Chapter 22: Barnia

The announcement from Raphael: "Get changed, follow me and don't ask questions" was all that was needed to make Michelangelo spring off the sofa, locate some actual clothes and become completely infested with questions. For this particular expedition (and thanks to April trawling the thrift shops) he settled on a semi loud get-up, inconspicuous amongst the current fashion, the crowning glory of which was a deep green hoodie emblazoned with a lightning bolt.

It had barely ticked over past eight pm as the two of them headed topside, trekking along the sewer tunnels for over four blocks before emerging by a bodega in China Town. They continued onward in silence.… but to Michelangelo following his surly brother down a back alley without a clue as to why was beginning to seem more than a little ominous. The place they arrived at only seemed to punctuate the sentiment. Greasy puddles reflected the moonlight. Garbage littered the ground like fucked-up snow. Even for New York, this place had an ambience that made it extra forgettable.

"So, uh, what's the special occasion?"

"This way." Came Raphael's only answer.

Great. Tonight was shaping up to be Extra Raph with a side of Raph. The house special.

As if sensing his hesitation, Raphael yanked him towards a sharp turn down an alley, before they veered down a slim gap between a block of high rises. At last they arrived at the emergency exit of a nondescript wall. Raphael seemed to almost stall, before swinging around to address his brother.

"Don't say anything, got it?"

Michelangelo looked around the deserted alley, "To who?"

Raphael returned a glare viscous enough to make Michelangelo lock his mouth with an invisible key. Satisfied, Raphael rolled his shoulders back in his jacket, then leaned forward and knocked three times. Nothing. They waited in silence - Michelangelo itching to know more (Where are we? Why are we here? And uh, hey -won't we be noticed?) – before following it up with another two knocks. The door swung open. A grisly looking bouncer with slicked back hair cocked his one good eye toward them. Recognizing Raphael, he nodded.

"Who's yer friend?"

Raphael dithered, a little nervous, Michelangelo supposed.

"My brother."

"You don't see the family resemblance?"

Michelangelo was met with a sharp elbow to his sides. Which was fair. He did break that lock in record time.

The bouncer tilted his head inside and grunted, addressing Michelangelo specifically.

"Keep to the left."

Michelangelo's interest had now piqued beyond reason. Plus another question immediately came to mind: What's to the right?

With a toss of his head, Raphael disappeared into the void. The questions would have to wait. Together they descended into a dim corridor, Michelangelo hot on his heels. A steady but distant began to reverberate the walls. Smoke and sour booze tinged the air. Eventually, they came to a second door. Raphael swung it open and walked on through.

"Ho-ly Mo-ly."

He could not believe it. He was standing in a bar - not from the rafters or behind a venting duct. In the middle of a God-damned bar.

Instinctively, he went to cover his face. Raphael slapped his hand away.

"No need."

He nodded towards the counter. A tall woman whose hair glowed an unnatural cherry red turned her attention towards them. She threw a drying rag over her shoulder and served them both a bullet-cracking smile.

"Hey, Stranger! Thought I'd never see that face again."

Raphael straightened and – to Michelangelo's utter shock - smiled right back. Wow. That was a rare and slightly frightening sight. But it was little wonder. The woman bore a striking resemblance to every biker chick clone that had ever adorned his brother's room.

"So what will it be?" she added "The usual?"

"Make it two, Mona. One for my brother, here."

They took a seat closest to the exit, Michelangelo uttering a 'thanks', before sneaking a glance at the surroundings. The place was dimly lit, where in even dimmer corners small groups huddled, puncturing the dark with cigarettes. Various enlarged covers of the 'Fortean Times' sat framed on the walls - the closest alluding to the undeniable existence of aliens.

For Michelangelo, the curiosity became too much.

"So, did we just walk into your version of Narnia or what?"

Raphael picked at the small bowl of nuts and watched as Mona pulled two beers from the tap, just out of earshot.

"Look, I brought you over 'cause I thought you could handle a night out."

"Me? Handle it?" Michelangelo retorted in a forced whisper, "How is no-one flipping out over us."

Raphael swung his focus back to Michelangelo and lowered his voice: "Take a look around. We ain't the only flies in the soup. 'Sides. This place has a rule: No Questions. So just — " Raphael patted at the air in a mime of restraint.

…be cool.

Michelangelo took up the invitation to gawk, this time lingering a touch longer at the assorted patrons. He could tell one thing straight away — Raphael was right about this not being a regular crowd of humans, and despite being obscured in a haze of shadow and smoke, they all seemed to share a few things in common: Abnormal. Freakish. Deformed. And whatever the hell category he and his brother happened to fall under.

"Relax, bro. You're talking to the cool master."

Raphael rubbed his tortured face: "This was a bad idea."

"Listen" Michelangelo insisted, "I'm gonna be so cool ya gonna catch a cold."

"Ah-huh."

"Icy."

"Sure."

"Just like you."

"Doubtful."

"So… you wouldn't mind if I asked Mona out after her shift?"

Raphael snapped-to with panic: "What?"

"It's like you said, right? There aren't too many girls that don't run when they see us."

Raphael's torture morphed into terror. Having ever so accurately found the root of the outing, Michelangelo merely laughed and patted his brother's shell.

"Hey, if you wanted a wingman why didn't you just say so?"

"Mikey, I swear ta God if you-"

He was stopped short as Mona reappeared and dropped two foaming IPAs on the counter. Beads of moisture dripped from the frosted glass.

"Here you go, guys."

Barely concealing his amusement, he watched as an anguished Raphael picked up his drink and finish a quarter of it in one big gulp. Michelangelo traced the condensation down the incline of the glass, trying to piece the situation together. He gave a cursory nod at the bar, which in all technicality, was the best one he'd ever been to.

"So… Mona. Is this place yours?"

There went the first commandment.

"Me?" she said with a slight surprise, "No. I started here a few years back after being discharged, and I guess I liked it enough to hang around."

"It's really…" he tried to find the words before he spotted a seven foot giant feeding quarters into a 50s style jukebox,"something."

"I'm glad you like it 'cause we have the best patrons in the city."

"Really? Even Raph, here?"

He glanced over to Raphael, who had seemingly frozen mid sip.

Mona didn't take the bait. She chuckled in a perfect mix of honey and gravel, an alluring effect that had Michelangelo grinning along.

"Your brother warned me about you."

"Funny, 'cause Raph should come with a warning himself. "

He heard Raphael choke on his drink after that one, and preemptively swung his shins away from any wayward kick. She leaned on the counter, this time serving a sidelong assessment.

"Should he?"

"Oh yeah, he's a broody one."

"Really?"

"The broodiest."

"Don't listen to my brother, he's all hot air." Raphael interjected at long last, "You get used to it."

Michelangelo twirled his hand, "And is that a good trait you think? Or…"

"Broodiness or hot air?"

Raphael snickered beside him as Mona laughed.

"Ohhh, I see. She has spirit. Round one to you."

All was going to plan.

Mona briefly tapped the brooch she had pinned to her top. He had seen the blue phoenix motif in various parts of the room and figured it was part of the branding. But the name of the bar was nowhere. Which made sense. Secret bar and all.

"Brooding is practically what this place is made for." she explained, "It's much more preferable to the occasional drunken fistfight — not that I can't handle those too, if I need to."

"I don't doubt it — look at those guns!"

Mona flexed a bicep making her tattoo of an Americana style panther head bulge: "Don't make me use 'em."

"I can see why Raph likes you." he said with a wide grin.

Raphael erupted into a coughing fit, and pounded his chest until it stopped, "As a bartender."

"Yeah, of course. That's what I meant."

"Well, speaking as a bartender, it's nice to be appreciated."

Her attention was snagged by a pair of women with an odd gait arriving the far end of the bar. They couple tittered to themselves, oblivious to the mutants in their vicinity. On a further look, Michelangelo noticed that the two were conjoined at the hip.

"Excuse me, guys."

"That is never not gonna be weird. " he mused, watching as she promptly got to making a Long Island Iced Tea, the riddle of which he only solved after she had dumped cola on top of about 10 kinds of liquor and slipped in a lemon slice.

"What?"

"Not getting attention."

Raphael looked up from his drink, "Mikey, she's gotta serve other people."

"Not, not from — from everyone else! It's like we're invisible. It's weird. Don't you think it's weird?"

"Nope." He took another swig.

From the far end of the bar, Mona wrangled with a cocktail more complicated than the first. Above the slosh of ice and syrup and tequila being shook together, she winked back. Michelangelo decided right there and then:

"I like her."

There was a quiet moment between them where the pool balls clacked above a Journey classic. Raphael was the first to break the silence.

"Yeah?"

"And I think she might like you, too."

Raphael dragged a heavy hand down his face, "Jesus H. Christ, now I know how Donnie felt."

"That bad, huh?"

"About your meddlin', genius."

"Me? I've just been sitting here doing my thing."

Raphael leveled an unimpressed glare.

"Okay, okay. I'll be cool. Really."

"Yeah? Coz I heard that song and dance of yours but two minutes ago."

"Scout's honor."

"Mikey." Raphael said matter-of factly as he took another swig, "You've never been a boy scout. And if I wanted to go drinkin' with one, I woulda brought Leo."

…

Over an hour and a drink later, Michelangelo had already found out more about Mona than anyone in the entire bar save the government. He couldn't help but notice that Raphael seemed… what was that look on him called again… happy? And although he was unsure at first, there were tells that Mona was similarly intrigued by his brother. Such as the way she gravitated back towards them upon serving any customers. The demonstrations of her rudimentary Japanese from her time stationed at Okinawa. But it was the way she casually watched Raphael's reaction to anything they said that had really clued him in. So, it went without saying — Raphael would be completely oblivious.

"Are you gonna do this or what?"

"Do what?"

"Seriously, Raphie?"

Raphael swiveled his back to Mona. Not that she had much chance of overhearing anyway, in the middle of pouring a tray of beers for the giant.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed.

"I mean, I don't make a habit of it. But for real. You need to ask her out."

"What if she says no… what if she laughs at me? I could never come back here."

"And how long have you been coming back here, Raph, trying to shoot your shot?"

Raphael grumbled something incoherent. Michelangelo gave a dry chuckle as he slipped his hoodie back over his head.

"That's what I thought. And all this time you had us all so convinced you and Casey were watching baseball from the bleeders. Your deflection game is on point, brah."

"Where are you off ta?"

"Little turtles room." Mikey said, looking over his shoulder for the bathroom signs, "Just keep talking. How could she not like you?"

Raphael grunted.

"She wasn't talkin' ta me. She was talkin' to you."

"Au contraire. I was just your happy conduit for the night."

"Give it a rest. I'm not bothering someone paid to serve us drinks. She probably gets losers hittin' on her every day."

Michelangelo had to admit, he had a point.

"Fine, dude. You do you. It's just — "

Raphael frowned, "What?"

"There was a vibe."

"A-huh."

"Trust. She mighta been talking to me, but she was all about you."

Raphael looked stunned. He placed his drink gently down. He went to say something but his mouth went from open to closed to a silent frown.

Then, finally: "Sure."

Michelangelo had had his fill of the defeatism.

"Look: how about you stop worrying about what you're not, and start reading the room?"

As if on cue, Mona returned with a fresh pair of beers in hand, "These are from the Tai and Tou-Mou, the women that was just here? They say, 'Welcome to the The Underground.' And before you say anything, I know you've been here before Raph, but why turn down a free drink?"

She dropped the pints down as both Michelangelo and Raphael swung their attention to where the ladies sat. Tai and Tou-Mou, the asian conjoined twins in their late fifties, gave a smile and a wave which they promptly returned. Michelangelo took a quick sip then stood up.

"Just getting some fresh air. I'll be back before my drink warms up."

"His code for the bathroom." Raphael supplied.

Michelangelo gave his brother a lighthearted punch on the shoulder, before addressing Mona: "Thanks for looking out for my brother here. Believe it or not, he's real chatty once you get him out of his shell."

If looks could kill, Michelangelo would have been incinerated.

…

It was when Michelangelo was leaving the utilitarian bathroom (the industrial decor of which that reminded him too much of home to be a novel experience) that he got his next surprise.

"Professor?"

At a small table under the splash of neon purple light, sat his old acquaintance, wearing his familiar oversized jacket and taqiyah atop his graying dreads. Although it was the Professor's booming chuckle that had initially fired off his recognition sensors, it was what the he said next that really sold it.

"Two Fingers! Long time no see - in a manner of speaking, of course!"

Next to the Professor sat an even older gentleman, with eyeglass frames as thick as pencils and a Camel permanently attached to his lips.

"How did you know?" he mumbled around his cigarette, after a cursory glance at Michelangelo's mutant hand, where the Professor's inside joke accidentally made a point.

"It is a bit of an trick, isn't that right, Michelangelo?"

"He always starts low."

"I always start low." the Professor confirmed with a tap of the nose.

Not that the Professor could confirm any such test. Being certifiably blind since the day they had first met.

"I had been hesitant to speak it aloud," the Professor began, "but I thought I had recognized the voice of the other patron at the bar. It has been many years, and I must admit, his voice has matured. But it is unmistakable."

"Yep. My brother's up at the bar."

"Lucky fella." the other man commented, almost as an aside, only removing his cigarette to tap it into the ashtray.

"Lucky?" Michelangelo glanced back at the bar, "Why's that?"

"Seems like Mona has taken quite the liking to him."

The revelation snagged Michelangelo's interest anew.

"How can you tell? I mean, I suspected… but how do you know?"

"Hmph." the old man grunted in amusement,"He really doesn't know."

The Professor laughed once again, "Exactly, dear friend. I have not heard her so vibrant since her break-up with that Weasel fellow over a year ago.

"Mona is not known to be the chatty type, even at the best of times." Tap Tap, Ash Ash. "Cordial, yes. Chatty, no."

Michelangelo whipped his head to where Raphael was in mid conversation with Mona. A smokey peal of her laughter rang bright above jazz number the jukebox was spitting out. Even his brother donned one of those mythical smiles.

"Wait." Michelangelo said, his stomach turning to ice, "Weasel? As in the The Mob? As in Lieutenant Weasel?"

"The one and the same, although you did not hear it from me."

"She barely got away alive." glasses-man said, his cigarette going along for the ride. "This place and these people gives a shield of sorts."

"Where are my manners?" The Professor perked up in his chair, "This is my friend Gene, the finest saxophonist on the East coast, if I do say so myself."

Michelangelo gestured towards himself.

"Mikey. Heh. I don't get to do too many introductions."

"You're in The Underground now. Things change." said Gene with and a greeting nod of his own, "And better believe that's a damn good thing."

"There's many reasons to end up in The Underground, but we all have a reason." The Professor added with his unique upbeat inflection.

"Trust me, I know all about being underground. So." he tipped his head toward the bar, "The Weasel guy. Is he gonna be a problem?"

"Tell your brother to watch his back. Weasel is known to be possessive of things he no longer possesses."

"Don't worry, Professor, our backs are extra protected."

This time it was Gene's turn to laugh.

…

Back at the lair, Donatello was midway typing when he was interrupted by a hasty knock at his lab door. He rolled up straight in his chair and yelled out across his tech jammed room — where computers hummed and tools sat astray — towards the sealed door.

"Yeah?!"

"Donnie, can I talk for a moment?"

Leo. Sounding the faintest bit stressed through the metal— although it would have taken years for any layman to discern that particular tone from their otherwise collected brother.

"Yeah, come in."

The door opened with a hiss. Leonardo made his way toward the computer desk dodging an acetylene torch here and and a microscope bench there without even a glance. He came to a halt in front of the security hub, swords loose in his hands. He sniffed the air with a distasteful look.

"Did you burn something in here?"

"Yes. No. Well, sort of not really."

"It kind of smells like burnt plastic."

"It was nothing. Just a tiny problem with... nevermind, it's taken care of." He wheeled himself in front of the disassembled laser diode he'd been trying to rig to a gyroscope, wishing he'd covered the whole damn thing with tarp before Leonardo spotted the evidence, "Can I help you with something?"

Leonardo almost looked as if he were going to object but pressed on with his original intent.

"Do you know where the others went?"

Donatello leaned so far back on his chair it screeched, then shrugged.

"Didn't even know they were gone."

"Right, right." Leonardo muttered, mostly to himself, his gaze drifting to the raft of security screens that displayed various tunnels around the lair. All of them seemed frozen aside from the occasional scurrying rat or floating bit of garbage.

"Could we use the emergency locator to find them?"

"Why? What's going on?" He glanced down at Leonardo's katana, "Some kind of emergency?"

"Not exactly."

"Look, I know you're concerned… but we can't go interrupting each others privacy on a whim. When I installed the beacon app we all lay down some ground rules, remember? Do you really want to be the one to break them?

Leonardo flinched, "Of course not."

"And besides, you've also been known to disappear for—"

"Training."

"Mm. Training. Okay. Anyway, we've never once looked up where you went, and don't think Raph never asked."

Leonardo was either too deep in denial or too practiced to look guilty.

"This is insane. Splinter's not here to keep Raph in check when he goes off the rails, let alone Mikey's feet on the ground. What are we supposed to do? Let them come back with limbs missing?"

"We don't even know if anything's even happened yet."

Leonardo slumped down onto a stool and sheathed his katana in one smooth motion.

"Fine." His toes tapped in gaining momentum on the ground, before coming to an abrupt halt. "How long before we can look?"

Donatello plucked up his phone from his desk and opened the app he had installed.

"Once we leave the perimeter of the lair, we get 24 hours. Then the t-cell emergency beacon is activated. Unless you press this…" He indicated the reset button, before tossing the phone back down, "When did you notice them missing?"

Leonardo shrugged: "I've been running through some exercises for the last hour and I haven't heard a peep from Mikey since dinner. So, then, I guess."

"That's gives them another… hmmm, " Donatello glanced at the analogue clock mounted on his wall and clacked his tongue, "nineteen hours… give or take."

"It's after midnight already?!"

"Yep."

A crease formed between his eyes, "And what if something's happened to their phones?"

"Ah, well. That is just one of the many automated ways the beacon alarm is activated. Don't think I didn't learn anything from our run in with the Dragons. And if I recall, I still couldn't convince you to get airtag implants."

"Didn't you say that there was a risk of our location being visible to anyone within range?"

Donatello help his hands up in surrender: "Leo. Relax. They leave the lair all the time."

Leonardo gave a small dispirited exhale, "It's not that they left. It's just that — do you remember what happened the last time those two went out together this long?"

Donatello's thoughts reeled back over the last few months. From memory, Michelangelo did have a way of accidentally stumbling into trouble. And Raphael did have a habit of aggressively acting on any trouble he stumbled into. Good ol' Nitro and Glycerine.

Last time… last time.

The recollection hit hard. Oh, that's right. When Mikey and Raph came across the Foot laying underwater explosives near the docks. And came back with shrapnel lodged in their shells. Yep. That last time. That was an unnerving end to an otherwise regular day.

"You have a point. But, you know, you could just message them and see where they are."

"No… I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because, it'd be like I was invading their… privacy." he finished lamely, ensnared by perfect reasoning of his brother.

Donatello swiveled back to his computer, smacking the space bar and bringing the screen back to life.

"Then I guess we wait."

...

Before Michelangelo had even sat back down on the bar stool, Raphael had accosted him:

"Who were you talkin' to back there?"

"Ya never gonna believe it."

Raphael shrugged, hand upturned, "Who?"

"The Professor."

"Huh. No kiddin'. I thought he was dead."

"Not unless this bar has ghosts, too."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing much. Just that—"

Mona might have caught feelings for ya. Oh yeah, and her psycho mobster ex is not completely out of the picture— Weasel, maybe you've heard of him? He's shot a few rounds at us before?

"I'll tell ya later."

In the alley, he promised himself. Once they got there, he would clue his brother in. No point now when the chances of Raphael tripping over his own feet were guaran-fucking-teed at the slightest bit of disturbance in the force.

To his relief, Raphael dismissed the brush off with a shrug, far more interested in the present company, as Mona reappeared. She leaned on the counter, her hand resting on the curve of her waist.

"So, Mikey, your brother here tells me you like to go online and give Agony Aunt advice to the masses."

Michelangelo looked taken aback. Well, he hoped he looked taken aback. In reality he was highly amused that this is what Raphael had been talking to Mona about.

"Is that what he said? Huh."

At least Raphael had the temerity to look guilty.

"I just like testing out our dad's advice, see if it plays out in the real world."

"And?"

"Our dad was a wise man."

"I'll drink to that." Raphael mumbled with a quick swill. The two brothers gave a sombre clink of their glasses.

"But I'm sure I got nothing on you." he added, "I mean a bar? That has to be advice HQ."

"Don't believe what you see in the movies. I let people be. It's usually the safest course of action around a pint or two."

"Let me guess. My bro here is not much of a spiller."

"I know somethin' I could spill. " Raphael mumbled under his breath.

Michelangelo swung an arm around his shoulder, "He's a strong but silent type."

Raphael picked up a single peanut and crunched down.

"Get yer arm off me."

"A thinker; not a talker." Michelangelo said.

Mona's smile rivaled that of her namesake's painting… although Michelangelo suspected she was more than well aware that Raphael fitted into the brawler category. Being built like a brick shit house tended to give that impression.

"I think on my bike. I come here for the atmosphere."

"You ride?"

Raphael popped another peanut in and nodded.

"Ever get up to the Catskills?" she asked with a tick of her eyebrow.

"Only a month ago."

"Your girl must like it."

"Girl?" Raphael looked taken aback: " There's, uh, there's no girl. Not like that, anyway."

Mona's face went bright red, "Oh…Ah — I'm sorry. My mistake."

Michelangelo, detecting a further story, pressed on: "No way— you've seen one of us out in the wild! We're usually so good with the ninja thing, but I guess we do have our slip-ups."

"With someone." Raphael concluded astutely.

"Yea, but who?"

Raphael shot a curious look at his brother, but Michelangelo just shrugged. It hadn't been him. And he couldn't imagine Donnie and April being around this part of town without hearing about it… however, it was not uncommon to see another certain faction around Chinatown. They arrived at the same conclusion within moments.

"That makes sense." Raphael muttered, his voice strangely even.

Mona steeled for a reaction.

"I really shouldn't have— "

"No, no. This is actually, ah, pretty helpful." Raphael said, almost gentle: "Did you get a good look at the human?"

She shifted uneasily, the word 'human' hanging alien-like in the air.

"Not really. It was over a month ago and dark and —" she placed a polished glass onto the bar towel, "I was on break, looked up at a nearby building and saw who I thought was you. With someone. A girl. I thought you might drop by, and when you didn't, I just thought you'd just changed your mind."

"The girl. Was she Japanese?" Raphael asked, even as could be.

"Maybe? I think so."

For more than an uncomfortable moment, they locked gazes. Michelangelo grabbed a handful of nuts and crunched into the silence. Stale peanut goodness always so went well with family drama.

"That's our Leo." he said to neither of them in particular.

Raphael merely grunted, having obviously come to the same conclusion.

"Our brother." he added.

A brief flash of understanding crossed her face.

"I'm sorry… I didn't know." Mona regathered herself and stood up straight, the soldier in her unmistakable. "So, how much trouble did I land him in?"

"None. Nothing. Don't worry about it." Raphael assured her in a tone that could almost be mistaken as a gentle, "Just confirmed something is all."

Raphael's mouth clamped into a straight line, as he bored his attention to the bubbles in his beer. Still waters run deep, Michelangelo had once heard Donatello say. But it didn't take a genius to figure out that Leonardo had been meeting up with the beguiling XO of their sworn enemy. And for what purpose? Michelangelo doubted it was anything as serious as betrayal. But still… the secrecy was hard to ignore. Their family was small, and this crux far too big to hide.

Catching Mona's eye, Michelangelo tipped his head towards his brother. She, too had also detected the seismic shift in Raphael's mood. Perk of the job, Michelangelo supposed.

See? Brooding.

"I'm really— let me make it up to you." Mona produced two shot glasses from behind the bar and leveled them with vodka despite the slight tremble in her hand. "I think I owe you one."

"No, no." Raphael corrected quickly, "You got this all wrong. If you see her again, avoid her like the plague. Trust me on this. She's trouble."

Michelangelo pointed at his brother, "What he said."

"And I won't a say word. To your boss. Or our brother. No-one."

As big of a stick this new information was to beat down on Leonardo, Michelangelo believed him.

"Ninjas our name; Secrets our game."

Comma like dimples appeared alongside her relieved smile. She slipped a lock behind her ear and let her nails run along her jaw. A slim silver ring was on her index finger.

"Oh God, I thought I was going to get your brother into some serious shit and I'd end up fired."

"Relax, girl." Michelangelo said with a laugh, having successfully skated around that relationship killing minefield that Raphael almost stamped into, "We're a coupla chill dudes. Right, Raph?"

He swung his brother a look that he hoped telepathically emoted: DON'T FUCK THIS UP. Fortunately, he need not have worried.

"You didn't start nothin', and you don't owe us nothin', I mean it. An' if you join us with this shot, I'd consider it an honor."

Honor. Michelangelo had never heard Raphael utter the word so sincerely. Clearly, Leo and Raph both had very different versions of it.

She gave a consenting nod and brought out third shot glass, filling it to the brim with a noxious clear liquid that may as well of had rocket fuel fumes emanating from its surface. The background chatter of the bar seemed to come back into focus.

Michelangelo took it as his cue, holding his shot high -

"To… Honor?"

"Sounds good ta me."

"No — wait, wait, wait. How about: To Barnia?"

On their confused looks, Michelangelo added, "Like Narnia… with a bar? C'mon guys, don't leave me hanging here!"

"To Barnia." They chanted and within seconds the vodka was no more.

…

Two more shots later and Raphael's head was swimming. Mixing beer and vodka might not have been the best idea, but it was otherwise a relatively tame night compared to the occasional blinders he and Casey had subjected themselves to. Nonetheless, Raphael sat quiet at the bar, knowing from experience that it was the wisest course of action for his mouth after a few too many. Michelangelo looked equally bleary eyed and happier than ever… if that was even fucking possible. His brother swayed towards him.

"Okay, Raphie. I'm bouncing."

"Uh, gimme a minute. I'll catch up with you out the back in the alley."

"Yeah. Sure." He went to say something else but once again pretended to lock his mouth. Instead, he unsteadily clapped him on the shell and got to his feet.

"'Night, Fair Mona." he said with a finger waggle over his shoulder.

Raphael and Mona exchanged an amused glance as Michelangelo started off the wrong way before spinning and realigning himself toward the exit. Even under the influence, his balance was laudable.

"Your brother, hey?" Mona noted, her eyes following him as he slipped out the back. It didn't take long. One second, maybe two, and he was gone.

"Yeah, ah - sorry 'bout that."

"You know… for a minute, I thought you'd found another bar."

"Me?" he said, a little confused, "There a whole lotta drinking holes for mutants 'round here?"

"You'd be surprised."

"No kiddin'?"

"It's a fact, Jack. One second — ."

A young man with a handle bar mustache, about Mona's age, approached the bar. Raphael pretended not to watch them, realizing her interactions with him were almost indistinguishable with his own. His brother was wrong. Mona was a knock out. Every chump in the joint was probably hung up on her. And she was polite enough to slap them on the ass and send them on their way. At least his cowardice had saved him from the embarrassment of the same fate. He frowned at the tiny bubbles rising in the amber liquid. Bitter and Cold. He could relate.

Mustache guy walked away with his drink and a shit eating grin. Mona began wiping down the counter, the tattoos he had admired glistening beneath the spotlights.

As the fifth Stevie Ray song in row faded out and Alannah Myles' Black Velvet ramped up, Raphael took a last swig and put his empty glass down.

"Guess that's my cue. Thanks."

He placed some crisp twenties on the counter, enough to cover the tab and then some.

"Your brother's right you know."

Raphael froze, what in fresh hell had she overheard? "Come again?"

"You're really chatty when you come out of your shell."

A flash of shame pulsed through him.

"Yer teasin' me."

She gave a quiet laugh, one that had his made his heart ache with a feeling he dare not name.

"No. I think you talk just the right amount."

"Oh." Then, painfully aware of how he hadn't accepted her compliment, added: "Uh, thanks. Again, sorry 'bout Mikey."

"Don't be." she said with a shrug and a grin, "He's cute."

Raphael's gut clenched. Of course she would like Mikey. Who the hell didn't he win over with his laid back charm? The kind of charm that could even crack their Master? The kind of charm that had actually snagged a woman? Who was he kidding sitting here like a goddamn Easter Island statue?

"Must run in the family."

He flicked his attention back up to her, the breath quite literally knocked out of him: "Huh?"

Mona grabbed a business card and pen and scrawled a number on the rear. She leaned over the counter top, and slipped it into the breast pocket of his jacket. She retracted the pen nib with a click of her thumb and tossed it back down.

"Don't be a stranger, Stranger."

Before he got a chance to respond, she turned on her heel and made way towards a customer at the other end of the bar. He tapped down the card in his pocket, afraid it had disappeared; then glanced around at the odds and ends sitting at their smoggy tables, wondering if anyone else had caught it.

...