Sunni

Chapter Four

For two weeks it was ritual. Raphael, in the shadows of midnight, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, waiting until the light shone into the yard, and she would step out into the night air. They would talk for a little while. Sunni had stopped questioning him about his life and instead told him about working in the kitchen with the brain dead shift supervisor, the haughty waiters, the new little blond girl who was probably pregnant. She talked about the man she was helping with the soup kitchen, and how she was trying to convince him to write grants and access public funds for the project.

To Raphael it was bizarre, like watching TV, or a movie, only with sounds and smells and the mint sharp sting of reality. The strangeness of peering into the lives of ordinary humans, total strangers, was disorienting, almost dizzying, and foreign. It made him feel less like himself, but not like anyone he knew. Different, like a brand new flavor food, he couldn't quite find the label to paste on the experience, and he didn't particularly want to. He was uncharacteristically content to let the novelty wash over him, and let it take him outside himself.

They sat side by side at the back door of the kitchen, he faced forward into the yard, but his eyes were on her. From under the brim of his hat, his eyes followed her face, her hands, her gestures, and her smile.

"So I crammed this entire half- a- chicken back under the sink an' sure enough in comes ol' Garlic Breath lookin' like-" Sunni waved her hands trying to find the right description. "Lookin' like, you know that mean ol' step mother in Cinderella? You know her ol' pinch-face pointy-nose look? Well that's just what he looked like. Like his cummerbund was too tight. I'm shakin' I'm so nervous but I almost bust out laughing 'cause he looks like a cartoon." Sunni's eyes widened suddenly. "And then, then he goes an' makes some snotty remark about the quality of the kitchen help goin' down, and I just went off. I did, even with that damn chicken sitting under the counter I tore into him for bein' in the kitchen and not out in the dining room where he belongs threatening the self-esteem of our customers." Sunni grinned in the dark.

Raphael rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What would happen if you'd gotten caught? What if someone found that chicken?"

Sunni shrugged. "I'd have got fired."

"And then what would you do?"

"Get another job. There's a lot of restaurants in this town."

"What if you got arrested? It is theft after all." Raphael suddenly hoped he hadn't sounded too much like how he felt, which was oddly like Leonardo.

Sunni turned toward him. "Well, first off, I wouldn't be, but even if I was, so what? It'd be worth it because I'd be doing the right thing!" Her eyes were challenging and her voice had taken on that raspy quality that Raphael decided he really liked. He grinned, partly because he realized he had been advocating for caution, which struck him as funny, but also because he liked how she came right back at him, with fire.

"You're that sure?" he asked, knowing he was pushing her.

"Damn straight I'm sure! What the hell would I be doing this for? This is about doing the right thing, helping people who can't help themselves." Sunni's eyes snapped and she raised a finger, pointing to somewhere vaguely above his left shoulder. "There comes a time, Raphael, when it isn't about you or me. There's a principle involved, and sometimes you just have to go forward with what you believe in and screw the consequences."

Raphael drew in a long breath, watching her face. "You do it for Honor," he said, speaking almost to himself.

"For what? For honor? No, not like that. Not for glory. That's about self. This you do for others. For a principle, or a reason larger than yourself. What's honor got to do with it?"

Raphael shook his head. "Just a thing I was raised with. Hard to explain."

Sunni tilted her head, gazing into his face as her fierce expression softened. "You know, I'd love to meet your family."

Raphael drew back, shaking his head, hissing softly. "No chance of that," he said.

"Why not? You've met mine. My cousin, anyway. You don't want your people to meet me?"

"No. No, that's not it. I told you, my family keeps to themselves."

Sunni dropped both hands into her lap and gazed at them for a moment. "I know you've said that," she said quietly, and then sighed.

Raphael was acutely aware of the distance that yawned between them. It tugged at him with a disturbing power. He'd known the feeling before, had felt his separateness from the rest of the world. He knew that like the dank scent of the sewers, like the rumble of traffic all around them. Tonight it struck him harder, sitting here, and he felt vulnerable to it in an awful way. This was like something he couldn't shut away, or lock behind his anger and violence. He was almost afraid.

"Oh, man-" Sunni said suddenly, looking at her watch. "I need to get going if I'm gonna catch the last bus." She stood up. "I'm sorry, I gotta go."

"You got anything you need delivered?" Raphael stood also.

Sunni turned on her brilliant smile. "Yeah, hold on." She disappeared inside the kitchen door and returned with two bundles.

"This one's for Mary and Tom," she said handing him one. "An' this one's for you an' your family."

Raphael took one in each hand and stood looking at them for a moment. He needed to thank her again, and part of him recoiled at the thought. He was grateful, and at the same time fiercely wished to no longer be her charity case. He never had wanted that. He never wanted her to feel sorry for him, and now that seemed somehow more important than ever. Yet here he was, taking food from her again, from her employer, letting her risk her livelihood to provide him with one.

"I can't take this," he said, shoving the package back toward her.

Sunni's face clouded. "Why not?"

"I can't. It's not right. I'll take this one out to your friend Mary, but I can't take any more from you."

Sunni faced him, her eyes searching for his under the low brim of the battered fedora. She raised one graceful hand slowly, hesitated, and brought it to his face. Raphael fought his first impulse to duck aside. Sunni carefully tipped his hat brim back, just a fraction, just above the ridge of his brow, just enough to leave him feeling uncomfortably exposed. He froze.

"You know what I believe, Raphael?" she said softly. "I believe what goes around comes around. You don't owe me anything." Sunni gently returned the package to his hands. Her face grew more serious than he had ever seen her. "I really like you, Raphael," she said, and then dropped her eyes and quickly turned away. "G'night," she said, slipping inside.

"…'night," Raphael croaked, long after the kitchen door had closed.

That was the last night he saw her.

Raphael went back to the service yard behind the Regency Hotel two nights later and she never came out. A skinny young man brought the trash out, but no Sunni. He went back the next night, and the night after that, and every night for a week and a half until it became very clear to him Sunni was no longer there.

"You got fired, didn't you?" he asked the cold morning air that hung between him and the rest of the pre-dawn dark of the city. He sighed deeply, his breath floating visibly before him and gazed down at the surging streets below, headlights piercing one after the other through the damp air, ten stories down. A great wave of fatigue washed over him, as though his body was only just noticing he hadn't slept in nearly a week. He thought of a single bright, shiny penny, lost somewhere on the streets, lost in the sea of humanity that was Manhattan.

"Aw, what the hell," he gruffed under his breath with an attempt at indifference even he recognized as a false bravado.

The sun was coming up sooner these days as winter began loosening its grip on the city and falling way to spring. Raphael didn't see the shortening nights as a good thing. It only meant less time to be above the streets, roaming the city. He stood and stretched, feeling now the annoying encumbrance of the camel colored trench coat. With the sky lightening to a sodden gray, he knew he needed to get moving. He crossed the rooftop, silent feet falling on the tar-papered roof, and broke into a jog for before he reached the edge. He hit the three- foot high gray brick ledge with one foot and sprang across the open space to the next rooftop, trench coat snapping in back of him with the force of his jump.

He was headed in the general direction of a manhole he knew provided easy access with fairly good cover, but he found himself drifting north, toward Harlem.

The place was easy to find. It sat in the middle of a block of other struggling small businesses crowned by deteriorating apartments. Graffiti marked every brick wall, and no one was moving out on the pavement. Across the street from the little soup kitchen, on a rooftop, tucked up against a blackened chimney, Raphael squatted down on his haunches. He watched the door and windows for any signs of activity. Streetlights faded. It became too light to go home without risking the Wrath of Leonardo and still Raphael sat.

Somewhere, a few blocks away, church bells began to chime, joined by others, pealing in harmony from all directions in the neighborhood. Sunday morning church bells, he realized, calling families, calling the found ones, and the lost ones, home. Raphael could feel the pull. He would never have used the words, but the music evoked some distantly felt sense of hope and fellowship. And all it could do was pull him into a void, because even if he wanted to, he couldn't have answered it.

Too many things were calling him he could not answer.

A surge of loneliness threatened to engulf him. Raphael thought of Splinter and knew he had to go home.

Donatello's fancy new entrance was nowhere near completion. With aggravation, Raphael pulled back the heavy canvass that served as a temporary door and stepped through the hole in the wall.

The lair was quiet. Leonardo was asleep on the beat up old couch they had found and deposited triumphantly in the middle of the living room. First piece of real furniture, it only made sense to Raphael that Leo would claim it. Through the back passage he could hear a guttural snore that had to be Mike, and the lighter breathing that was Donatello. He stepped soundlessly past the couch, toward the back. They had already begun work on what was to be Splinter's new room, and timbers framed his doorway just inside the area that opened up to the turtles' sleeping "room". Five futons lay on palettes in there, two empty. Raphael moved toward the one furthest to the back, on silent ninja feet. Something made him look at the third futon. Splinter's eyes glittered against the dark of his fur in the shadows. Raphael met his gaze and lowered his head in an abbreviated bow, and Splinter closed his eyes again.

There'll be lots of time to yell at me later, thought Raphael, tumbling onto his raised futon. He rolled himself in his trench coat, not bothering to take anything off, and was asleep in less than a minute.

Raphael managed to avoid his family's annoyance with him as he slept through the day. Leonardo woke him up.

"Raph." He could feel his brother's hand on his shoulder. "Raph, wake up." The hand shook him gently.

"Go 'way, Leo."

"Yeah, I'm about to. Look, we're going out for supplies. Splinter wants to talk to you."

Raphael opened one eye. Leonardo gestured with his head, a quick nod towards the living room. Then he stood up.

"We'll be back in a few hours."

Raphael rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes. He certainly was not going to be able to go back to sleep knowing his most likely unhappy sensei was waiting in the other room for him. He sat up, untangling himself from the coat, and eventually throwing it on the floor next to the hat. He got up and made his way through the dark to the living room.

It was almost a room now. Besides the couch, two tatami floor coverings now graced the concrete, and a low black table he hadn't noticed the night before sat behind the couch, near the kitchen doorway.

Splinter sat on the couch, a candle flickering on the floor before him, casting a warm light through the room. He held cup of steaming tea in his hands.

Raphael wondered when they had gotten the stove working. He approached Splinter and bowed deeper than was his usual habit, then sank to his knees before his sensei.

Splinter watched him for a long moment.

Torture by suspense, thought Raphael.

"You have been gone a great deal, my son," Splinter said at last.

"I know Splinter. I've been out looking…"

Splinter's ears came up a notch.

"…for food." It wasn't entirely a lie.

The rat's eyes narrowed. "There is more to the story than that, is there not?"

Raphael looked down. "Yeah…no. I dunno." Inside he squirmed.

"And you do not wish to tell me."

Raphael swallowed. "Splinter, it's nothing. It's just…I need space, you know?" He looked up into the deep black eyes that regarded him. "I need to get out, sometimes I need…"

Splinter raised a slender hand, stopping him. "Raphael. There are many things you feel you need which I cannot provide you. Only remember; there are those who need you here, as well."

"They didn't have to leave without me." Raphael gestured toward the door. "I would have gone with them."

"I am not speaking of only this night, Raphael."

Raphael didn't want to argue. He didn't want to be angry, nor incur anger from Splinter. Not tonight, not now, not after this past week. "Where did they go?" he asked.

Splinter sighed. "I cannot force you to tell me what you will not, Raphael. I can only hope that when you are ready, you will feel you can talk to me."

"I can talk to you Splinter. That's not it. I'm just…it's just that…ah…" Raphael found he couldn't tell his sensei any part of truth without telling him everything. And a lie would be transparent. He fell silent.

"They went to the dumpsite by the water. Donatello's favorite treasure- hunting place." Splinter gazed at him with an unusual indulgence. "You may still catch up with them, I am sure. Go, my son."

Raphael stood and bowed again.

"There is bread and fresh water in the kitchen," said Splinter.

Raphael blinked and stepped around the couch, entering the kitchen through the arched doorway in the back wall of the living room. Inside the kitchen new wiring, insulated with aluminum flex tubing, ran all along the walls and led into the stove and to an overhead light fixture with a single bare bulb. A water spigot protruded from the back wall, just at waist height, and a stainless steel sink basin lay on the floor awaiting installation. Planks and small sheets of plywood were stacked against the wall, and on top of those sat a loaf of Wonder Bread.

Raphael bent over and turned on the spigot, thirstily sucking up the cold water. He took three slices of bread, on an afterthought remembered to wrap the rest of the loaf back up, and headed for the tarp- covered main doorway. He paused for a moment, and hurried back into the sleeping passage, grabbing his trench coat and hat. He halted briefly in front of Splinter to bow one more time.

"Thank you, Splinter," he said, realizing he had gotten away with scarcely any reprimand.

Splinter dropped his head in a small bow of acknowledgement, the whisper of a smile playing along his whiskery mouth. "Take care my son. I will see you when you return."

Raphael nodded and bolted out the door.

Above ground the air was still warm, though dusk was settling over the city. It must have been one of the first truly balmy spring days, when people spill into the streets in short sleeves just to feel the sun on their skin. The city felt wide-open, as though breathing in and out fully for the first time in months. To Raphael the night felt limitless.

Most of Raphael's mind was fairly sure he was heading for the abandoned piers along the East River that had become an unauthorized dumpsite for old appliances and assorted pieces of junk. The part of his mind that had other ideas, however, won out. His feet picked up the pace, and he swung up the nearest fire escape to the rooftops where the highest walls were still washed with the red glow of the sunset. Raphael ran.

A little out- of- breath from having sprinted and leaped from rooftop to rooftop for the last seven blocks, Raphael slowed and then sank down by the chimney. Sooty, smoky smells mingled with the fragrances of meals cooking, wafting up through open windows. Children's voices rang in the streets below. There were people on the street, walking in small groups or singles, sitting on the hoods of cars and on apartment house steps. The neighborhood was alive and buzzing.

Across the street, the lights were on in the soup kitchen's windows. Faint shadows moved inside. Raphael's pulse quickened. He watched the faint indications of movement within. Two people, maybe three, he decided. He ran his tongue over his mouth and sat down to begin his vigil.

Darkness settled around him, broken by the soft halos of streetlights below. Sounds on the street had quieted as it at last began to cool and the children were called into their homes. He had watched the soup kitchen windows and front door for nearly an hour and a half when the lights abruptly went off. He stood up quickly, suddenly wondering if there might be a back door to the place, and took a few steps forward toward the low brick parapet at the edge of the roof.

In the next instant the front door opened and he heard the voices of the three people as they came out. In the light of the street lamp, he could see one was an older gentleman; bearded and tall with a stout frame. He wore a brightly colored knit hat on top of grizzled hair. The second was a younger man, dressed in the uniform of the street with a black nylon jacket and baggy low- slung pants

The third one was Sunni.

He watched as they talked, the older man locking the door. Raphael strained to hear what they were saying, but only caught a few words. He heard Sunni laugh and he felt himself react to the sound like a string of firecrackers going off in his gut. He heard her say, "No, no. I'll be fine," and point up the street.

Sunni hugged the older man, then the younger man who, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. It took a moment to register, and then Raphael went cold, as though suddenly splashed with a bucket of water. His stomach knotted. He took a step back from the parapet, desperately not wanting to see and yet unable to stop watching what was happening on the street below. The young man held Sunni like that for what seemed like an eternity. Raphael tore his eyes away for a moment, struggling with a rush of feelings thundering through him. When he looked again they were parting and saying goodnight, the two men heading south, and Sunni going north alone.

Raphael was over the side of the building and sliding down the fire escape before he had an instant to think.

He followed her for two blocks, long enough to be sure no one was around, before stepping out of the shadows fifteen feet behind her.

"Sunni."

Her head whipped around, her expression looking startled and fierce all at once.

"Hey," said Raphael. "It's me."

"Oh, my God! Raphael!" Sunni's face broke into a dazzling smile and Raphael's relief was like an ocean wave breaking over him. She hurried toward him. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." If he could have, he would have stopped himself, but the truth blurted out.

"Oh, I am so glad you found me," she said. She reached for his hands and he didn't know what to do. When he didn't take her hands, she clasped her own together. "I felt so bad," she said. " 'Cause I knew you'd be wondering what happened and I didn't know how to reach you, except through 'Cindra and she hadn't seen you and…" Sunni stopped and inclined her head. "You ok?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he said, though in truth he was momentarily speechless. "Hey...uh..." He cleared his throat. "Ok if I walk you home?"

Sunni sucked in her lower lip, her cheeks dimpling. "You certainly may." She held his eyes with hers and slipped her arm though his.

Raphael drew in a breath and tried not to shake as he exhaled.

"So you knew? You knew where the place was?" asked Sunni.

"Well, yeah. You had told me where it was."

"Oh yeah, huh? An' I guess you figured out I wasn't at the Regency anymore."

"That was pretty obvious."

"Raphael, I'm sorry. I hope you were able to feed -"

"We were ok, don't worry." Raphael hoped he was responding appropriately because the primary thing he was aware of, even through the thickness of his trench coat and her light jacket, was the sensation of her body pressed against his arm.

"Man, this has been a crazy week. Stewpot hasn't been able to get the place open yet. There is so much freakin' red tape involved in doing this kinda thing. There's more regulations to follow when you want to give food away than there is when you're tryin' to make a profit off it. It's ridiculous!" Sunni shook her head. "That, plus me needing to find a new job right away, which I did. I'm at Frere Etienne now. You know where that is?"

Raphael shook his head. It was all he could do to remain aware of where he was walking now, much less visualize some other place.

"Well, it's right downtown. It's kinda new. Around 25th and Madison. Good fish menu though that isn't real practical for what I need." Sunni looked at him. "You still up for doing the deliveries for me?"

"I can do that."

"Thank you. Y'know, I couldn't have gotten nearly done what I did if it hadn't been for you. I really do appreciate you bein' willing to help."

"It's no problem." he said, though he had not especially enjoyed what he had seen during the past month. From his own experience he had known the gangs, the crime, his family's enemies, and the swift and dark violence of the streets. As familiar as he was with all that, he had now seen the streets through Sunni's eyes. Where he understood violence and harm done to people looking for trouble, or at least people big enough to have choices, this had been different. Yes, there were always victims, but now he had seen another kind of violence and harm done to innocents, to those too small to defend themselves. "It's no problem," he said. "But you know what gets to me?"

"What's that?"

"Most of the people I was taking food to were kids. What's up with that? Don't people care about the kids? I mean other people, can't they see that?"

Sunni shrugged a little. "I don't know. It's messed up, isn't it?"

"Sucks."

Sunni glanced over at him. "Man, I've missed talking to you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're like one of the only people I know who thinks like me. Who I can talk to and say what's on my mind and you know what I mean. Now Stewpot, he understands, he gets it. But I don't know if he ever gets that – I dunno—angry at the whole thing."

"An' that's a good thing? Getting angry?"

"Well, yeah. That's what makes people take action."

Raphael chuckled. "I always get ragged on for my anger."

"Well, then they just don't understand. I used to catch shit for getting angry too, and for tellin' it like it is. But those people, they don't get it. It's like they can't see what's goin' on."

"That's for sure. It's like they've got blinders on." Raphael had a mental picture of Leonardo with a blindfold on, but it slid into the picture of him practicing with his bandana turned around. Raphael remembered his 'perfect' brother sparing almost flawlessly like that, which thoroughly annoyed him. "Hrmph," he grumbled.

Sunni lightly squeezed his arm, smiling. "You know, I never thought I needed anyone to understand me. No one ever did. And I didn't care, y'know. I didn't need anyone to like, validate how I feel. I didn't need it until you started doin' it."

"I did?"

"Yeah, you did. You do. Makes me feel sane in an insane world."

He couldn't hold back a moment longer. "Who were those guys you were with?"

"When? Oh, you mean just now at the kitchen? That was Stewpot."

"Yeah, I figured that. Who was the other guy?"

She looked down, her expression shifting ever so slightly, though he wasn't sure what it meant. "That was Jamal. That's Stewpot's son."

Raphael had no idea how to phrase the next question, or even exactly what it was he needed to know. But he needed to know. Sunni seemed to know that he did. "We've gone out. Wasn't anything real serious."

She looked over at him again and he could see her react, her eyes widening a fraction, to whatever look it was he had on his face. He was only aware of his jaw and throat tightening.

"Wasn't no thing," she said again, and Raphael felt everything shift. Something had changed by his unspoken question and even more by the fact she seemed to feel she needed to respond to it the way she did.

"It's none of my business," he said, knowing it was too late to take back whatever had happened.

"S'alright, Raphael. I don't mind." They walked on and things did seem suddenly quite ok again. Different still, but ok.

Up ahead a group of five young men stood on the street corner, smoke drifting about them in the light of the street lamp. Sunni deliberately guided Raphael across the street. He let her, but only to avoid being seen too closely by them.

"Who's that?" he asked nodding his head in their direction.

"Just some folks we don't need to be talking to," she said.

"They give you a hard time?"

"Not me so much, though I don't like walkin' through them. They got stuff goin' on with my family I don't want no part of."

"Hm."

Another group was up ahead, clustered around a stairwell of one of the brownstones. A solitary man stood leaning against a phone booth on the other corner.

"More people up here," said Raph more to himself than her.

"Yeah, but don't worry. We're almost there. This neighborhood isn't too bad. Everyone knows everyone."

"I'm not worried."

"Yeah, I feel pretty safe here."

"Yeah, well, you've never been safer," Raphael grinned, and then shook his head at her questioning look. She didn't need to know, just now, what he meant by that.

"It's not perfect, of course," Sunni said. "Some of these boys, they've done murder. There's a lotta drug money going around, and drug killing happens, y'know?" Sunni frowned. "It's just ignorant. You get drugs in a neighborhood; you get ignorance and violence. They go together."

"You don't like violence then?"

"Well, who does? Except the nut cases." Sunni grinned and Raphael exhaled slowly.

"Well, here we are," said Sunni stopping before the stone stairs of one of many identical buildings. She let go of his arm and rummaged through her pockets producing a set of keys. Raphael looked up at the upper floors, his eyes automatically evaluating the climbing difficulty that the walls presented.

"I was just going to go in and make myself a quick dinner…" Sunni paused. "You wanna come up?"

Raphael blinked, suddenly refocusing on her. "What?"

"I said: I was going to make myself a dinner. Do you want to come on up and eat something?"

"I- I can't be seen by anyone up there," Raphael stammered.

"It's ok. We can hurry up the stairs. It's on the third floor."

"I mean, I cannot be seen," said Raphael with finality.

"No one's gonna hurt you, Raphael. It'll be ok." She took his hand.

He closed his eyes. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"Come on." He found himself letting her lead him up the stairs, through the door, and up the narrow wooden staircase to the third floor. The building smelled of musty tobacco, old cooking and dirty diapers. An ancient Indian print floor runner lay over the hardwood floors looking as though it was melding into the wood. Sunni opened the deadbolt and the door lock and pulled Raphael inside.

Sunni flicked on a floor lamp by the door and the room was lit with a soft glow. She looked quickly up at his face, as though she needed to see his reaction, and then turned the lock on the doorknob and bolted the other three locks.

"Got enough locks on that?" he asked.

"You know how it is," she shrugged.

Raphael looked around, taking in the small room. The walls had fresh paint, and looked sparkling clean in contrast to the hall just outside the door. A beige couch was directly across from the door, covered with a powder blue quilt and two or three knitted throws in soft shades of mauve and lavender. In front of that was a dark wood coffee table strewn with art books and news magazines. A blue and white braided oval rug lay over the hardwood floor. A hall to the left of the couch led to the kitchen, identifiable by the lingering scent of the morning's coffee. End tables held small brass lamps, gemstone geodes, and thick pillar candles. On one sat a desk phone and a message machine, it's red light blinking insistently. The television stood to his right, a scarf over the top and holding more candles and a delicate angel figurine. Shelves held more nick-knacks, small animals, ceramic children, and more angels. Two matching floral print stuffed chairs sat against the wall to his left. The room felt very personal. It smelled very personal. With the carefully mismatched furniture it was warm and inviting.

Sunni pulled off her jacket and hung it on a peg by the door. "Come on in, and make yourself at home," she said, heading for the kitchen. "I'll see what I can scare up in here. Go ahead and take your coat off."

Raphael didn't move. Sunni paused in the hall and turned back toward him. "You can just toss it on a chair," she said.

Raphael stared straight ahead, not looking at her. He cleared his throat. "I'm not wearing anything under this," he said tonelessly.

"You're not?" Sunni frowned, tilting her head. The first hint of uncertainty had crept into her voice.

"No. I never do." He drew a breath. "This isn't clothing," he said. "This is a disguise."

Sunni's mouth moved and then closed. She stood in the hall stood, watching him. "What- what are you disguised as?"

"A human."

"A…?"

"I need to go," said Raphael, starting to turn toward the door.

"No, wait," said Sunni. "Don't go. You can take it off, or not, whatever you feel comfortable with."

Raphael closed his eyes. She had never even seen him without the hat, much less the trench coat. He didn't want to see her expression change, didn't want to see That Look pass over her face when she saw what he was. Not now, not after all this. Anyone else it wouldn't matter, anyone else he couldn't give a rat's ass what they thought. But not Sunni. Not now. Not that look.

Sunni had moved a few steps closer. "Raphael, it doesn't matter to me what you look like."

"It's not even what I look like. It's what I am."

"Are you hearing me, Raphael? It doesn't matter."

Raphael swallowed, pulled off the hat, and opened the trench coat up. It was halfway off his shoulders and carapace when he glanced over at her and saw her open-mouthed, her eyes wide. "Ok," he said, pulling it back on. "Freak show's over. I'm going home."

Sunni was at his side, her hand resting on his where he held the collar of his coat. "Raphael," she said softly. "Will you please trust me? Please?"

He didn't look at her, but snorted, a humorless little half- laugh. "What the hell…" he jerked off the coat and tossed it across the room onto the couch. Then looked into her face, defiant.

Her mouth was still parted, her eyes running over him. She moved back half a step and slowly circled him. He stood still, his breath shaky, feeling more naked than he could ever imagine feeling.

"Alright Raphael. You're right. I have never seen anyone that looked like you." Sunni chewed her lower lip, and then tilted her head, her face serious. "But neither have I ever known anyone that makes me feel like you do."

He turned toward her. "How's that?"

It was Sunni's turn to close her eyes, gathering herself. "Like I wish you were around a lot more. And I just…I find myself thinking about you, wondering where you are, and what's happening to you, and…just wishing we were sitting together talking, or doing any ol' thing. I don't know… but I think I do know what-all that is. And it scares me."

"It scares you?" he asked.

She nodded.

He could smell her hair, her breath, the sweet warmth coming from her body. She touched his face, fingertips feather light on his jaw. He breathed in. Quickly, lightly, her mouth was touching his. She drew back, her eyes full of question. Then Sunni cleared her throat, and looked down quickly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't've done that."

"No," he said, his voice very low. "It's ok."

"I dunno. Sometimes I just do these thing-" Sunni looked up into his eyes and saw the intensity there. "What?"

"It's your turn," said Raphael in a low growl.

"What...?" Sunni watched his eyes, and he let them slide from her face to her body. "Oh," she breathed, realizing what he meant.

He cocked his head, daring her. Wondering if she would.

"Ok, Raphael." She raised her head, her chin out, returning his challenging expression. "I guess that would only be fair."

One corner of his mouth inched up a fraction.

Sunni stepped back and took the bottom edge of her sweater in her hands and pulled it up over her head and off.

Raphael drew in an audibly sharp breath.

Her eyes locked on his, she slowly reached behind her back, and unhooked her bra. She slipped it off and her full breasts tumbled free.

"Where's your bedroom?" Raphael whispered hoarsely.

Sunni moved her head, gesturing down the hall, her golden hair moving in the lamplight.

He caught her up in his arms and carried her down the hall, kicking open the door.

Dinner would wait.