A/N: Well, here you go, the next chapter! Thanks to all my reviewers, and to CPQ, who once again, convinced me to put this up.

I'm English, so any spelling mistakes you see are probaly just English spelling.

Disclamer: It's in the name: FanFiction. I do NOT own the TMNT

White Raven

Explanations

Sheila felt very tired. She tried vaguely to collect her thoughts. What had just happened?

The 'Shadow Warriors'! April knew something! She had been walking home… the turtle-things! Sheila sat up with a start. She heard a startled cry from beside her.

"Hey, she's awake!" That voice sounded familiar… it belonged to one of those turtle things! The orange one, she thought. Fighting vainly to sort out her muddled thoughts, Sheila opened her eyes. She saw she was on a small single bed, and that there was a bedside table beside it. And sitting on a chair in the corner…

"Holy shit." It was the orange turtle guy!

"Uh… not exactly what I'd have expected," it said with a nervous grin. Sheila sat mutely for a moment, eye staring.

"Uh… er… w-where am I?" It was the only half-sane thing she could come up with, most of her queries consisting of either bad language or large amounts of mindless screaming. Since she did not like the sound of either choice, she picked the politest one.

"My home," the turtle thing said. "Uh, you got hit by a Purple Dragon dude. Got knocked out."

"Uh, thank you," Sheila said, still a little confused. She knuckled her good eye, rubbing the sleep from it. "What time is it?"

"3:37, wh-?"

"In the afternoon? Shit, my mom is going to murder me!" Sheila ripped the covers off and stuffed her feet into her shoes, which had been left by her bed. She looked around for her backpack.

"Where's my bag?" she asked the turtle-creature. He looked at her blankly.

"Why?"

"I gotta go!" Sheila cried in frustration. "My mom will kill me!"

"Hold on, you can't just run off! You'll tell people about us! And you need to be escorted home, anyway. You can't exactly find your way home form the sewers!" He clapped a hand over his mouth. "I shouldn't have said that."

"The sewers? Oh great! Now she's really gonna have a hissy fit!" Sheila palmed her forehead, aggravated. "At least lemme call my mom and tell her I'm okay!"

"No! Someone could trace your call," the turtle creature seemed paranoid.

"Then where's my bag? I'll use my cell phone."

"Weeelll… that couldn't hurt…" he extracted her backpack from under his chair and reached out to give it to her.

Suddenly the door opened and the turtle-creature wearing purple appeared. The orange one stuffed the bag back under the chair, a decidedly guilty look on his face.

"Mikey, what are you doing?" the purple on asked.

"Um… she just wanted to phone her mom," Orange replied.

"You know we can't let her do that," Purple shook his head.

"Excuse me?" Sheila crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, glaring at Purple with her good eye.

"Look, you can't," he explained. "Somebody might track us."

"Who? Who the hell even knows you're here?" Sheila was getting seriously pissed now. On a hunch, she added, "Except for April O'Neil, of course." The two turtles stared at her, mouths agape.

"What? How do you know?" Orange asked, eyes bugging alarmingly.

"I didn't, but I do now. Cheers." Sheila sat back contentedly, grinning. Purple glared at Orange, who shrugged apologetically.

"How do you know April?" he asked.

"I stop in her shop every so often for a chat. She's nice. How do you know her?"

"Saved her from being killed a while back," Orange answered. Sheila raised an eyebrow.

"So you guys are those so-called 'Shadow Warriors'?" she said slyly. Orange grinned at her terminology.

"Yep that's us! Saving the innocent people of New York City by night, hiding during the day!" His face fell. "Well, I guess we pretty much failed to save you."

"Well I'm not dead," said Sheila, checking herself. "But I will be if you don't let me phone my mom!"

"Okay, but make it quick," Purple interjected. He nodded to Orange, who handed Sheila her backpack. The girl grabbed it and found the cell phone, quickly punching in the number. It rang twice before a slightly panicked voice answered.

"Sheila? Is that you?" It was her mother.

"Yeah, it's me," Sheila replied carefully. "I'm fine. Just… uh… visiting a friend. I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?" That wasn't even a lie!

"You're okay? Sure? Where are you exactly?" Catherine didn't miss a beat. "You should have told us!"

"I… lost track of the time. Sorry." Sheila shot a half-glare at the two watching turtles. "I gotta go. Talk to you later." She hung up.

"Happy?" she demanded. "She'll phone back soon if I'm not careful. I have to go."

"Look," Purple said wearily. "It's not that we don't trust you –"Sheila looked sceptical. "– Okay, well I guess it is. But it's for good reason. If anybody found out about us, we'd get shipped off to a lab for dissection! We need to… establish some stuff, first." He took a deep breath. "My name is Donatello. This is Michelangelo." He pointed to Orange. "But it's just Don or Mikey, usually. We have two other brothers, Leonardo and Raphael." Sheila whistled.

"Named after the Renaissance painters!" She grinned. "Cool."

"Yeah. We have a sensei – teacher – called Splinter. But he's a rat, not a turtle." Don watched Sheila for a reaction. She shrugged.

"Rats are cool. My sister has a pet rat. Leo has tried to eat it a couple times, but it's managed to evade him so far."

"Leo?" Mikey asked.

"My pet cat. I named him after Leonardo Da Vinci, actually."

"I have a cat too! He's named Klunk."

Don cleared his throat. The two turned to look at him again. Don told Sheila all about their 'origin story', helped along by a very enthusiastic Mikey.

"Wow," Sheila said when he was done. "That… is really cool! But, I still have to go home." Don nodded.

"Just swear on your honour to never reveal us to anyone, and you can go."

"Let's make a compromise," Sheila replied. "I'll swear by all my White Ravens never to tell anyone about you, unless it's essential, for some reason. Deal?" Don raised an eye ridge.

"White Ravens?"

"Yeah. My White Raven paintings. All one hundred and sixty five of them."

"Little obsessed, aren't you?" Mikey asked. She shrugged.

"I've been trying to paint it since I was seven. They pile up pretty fast. Do we have a deal? They're very important to me." Don nodded.

"Yeah. You can go. But I was going to check you for injuries, in case."

"I'm fine," Sheila replied. "Just a little tired. I just got knocked out, I think. They got me on my blind side." Don looked at her questioningly.

"I'm blind in my right eye," she elaborated, gesturing to it. "Have been since as long as I can remember."

"A one-eyed painter? That's new," Mikey remarked.

"Yeah." Sheila got up and slung her backpack over her shoulder. "Can one of you take me back home? Or at least help me find my way out of the sewers?" Mikey got up, a broad grin on his face.

"I'd be happy to escort you, ma'am!" he proclaimed. He hesitated for a moment. "What's your name?" Sheila palmed her forehead.

"I forgot! I'm Sheila. Sheila Rachel Thomson, to be exact."

"Well, Lady Sheila, come with me and I'll take you home!" Mikey attempted a courteous bow, failed, and offered her his arm. Sheila snorted and took it. Don shook his head.

Mikey led Sheila through the main lair area. The girl looked around wide-eyed, taking it all in. Another turtle was sitting on the couch, watching a news report on the huge collection of plasma screen TVs on one wall.

"Yo, Raphie! She's awake!" Mikey hollered.

"And soon to be dead if I don't get home!" Sheila grumbled in irritation. Raphael, she presumed, caught what she said and turned around, smirking.

"Parents worried?" he asked. His voice held a thick Brooklyn accent. She nodded.

"Well, betta getcha home, babe," Mikey sighed. Sheila raised an eyebrow a fraction, but said nothing. They walked over to a set of huge doors. Mikey hit a button and they opened, to reveal a gigantic elevator, or sorts.

"Enough space in here?" she asked, eyeing the large compartment. Mikey chuckled as he hit the 'surface' button. The doors closed.

"Yeah, need lots of room if we're bringing the Battle Shell or something down for Donnie to work on," he replied. There was a hiss and the doors slid open. They were in a warehouse of some kind. A huge, tank like van was parked nearby, and a couple of rusty motorcycles were half-visible behind a pile of crates.

"This," Mikey announced proudly. "Is the Battle Shell." He opened the door of the van, bowing a giggling Sheila inside. He hopped in the driver's seat and clipped the belt into place, revving the engine.

"You're old enough to drive?" Sheila inquired. Mikey shrugged.

"Technically yes, being seventeen, but I've been driving since I was fifteen." He pulled out of the warehouse (the doors were remote controlled, thanks to Don).

"Which way, babe?" he asked. Sheila gave him directions. He parked just down the street from her house.

"Well, I guess I'll see ya round," he said awkwardly. Sheila eyed him.

"So I can see you again?" Mikey scratched the back of his neck.
"I'd like you to," he said with a grin. "We don't have many friends." Sheila smiled.

"I can't think why." She got out of the Battle Shell and waved as she walked away. Mikey waved back. He watched until she disappeared inside before he pulled away.

Sheila had a bad case of the goofy-grin when she entered the kitchen. Catherine was sitting at the table, clutching a mug of tea. She glanced sharply at her daughter as she entered.

"It's about time!" Catherine hugged Sheila. "I thought you said you'd be home soon!" Sheila did her best I'm-sorry-guilty expression.

"Sorry. I did get back as soon as possible." That wasn't really a lie.

"Well, who were you with?" But Sheila had already scampered upstairs. She shut her door and sat on the bed, her heart racing for some reason. That was the coolest thing that had every happened to her.

I was right! She thought triumphantly. April was hiding something! I can't wait to tell her! Sheila got up and shuffled over to her easel. An old drop cloth had been draped over it to keep the dust off. She pushed it aside. Mounted on the easel was a canvas, displaying a half-finished painting of a white raven. It was perched on a branch, wings half-open in preparation to take flight. One of its eyes was cloudy and misty. It was the only part of the painting that was finished completely.

I am obsessed, she thought ruefully, tracing the bird's wings with a forefinger. With a sigh she replaced the drop cloth and lay down on her bed. The sloped ceiling above her showed her various sketches of the same animal, in a number of different positions. A handful of the pictures were drawn in magic marker, from when she was little.

Leo jumped up on the bed, purring, rubbing his head against her hand. She scratched his ears absentmindedly, listening to the traffic outside her window.

Her phone rang. Leo let out a wild yowl and shot off the bed. His claws scraped Sheila's thigh; she let out a cry of pain.

"You stupid cat!" she yelled, pressing her hand to her bleeding leg. The phone rang again. With a snarl Sheila snatched it from its cradle and snapped,

"What?"

"Shy? Bad time?" With a groan Sheila sat on the bed.

"Jason! Oh, no, I'm fine." She winced as she wiped the scored marks on her leg. She got up and went into the bathroom. A very puffed-up Leo appeared soon after, fur stuck out. He sat down and washed his very bushy tail in an irritated manner. Sheila shook her head and balanced the cordless phone on her shoulder, while rummaging in the vanity for the hydrogen peroxide.

"So what's new?" Jason asked. He was one of her only school friends, despite him being a guy.

"Nothing. You?"

"Nope. Mom's out shopping. She's getting all upset. Dad's coming home next week." He sighed.

"Oh," Sheila said. She dabbed a cotton ball soaked in hydrogen peroxide on her scratches, wincing as it fizzed and bubbled. "How long is he staying this time?"

"Only a couple of days. Long enough to have about fifty arguments with mom and storm out." Jason sounded really down. Sheila chewed her lip.

"Why don't you come down here?" she suggested. "We could watch a PayForVu or something. I have popcorn."

"You sure? Thanks Shy." Jason sounded really relieved. "I'll be right over. Bye." He hung up. Sheila hit the 'off' button and stuck a Band-Aid on her leg and tossed the wrapper in the garbage, before heading downstairs, tossing her phone on her bed en route. She plopped down on the sofa in the living room, flicking the TV on. She skimmed the menu, finding Monster-In-Law. With as shrug she hit the 'buy' button.

Jason arrived shortly, a super-sized bottle of Orange Crush with him. He plunked down on the couch, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the huge plastic bowl on the coffee table.

"Wha' we watchin'?" he asked, popcorn crumbs spraying the room. He swallowed. "Sorry."

"That's fine." Sheila grinned and stuffed popcorn into her mouth. "Mmm, extra butter." She swallowed with difficulty. "We're watching 'Monster-In-Law'." Jason shrugged.

"Sounds good to me."

They watched the movie, the popcorn and soda disappearing rapidly. By the time the end credits were rolling, they were both clutching the stomachs and moaning.

"I feel sick," Jason declared. "I don't think I should have had that last glass of pop…" he burped. Sheila wrinkled her nose.

"Gross."

"What are you two doing?" Catherine entered the room. "Are you going to be able to eat supper, Sheila?"

"Ugh, don't talk about food!" Sheila whined.

"You're the one that ate a whole two bags of microwave popcorn and a large soda," her mother shrugged. "I hope you like lasagna, Jason." Jason paled.

"She's cruel," Sheila muttered as her mother exited the room. With a groan she staggered to her feet and gathered the glasses, and empty bowl and pop bottle. She went into the kitchen and dumped them in the sink. Jason followed her, still clutching his belly.

"I'm never eating popcorn again," he moaned.

"Until the next time you come over," Sheila rolled her eyes. Jason made a face.

Catherine dished up the hot steaming lasagna, receiving whoops from Aquarelle and moans from both Sheila and Jason. Sheila's father, Jeffery, had been out all day, and arrived just as they sat down to eat. Sheila and Jason picked at their meals, but the rest of the family packed the lasagna away rapidly, and in no time it was gone.

"Well, thanks for the lasagna Mrs. Thomson," said Jason, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. "But my mom wants me home by seven." He got up and headed for the door. Sheila followed him.

"Listen, Shy," Jason began after he had done up his shoes. "Thanks for… y'know… taking my mind off stuff." He shuffled awkwardly. Sheila smiled warmly.

"No prob. You're one of my best friends." She impulsively kissed him on the cheek, earning a shocked blush. He scrambled out the door, looking highly disconcerted. "Bye, Jay!" she called after him. He waved back. With a grin Sheila closed the door and went to help her mother clear the table.

Well, there you have it! Please R&R! Flames will be used to make smores.