He was floating, or he was sinking, he couldn't tell which. Then he was leaden, lying on a hard surface, wet and cold and in pain.

Then there was darkness.

He didn't know much darkness, or how long the darkness held him, only that it did.

When the black finally parted, it showed a bright light, like the moon on a winter's night on the snow. Out of the light came a woman with long, dark hair and a kind, sweet face. She was tall and lithe, wearing a pale blue sundress.

"Tang Shen," he tried to say, but nothing would come out of his mouth.

"You have to eat," she said, smiling.

Her voice was wrong. The lilt was wrong. The language was wrong. She was speaking in English. She smiled at him lovingly, and then she began to fade.

He reached out a hand to her, a human hand, with five fingers, and then he saw it change. It elongated, twisted, hurt. Then there was the claw that had been constant companion for the last fifteen years.

"Just two more swallows," said the same voice, only this time it was Leonardo who was speaking. "And then I promise you're finished."

He swallowed and then Leonardo faded away just as his beloved had done moments before, and all that was left was black.

***

He saw nothing, but smelled the strong odor of pine.

"How can you be sure he won't hurt you?" said a grizzly voice.

"Because he won't," replied the wrong Tang Shen voice as she materialized again.

Of course he wouldn't hurt her. Why would he hurt her?

He held up his hand, a claw, and shook his head. "No," he tried to say, but again, nothing would come out of his mouth. "You cannot see me this way."

Then she faded again, leaving a faint glow, before it, too, faded away.

***

He heard crying, wracking sobs, as if someone's soul was being dragged from the body.

Michaelangelo appeared before him, his face in his hands, crying for all he was worth with a sob that wasn't his. His heart ached, and wanted to reach out and take him in his arms. As the crying continued, he became irritated. "You should be training!" he wanted to yell. His body was full of heat, as if he were on fire. "You have no time to cry, you foolish boy!" Again, no sound would come from his mouth, and Mikey just cried into his three fingered hand. He wanted to grab him and hit him to knock the boy to his senses, but he couldn't move, the heat kept him where he was, trapped, until the crying stopped.

***

Raphael stared down at him, his usual scowl on his face. "What makes you think any of the rest of us want to be down here?" he yelled. His voice was high and lilted, not his, but it came from his mouth moving. "Do you think the rest of us want to be stuck down here in the cold and wet, where it smells like feces?" Why would he not want to be down here? What had the boys done that he would complain about the smell? "I can't get the damned smell out, no matter what I do!"

***

"Go get her," he heard a desperate voice say. He didn't know whose voice it was, there was only the darkness.

"She's coming," said another voice.

Tang Shen...she was coming. She couldn't see him like this.

But then, Donatello was there, a cool hand was laid on his sensei's hot forehead, and then a wet cloth was laid there also. "Ahhhhh," he said in a whisper. "We'll get you cooled down."

***

Then, Tang Shen was holding his head in her lap, like she used to when they'd gone on picnics long ago. Back then, she'd played with his hair, that gorgeous smile on her face. Every time he saw her lips he wanted to kiss them, he wanted to stroke her neck, nibble her wrists. Today, she was wearing a pale blue sundress, had he seen that dress before? She was stroking his forehead gently and singing him a song that he didn't recognize. "L'etait une petit poule grise, Qu'allai pondre dan l'eglise, Pondait un petit coco..." Tang Shen's mouth moved with the song, but her voice wasn't right. Was the song French? He did not know Tang Shen could speak French...

He closed his eyes, and fell asleep to his wife's singing.

***

Splinter was acutely aware he was not in his own room. With his eyes closed, he could feel he was on a rough mat, plastic, covered in a cotton fabric. He wasn't clothed, but covered with a similar cotton fabric. The smell of soap and herbs filled his nostrils, and he could see light behind his closed eyelids. He felt the movement of air, heard the putting down of small feet approaching him. He heard someone next to his head put down a bowl, it was filled with a liquid. Then something was being rung out, a cloth dipped in the bowl, and hand was headed toward his head.

Before even opening his eyes, he shot his hand up and grabbed the wrist of the person who was daring to touch him. He sat up at the same time, and felt he was holding a wrist, the size of a child's, that was holding a wet washcloth. The hand belonged a woman who had gasped at his movement. He looked into dark green eyes, speckled with a lighter green, in a pale face. A middle aged woman looked back at him, her eyes wide in surprise, her pink lips partially open. She had a circular burn scar on each of her temples. Down to her hips, she had gold hair, that glittered slightly in the sunlight that was coming from the ceiling, with streaks of a paler blonde running through it and platinum about her hairline. She wore a pale blue long sleeved cotton shirt, with a brown and black corset that looked as if it had been sewn together with bits and pieces of leather. She was sitting with her legs underneath her, those being clad in a denim colored leggings. She was human.

She let out a slow breath, and the surprise faded from her face and was replaced by one of reassurance. "You're alright," she said in a sweet voice, "You're safe. No one is going to hurt you." She was articulate, pronouncing each word clearly and calmly.

"I am not afraid of you hurting me," he said, his lip curling.

A look of horror appeared on her face, as if she hadn't expected him to be able to speak. Perhaps she hadn't. Her humanness seemed that much more apparent when the look of horror faded into a look of despair, her eyebrows drawing in. She twisted slightly, to get away from his grip, but he held onto her. She breathed, and had composed herself, as if the two looks he'd seen had never happened. "Then there is no reason for you not to let go of my wrist," she said in a shaky voice.

He let go of her. "Where am I?" he demanded.

"You're in the sewer," she said, her voice level once again. "You've been hurt. You've been fighting sepsis for weeks. You still have a fever." She held up the wet washcloth.

Then he remembered what happened, remembered fighting The Shredder, remembered his children behind the bars of the grate, remembered falling, sinking in the water, remembered being lifted up and the heaviness of his body on the cold concrete. He looked to his shoulder and saw it was bandaged, along with his torso.

He looked about the room and saw that the sunlight was coming from a pipe in the ceiling. The mat he was sitting on was near the wall, and across from him was a set of large rolling doors. There was a curtain at the far corner on the parallel wall. All around the room were turned over flower pots. The temperature was pleasant, not warm and not cool. His kimono was on a hanger near the door, and a basket lay underneath it with all of his things. Next to his mat, right next to the wall, was a hexagonal piece of cloth, again sewn together out of little bits. It had a crochet edging about it, and each corner had a metal washer tied to it, as if they were expensive beads on a lace doily. On the cloth his wrappings were folded neatly, and propped was the photo of his sons that he'd grabbed before running out of the lair.

"I'm called the Phoenix," the woman said quietly. "What is your name?"

"Splinter," he said regarding her.

"You must be very thirsty, Splinter," she said in a motherly voice. "I'm going over there to get you some water." She pointed to a large, blue barrel in the corner.

He nodded, and she returned with a cup. Handing it to him, he noticed that his fur was...fluffy. His claws had been cut, on both his fingers and his toes, and the smell of soap and herbs was coming from him. He'd been groomed!

"You can drink as much as you like," she assured him. "We have plenty."

He wasn't particularly thirsty until he began to drink. Then, it was as if he'd not drank in weeks, and he downed cup after cup. The Phoenix laughed at her fourth trip to the barrel, her smile bright and sunny when she returned. "That will get you cooled down!" Her voice was merry and satisfied.

There was a noise outside the sliding doors, and one slid open slowly. Splinter made to get up, but the pain in his side shot though his body, and the woman planted her hands firmly on his thighs. "They aren't going to try to hurt you either," she said quickly. "You're safe here, I promise!"

As soon as they entered, he knew who they were. He felt a stone in his stomach, the feeling that came to him when he had to get a fear, a battle fear, under control. Grizzly came in, followed by Ramshead, and then Medusa. "Oh, you woke up!" the snake said brightly, dragging her seemingly never-ending body into the room. She quickly retreated the end of the room farthest from him, and curled into a coil. That meant this woman was Disembodied Arm Mom.

"These are my children," Disembodied Arm Mom. No, her name was the Phoenix. "And these are my sons, Arcos and Aries. And my daughter Medusa." She gestured to each in turn, her green eyes big.

"We've been taking care of you," said Grizzly, no Arcos. His voice was grizzled, as was his coat. He was larger, larger than Splinter, and carried himself with a heavy gait. He put down the large box he was carrying, and turned the Phoenix. "We got all we could find, Mama."

Mama...It had been so long since he'd heard someone call anyone 'mama'. And a mutant was calling it to a human woman.

"Thanks, Teddy Bear," she said, showering him with that same bright, sunshiny smile she had given him only a few moments earlier.

Aries was carrying four buckets of water, he walked over to the blue barrel and dumped them in. "We picked this up from the filter on the way in," he said. "Figure we'd save you the trip."

"You're a sweetheart," his mother said.

"Time to practice, slackers," Arcos said, heading back toward the doors. His brother dumped the last bucket in the barrel, and Medusa uncoiled herself with a flick of her tongue. When they had left, Arcos looked back at his mother expectantly.

She made a gesture that he should go ahead with out her, and turned back to Splinter. "It's time for me to change your bandages," she told him. "Can I?"

He looked over at his shoulder again, and then nodded.

She was extraordinarily gentle. She also smelled of herbs and soap. He could hear her heartbeat, fluttering fast like a bird. Much faster than it should have been, unless she'd been running. She hadn't been running. She was frightened of him. The look of horror on the woman's face came back to him quickly, and he just as quickly let it pass out of his mind. As she unwrapped the bandages, she said, "You were hurt very badly. It took some work to patch you up."

He saw that his shoulder and side were sutured, tiny little stitches running the length of each of his four gashes.

"You're a tough customer," she continued. He could hear, from beyond the doors, the sounds of weapons clashing together. "You were pretty banged up." She looked up at him and her face seem surprised for a moment. The she smiled brightly at him again, accentuating the wrinkles around her eyes. "I'm surprised you're not full of scars under all that fur," her voice was playful. He was thankful that his blush couldn't be seen at how she had the knowledge of what was under his fur. "I don't know if I can keep these from scarring though," she chattered on. "I will try." She took a water bottle, it looked from the shape of it it was an evian bottle, filled with a pale amber liquid. "I have to wash it, all this is is an herbal rinse." Her voice sounded as if she were speaking to a frightened animal. It was a stark contradiction to the rapid beating of her heart. "It is water, lavender, and rosemary. It might sting a bit." When he didn't say anything, she took a clean cloth and used it to keep the water from running down his back as she poured it over his wounds. It did sting, but not any more than any other application to a wound would have.

When she bent to do the same with this side, she was uncomfortably close to his lap. She'd positioned the sheet on him to protect his modesty, but he was very aware of his lack of clothing. She poured it over the stitches, straightened up and smiled at him. "All done," she announced, picking up the bandages again. "Time to get mummified again."

He made a small grunt of affirmation.

She beamed at him, as if she'd accomplished something difficult. "Are you cold?" she asked, when she'd wrapped him back up.

"No," he shook his head, "I am not." He let his breath out slowly, suddenly very tired.

"You're sleepy," she stated it, she didn't ask it. "Wait, before you fall asleep." She went across the room and came back with a mug of steaming liquid with a spoon resting in it and a jar of honey. "This is for the infection," she unscrewed the honey jar, and dipped the spoon in, bringing out a great blob of honey. She plopped it in the liquid, and as she stirred she said, "And this is for the fever." She then offered him the mug.

The liquid was pale yellow and smelled of flowers. He drank it, it did not have an unpleasant taste on its own. It was hard to get it all down, he wasn't used to such sweetness in anything anymore. Once he had, he handed her back the mug, and laid back down on the mat. She took the patched up sheet, and pulled it up to cover him to his neck. "If you get cold, tell me," she said gently. He wasn't sure if he answered her or not.

***

He awoke hot, his fur slick with sweat. He breathed in heavily and opened his eyes. The room was dark, with two candles lighting it. On the opposite wall to him were the three mutants the woman had called her children. Medusa had laid her body out in a swirly pattern, and Arcos and Aries were lying on her like a bed. She doubled back around with the top part of her body, and rested her head on the bear's back. All of them were breathing steadily, sleeping. Next to him, barely more than one of her own arm lengths way, lay the Phoenix. She was on a pad similar to his own, only smaller to match her body size. She was covered with a sheet akin to his own, patched from different pieces of fabric. His breathing must have woken her up, he presumed, for she opened her eyes and looked at him.

As soon as she saw he was awake, she was up, and leaning over to him. She placed the back of her hand on his forehead, and when it touched him he felt a jolt of recognition and electricity zap through him. It must have shown on his face. She snatched her hand away, and asked quietly, "Did I hurt you?"

"No," he said. "You did not."

She looked at him closely, as if trying to decide if he was lying or not. She then reached behind her, and brought a plate and another mug to him. "Eat a little," she said, motioning to the crackers on the plate. "And drink some more yarrow tea."

He did as he was told. The crackers were very stale, almost like styrofoam, and the tea was cold and too sweet with honey. By the time he was finished, he felt his stomach was more full that it had been in years. He laid back down on his unhurt side, facing her. She did the same, and looked at him, not at all seeming ashamed that she examined him. Her eyes moved over his face, her own face having nothing but a curious expression on it. When her gaze got to his eyes, she smiled at him gently.

"Are you a doctor?" Splinter asked, his own voice quiet.

Her smiled widened, but her eyes turned sad. "The closest that any of us will get to one," she answered.