couple stair flights and still jump over a candle stick."

Raphael scoffed in retaliation. "Ha, I wouldn't'a fallen in the first place. I'm way too good to go tumbling off stairs or buildings. . ."

"It's just a tree, Raph," his brother reminded him sarcastically.

"Okay guys, cut it out," warned Leonardo. "Let's get to work instead of wasting time bickering."

"Work? Doing what?" Raphael questioned skeptically.

"What do you think? It's a Christmas Tree. You decorate it!"

"More decorations?" groaned Raphael. "How many do ya' need? Yous' already got the whole freakin' lair covered! I can't even use the toilet without some creepy little caroler staring at me. Which for the record, I don't want to see on my bedside table when I wake up in the morning, Mikey."

"Raph, you can't have a Christmas tree and not decorate it somehow," Donatello stated matteroffactly. "That would be like. . .sacrilege. Besides, it really needs the help."

"I told you guys, don't worry! A little trimming, a little tinsel, you'll ne...ver know the difference," Michelangelo chirped positively, possibly as much to the tree as anyone else.

"Ug, what is it with you people and. . .and tinsel and stuff! " The sudden outburst was somewhat unanticipated. "Um. . .it's shiny?" Mikey offered.

Donatello rolled his eyes. "I think someone just woke up on the wrong side of the shell this morning. . ."

"Yeah," added Michelangelo. "And stayed there, too."

Leonardo was browsing through ornaments. "Another thing I'd like to know," Raphael said making his way over the now pine needle covered floor. "Where the heck did these all come from?"

"Oh, well that's an interesting question, you see-"

"Ya' know what, forget it Don, I don't even wanna know."

"Raph," Leonardo sighed wearily. "Why don't you just go see if Splinter is finished meditating or not?"

"Yeah, get him yourself," he replied stomping away. "An' ya' can decorate on your own too."

"Where are you going?"

"On a walk."

The metal doors closed with a "shink" behind him as he made his exit. It was Michelangelo who scowled this time. "Well I don't know if I want him on my Christmas list anymore."

"Mikey!" Leonardo scolded. "He's still our brother, even when he's a bone-head."

"Oh. . .fine," reluctantly the youngest conceded. "but if you ask me, he's just being a pain. Sometimes on purpose, I wonder. . ."

"Eh, maybe he's just been staying up too late watching TV or something," Donatello interjected examining an ornament that featured a monkey in a toy soldier suit banging a drum. One of his drum sticks was missing a half. The contemplation hadn't seemed to move anyone. "No, really, the average person needs seven to eight hours of sleep a night. But, the average teen needs nine or more. I've been reading a few different articles on sleep patterns and cycles. So he's probably just been up too late watching Christmas specials or something. . ."

"He doesn't watch any, says he's too old or something," argued Michelangelo.

"Okay then, WrestleMania," he put down the monkey and selected a different ornament.

"Well wouldn't that be nice. All the mystery and bedside manner of Raphael solved with an afternoon nap everyday. He'll probably go for that one after he gets a snack time," Leonardo said sarcastically. "Well, I guess I'll go check with Splinter, he'd probably like to help with the tree."


Happy New Year! Whew. Well, at least it's up. I could rant and rave about the madness going around here lately to explain why this update is later than planned, but, I suppose I won't. For all of you wondering, yes, that's what the boxes with Christmas decorations look like around my house too. The song I used in the begining was Santa Clause is Coming to Town by the Jackson Five (which, really is about that painful to listen to. Go see for yourself.)

I had originally intended this chapter to have more to it, but that would have taken longer and I figured two weeks was a long enough wait. (You wouldn't believe how long it takes me to get through spell checking alone, not to mention other little fixes.) So, this chapter is really more of a nice little turtle-time family bit. But not to worry, I can indeed promise action for the next update. (Maaaaybe I bring us up to the prologue, maaaybe I don't...guess you'll just have to keep reading... grins evils) But in the mean time, review!! (It's truly sad to say how enthusiastic you become, no matter your age, when you receive a review, so go on. Make my day! Share your input.)

Couple of shout outs,

Silver moon16 - thanks for sticking with me this long! Always makes me smile to read your take on things so far.

ArrtyKidd - you're a life saver! This thing really has improved with your gentle input, and I look forward to your reviews.

Zombie Cordelia - many thanks luv, can't wait to hear if I'm keeping up to your standards.

Oh yes, and for any of you that got a gobzillion messages saying "updated" last time, that was my un-agreeable computer not updating correctly and leaving things out (we've had a heart to heart, and hopefully we understand each other now...). So don't forget to review!