Author's Note: More editing. And there will be more to come. Anyhoo, for you're reading pleasure. And thank you all for the reviews, I love feedback! 3

Rating: PG, for mild language.

Chapter 2: My Name?

The echo of footsteps bounced off the rounded walls beneath the streets, the steady trickle of rain tapping continuously against the thick cement of the sewer floor accompanying the other sounds of the sewer. A small river of water began running a smooth path along the bottom, the lukewarm liquid pooling around the ankles of two people quietly making their way toward the small opening at the end of a tunnel. A small sliver of light stretched across the walls and floor of the entrance when they reached it, the large Turtle pressing one of his wide palms against the shoulder of the shivering girl, holding her back gently.

"Wait for justa minute, okay?"

She nodded quickly, looking around uneasily when he left her side, Raphael catching the nervous expression crossing her face as she drew his damp jacket tighter around her trembling form.

Stepping into the dimly lit interior of the sewer den, Raphael slid his hat off his head, hanging it up onto the coat rack situated near the door. He rubbed the side of his thick bicep, walking slowly toward the glow of the television, his big brown eyes dilating as they adjusted to the lighting of the room. Gradually he made out the form of someone lying comfortably on the couch; their legs propped up on the armrest, a paperback book open on their chest plate. As he neared, another figure came into view, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch, his legs folded casually under him, a wrinkled bag of potato chips next to him. Both seemed engrossed in the program playing on the flickering screen of the television, it's fuzzy picture showing what looked like cartoons; a gray cat chasing the blur of a little brown mouse.

"Ah, not Tom and Jerry again…"

The two heads that faced the television whipped back and were now facing Raphael, one with an orange mask and the other with purple. He suspected they had already sensed his presence, and only turned because he spoke.

"It's a classic, dude. Everyone likes Tom and Jerry."

Michelangelo rolled out of his seated position and to his knees, chucking a chip at Raphael, who swatted it away absently and leaned a hip on the corner of the couch.

"Not everyone likes 'em; I don't."

"You're weird."

Raphael answered him with a roll of his eyes, folding his arms across his chest and glancing down at Donatello, who had been eyeing him with a grin.

"You're home awful late; tied up at the office?"

The grin spread further across Donatello's face when Raphael shot him a glare, whirling around and heading back toward the door. Sitting up and draping an arm over the back of the couch, Donatello arced an eyebrow at his brother, who grumbled something under his breath.

"What'd you say, Raph?"

"I said shut the hell up and help me."

Without a break in his stride Raphael bellowed out at his brothers, both of them exchanging curious glances as they watched his back disappear into the shadows outside the door to the den.

"Help you? With wha—"

Donatello trailed off as he caught sight of a girl walking in with Raphael, clutching her blood-stained arm to her body, Raphael's trench coat hanging stiffly about her shoulders and swaying slightly as she shivered underneath it. Her hair clung to her face, her lower lip tucked under her teeth while she chewed it, peering uncertainly into the room he and Michelangelo occupied, her dark violet eyes standing out against the pale flesh of her face which was adorned with a rather large developing bruise.

She looked like she'd been through hell.

"Stop sittin' there and help, will ya? She's hurt…"

Raphael growled in irritation, watching the two Turtles stare inquisitively at her, their mouths slightly agape as they forgot themselves for a moment. Slowly they came to, one of them shooting Raphael an odd look which he dismissed without second thought.

Peeling the heavy coat off of the girl, he helped her to the couch, which was immediately vacated for her by Donatello, who scurried off to get his other brother and Master while Michelangelo fetched clothing and bandages.

Positioning himself across from her in an armchair, Raphael watched the girl as she sat rigidly before him. She kept very still, her sobbing from earlier now only a stuttered sigh when she took a deep breath. She held her hands clasped together in her lap, the tiny glass vile still protectively sheltered in her palms as her head hung low, her eye unfocused.

She looked much more vulnerable in the light of the lair. Much more tired. He was starting to wonder just what she had been through. She looks so frail...so scared...

"Raphael..."

He snapped his head up, seeing the form of a four foot Rat standing in front of his three brothers, who were watching the and the girl with meddlesome expressions, their interest varying. She had apparently sensed them before he did, her expression wary.

"Raphael, who have you brought us?"

"She got jumped in the parking lot of the Theater, I hadda help her, bring her h—"

Raphael was silenced with a wave of Splinter's bony hand, the elderly Rat finding a seat beside the girl, resting a friendly hand on her stiff shoulders. She gave a sideways glance at the Rat, almost hesitant, looking back at Raphael for reassurance quickly.

"You do not have to fear, child...there are no enemies among you here."

Anxiously, Raphael watched carefully as the girl was met with a warm smile from his Master, her violet eyes studying the olden Rat carefully. Splinter's hand slid down from her shoulder to the crimson-soaked clothe tied snuggly around her forearm, making her tense instinctively.

"It's okay…please relax."

The wise Rat's words came out in a soothing, raspy hum, his other hand rubbing her arm gently. She nodded once, watching with undecided eyes as she began to relax her body a little, falling back into the cushion of the worn couch, the hands held close around the vile slipping to let the Rat touch her wounded arm more freely. Idly, her head tipped back against the shape of the couch's top, the delicate lines and valleys of her feminine neck exposing itself to all that were watching, the contour of her shoulders dropping as her body started to unwind.

Raphael found himself devouring those supple lines and curves with his eyes, his tongue subconsciously slipping out to moisten his wide lips. He noticed the girl herself was unaware of the eyeful she was offering; she didn't realize she was showing too much skin. An eye-ridge lifted curiously as Raphael took her in, watching his Master tend to her wound; Perhaps she was too naïve to know.

Maybe she was just an innocent.

Suddenly, the idea of ogling her was shameful. Yea, Raphael could watch any woman undress…but the idea of tainting something pure with his lustful thoughts was wrong. Trying a quick look over to his brothers, he scowled at their hungry eyes, seeing his thoughts from moments ago shining in them as they watched her.

"There child; you should be healed in a few weeks."

Splinter had finished dressing the girl's wound, his eyes twinkling as his lean face split into a comforting smile. She returned the smile, timidly, and let her other hand trail over the taut cloth around her arm, her eyes skimming over the three large Turtles who stood silently behind the Rat. Raphael watched Splinter follow her gaze, his eyes studying her.

"Do we frighten you?"

She shook her head slowly.

"Would it make you uncomfortable if you slept here tonight?"

She peered at Raphael's brothers, but shook her head again.

"Well then, allow me to introduce you to my family. I am Splinter. This is Leonardo…"

The Turtle trimmed with a thin blue mask stepped forward, bowing sharply at the hip while his hands came together, giving the girl a polite smile.

"…Michelangelo…"

The Turtle next to him with an orange mask hopped forth, sticking up both of his green thumbs in a very Fonzie-like manner, erupting in a carefree chuckle when he made the corners of the girl's lips curve into a bashful smile.

"…Donatello… "

Casually, the Turtle masked in purple on Leonardo's other side moved one step toward her, an amicable smile gracing his green lips as he titled his head down, nodding hello.

"…And Raphael."

Rising to his feet, Raphael gave her a nod; his hands coming together comfortably cross his abdomen. His gaze shot from the girl to his brother Michelangelo, who let out a sigh and made his way toward the armchair beside Raphael, plopping down and smiling, his other brother's reclining on the couch next to the girl, and on the floor in front of her. Raphael found the edge of the wall and propped his shoulder against it, leaning casually with his arms folded defensively around his chest, standing slightly off from the others, behind the couch.

Splinter found the comfort of his usual spot, on the floor and in a used armchair, his rat-like finger folding together.

"You have learned our names…but I'm afraid we have not learned yours."

The girl gave the Rat an unreadable look, as if she didn't understand, her eyes toggling between each of the Turtles.

"My name…?"

Her voice came out in a satiny shyness, still unsure, but a quick glance toward Raphael melted that uneasiness into modest confidence, her shoulders rolling back and her back straightening out.

"My name is Yin."

---

Under a thick red brow Raphael watched her through the darkness, some stray rays of the moon peeking though hidden cracks, his fingers laced together in front of him, supporting his chin as his brown eyes traced over her body continuously. She had fallen asleep long ago, about two hours since she had arrived, and was now comfortably dressed in a large baseball jersey he had purchased a couple years ago. It just barely kept her covered, but her other clothes were soaked with both blood and rain, drying on a clothesline strung up across the living room. The vile she had so viciously protected was no longer clutched in her hands, but now hanging from a thin silver chain around her neck. She was adamant about keeping it within arms reach, and with quick thinking on Donatello's part, he made her a necklace.

The necklace seemed to have made an impression on her, and with the vile now in a place she was comfortable with, her distance with them faded. Her timid smile flashed several more times before she found her way to the couch, where she lay asleep now. Although she was nonchalant about it, Raphael watched her check all of the exits in the lair before she finally relaxed. He knew that even though they were being hospitable and posed no real threat to her, she didn't entirely let her guard down. She didn't quite trust her environment to be safe. But none the less, exhaustion had gotten the better of her, and here she was now, asleep on the living room couch. And here he was now, Raphael somehow finding himself sitting in the armchair across from her.

Watching her. Studying her.

She couldn't be too comfortable. Her body was twisted sharply at the waist, her legs folded in toward the couch while her top half leaned more toward the edge, her left arm hanging limply over the cushion. Her comfort probably didn't matter though; she looked like she hadn't slept in days, which could probably be true, seeing what she had to face last night.

He scowled.

She was being hunted. He understood that now. Not even old enough to buy cigarettes, and she's being sought after by something very big in the criminal underworld. They'd have to be, to have that kind of man power. Raphael had pondered over whether or not the Shredder was connected, but he had dismissed the theory; as much of an asshole the Shredder was, he was about traditional ninjitsu. Quick, deadly, efficient. There was never need for guns. The thugs she had fought were a little more sloppy. Familiar with ninjitsu, yes…but not the Shredder.

His expression softened as he watched the girl stir, rolling her body onto her stomach with a dream-filled sigh, a faint whimper slipping out when she dangled her injured arm over the side. His eyes narrowed in thought – She didn't look like the type to get into trouble. Young, polite, naïve…these weren't traits of a criminal. He was amazed at her skill when it came to fighting…but her shyness perplexed him. She acted as though she wasn't allowed conversation…as a child would if they had interrupted their parents' discussion.

She seemed so new.

Growing irritated with his mounting curiosity, Raphael got to his feet, feeling his bones grind together painfully, tiredly; yeap, sleep would definitely do some good tonight. His hands stretched out far above his head, the noise of his shoulders cracking bouncing off the walls, breaking the silence that had descended onto the room, Raphael padding down the hall and toward his room.

Passing Michelangelo's room, Raphael saw the soft glow of Mike's portable television lighting the room, the white light bright enough to penetrate the darkness of the hall and his own room. The still outline of his brother lead him to believe he was sleeping. Huffing in mild annoyance, Raphael leaned up against the open doorway of his room; that was going to keep him up all night.

Quietly, Raphael crept to Mike's bedside, pulling the small, handheld television from his fingers and turning it off, making the whole room go dark. Placing it on his brother's dresser, Raphael then headed for his room across the hall, but stopped at the sound of a familiar voice.

"She asleep?"

A soft whisper was heard from his sleeping brother, who apparently hadn't been sleeping, the sound of springs squeaking stiffly under his weight as Michelangelo turned to face Raphael. With a short sigh Raphael raised a hand up to find the doorframe, his elbow coming to lean on it as he searched for Mike's face in the dark.

"...Yea."

There was a pause.

"...What happened tonight?"

"I told you already: she got jumped."

Raphael noticed he sounded more irritated that he felt. There was another silence, but he had a feeling Michelangelo wasn't satisfied.

"...So has everybody who lives in New York City."

He was right. There was no point in lying, or avoiding the question; it's not every day he brings home a young girl after she's been jumped for no reason. Well, there were reasons, but Raphael didn't want his brothers guessing at what they could be. Better just be honest.

"She needs help, Mike. She's needed it for a long time. I dunno everything yet...but there are some dangerous people out there who are after her. People who can fight...people who will kill her."

He pressed a palm to his forehead and pushed it slowly back to cup the knot in his mask, looking down at the floor with a frown while he waited for his brother's reaction.

"...Oh."

Through the darkness Raphael shot his brother a curious glance, his remark very unlike what he was used to hearing out of him. Giving a half shrug, he turned toward his room, rubbing his face roughly.

"I wasn't expecting that kinda reason. You coulda said something like 'I'm gonna get some for saving her life'...that woulda been a much more entertaining answer."

Yep – Raphael had spoke too soon, hearing the smile in his brother's voice; now there's the Michelangelo he knew. He could have the worst sense of humor, sometimes.

Slowly and silently sauntering to his room, Raphael paused at his doorway, glancing in the direction of the living room. He couldn't see anything, it was pitch black, but he still felt the need to look. To at least try to see her, and if she was moving. Sensing nothing but sleep in the lair, he half-shrugged and walked to his inviting bed, his hands finding the cool metal of his sais before sliding them out of their holsters and setting them by his bed gently. Carelessly he tugged his tight mask off, tossing it randomly to the floor before sinking into the soft comfort of his bed. The springs creaked under his weight as he sat down on his old mattress, reaching back and rubbing the sore muscles of his neck, closing his eyes tightly as he kneaded the knotted flesh. His careless massaging doing more harm than good, Raphael gave up and languidly slid into the comfort of his warm bedding, settling down with a sleepy sigh before the gentle arms of sleep swept him off into unconsciousness.