Chapter 4

As Grace served customers the next night, she couldn't help but daydream about Mike; Michelangelo, she corrected herself, recalling the unusual but somehow fitting name. As a result she didn't pay her usual attention to her work and managed to break two glasses during the course of her shift. Sean had revelled in yelling at her as she wiped down the tables after they closed, resulting in her leaving work in a very bad mood.

The moon was full tonight, Grace noticed, her mood lifting slightly; also noting it was warmer than the night before. It was just a shame that the stars couldn't be seen properly from the city.

She started on the short walk down the alleyway towards her home, her mood lifting considerably when a familiar figure fell into step beside her.

"Feel up to a walk?" Mike asked. "Thought you might like some fresh air after…" He finished the sentence with a shrug.

"You heard?" Grace flushed at the thought of Mike hearing her being reprimanded.

"Don't worry about it. I can guarantee I've gotten into trouble plenty more times than you."

Grace was sure he was grinning; she didn't need to see his face, she could hear it in his voice.

"A walk would be wonderful," she agreed, linking her arm casually through his.

Mike was grinning, happy to be near Grace again, even happier to have her holding his arm without fear, without judgement.

He was glad he came back to see her again. Just being in her company made him feel calm, content, and warm in a way meditation had never achieved, no matter how hard he'd tried. On a more practical note, he could make sure she was safe from harm.

They strolled through the streets in silence, stopping at a local park and choosing a tree to lean against, each facing a different direction.

The early hours of the morning were as still as they could be for the city; the occasional car swept by, an even rarer shout or bark, but all in all they could have been in their own little world.

Mike leaned back against the tree trunk contentedly, stretching his legs and smiling. A sidelong glance and he could see Grace's form relaxed against the tree as well.

"So what made you decide to get into the rescue business?" Grace asked with a hint of laughter on her voice.

Michelangelo smiled.

"My father, mainly. He taught my brothers and me to defend ourselves from an early age."

"All four of you? He sounds very dedicated."

"He is. Sometimes a little overprotective, but he's fantastic."

"And your mother?"

Michelangelo was silent, pondering how to answer her without confusing her. He must have been silent a little too long though as Grace was speaking again.

"I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"No, it's fine. She…she had nothing to do with bringing us up. We never knew her and I've never thought about it. Don't worry," he said at a slight sympathetic noise from Grace, "I've never felt likeI was missing anything at all."

Grace shifted and Mike watched in fascination as her hand slowly reached for him. Grateful for his shapeless mittens he took her hand in his.

"I must remember to congratulate your father on a job well done." Grace said teasingly.

"Hey, I'm the one who rescued you!" Mike grinned back. Graces hand tightened in his.

"And I will never be able to thank you enough, Michelangelo."

Gods, she said my full name

For almost an hour they sat hand in hand, chattering about favourite movies and foods, making up silly theories about any people walking past.

Mike was in the middle of one of his best jokes when he heard Grace yawn loudly.

"Not boring you, am I?" Mike said playfully.

Grace mumbled a denial, shifting her whole body until her head rested in his lap, and closed her eyes.

Michelangelo was utterly still, not daring to disturb her, waiting in silence until her breathing was deep and even. Then, his entire body tingling, he pulled off one of his gloves.

Her hair fell silkily through his fingers like a waterfall and he leaned down to breathe deeply of that gentle rose scent.

His skin, rough and calloused from his art, ran tenderly across her starkly contrasting cheeks, so soft and warm.

And in that silent moment he allowed his eyes to roam over her, taking in the gentle swell of her breast, the dip of her tiny waist, the elegant curve of hips.

A ragged breath caught in his throat as something primal stirred deep within him. Gods, he wanted to touch that skin, taste it…

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," Mike called, his voice harsher than he intended.

Graces eyes opened lazily and stared straight up at his shadowy face.

"Your eyes," she mumbled, "they're a beautiful blue."

Michelangelo grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to her feet.

"Time to get you home, princess."

-----

The dojo echoed with the sounds of loud thuds as Michelangelo kicked and punched furiously at the large kick bag, followed closely by a frustrated grunt. With each kick he willed himself to erase Grace from his mind, told himself to focus on his training, but all he was doing was becoming more aware of the ache deep in his body, the tingle that had been getting steadily stronger since he had said goodbye. That tender flesh sprang to mind once more, the womanly curves that begged him to touch them, those soft pink lips that he needed to taste…

With a particularly loud, frustrated groan he punched the bag, finally noting the stinging of his knuckles. Mike drew his attention to his hands, anything to keep those dangerous thoughts at bay.

"You're uncharacteristically devoted to your art this morning" Donatello greeted him, taking up position at a bag nearby and stretching his arm muscles before starting his practice session.

"You know me, Don. Don't like being bored." Mike gave a false chuckle then sat on one of the benches, studying his bruised knuckles. He was suddenly very tired, though still tense.

Maybe a cold shower will help…

"Are you ok, Mikey?"

Michelangelo looked up at his brother's concerned face and sighed. He wasn't sure why he was keeping this from his family anymore. And with him so dangerously close to unfamiliar territory, maybe they could impart some helpful advice.

"Got a few minutes?" Mike asked softly.

Donatello nodded, walking over to the bench and sitting quietly next to his youngest brother. He was silent, knowing after years of experience that Mike would tell whatever it was in his own time.

"You know all those pictures we used to look at, and all those times we went out together just to see what…girls are like?" Mike was flushing, despite himself.

"I do…"

"Remember how we used to talk about whether or not we would ever…y'know." His face was feeling very hot now and he squirmed, suddenly eager to run away from the whole situation.

Don's brow was furrowed in thought for a moment until a sudden realisation of what Michelangelo was trying to say dawned on him.

"Mike! Have you…I mean did you…I mean are you…"

"Real eloquent, Donnie, and no I haven't."

"So who is she?" Raph teased, entering the room with a maddeningly amused look on his face. "Why all the mystery?"

"What mystery?"

"Come on, Mike." Raphael stepped forward now, smiling. "You've barely been home in the last few days, kept certain…things from us, and you went back to April's to check up on the girl."

"I was just concerned, that's all."

"So you said before."

Michelangelo could tell Raphael didn't believe him. To be honest he wasn't sure he believed himself! Why had he gone back?

He lowered his eyes, felt his jaw clench, his stomach tighten. Clearing his throat he finally looked back up.

"You've known girls. All of you have, as far as I know…can it ever work?"

Raphael sighed.

"The girls I've known…they were just in it for the adventure, the excitement. Heck, sometimes I think they were trying to live more dangerously than I do! But Mike…we all knew years ago that things would have to be different for us. There's certain…"

"Boundaries," Donatello contributed. "I mean, we need to be careful about who knows about us; the less the better really."

"So, basically, you're saying there's no way any of us can have a real relationship. No chance of anyone else from the outside accepting us." Michelangelo stood up and began pacing agitatedly. "Are April and Casey the only humans we can trust?"

"Well, of course it would be very narrow-minded of me to say there were no other good people out there…but Mike, we have to be very cautious!"

Mike snorted. "Raph just said he's known girls. Was that careful?"

"The girls I knew are too scared to ever tell a soul…and hey, who'd believe them?"

"They liked you at the time though."

"They were psychos." Raphael supported his statement with a snort of disgust. "Only interested in different relationships."

"They were out of your species too, Raph. What does that make you?" Donatello asked innocently, a hint of a smile playing on his face.

Michelangelo tuned out the ensuing debate, instead retiring to the bathroom for that long awaited shower. He was no longer in need of it cold, so turned it on hard and hot. His body protested against the stinging heat but he groaned in relief, revelling in the massaging effect of the water beating down on him. What did Raph know anyway? He had gone looking for women with a taste for the dark and unusual, never looking for a real relationship. Mike wasn't sure what he wanted for himself, but he did know that whatever it was, whatever he got would be open and honest.

Completely honest.

-----

Grace awoke well after midday, feeling refreshed. She could barely remember walking home, so tired she had been. It was more like a dream, a very pleasant dream she smiled, stretching languidly under her covers and recalling Mikes' strong arms guiding her home.

Everything about Michelangelo seemed so strong, so secure. She could easily imagine whiling a day away wrapped in those arms…

What are you dreaming about Grace, you barely know him!

But I know enough to know he's already important to me.

With a sigh Grace got out of bed and headed for the shower, thankful she was not working tonight, as she needed a day of rest and relaxation. Would Mike look for her when he found she wasn't at work? Would he possibly come to her room?

Grace felt a flutter of excitement at the thought, but chided herself for such wild, improbable dreams.

Trying to be sensible didn't stop her from cleaning her home from top to bottom that day, as well as a quick trip to the store to stock her fridge just in case she had any unexpected visitors.

As night descended, Grace felt that tiny seed of excitement start to grow in the pit of her belly once more. She dressed carefully, her freshly washed hair left loose about her shoulders, a simple, pale blue dress covering her body. She turned the television on to distract herself, finally settling in for a classic comedy marathon.

She was dozing on the couch when she heard the knock at her door.

"Who is it?" she called, glancing at her clock, which showed it was a little after eleven.

"It's Mike."

Grace leapt from the couch, smoothing her hair with her hands and dutifully turning off the light for him before opening the door.

The large, shapeless figure made his way smoothly into the room, Grace marvelling at his catlike, fluid motions.

"I hope you don't mind me coming over. I…looked for you at your work." Mike was pacing the room. Grace had the feeling he was nervous about her reaction.

"No, not at all. I hoped…I mean…" Grace broke off, blushing.

Mike stopped his pacing, standing near the window, and peering out at the street below. Slowly he turned to face her again.

Grace could barely see anything in the darkness, but she wasn't afraid. She knew there was nowhere safer in the world.

"I have to show you something." Mike's voice was barely a whisper as he stepped closer to her. "I want you to see who I really am…but I'm afraid of scaring you."

"Scaring me?" Grace couldn't help the way her heart began pounding in her chest, the quickening of her breath, not entirely sure if it was from his nearness or his announcement. He seemed so genuinely concerned that Grace raised a hand to his arm as comfort. His hand rose to join hers briefly then he stepped away.

"I'm different, Grace. Not everyone can accept how different I am. Just remember…I'm still the same person. Please, turn on the light."

A little frightened despite herself, Grace walked back to the light switch. Her back was to Michelangelo when she flicked it on and she paused there for a moment, staring at the wall, willing herself to be supportive no matter what his difference was.

She heard the rustle of fabric as he shed his coat and then his gentle voice spoke her name.

"Grace?"

Taking a fortifying breath, Grace turned.

Grace had always considered herself an open-minded person. Her mother had volunteered at a shelter and Grace had occasionally lent a hand. Many different types of people had used the facility; gays, transvestites, addicts, prostitutes, victims of abuse, abusers, and people of every nationality…all had been treated equal. Many times she had been shocked, but she had forced herself to work through her fears.

But right then she could not stop herself from backing away until she was pressed against the wall.

Michelangelo had expected this reaction, had been steeling himself for it ever since his decision to show himself to her, but it didn't stop the sudden tightness in his chest, the lump in his throat that made it difficult for him to swallow.

He gazed down at himself, regretting what he was for the first time in his life.

Finding his voice he said "Well, this is me. I…I'm sorry."

He made to grab his coat but Grace took a tentative step forward.

"Please, don't be sorry. I…it's just…just a shock, I guess. H-how…"

"Did I get like this?" Mike took heart at the fact she was talking to him, was looking at him not with revulsion but…curiosity.

Well, that's understandable. It's not everyday you meet a giant, walking, talking turtle.

They stood facing each other for the next ten minutes while Michelangelo told Grace the familiar story of how he and his family came to be.

When his voice trailed off into silence, Grace was still staring at him, fascinated.

How amazing is his story Grace thought, her initial shock fading completely away as she studied the person standing before her. His skin, though green, was smooth and flawless and she didn't even have to strain to see how strong he really was. He was all bulging biceps and quadriceps, lithe and limber. His smile was small, shy like a child as he watched her studying him in silence. His eyes were so expressive, so kind, and still shining from the same person who had caused her pulse to quicken. The realisation hit her with the force of an express train. It might take some getting used to, but this was still Michelangelo, still the man who had rescued her, who had become a dear friend.

Her eyes wandered to the shell covering his chest and back.

She stepped forward, reaching out tentatively.

"Can…can I touch it?" She asked shyly.

Mike nodded and she gently ran her fingers down his front, feeling the firm surface curiously.

"Can you feel me touching you?"

Gods yes…

Michelangelo nodded again, his eyes riveted to her small hands as they ran across his plastron, every lesson Don had ever thrown at him about nerve endings, sensitivity of their shells and whatnot forgotten in the moment. He didn't care how he could feel it, only that he could. Her hands reached around slowly to caress his carapace, tracing around each scute carefully.

She has no idea what she's doing to me.

Mikes breath caught in his throat as her fingers brushed against the tender skin just under his shell, highly sensitive from being so protected. Grace jumped back, blushing.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No," his voice sounded so unlike his own, "not at all."

Against his will his body had awoken again, and with Grace so close it took all his strength not to reach for her, not to press that soft body against his.

"I should go."

"But…it's ok. I'd like you to stay. We can talk more or," she gestured to the television, "watch bad movies?"

Mike grinned despite himself. He didn't want to leave, but it could be dangerous to stay.

Graces' cajoling smile was his undoing and he made his way over to the lounge, taking a seat and patting the one next to him.

Grace relaxed as they laughed through the movie, enjoying Mike's easy conversation, his wit, intelligence and boyish charm. It was almost possible to ignore how he looked. Grace blushed at this thought. It shouldn't matter what he looked like, but somehow her brain couldn't quite get around the fact that he was a turtle. Still, she thought with a sidelong glance, his physique is stunning. Certainly during the movie, and the one after it, Grace found herself admiring his strong, lean legs, found her breath catching when he flexed an arm to reach for a drink. She just couldn't shake the thought that it was wrong for her to be thinking that way, unnatural.

Even after they fondly hugged goodbye in the early hours of the morning, she couldn't shake that feeling and it shamed her almost more than she could bear.