Chapter Text
April was running late. She and Irma had made plans to go out for breakfast, but a source she’d been trying to pin down for weeks had finally gotten back to her saying he was available for an interview first thing this morning. There was no question at all it had been a bad faith offer, that he’d never expected her to agree to meet him on a weekend, but April had called his bluff and arranged to meet him at the new coworking space in the Financial District. He’d kept her waiting of course, showing up well after their agreed upon time in the hopes that she would have given up and left. But April had known exactly what he was doing and stuck it out. The look on his face when he finally arrived, tennis racket in hand, to see her lounging in the black rolling chair waiting for him, smiling her most dazzling smile, had been priceless. They completed the interview and he grumbled something, loudly, about having to pay a fee for no-showing his tennis lesson as he stomped out. April paid him no mind, busy dashing off a quick text to Irma saying she was on her way before rushing the several blocks to the café her friend had chosen. She paused outside to catch her breath and spotted Irma through the front window, seated in one of the booths near the counter, facing the door.
“Irma, I’m so sorry,” April said in a rush when she reached the table. She started to explain about the morning’s interview but stopped short when she noticed the young man in a soft grey sweater sitting on the other bench.
“Hey April,” Irma said brightly and gestured to the man. “This is Charles.”
“Hi,” April said, eyeing him uncertainly.
“Charles is Matt’s friend from back home. Moved to the City a few months ago.”
“Aha.”
Irma picked up her purse and slid out of the booth. “Well, I have to go. You guys enjoy your breakfast.”
April shifted out of the way to let her pass and watched her slip out the door of the café. As soon as she was out of sight, she turned back to Charles. “Did you know about this?”
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “She just asked if I wanted to get a cup of coffee.”
“I see. You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
His face went suddenly pale. “Uh, I get nauseous at the sight of blood.”
“Hm. Of course if you were a serial killer, you wouldn’t come right out and say it, right?”
“Right,” he said slowly. “Do you . . . generally make a habit of asking people you’ve been set up with if they have a history of committing murder?”
April winced. She didn’t really want to say the last person she’d gone on a date with had indeed turned out to be a serial killer, or that she had come scarily close to being one of his victims. And since she’d never told Irma about it, she couldn’t blame her for not knowing it had put her off dating for a while. Only two people knew the full story of what had happened. One of them she’d confided in, the other had been the one to step in and save her. And he’d gone and disappeared yet again, not a word in weeks. . .
“Um, hello?”
She blinked, jolted out of her thoughts. Charles was frowning up at her in concern.
“Um. . . Been watching too many detective shows,” she mumbled, wondering how long she’d been staring off into space. “Sorry, this started . . . badly. Do over?”
He nodded. “Hi, I’m Charles.”
“April,” she said with a small smile as she slid into the booth.
“So, how do you know Irma?”
“We work together. And, she lives across from me.”
Further conversation was paused when the waitress appeared at the end of their table at that moment, order pad and pen in hand.
“Are we ready to order?” she said, smiling cheerily at April.
“Coffee and . . . ” She made a face. “Ah, sorry. Haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet.”
“Their crepes are really good,” Charles suggested. “If you like sweet, highly recommend the Berries and Cream. The berry syrup drizzled on top is made from scratch each morning.”
“Okay, I’ll have that,” April said gratefully, handing her menu to the waitress. Charles ordered a Cinnamon Swirl crepe for himself. The waitress poured April’s coffee, then disappeared into the kitchen to put their orders in.
Their breakfast progressed pleasantly enough. April could see why Irma thought she and Charles might hit it off. He was charming and sweet — and correct about the berry syrup being delicious. He’d moved to the City for a job managing one of the neighborhood banks, but prior to that hadn’t traveled more than a few miles outside his hometown. Pleasant meal or no, they parted ways after settling the bill without exchanging numbers or making plans to meet up again. April fumed the whole way back to her apartment building.
“How’d it go?” Irma asked, looking up from the magazine she’d been reading on her couch when April stormed in.
“Irma, I can not believe you did that!”
“Hey, you were the one saying you wanted to find a nice, normal guy not so long ago. Something about balancing out all the weirder things you get involved with?”
April remembered that conversation. She’d recently reunited with an old college friend, but whatever might have kindled between them had been snuffed out immediately when she was dragged off to another dimension by an alien bounty hunter. By the time that episode was resolved, she’d been entrusted with a secret that, back then, she never could have known would come to influence many other events in her life. Overwhelmed and unsure about what to, she’d flung herself into becoming average City resident thinking if she just walked away, she wouldn’t have to deal with it. But, as she’d since come to understand, ignoring something doesn’t make it go away. It only makes it loom larger.
“And,” Irma continued. “Matt was saying Charles’d been having a hard time meeting people since moving to the City. . . ”
“Oh, Matt was in on this?” April said, taking a seat on the couch. Irma closed her magazine and folded it into her lap. “So it wasn’t a case of you have a boyfriend now so you want me to have one too?”
“Well, it would make it easier to go on couples dates,” Irma said in an undertone. April grabbed a throw pillow and hit her lightly on the shoulder with it. “Hey!” Irma feigned offense. “No, but seriously, he’s a nice guy and I thought it would be good for you. You need to have more men in your life that aren’t a mutant, a co-worker, or your boss. In all the time I’ve known you, I don’t remember you ever being attached to anyone for long. Except for bug guy. Whatever happened to him?”
“Turns out we wanted very different things in life.” Specifically, he wanted to kill her and she wanted to not be killed. “It was never going to work out.”
“Aww that’s too bad,” Irma said, unaware of how April’s face had darkened at being reminded yet again about that terrifying night. “Buuut, on the other hand, it freed you up to meet Charles.”
April laughed. “You are hopeless!”
Irma grinned at her. “So. How did it go?”
“It went well,” April sighed. “You’re right, he’s nice and very normal. But, sorry to ruin your grand scheme, I have no plans to see him again.” She told Irma about how neither of them had suggested exchanging contact info.
“Hey you never know. If it’s meant to be, maybe you’ll find each other again.”
April smiled and shook her head. Irma was such a romantic. Though she supposed there were worse things you could do than wish your friends the same happiness you’d found. “Have you told Matt yet that that’s not me in those photos he took for the Chamber of Commerce?”
“Nope.” Irma picked up her magazine again and pointedly flipped through it. “And I don’t plan to. Not until we’ve been married for about five years first. Minimum.” She flicked a hand at April. “So if you could keep your weirdness from spilling over onto me until then, that’d be great.”
“Oh you mean like the weirdness that led to you meeting him in the first place?” April teased. Irma licked her fingers and turned the page of her magazine but couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across her face. “Believe me, if I never get body swapped with a cat again, I will be very happy."
The rest of the weekend passed without further mention of Charles or their breakfast date. April had all but forgotten about him until midway through the following week when Burne Thompson assigned her to cover the strike at a locally-owned supermarket chain in Lower City. She got there early to get footage of the picket line, interview several of the workers, and gather some soundbites from a few of the shoppers that had come out to protest in solidarity. When she had everything she needed for her piece, she stopped into a nearby bakery cafe for a late breakfast before heading back to Channel 6. All she really wanted was a muffin or a bagel, but this place didn’t seem to have either listed on their rather elaborate menu. She was standing at the counter reading the descriptions of the breakfast sandwiches when she heard someone behind her say her name.
“Oh, Charles! Hi!” she said, a little embarrassed it had taken her a minute to recognize him in the light green dress shirt tucked neatly into dark pants. “What are you doing —wait, are you stalking me?”
“I . . . honestly can’t tell if you’re joking,” he said. “I live right around the corner and —“
“Hey Charles,” the girl behind the counter called out, holding up a to-go cup and white paper bag. “Your order’s ready.”
“Come here pretty regularly,” he finished.
April groaned. “First I ask if you’re a serial killer, then if you’re stalking me. I must seem like the most paranoid person ever.”
“Maybe not ever,” he said, reaching around her to pick up his items off the counter. “But if you start wearing tinfoil hats and going on about alien invasions I might need to reconsider.” April laughed nervously. If only he knew how often the City was threatened by would-be conquerors from another dimension. “Try the tomato and feta scone.” He gestured to the menu with his coffee cup. “Sounds like it should be super dense but they’re really light and buttery.”
“Thanks,” she said with a grateful smile. Charles nodded and turned to go. “Hey, Charles?” He paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder. “What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?”
***
“Oh hey April, forgot to mention,” Michelangelo said as he spread the pizza boxes on the coffee table in the lair. “We’re going to the Pizza Festival at City Hall Plaza next Thursday, and then maybe checking out the Classics of Horror night at the Miller Theater. Think this month they’re showing that one about the ghost that haunts a theatre in Paris. You in?”
“Ah, can’t sorry,” she said, opening up the box with the sausage and pepper pizza and sliding a slice onto her plate. “Going to see the ballet that night. Charles got us tickets.”
“Ooooh,” Irma said with a knowing look that April pretended not to see.
“Who’s Charles?” Raphael said, then scowled. “Aw man, you aren’t dating again, are you?”
“I am not dating Charles. He’s just a friend.”
“Who bought you tickets to the ballet?” Michelangelo asked skeptically.
“I mentioned I wanted to see this show — haven’t been to a ballet in years. Really, I think he’s more interested in going to the new restaurant that opened in the Opera House. Apparently, the Executive Chef is pretty famous.” She licked tomato sauce off her thumb. “Won a bunch of awards.”
“Wow,” Donatello said, eyes wide in wonder. “That place is really fancy.” April shrugged. She didn’t know much about it besides Charles saying it was one of the places he’d been most looking forward to seeing since moving to the City.
“Didn’t you get lunch with him a couple times last week?” Irma said innocently.
“Yes, and I’m having dinner with friends now and you wouldn’t say I’m dating any of you. So how is this any different?”
“Ah, you mean besides the obvious?” Raphael said. April rolled her eyes.
“Okay guys, enough,” Leonardo chided. “April, we’ll miss you next week, but hope you have a good time at the ballet.”
“Thank you, Leonardo,” April said, flashing the others a smug look.
“I just hope you’re not going to start expecting caviar on your pizzas from now on,” he added with a teasing smile.
“You guys are terrible,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “All of you."
***
“Probably for the best April didn’t come with us since she has to work tomorrow morning,” Leonardo said as the turtles strolled down the sidewalk to the sewer entrance a few blocks over from the Miller Theater.
“Think you mean this morning since it’s after midnight, now,” Donatello pointed out.
Their evening had started out well enough. They’d spent several hours wandering among the booths at the City Pizza Festival enjoying the music and sampling the offerings from the more than thirty pizzerias in attendance at this year’s event. Things started going awry when they left City Hall Plaza to go to the movie at the Miller Theater. Really, the large crowd of people gathered in front of the building should have been their first clue that the rest of their night wasn’t going to go as planned. When they got a bit closer, they could hear someone shouting something. A young employee was balanced on a step stool in front of the door, straining to be heard over the noise of the assembled group as they explained there was a problem with the projector. They were confident it would be fixed, but couldn’t say how long it would take. The turtles decided to wait it out but more than a few people grew impatient and left, uttering a few choice phrases as they departed. It was nearly an hour later when another employee came out to announce the projector had been fixed. This news was met with a cheer and applause from everyone that had stayed. The doors were propped open and the crowd slowly filtered into the lobby to buy their tickets and refreshments, then to the auditorium to find their seats.
When everyone was seated, the house lights dimmed, prompting a hush of anticipation to settle over the room, but the screen remained dark. Several uncertain minutes ticked by, then the lights came back up and the manager hurried out to explain they were still dealing with some issues with the projector but he was certain it would be working again in just a few minutes. A disappointed grumble rippled through the audience, but everyone seemed to agree that since they’d made it this far, they might as well stay. It was almost another hour before the lights went down again and the movie finally started.
“I dunno, she’ll probably be bummed she missed out on that blueberry and goat cheese pizza,” Michelangelo said. “I know I’m going to be dreaming about it for the next several weeks at least.”
“Speaking of things April’s missing out on,” Raphael said, pointing to two hulking shapes emerging from a hardware store ahead of them. “Is that Bebop and Rocksteady?”
“Man, what’re those two doing out past curfew?” Michelangelo muttered.
“Well, one way to find out,” Leonardo said.
The turtles followed silently behind the other two mutants, keeping to the shadows between the buildings and occasionally climbing up onto the rooftops to stay out of sight. Unnecessary as it turned out since neither of their targets bothered to maintain any kind of awareness of their surroundings, and there was nobody else out and about at this late hour. Eventually they came to an abandoned auto repair shop on a deserted strip of road. Bebop and Rocksteady entered the squat building through a side door while the turtles circled around to the back, scaled the side and climbed through a broken window onto a balcony that extended the length of the back wall of the service bay. They crouched in front of the railing and looked down. The garage seemed to have been converted into some kind of improvised laboratory. Metal shelves lined with glass jars filled with strange chemicals leaned against the wall beside the door Bebop and Rocksteady had just come in through and a large, complicated-looking machine occupied the far corner beside the large garage doors. Donatello shook his head in response to Leonardo’s questioning look. No, he didn’t know what it was or what it did. Shredder stood in front of a set of metal tables arrayed with tools and more glass jars near the remaining side wall. He set down the device he’d been tinkering with and turned to address the two henchmutants. The turtles tried to listen in but none of them could make out what he was saying.
“Man, I thought Shredder was better at projecting than that,” Raphael whispered.
“Maybe it’s just when he’s gloating,” Donatello suggested.
“Let’s see if we can get a little closer,” Leonardo said and started inching his way to the set of metal stairs at the end of the balcony that led down into the bay. Michelangelo’s foot nudged a wrench that had been left behind on platform when he stood to follow along behind. It teetered on the edge for a moment, then slipped over the side and clattered loudly on the cement floor below. He grinned sheepishly at the exasperated looks the other turtles directed at him. Shredder stopped talking abruptly and turned toward the sound. Bebop and Rocksteady followed suit, drawing their blasters on seeing the turtles but at a gesture from Shredder, held their fire.
“Doing things out of order here, aren’t we?” Shredder said dryly. The turtles had no trouble following what he said that time. “Isn’t Miss O’Neil supposed to come poking around first, then you four come riding in to rescue her?”
“Eh it’s good to break out of the routine every once in a while,” Raphael said. “You should give it a shot sometime. Maybe try being a productive member of society for a bit.”
“As tempting as that suggestion is.” Shredder waved his hand dramatically and a portal appeared between the garage doors behind him.
“Aww is that it?” Rocksteady whined.
“Yes,” Shredder snapped. “Go!”
“But,” Bebop threw his hands up. “You mean we ain’t even gonna—“ The weapon in his hand discharged as he waved it about. The blast shot across the room and struck the odd piece of machinery in the corner. Sparks immediately shot out from the buttons and knobs on the contraption’s front panel. The liquid in the glass jars on the shelves and table started swirling in response to the whirring sound the machine produced, churning faster as the buzzing rose in pitch until the containers were rattling against each other.
“Get down!” Donatello yelled, laying himself flat on his stomach and covering his ears. The others did the same while below them, Shredder shouted urgently at the two punks to go through the portal.
The explosion shook the whole building, knocking loose years of dust that floated down to mix with the thick cloud of smoke filling the room. Donatello lifted his head to peer over the railing. Flames were spreading rapidly over the floor, fueled by whatever chemicals had spilled when the glass jars shattered. There was no sign of the portal or the villains. “We have to get out of here,” he said. The turtles climbed to their feet and rushed toward the broken window.
“Hold it you guys, look.” Leonardo said, pointing to a figure sprawled in a clear patch of the ground, partially obscured by the haze. Shredder had been knocked back by the blast and now lay half on his side, one arm stretched out toward the encroaching flames. From this distance, it was hard to tell if he was still breathing. “Shredder’s hurt.”
“Yeah, well too bad for him,” Raphael said. “C’mon, we gotta go!”
“But we can’t leave him!”
"Yes we can! His minions’ll be back for him any minute.” Leonardo hesitated, looking back over his shoulder. Shredder hadn’t moved at all. The smoke was getting thicker, breathing becoming more difficult, and it had grown noticeably warmer as they stood there. If it was this bad up on the balcony, it had to be even worse on the floor below. There was a very real chance Shredder would die here if someone didn’t help him soon. “Leonardo!” Raphael snapped. “Leave him! He’d do the same for us!”
Leonardo set his jaw. “Which is exactly why we can’t leave him.” Spinning on his heel, he ran down the stairs and worked his way through the flames to the corner where Shredder lay. Now that he was closer, he could see Shredder was breathing, shallow but steady. Leonardo guessed his mask was likely preventing him from inhaling the smoke and whatever other fumes were being released into the air.
After rolling Shredder onto his back, Leonardo gripped him under the shoulders and started to drag him toward the side door. He could tell within the first couple of steps this would never work. Shredder was too heavy and the flames were spreading too quickly. They would cut him off long before he made it to the door. Maybe he could try to get one of the big garage doors open. But no, he would have to somehow get through the worst of the blaze to even reach the controls. And even if they still functioned, adding a sudden burst of oxygen to the fire could cause a flare-up. He stood there desperately running through the vanishingly few options still left when the other three turtles appeared out of the curtain of smoke.
“We are going to regret this,” Raphael snarled as he went around to grab one of Shredder’s feet. Michelangelo and Donatello took an arm and a leg each and, with a coordinated effort, the four turtles managed to lift the unconscious ninja off the ground.
“Ugh seriously, how much does this guy weigh?” Michelangelo groaned as they shuffled their way to the door.
“Ah, with or without all the metal?” Donatello said.
The fresh air outside was a welcome relief to their scorched lungs. The turtles dragged Shredder several yards away from the garage and dropped him unceremoniously on the grass. His hand brushed against Donatello’s leg as it fell; Donatello yelped in pain at the touch of the searing hot metal of Shredder’s gauntlet on his skin. He pulled off his elbow pads and wrapped them around his hands to protect them as he gripped the gauntlet and pried it off Shredder’s hand. Even in the weak light from the burning building behind them he could see the skin underneath was an angry, blistered red.
“Oof, that doesn’t look good,” Donatello said.
“Yeah, well that’s what you get when you take your fashion cues from a cheese grater,” Raphael grumbled.
Working quickly, Donatello removed the rest of Shredder’s armor, including his helmet and mask, to check the extent of his injuries. His left hand and forearm had the worst of it. There were a few spots on his face that had been singed by his mask but his other arm seemed fine, likely shielded from the worst of the heat by the way it had been tucked under his body. Donatello looked up at Leonardo, silently questioning what they should do now.
“City Fire’s bound to be here soon,” Raphael said impatiently. “Can we please go? We did our good job for the day.”
Leonardo started to agree when Shredder groaned loudly. Donatello hastily stood and backed away. The turtles all tensed when Shredder blinked his eyes open, but he merely stared up at them blearily and uttered a string of words in Japanese none of them understood.
Raphael rolled his eyes. “English, man. If you’re going to insult us, might as well know what you’re saying.”
Shredder licked his lips. “Who,” he said haltingly, as if struggling to find the words. “What are you?”