Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Christmas was many things, but the one word that could best describe it was frantic.

Frantic shoppers and frantic traffic.

For the population of New York City, there was very little time for real recreation, not when there were presents to purchase.

Christmas, even in present times, also still carried with it the Bob Cratchetts of the age; working tirelessly for their Ebenezer’s, and unlike that whimsical carol, there would be no ghosts to put their greedy notions to rest.

For those graced with enough good fortune not to be committed to the workplace, there were places to go where they could amuse themselves.

One such place came in the form of a nearby ice rink in the heart of Times Square. In the midst of descending snow and blusters of wind.

For a period that felt so out of control, many that glided across that rink felt like they could master just about anything.

Situated at the center of the rink was another mistress of her particular element. April O'Neil, ace reporter for Channel Six news, covering the jubilant activity for her station.

"This is April O'Neil live from Times Square in New York, where, as the countdown to Christmas slowly ticks away, many are flocking to the beautiful and bustling skating rink to take their minds off those scrambling to make it home and prepare their purchased presents for the big day in three days time when they will be unwrapped by family members young and old.

What will you be waking up to Christmas morning?

We'll be back with you live in a few hours when yours truly will be taking to the ice with the elegant, dynamic, mysterious and talented skater, our very own Phantom of the Arctic, see you then"

As the live feed was cut, April's assistant and cameraman Vernon was quick to criticize her.

"April, keep in mind kids are watching, drop a line about Saint Nick when we come back " he insisted.

April sighed.

"Santa? Why?" she asked.

"You don't want them to think he's not coming down the chimney do you?" Vernon snidely replied.

"Oh grow up Vernon, It's hard pressed to find any kid that believes in a Father Christmas anymore !" April countered.

"Mr. Thompson's nephews do, and if you want a big surprise this year in regards to bonuses, it's best you keep all children in mind !" Vernon replied.

"OK, fine, you win " April complied, with some resistance in her tone of voice, "But it’ll up to you to supply me with a Santa. If I'm going to drop a line about him, he may as well turn up"

"Oh leave that to me, I have the perfect candidate, it's a sure thing" Vernon replied.

A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Say, April?" he asked.

"What is it?" April said.

"Who is going to be our Phantom of the Arctic this year? Our usual talent quit Channel Six last month"

"Just you worry about finding me a Santa Vernon, I've got this covered...that is, if he says 'yes' to it" April replied.

April took to her handy Turtle-Com communicator and activated it.

A friendly face soon materialized on the main screen, that of April's best friend, the party animal of the four maverick mutants known as the Ninja Turtles: Michelangelo.

"Hey dudette, what's hanging?" Michelangelo said.

"You free?" April asked.

"As a bird, no wait, I'm a Turtle, scratch that" Michelangelo replied. April giggled, and pressed forward with her inquiry.

"Ok, that's covered, do you skate?”

"I'm a champ at that babe, got a real knack for the time I accidentally froze the whole lair" Michelangelo confessed.

"Well you better get back in the swing of things; I need you to put whatever skills you got to good use. Every year we stage a dance at the ice rink with a reporter and a ‘Phantom’ skater who whisks his partner off on a whirlwind routine. I've been selected for it this year, but our main man quit over a pay raise a month ago, and we've been in the lurch ever since. What do you say Mike, You up for it?"

"Gee April; I'm good at slipping and sliding, but dancing on ice? I think that's best left to British TV" Michelangelo admitted, scratching his head.

"Please, just talk it over with the guys, I'm sure they'll understand" April said.

"Oh yeah, of course, Raph would be totally up for it" Michelangelo replied, April wasn't impressed with this attempt at goalpost shifting.

"You’re to talk it over with them, not try and talk yourself out of this" she replied.

"Fine, you win...again" Michelangelo said.

"Just what I wanted to hear. Ciao" she said, and turned off the Turtle-com.

Vernon approached her yet again.

"Remember April, all the pick-up shots of the skaters are your responsibility. If you need any help, talk to the crew. This directing gig could lead to bigger things for you behind the cameras and bigger opportunities for me in front of it”

Mp>"Oh I’ll ask all the right questions...I only wish the time came where I could give the right answer" April said.

Vernon just stood there, confused.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

April looked up at the sky, placing a hand out to catch a falling snowflake . As it evaporated in her hand, she clutched it close to her.

"My business Vernon. Mind your own" she said, and set herself to work on the pick-up shots.

Inside the Turtles' lair, preparations were underway for the holidays.

Leonardo and Raphael were in the kitchen, the casual tunes of the radio echoing through the room.

Leonardo was perched on a chair, putting up decorations that hung from the ceiling, and blowing up turtle-shaped balloons which he tied to little paperweights, which prevented them from floating upwards.

Raphael was busy checking up on the Turtles' Christmas shopping lists, crossing out things they had acquired, and what was still to come.

He moaned when he took notice of Michelangelo's list.

"You ever wish Mikey would just grow up? Just check out his list, nothing but video games and action figures"

"Some people are born to play Raph” Michelangelo responded.

“Yeah you can't expect them to change their nature just like that, and Master Splinter always taught us to be tolerant of one's tastes" Leonardo said, chiming in.

"Yeah Leo, but I don't think he ever put our budget into consideration with that advice. I know there are corners of the government that enjoy paying our income for years of diligent service, but if they knew what was being spent down here, they'd probably force us to take citizenship tests"

"Mikey isn't beyond flexibility Raph, if you talk to him” Leonardo advised.

Michelangelo soon made his way into the kitchen, Leonardo urged Raphael to try to start the necessary conversation.

"Leo, can we talk?" Michelangelo said, Leonardo pointed at himself, as if to say "me?". Raphael sighed and went back to examining the list.

"What's up?" Leonardo asked.

"April wants me to help her skate off at the rink, only it's some kind of dance. I'm not exactly a prime time player in that department"

"You're still going though right? I mean...it's April" Leonardo replied.

"Yeah, I guess..." Michelangelo said, "It's just...this is the third thing I'll have done for her in the span of six months. Having dinner, attending the theatre etc, heck even checking in on that mother turtle at the beach was more her suggestion, even if I was up for that. I just wish I could say it’s my turn”

Do you want to turn her down then?" Leonardo asked. Michelangelo shook his head.

"No, but she's really depending a lot on me. ME. I mean, what's so special about me?" Michelangelo asked, "I'm normally the non-stop party portion of the green machine"

"Maybe that's what she's looking for" Leonardo said, "Out of all four of us, you really are the most "normal", I'm well too wrapped up in my training, meditations, and swordsmanship, Raph's way too cynical sometimes, Don's invested in machines and hardware and often speaks above our station etc. We all have some way out-of-synch priorities when it comes to everyday life, but you're so care-free and focused on living that everything gels naturally with you around"

"So my kind of groove is the new normal these days? Righteous notion dude. I always knew it'd pay off one day" Michelangelo replied excitedly.

"Right, well, we’d better get you a costume for the big skate-off. How much you got on you?” Raphael asked.

"Fifty bucks. April's aunt gave it to me as an early gift when she last dropped by. ‘’Spend it wisely’’ were her exact words. Wise isn't usually how I operate so I haven't”

"Following me has never been wiser where that cash is concerned" Raphael said, grabbing Michelangelo by the hand and dragging him alone.

"Keep up the decorating, we may take a while" Raphael said, and the two swiftly left the kitchen, and the lair entirely.

Leonardo resumed decorating, having particular trouble with a piece of mistletoe.

The temporary peace was, however, shattered by loud rambling, as another of the Turtles, Donatello, walked in, and screaming at someone over his Turtle-Com.

"I said calm down, I'll do whatever I can" he said.

"What's up Donatello?" Leonardo asked.

"Oh it's Irma" Donatello replied, "One of her Christmas presents is defective, and she wants me to fix it"

"Any word on when Master Splinter is coming back from Florida?” Leonardo said, wanting to change the subject off of Irma as quickly as possible for Donatello's sake.

"Oh that's no problem Leonardo, Splinter took an early bus. He contacted me just before Irma patched in"

"I am not hollering" Irma's voice insisted as it rang out from the Turtle-Com.

"At least he's safe" Leonardo said.

"He's also bringing some old friends around for the holidays: The Punk Frogs" Donatello added. Leonardo was now ecstatic.

"That's great news" he said, and got off the chair, grabbing his winter clothing, "I'll go meet him at the station. Could you finish up the decorations before you go for Irma's present? Raph and Mike have done a runner"

"Sure, leave me with all the practical stuff" Donatello responded sarcastically.

Chapter Text

At one of the local prisons, Officer Tobias Paul was feeling the grind.

Prisoners had continued their daily habit of heckling him He paid them no mind, his partner Bret Trent, on the other hand, relished the opportunity in playing the intimidation game with those he was responsible for.

Walking over to Bret, Tobias found he was occupied more with a book than what the prisoners were up to.

He took a peek at the title: A Christmas Carol.

"Of course" Tobias said. Bret peered up at him and nodded.

"Just taking a peek at the middle of it" Bret replied. "Christmas present, don't want to reach the depressing part too quickly"

"Afraid it will blight your merriest of days by speaking true of your attitude?" came a raspy voice from the cell behind the two officers.

"I thought he only talked to the rats" Tobias whispered, and took a gander at the large rodent Bret kept as a pet as it dangled off of the man's keys.

Part of him felt more than uneasy about Bret keeping that thing around the man the known world identified as The Rat King.

"I have learned a great deal from conversing with the true vermin of the world…that which makes up most of humanity. It has given me a greater appreciation of the subjects I serve, the oppressed journeymen of the cursed Earth around us"
Bret laughed. "Your loyal subjects haven't lifted a finger to bust you out, probably too busy with the tiniest scraps of cheese left on a street curb. Wake up Rat King, it's been seven years of a thirteen-plus sentence and your kingdoms crumbled more than the average cookie"

With that said, Bret shut the book, his recreational activity shattered by the disruption on hand.

He went over to the radio perched on his desk and tuned in to it.

As the latest smash-hit song began playing over the airwaves, the collection of prisoners in the cells raised their voices in protests at the sound of mediocrity.

Bret was more than happy to add to their memory by turning up the volume.

The barrage of music was, however, swiftly cut short by a breaking news bulletin.

"And in local news, after weeks of dealing with a growing infestation of rats, the St. Wells Orphanage is to receive a visit from the city's top exterminator unit, who will be using the opportunity to test out a different type of gas on the rodent incursion, one that will render them helpless within an instant rather than a few seconds"

Bret welcomed this bit of news, as it enabled him to take another swing at his target of choice this day.

"Looks like your crumbling kingdom's taken another hard bite" he said, letting out another piggish laugh, and stroking the fur of his pet rat, placing it back on the edge of his keys.

"Despite how much you people repulse me, I have learned many a new trick from you, tricks that will help me greatly, and cost you dearly”

Bret waved him off, uninterested, and resumed playing with his pet rat, allowing it to walk gently along both of his hands and up his arm.

Tobias, however, was curious by what the Rat King was talking about.

"Tell me" he said.

"Have you ever heard of Sigel magic?" Rat King asked.

Tobias shook his head.

"It's relatively simple. Anyone can practice it, it is a clear cut way to understanding the realms of chaos magic, you can make just about anything happen to you, and it comes to you almost instantly. Simply write down a desire in the form of a sentence, take out the repeated letters of said sentence, and then take out the vowels. You should be left with a string of consonants, take the consonants, rearrange them, and mash them up. What you should have is something that does not resemble the original sentence. Stare upon what you have created, fixate on it with all of your available mental energy, and inevitably your desire will manifest gradually over time"

Tobias was mesmerized by the explanation.

The Rat King suddenly leaned forward, beckoning Tobias to come closer so he could gently whisper in his ear.

"Do you wish to know my deepest desire?" he said.

Tobias nodded; transfixed by the knowledge he was being given, he was eager to learn.

"I wanted to direct a Hollywood movie" he said.

Tobias took a step backwards, a tad baffled.

Suddenly, the rat bit deep into Bret's hand.

Bret screamed and tried to shake off the creature. Tobias ran over to his friend and tried to pry the creature off him, the rat finally let go and ran down the side of Bret's body, quickly snagging its teeth on the keys and running towards Rat King's cell.

The Rat King picked up the keys from the rodent, stroked its little head and kissed it gently, before inserting the key into the lock of the door. The cell door swung open and he stepped out.

"This day had been long prepared for me as soon as you first brought your pet into this pit many months ago" he told Bret, who was in very apparent pain.

All around him, he could feel chaos in motion.

The desperation of prisoners hungry for equal freedom, and the distress of his captors as they scrambled for their guns.

He whistled gently as he walked over to Tobias and kicked the gun out of his hand and delivered another vicious kick to his head, knocking him down.

Bret reached for his own gun, but his once faithful furry friend was keen to attack him once again, clawing away at his eyes.

The Rat King beckoned the rodent over to him; it crawled up the side of his leg and headed up towards his shoulder.

"You were quite right, my kingdom had crumbled, but now that forces are gathering, action is apparent, my kingdom has come again"

Chapter Text

Donatello buzzed the door to Irma's apartment once again. This was now the fourth time in a row.

He knew someone was in, as he could hear clear barking on the other end, but a furry four-legged friend was not who he'd come to visit. Time was not on his side.

So many priorities were running through his head.

He still had to prepare dinner for the other Turtles, Splinter, and the Punk Frogs.

On top of that, his own stomach was giving off hunger pangs.

All this to come and he also had to pick up the item Irma wanted repaired.

He didn't know how he was going to fit it all into the next few hours.

"Come on, open up" Donatello said out loud, tapping his hands lightly on his legs, trying to keep himself amused, he started playing a little tune in his head and ended up being completely carried away by it.

He began to twirl and take steps to the left and right, before commencing a series of aerobics stretches, bending over and touching his tip toes with his hands.

As he continued this technique, the door to the apartment opened and Irma emerged, attired in only a blue dressing gown, her feet covered in woolly slippers that matched the gown in colour.

Donatello froze when he saw the slippers, and abruptly turned around, trying to collect himself and get back to a more serious stance, he brushed himself down and turned back to face her.

"Sorry Irma, I just got bored waiting for some sign of life beyond that...door" he said, briefly trailing off as he got a closer look at the amused Irma.

She was standing upright, a comb in her right hand, her hair, usually held up, was down, and she wasn't wearing her glasses.

"Donny? Hello?" Irma said, waving her free hand in front of Donatello's glazed expression, snapping her fingers to try and get his attention.

Irma shrugged and brushed her hair a bit, beckoning Donatello to come into the apartment with a turn of her head.

As he entered the living area of the apartment, the source of the barking the Turtle had heard earlier got closer, before revealing itself to be a small, but lively and energetic dog. Donatello scooped it up, it keenly licked his face.

"Why hello there boy" Donatello said, stroking the dog's back, "I didn't know you still had this lovely thing Irma, I've been around here a couple of times and he's never around"

"I kind of share him with the whole of the apartment complex, the other tenants used to take him in whenever I was working at Channel Six or busy with house chores. I've obviously had a lot of free time since I lost my job" she explained, she then drifted off slightly, thinking back to the time she first set her eyes on the puppy.

"You know, it's funny" she said, "I know I got that thing at the height of that madness involving three of you Turtles and that love potion that made them gaga over me, but I've never found out which one of them sent me that adorable creature"

"It's the thought that counts Irma, best not to dwell on the ‘’hows’’ and ‘’whys’’ of things and just bask in the gift given to you" Donatello advised, and put the dog down.

He could tell Irma was still distant in her thoughts, and wondered if it had anything to do with the loss of her job.

"How are you holding up without any income?" he said.

"I may spend a little wildly, but when push comes to shove, I save wisely" Irma replied.

Back at the Wolfman rink, April was huddled in the back of her news van, looking over the rushes of her pick-up shots.

She was enjoying this gig immensely, it felt like a major step-up from regular reporting, she felt more in command.

Before she could give instructions on how to best edit the shots, she was interrupted by one of the news crew.

"Excuse me Mss O'Neil, but Mr. Fenwick is back from his errand" he said. April rolled her eyes.

"Fine, let's get this over with" she said, and exited the news van, grabbing her pink mittens off the control console and putting them on along with her ear-muffs.

As she exited the van and took one look at Vernon, she was overcome with an emotional response, one that she desperately needed after a couple of pent-up hours dealing with all the footage she'd shot.

There, standing before her, was Vernon dressed head to toe like Father Christmas.

Right down to a beard that looked far too big for anyone to realistically claim as his own, his waist was noticeably wider, trying to emulate the portliness of the character. Vernon opened up the coat to reveal large amounts of padding beneath

You don't have to point out how ingenious it is, I'm more than happy to show you" he said.

April couldn't contain herself.

"Vernon, you look like you can barely sit in a sleigh, let alone ride one"

"Well it's a good thing we're not committing all that far to this premise isn't it?" Vernon said dismissively and clicked his fingers.

At the silent command, another member of the crew approached them with a pair of ice skates; Vernon took them, and tried to kneel down, only to split his pants in the attempt. The more misfortune that occurred to him, the merrier April's mood became.

"Just wait 'till you see me spread real joy to the little ones on that rink.” He said as he put on his skates, “Mr. Thompson's nephews' eyes will just light up when they see me in action at home on television ."

"Yeah, in the meantime, most of us watching you in person will be throwing up" April remarked.

Raphael wished he had a watch to check as he finished off his hot, spicy meatball sandwich inside the nearby Subway restaurant. Michelangelo had been in the bathroom for well over thirty minutes.

He wondered if he was having some ‘’difficulty’’ given what had happened earlier with the two of them.

Perhaps Michelangelo should have gone before hand.

Finally, Michelangelo stepped out.

The place had become a lot busier in the half hour he had spent in there, and so many more customers got their first-hand look at what he was wearing.

Like any who had been in the bathroom with him doing their business, many fell about in hysterical fits.

Draped from head to toe in a long velvet and purple cape, a sharp tuxedo, no shoes, and tight trousers with a replica snakeskin belt, and a twirling moustache, Michelangelo looked like someone had overdressed for Halloween.

He had trouble walking in the outfit, almost tripping up over the cape, which sparked further laughs from the crowd.

Michelangelo eventually collected much of the cape up in his arms and sped towards the door.

Raphael followed him.

"I can't believe you took so long in there" Raphael said as the two left Subway, "What was the matter? Did the ‘’Phantom of the Arctic’’ feel a little too stiff under the collar in more ways than one?"

"Blame how tight these pants are" Michelangelo replied, "They're not coming off anytime soon"

As the two walked down the street, Michelangelo continued to provoke awkward looks from passers-by.

He felt embarrassed to even be wearing this. He was even frightening little babies as a mother pushed a pram past him, as soon as he and the baby in the pram made eye contact, the child was reduced to tears.

"Why did you insist on wearing that thing all the way to the rink? At least by going as your regular old self, people wouldn't be paging the Ant-Hill mob to let them know the hooded claw was in town"

"Who are you calling old?" Michelangelo asked. Raphael shrugged, and changed the subject.

"You didn't lose what was necessary for the application while you were in there right?" Raphael asked.

Michelangelo nodded, "Yeah, it's in my side pocket. I hope April doesn't mind that we went cheap on it. We needed more than enough to buy the item and this awful outfit"

The two passed a parked car, where a dog was locked inside of it, waiting for its owner to come out of the nearby store. Michelangelo waved to the little dog, taken in by its cuteness, but it too was taken aback by his costumed appearance and began ringing out a series of alert barks.

Michelangelo turned around and found Raphael was distracted, staring at a window filled with televisions, where an emergency news report was being broadcast.

"Police have been called to St. Wells Orphanage, where what appeared to be a regular visit by the local exterminator soon escalated into a dangerous and ongoing hostage situation. The exterminator has since barricaded himself inside the building, trapping the estimated number of 210 innocent children in with him”.

Raphael spurred Michelangelo into action.

"Come on, that orphanage isn't far from here"

As the two began heading down the street, Raphael patched in to Donatello's frequency on the Turtle-Com. However, he was met with complete static.

"Now what's that busy brainiac up to that warrants radio silence?" Raphael said.

With the crisis still fresh in his mind, he realized he had no time to dwell on it. With Leonardo busy collecting Master Splinter, and unable to reach Donatello, it seemed all hope for the children of St. Wells lay with the unlikely blend of a comedian and an idiot.

Chapter Text

Back at the lair, as twenty minutes ticked by, Donatello kept his focus sharply fixed on the defective voice modulator in the teddy bear that Irma had handed over to him back at her apartment, in the hopes that he could fix it.

He pressed down on the modulator to see if his adjustments had in any way diminished the distortions.

The half-completed messages only spurred him on as he continued to make repairs.

Eventually, all seemed well. Donatello pressed the modulator again to hear the full range of phrases in their clearest form.

What he got made his heart and head sink.

"Merry Christmas...with luck, that makes you go away for another twelve months"

"Roses are red, violets are blue, Christmas brings cheer, which is why I hate you" followed.

"You better not hope, you best start to cry, Christmas is ruined, I'm telling you why...Santa Claus doesn’t exist" followed that in a slightly out-of-tune melody, closely followed up by a raspberry blow.

Donatello didn't bother with the remaining messages. He was too incensed to continue.

Twenty minutes of his life. Wasted.

All of it down the drain just to entertain Irma's crude and cynical sense of humour.

Donatello thought long and hard to himself, trying not to get too worked up at this time of the year, he tried to understand thing from Irma's perspective. The woman had recently lost her job, she'd broken up with her boyfriend, and she was contemplating a different career path that could succeed or fail in the future. All these things coming to the surface would put her on edge.

But what really irritated him was that she had begged him for help in this situation. He was not always this much of an optimist, but often tried to be around this time of year. After all, if he didn't have some encouragement and optimism, the need for invention and creativity of any sort would be non-existent.

At St. Wells Orphanage, the police units had gathered and the situation was being assessed.

The man in charge of the delicate operation, Sam Barrette, took to the old cliché of using a megaphone to yell out impassioned pleas to the cause of the hostage crisis for some kind of negotiation.

"Rat King, we are willing to give you a fair shake so long as you give up your hostages" Barrette began, "Let them go one by one and we promise to allow the number of rodents pent up in that building safe passage out of it and back into the sewers."

It wasn't long before a small note slipped out of the window.

One of the officers ran up to collect it, he came over to Barrette's car and gave him the note.

Opening it, Barrette found assortments of vowels and crossed out letters.

He processed it a little in his head and deduced the complete sentence was ‘’Now I want to be a first grade teacher’’

"Any idea what that means sir?" the officer asked. Barrette tore up the note.

"He's playing games with us" Barrette replied. "And we can't afford to deal our hands so long as the children are in danger. It's bad enough this unit is practically chicken feed for him, so many of us are back at the prison dealing with the riot"

"Then allow us to lay a couple of green eggs on this large ham" came a snappy, enthusiastic voice. Barrett's men raised their weapons as two figures came into view. Barrette advised them to hold their fire, recognizing at least one of them.

"Hold your horses there guys, these fellas are usually on our side" he said, and went over to greet Raphael and Michelangelo of Ninja Turtles fame.

"We caught wind of this bad storm and thought we could settle it for you" Raphael said, pointing to the orphanage, "How's the situation?"

"Troubling" Barrette replied, "Rat King has a good number in there, and we have to also take into account the rodent problem still present in the place, he could be surrounding those poor kids with as up to one hundred plus of vermin carrying all sorts of diseases, and they'll probably be peckish too, they could go for the building, they could go for the kids, we're up against the wall here"

"Then we better tear down some walls down before the rats do" Michelangelo said.

Barrette walked over to him, inspecting his gaudy outfit.

"And what exactly can you do to help out? Wave a magic wand and utter the lines ‘’Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches?’’ Barrette said, mocking Michelangelo's attire, even pulling off his fake moustache.

"Go home and enjoy your holidays as best you can, I can't risk just using two of you, Blade, escort them out of here" he said to a taller man in a police outfit.

"Sure boss" he said. Barrette turned around, something was off.

"Wait, that's not Blade's voice" he said, and put his hand on the officer's shoulder. Suddenly, the ''officer'' twirled around, handcuffed Barrett's hand to his own, and pulled him over, wrapping his arm around his neck, reaching for his weapon, and placing it against his temple.

"I'm afraid Blade became indisposed when he went for that doughnut around the corner" the man said, "I spilled out of the riot not knowing what to do with myself, so I opted to follow the Rat King and be close to the action.

Unfortunately, as you just proved, my disguise isn't very fool proof, so we're going with a plan inspired by current events.

I'm taking you hostage and guaranteeing myself safe passage out of here"

He pointed to the other officers, helpless to do much about it, "And none of you shall stop me" the criminal continued.

However, as he tried to move away, he found his legs snagged in some kind of rope that had wrapped around them.

As he tried to move, he was hoisted from his position and sent crashing to the ground below.

As he groggily raised his head, it was sent crashing back to the pavement by the drop of a knee pad coming down from above as Raphael leapt off a police car and landed on him.

Michelangelo walked over to the crook, caught in his grappling hook wire, dusted his hands, and began to sing a little song to himself.

"Two hearts, taking out just one mind..."

Raphael helped Barrette up, taking the key from the criminal's hand and freeing the officer.

"Now that you've seen how this little double-take works, you sure you don't want us to give the Rat King twice the trouble?"

"Ok, ok, you've impressed me" Barrette said.

"Euphoric enthusiasm there dude" Michelangelo said, "Only question now is...how do we get in? Rat King's literally nailed it when it comes to protecting his crash pad"

"We can't use the windows either, that wouldn't even surprise him, and he could give the order for one of those kids to be a chew toy for his pets"

Raphael pondered the problem for a while longer, but it wasn't long before Michelangelo came up with the answer simply by looking up.

He nudged Raphael and pointed at what he had seen.

"Oh you've got to be kidding" Raphael said.

"Hey, around this time of year we usually leave it to the pro with the sleigh, but if we want to wrap this up in a neat bow we're going to have to try it ourselves"

"Ok, but just so you know, it's definite we'll be getting lumps of coal this Christmas" Raphael remarked.

The Rat King couldn't help but feel proud of the police waiting outside for him.

Whoever was in charge of them knew exactly what to say and how to pander to his exact needs.

Were this any other kind of situation, he might even entertain the idea of compliance.

The children’s safety, in exchange for the survival of what was, in his mind, the superior species.

But things hadn't quite worked out that way.

Instead, when he took over the orphanage, overpowered and tied up what remained of the staff, and used his unique communication skills to rally up all the rats in the building, he stumbled across a unique range of reactions from the children.

Some were clearly frightened, and those that were huddled together in a tight circle, a few of the females standing atop chairs, while the rats simply looked up at them, curiosity their only real intent, but the fear of what they could do keeping the girls tethered to the spot.

Others, in particular the boys, gravitated to his presence, taken in by just how cool he was.

Examining some of the rooms, Rat King had discovered that some of the children had even been secretly keeping some of the rats as pets and nourishing them, even putting them in small cages with female types so they could continue to breed.

So impressed was the Rat King that he elected not to make things too simple for himself, nothing so cut-and-dry as taking the rats from the building and building his kingdom up from scratch.

This represented a different type of opportunity for him.

He would gather those that were not fazed by him or his subjects, he would sit them down, and he would tell them stories.

Stories that gave them inspiration and interest in the world that slipped so far beneath the gaze of surface dwellers, and he hoped that, with such insight and inspiration, they would make something of their lives in their adult years, devoting their time to his favourite type of creature, and giving them greater control and dominion of the land above.

He began with the story of his prison escape, keeping the kids up to date with the news. It seemed to work, as many faces were alight with interest.

"Tell us another story Mr. King" echoed an ecstatic voice.

The Rat King was surprised to find it was female, who was taking the time to pet some of the surrounding rats.

"Perhaps defying convention is the mandate of the day. What better way to convey that than to submit for your approval, the tale of the beast in the machine. When I first began building my kingdom, I made the mistake of assuming my subjects were not all equal...that they were of two very distinct groups, strong, and weak. I punished those that were feeble and found it hard to keep up by feeding them to small white robotic creatures I had fished out of the remains of some derelict mansion uptown”

He continued.

“One day, I put one of these perceived failings in the belly of the machine. I didn't pay it any mind, that is, until a few days later, where I found the creature split wide open, with a gaping hole inside of it, and the rat back amongst the pack, evident by the mesh of wiring still fresh in its teeth and which coated whole areas of its body. Against all odds, it had chewed and clawed what was thought to be impenetrable and impossible to slip out of.

It was designed as the perfect prison, and on this occasion, it had failed. It is then that I realized that, while there was the strong, and there was the weak, there was also a third distinct group I had overlooked: The adaptable. From then on, I deemed my subjects all equal in stature, for they could rise to the occasion at any given opportunity.

This is the lesson I give to you, be you of weak mind or ill heart, when you are taken in by a prison of any kind, trapped in either the machine supplied by society or one supplied by your lack of confidence and lack of vision, don't just trust your reliable instincts and the old ways, change the game, defy convention, and sharpen new skills, for we all learn every day, and the lessons learned will shape whatever kingdom you desire”

The children gave him a standing ovation for the stirring story, and demanded another.

However, before Rat King could indulge them further, everyone paused as their hearing picked up some commotion coming from above.

Slight grunts and faint insults as what sounded like two people squabbling amongst themselves got louder and louder.

"You're standing on my head" came one voice.

"Better that than your sai, did you have to take that out before you climbed in?" asked another.

"What is this defiance?" Rat King bellowed, "Who dares disrupt me when I am entertaining my court?"

The answer came to him in a crumpled heap as Michelangelo and Raphael finally lost their footing and came crashing down the chimney and out of the fireplace in the centre of the room.

The kids all began laughing at the sight as the two turtles rolled over on top of each other before hastily springing to their feet and trying to cut an unconvincing action pose in front of the huddled group.

"Alright, that wasn't fun, but we're all about business today anyway" Raphael said, dusting himself off.

Michelangelo examined himself; his costume was covered in soot.

"Look at the state of me dude, this dirty look is going to get me nothing but dirty looks at the Ice rink" Michelangelo said.

"Turtles!" Rat King hissed.

Raphael bowed, mockingly and most insincerely.

"Are you little rascals ok?" Michelangelo asked of the frightened girls huddled on the chair. They nodded.

One of the kids stormed over to Raphael and stomped on his foot.

"Go away, Mr. King is telling us stories, he's not hurting anyone" the kid said in defence of his captor.

Raphael hopped about for a bit in pain.

"Oh yeah, I can tell his storytelling has really left an impact on me" he replied.

"We've got a few stories that'll easily surpass anything he's been telling you little dude, starting with the tale of how we cleaned his clock today" Michelangelo said, and he tried to approach Rat King, twirling his nun-chucks.

However, one of the rats began to chew away at the back of his cape, which sent him reeling back.

The distraction allowed The Rat King the chance to take a laser, aim it at the helpless Turtle, and open fire.

Raphael, however, was able to tackle Michelangelo; the action caused part of Michelangelo’s cape to tear away from the grip of the rat's teeth, splitting it in two halves.

"I'm really starting to look the part aren't I?" Michelangelo said as he looked at the tattered remnants of his cape. Raphael quickly got him up as Rat King's gun fired another round.

They ducked out of the way and cornered him from left to right, the rats scurrying over the pair of them as they did so, trying to protect their master, nibbling slightly at their eyes.

"Hey, I'm green and orange, not black and blue" Michelangelo replied, tearing the rats away from his face.

"We've gotta get clear of these furry fritters, they're making it impossible to kick the King off his throne" Raphael replied, throwing a few off of him.

Rat King raised his weapon and waited until his rat pack had managed to position the panicked pairing of Turtles in the middle of the hall, allowing him a clear shot that would neutralize his enemies.

"My kingdom rallies to my defence, what can the two of you possibly do against thousands of four legged soldiers?"

Suddenly, he found his moment interrupted by the one little girl who had encouraged him to tell the children another story.

She stood between both him and the two Turtles, shielding the latter with widely spread arms.

"Please Mr. King, don't hurt them, it's Christmas" she said.

"Get out of the way kid" Raphael cried out.

"Yeah, when that guy sets out to cut through someone, he doesn't care who's on the floor" Michelangelo added.

"Stand aside youngling" The Rat King said, his finger squeezing down hard on the trigger. The girl remained where she was, anchored to the spot.

The tension mounted, the Rat King's trigger-finger trembled, and the Turtles continued to struggle against the teeming hordes of rodents, unable to do anything to take the child out of harms' way.

Finally, when all seemed ideal, Rat King sighed and relented, and tossed the gun away.

"Give them safe passage" he whispered.

At this command, the rats ceased their attack on the two Turtles and swarmed around him.

The Rat King tore open the carpet beneath him, revealing the wooden floorboard, he pulled open one of the planks, and instructed the rats to pour down it.

The Turtles saw their opportunity to nab their foe and moved in, but the girl suddenly opted to shield him this time.

"Like we were saying, he didn't harm us, he just told a story...he gave us a gift" she said.

"What gift was that?" Raphael asked.

"What better gift than one of knowledge?" Rat King replied, and, as soon as the last rat went under the board, he put up his hands in surrender, "And in turn, their patience, their tolerance, and their bravery taught me to no longer take an old saying for granted: ‘’Suffer not the children’’"

Michelangelo tied his grappling hook rope over the Rat King's hands whilst Raphael took freeing the helpless staff members.

Eventually the barricade blocking the door was lifted, enabling the Turtles to walk out of the building with their prisoner in tow.

Chapter Text

As the news reports began to come in updating the city on the status of the hostage situation at St. Wells, Irma couldn't help but feel incredibly guilty as she watched everything unfold on television.

Learning that only two of the Turtles had played a hand in bringing the crisis to a halt had worried her.

She wondered if Donatello had forsaken his responsibilities to the city because she had given him a task that felt so trivial and pointless compared to the magnitude of what had just transpired.

She had tried contacting him on the Turtle-Com when the crisis had begun, but there had been no answer, which only made her worry more.

Had he been attacked on his way home?

Or did the Rat King get to him first?

So many questions.

Only a simple press of her door buzzer could answer them now.

Finally, it buzzed.

Irma's pet roared into life, barking madly.

Irma calmed her pet down strokes and walked up to the door and unlocked it.

In came Donatello, the small bear Irma had wanted fixed clasped in his hands.

"So, how'd the...’repairs’ go?" she asked.

"Oh it went pretty well all things considered. And I caught a lot of interesting things, but hey, it's your gift, maybe you ought to hear it for yourself?"

Irma gulped.

"I don't think so... "

"Oh I think this bear is exactly what you need Irma, go on, give it a listen”.

Irma pressed the button on the bear’s chest and closed her eyes tight, ashamed of herself and afraid of what Donatello might think of her for having such a pessimistic attitude around the holidays.

"Roses are red, violets are blue, Christmas is clear when I've got faith in you" came a distinctly familiar voice from the bear. Irma's eyes sprang open, and her face began to beam happily.

She pressed down on the bear’s chest again.

"Merry Christmas...if that makes you stay forever, why not saysit every day?" the voice uttered. By now Irma could tell the voice was Donatello's.

She turned over to him.

"How...what...I thought..." she rattled off in succession. Donatello shrugged.

"I replaced the original voice modulations with something a bit more upbeat, hope you don't mind" he said, "I figured you needed a bit of a motivational boost over the holidays"

"You did all of that...for me?" Irma asked.

"What are friends for?" Donatello replied, and leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek, "Merry Christmas, Irma”

She kissed him on the forehead. Donatello blushed brightly.

"My my Donatello, are you auditioning for the part of Rudolph?" she asked, observing the red around his face.

"I'm just really glad I was more upfront with giving you a gift this time" he said.

Irma was taken back. "What do you mean?" she said.

"Well...who do you think got you that puppy?" he replied.

Irma's eyes welled up, she looked at the dog as it lovingly darted across the room, she looked back at Donatello, and, without any further hesitation, gently kissed him on the mouth.

The two were anchored to the spot, suspended in a sense of timelessness, revelling in the merry moment, the pull of the holidays and the complexity of loneliness had conspired for real magic to unfold this fateful afternoon, and neither would just forget about it when it was over. This was now and forever. In this spark of passion, a lifetime of possibility was unfolding for the pair of them.

At the rink, there was a sense of unity from all assembled, as the kids were pouring onto the ice in droves and couples continued to make the most of their elegant and romantic glides across the floor.

As they skated and skidded across the floor, the helpless Vernon Fenwick was slumped somewhere in the middle, having slipped and fell on his bottom earlier, and finding himself unable to stand as a group of mischievous children surrounded him, holding hands and forming a protective circle, keeping him isolated. They began to sing a most irritable song.

"Ho Ho Hum, Santa's on his bum" they chanted. Vernon groaned.

What was worse was that, amongst the heckling kids, were Mr. Thompson's nephews, who had pressured their uncle to let them come down after seeing the turmoil Vernon had experienced in his Santa guise earlier.

While all this was unfolding, April was staring at her watch, checking the time, anxiously awaiting the arrival of her Phantom. It was almost time to hit the airwaves.

"Oh where is he? We're on in five" she said.

Suddenly, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned around, and her worries melted away as a familiar face greeted her.

"Happy holidays April" said the friendly voice of Leonardo, who was accompanied by Splinter and the Turtles' old allies, the Punk Frogs, all dressed in snugly jackets and mittens.

"Boy am I glad you got here. I heard the stations were snowed in" April said.

Leonardo nodded.

"They certainly were April, but luckily for us, the Frogs all volunteered to clear the paths as best they could, but not in time to deal with the hostage crisis at the orphanage"

"We can only be thankful that it was dealt with by Michelangelo and Raphael" Splinter said.

"Speaking of those two, where are they?" Leonardo asked.

"Beats me Leonardo" April replied, "But at this rate, they'll have seconds to spare rather than minutes”

A police car suddenly pulled up behind them and out of it emerged Michelangelo and Raphael.

"Thanks for the ride copper dude" Michelangelo replied, waving to officer Barrette, who waved back before driving away. The two turtles walked over to greet Leonardo, the Frogs, Splinter, and April.

"I'm ready to put on a show , babe" he said.

April took one look at the tattered, coal-ridden remnants of his outfit and tried to hold back her laughter.

"Yeah, you sure look the part" April remarked sarcastically, and pointed to the rink.

Michelangelo tried following everything to the letter, but on some occasions he slipped.

He compensated for this by, at points where he thought he was careering out of control, he would scoop up April and, before hitting the edge of the rink, stuck one foot out and allowed it to grace the side, enabling him to propel the foot off of it and dash back on to the rink with one leg still perched upright.

April was impressed.

"You’ve swept me off my feet rescuing me from a burning building, but this is a whole other level for you" she said. Michelangelo smiled.

April’s enthusiasm seemed to calm Michelangelo’s nerves and the two were able to finish off their winter waltz without further incident.

As April gave the signal to cut the cameras, she and Michelangelo gave each other a high five.

"Thanks for the dance lesson dudette, we made a real dream team out there" Michelangelo replied.

"Think nothing of it Mike" April said, and kissed him on the forehead.

"Happy to oblige babe" Michelangelo replied, and tickled April's nose with his right hand.

As the music on the rink's loudspeakers started up, everyone resumed dancing, including April and Michelangelo.

"Mike?" April said.

"What?" Michelangelo replied.

"This dance…does it have to end?" she said.

The two paused, they stood dead centre in the midst of Wolfman rink, looked deeply into each other’s eyes.

"I've been asking a lot of questions today, yet I’ve been struggling with finding the right answer for what seems like ages now…I don't think with everything going on with myself and you guys I'll ever find someone regular I can have a similar experience with. If anyone can help me figure things out, I'd love that person to be you"

They looked up at the twinkling stars.

They saw a comet shoot past.

"Think we should go as fast as that?" she asked.

"I'm a turtle babe. We'll go the only pace I know. Slow" he said.