TMNT, unfortunately, are not mine- they belong to Mirage. Dr. Baker, on the other hand, is mine.

Circumventions

Baker was on the move again. After what had seemed like a few months of a break from having to constantly keep changing his location, and despite the cold snap, he was being actively pursued again.

Could the rumors be wrong? Could Bishop be alive? Impossible! My friend was so sure!

And now there appeared to be yet another group looking for him. The night before he had overheard some guy in one of the many "safe" locations where homeless gathered that some "crazy ninja" had ambushed him-

"All dressed in black with some kinda red symbol on their outfits," he was still shaking, as he took gulping drink after gulping drink of a bottle of cheap brandy someone had passed to him. "I mean, four of them, and they kept askin' me did I know this dude, and holdin' this picture of some guy up, and speaking Chinese or sumthin'- and then one of 'em pulled this damn long knife and I knew I was dead!"

Baker, pulling his collar up and his stocking cap more securely on his head, got closer to hear the guy's story.

"Then these two guys dressed all in green showed up, and I was outta there!"

"Jeeze, thems almost sounds like the others that been hasslin' people," this older man said, taking a pull on the brandy bottle. "Only thems folks was gang members... yep, remember some big fella... damn he was bigger 'n my ex-wife- but not as scary!"

And everyone, including the guy who had nearly been killed, laughed at the old man's story.

Baker stood there, listening to the guy's tale (and the similar talk of others- "damn shame, ya can't even be homeless an' someone's out to gitcha!"), thinking and rethinking what he'd heard. Ninja? All in black, wearing a red insignia? That sounded new. NOW who else was looking for him?

...two guys all dressed in green...

That had to be those mutated Turtles!

Once again, he toyed with the idea of enlisting their help. After all, they obviously were the enemy of this gang, and these new assailants as well- and he knew they were the enemy of Bishop's organization.

But would they want to help someone who is as tainted as I am? A year ago I was more than willing to experiment on such creatures.

In the crush to surround the large can where a cheerful warming fire was burning, he managed to get close enough to the still shaking guy who'd just escaped death, and with a skill that he had refined since first taking refuge on the streets, managed to slip some money into the guy's pocket. It wasn't much, but it might help in some small way towards making up for the attack on the man.

Baker wasn't fooled; this group, like the other, was looking for an African-American. If only...

But the police would not care, not even if race were an issue. He ruefully laughed. Where was a civil rights group when you needed one? It has come to our attention that our people are being singled out for being homeless! We have every right to be homeless! Equal rights for all!

Huddled against the bitter cold, he kept a sharp eye out as he made his way to his latest "safe spot".

Leo and Raph were seated on the couch, fresh bandages in place over new wounds, twin expressions of disgust on their faces.

"The punishment has begun," Leo had whispered to Raph, after Splinter had left them with not only their strengthening potions but also bowls of broth, cups of tea, and more medicines to ward off infections, fevers, and colds- this after he had none too gently cleaned and medicated the various cuts, scrapes, and bruises they had sustained in their first battle since Bishop.

Raph nodded, noting the silent treatment Splinter had been giving them. He had not spoken to them since they had first reached the sewers, when he had told them they would discuss punishment when they had returned home. So far, no discussion had taken place.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that he keeps the silent treatment up for a bit longer," Raph tried to tease, but strange to say, he was feeling a building tension with their father's refusal to talk to them.

Every action of Splinter's had been wordless, from his caring for their injuries to his doling out of the various medicines and "food". Then he had retired to his room and had not been seen for at least forty-five minutes.

They drank their meds, they downed their broth, and even Raph said yes to Leo's offer of more tea.

And they speculated on what was to come.

"A week of grounding, or a day of all the nasty jobs," Raph said, staring at the TV. Leo looked at him, puzzled. "That's my bet. Either Splinter will say we have to spend one day scrubbing every floor in the lair- and you've seen Mikey's room lately, right?- also toilets, shower stalls, that space around the stove where that strange black gunk always manages to build up- or we'll spend the week confined to our rooms."

Leo seriously considered this guess on his brother's part as he flipped through the channels, not really wanting to watch anything but just killing time.

"No," he finally commented, stopping on some nature program about the mating rituals of squirrels ("Jeeze, Leo," Raph grabbed the remote, found a sports channel, "I don't wanna see some squirrel get his nuts off!"). "I think it will be something more to do with the dojo. I'll bet it's flips- probably one hundred each, though he might take pity on us and cut it in half. Fifty flips without a break or staggering, and if we can't do them, we're stuck underground until we can do them. And then he'll raise the requirement to one hundred."

Raph snorted into his tea.

"Splinter isn't gonna let us off that easy," he assured Leo. "Hey, since when is Jump Rope a sport?"

"That's what you get for watching ESPN 2," Leo responded, changing to yet another boring documentary, this one on reconstructing with computer-generated help, what some three thousand year old mummy looked like. "What were you going to say?"

Raph blinked, momentarily distracted by some archaeologist with an accent so thick they still put up subtitles, explaining why it was so frickin' important to know what some old dead pharaoh looked like all those years ago.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah- he'll make us spar with each other," he said, beginning to smile. "Loser gets grounded for a month."

"And the winner?"

"Grounded for two months." And he grinned at Leo, eyes twinkling. "See? Who would want to win?"

Leo seriously considered what his brother had said in jest. Raph had a point; normally the idea of trying to lose would be unheard of, but given the options Raph had imagined, Leo could almost see himself falling to the dojo floor on the first blow and admitting defeat. A smile at the thought crossed his face, turned into a grin, and finally bloomed into a laugh.

Raph was laughing as well, but for different reasons. He had imagined that as they were bowing to Splinter, Raph would suddenly fall to the floor and not be able to get up.

"You win Leo," he could hear himself say. The idea tickled him, and despite his attempts to stifle the sound, he couldn't quit laughing.

The door to Splinter's room slid open, and the Rat slowly exited his chamber. Both Turtles immediately fell silent, waiting for the walking stick to fall as it were.

Without a word or even a glance he walked into the kitchen. After a few minutes, they heard the sound of the tea kettle, and after a few more minutes, he came back into the living area, carrying his own cup of tea. Silently he approached his chair, sat down, and motioned for them to turn off the televisions. Leo complied hastily.

Sigh.

Nothing was said. Splinter seemed to be having trouble finding the words he needed to get through to these two.

"You are not to go above ground without your brothers," he finally said. Then he continued sipping his tea, awaiting the coming explosion.

"But Sensei-" Raph was the first to speak.

Splinter's fingers tightened on his cup; he could feel the struggle within himself to keep from breaking this delicate piece of china. April had given him this beautiful set for Christmas, and he had used it almost exclusively of any other that he owned. The intricate blue dragon wound around the white china as if doing a graceful dance, and Splinter never grew tired of looking at it.

"But Sensei what?" he heard himself echo, and even he was a bit surprised at the tone in his voice. "But Sensei you were smothering us? But Sensei, we were doing fine on our own? But Sensei, we could have beaten all of those Foot? But Sensei-"

CRACK!

Too late, Splinter realized that his anger was building, but before he could set the cup down he had broken it in his hands. Hot tea masked the pain of a sharp cut, but the presence of blood mingled with the pale liquid now staining Splinter's robe and pooling on the floor at his feet startled the students into action.

Leonardo ran for the first aid supplies while Raphael, at once on his knees, began to gently pry his Master's hand open, breathing a sigh of relief when he realized that there was only one cut. Carefully he pulled the offending shard from the small wound, as well as removing the rest of the broken pieces from Splinters grasp.

No words were spoken as the two brothers cleaned and dried and medicated and bandaged the hand; no sounds were made as they mopped up the mess, brought Splinter another robe, or returned from the kitchen with yet another cup of tea in case he wanted it.

No "thank-you, my sons" came from his lips either.

When everyone was settled again, silence reigned supreme for almost five minutes.

Splinter looked at the two on the couch.

"You will not go to the surface without both Michelangelo and Donatello," he stated flatly. "Or without me. Those are your options."

He got up and returned to his room, quietly closing the door.

Raph and Leo sat on the couch, thinking.

"I vote we go with Mikey and Don," Raph finally said. "They're easier to give the slip to."

Leo shook his head in disbelief. He turned to Raph- and caught the teasing gleam in his eye, the playful smile on his face. He saw then that Raph was kidding, and couldn't help laughing where before he had planned on lecturing big brother-style.

"So, what do you think, L.H.?"

Mikey and Leatherhead were at the waterfront, both bundled up in coats and hats more for warmth than for disguises. It was late, and though the clouds still blanketed the sky and the air held the promise of snow, nothing was falling at all.

"We could hold the first part of the ceremony at the lair," he continued, as they walked along, unworried about being seen. All of the buildings here were either abandoned or shut up tight; not even a watchman was out in these temperatures, just two reptilian creatures who seemed to find warmth in each other's company as well as the well-insulated outerwear they were bundled in. "And then we could come here, when there's a better chance of the current flowing towards the ocean, and finish the ceremony here by my throwing the wreath and the watertight package into the river. Then we go back to the lair and have a sort of celebration dinner."

The large crocodile had listened respectfully to all of Michelangelo's plans. He had decided on using a few of the items from his research and then had constructed his own plans for a memorial. He would be chief mourner, and wear the special outfit; there would be a tablet for summoning the ancestors ("Master Yoshi being the only one, though"), and a table with some food prepared especially by Michelangelo ("I think he would have liked cheese nachos and pizza with lots of veggie toppings.").

Then, after a eulogy written by Michelangelo, they were to offer incense to the departed, then make a procession with candles through the tunnels leading to this part of the river, where Michelangelo would say a few more words, then throw two items into the river, hoping that they would both float out to sea- a wreathe made of forget-me-nots ("April said she would do her best to get me one! I hope she succeeds! It just seems the most appropriate flower to use."), and a beautiful, brand-new copy of "Frankenstein", inscribed with a personal message from Mikey to Victor ("But I'm not showing it to anyone- it needs to be personal."), wrapped tightly in many layers of waterproof wrapping, and secured in a specially designed container that would, if its programing worked according to Donatello's plans, not only ensure that it made it a good distance out into the ocean, but would suddenly open grooves along its sides, thereby flooding the container with water, and sinking below the surface, where (hopefully) no one would ever find it.

Leatherhead smiled to himself as Michelangelo waited for his approval. He did not understand why the young Turtle valued his opinion on the matter, but he was very fond of him and wanted to help in any way with his grieving process.

"It sounds like an excellent plan," he told him, and he didn't need to be looking at Michelangelo to know that the Turtle was beaming in satisfaction. "Donatello asked me to look over his plans for the container, and I do not think that either of you will have to worry. Professor Honeycutt also seems to thing it a very unique device. It is a shame that Donatello cannot get the recognition he deserves in this world for his brilliant mind."

"Yeah, I'll bet Donnie could win Scientist of the Year!" Michelangelo agreed fervently. "He's made so much of our stuff, and if he can see what something is made of, he can copy it and even make it better! I bet there isn't anything-"

A strange noise cut off Mikey's praise of his brainy brother, and put both of them on alert. A hollow laugh, faint and threatening, had reached their reptilian ears, covered as they were with the snug and warm hats they wore against the cold.

Mikey's 'chuks were out of his deep pockets in a flash. He was glad he'd worn the gloves instead of his more comfortable mittens; the gloves made use of the weapons easier. Both of them had faded into the shadows of the already dark night without a sound. Each tried to locate the source of the sound, tried to determine if it was a threat or a passing noise.

"Run!" they both heard a frightened voice in the distance, and focusing their better than human eyesight on the general location, they saw in a moment the source of the warning running quickly towards them. Right behind him were three others, but they were not chasing the first- Mikey saw at once that they were gang members, though he wasn't sure which one at the moment- he sniffed in disdain- Purple Dragon wannabes- and almost laughed at the fear evident in their manner as they hightailed it out of wherever they were coming from.

Mikey had started to relax, to turn to speak to Leatherhead, when the Crocodile, stiffening, warned him to silence, pointing back to where they had been looking.

The gang members had passed their hiding place quickly; the sounds of their footsteps faded into the night, only to be replaced by a new sound- the sound of a thousand floorboards that needed replacing, the sound of a million balloons being rubbed together to produce that irritating noise for ticking off your brothers- the sound of squeaking magnified by hundreds and hundreds of-

"Rats!" Mikey spoke the word involuntarily, as he caught sight of what L.H. had already seen.

Literally hundreds of rats poured out of the darkness into the pale glow of a stray security light. It looked like a black flood of water the way it flowed forwards, yet it was hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of rats! They were grouped together and moving as if with one purpose- to follow the intruders that had dared to trespass on their home!

That strange hollow laugh sounded again, followed by a sharp whistle, and the rats halted their forward progress, milled about for a few seconds, and then began flowing back into the darkness.

Mikey realized that he was gripping his weapons from fear. That entire scene had filled him with a creepy horror, as if he'd been watching some late-night fright fest!

His eyes strained against the darkness, searching for the source of the laugh and the whistle- there! A brief glimpse- a tall person- damn the dark! Mikey could not make out anything except the fact that it appeared to be a tall man- then the figure and the rats were swallowed up in the night.

"Did you get a good look at him?" he asked Leatherhead, eyes still on the darkness where the mysterious person had disappeared.

"No. But it was a human. Of that I am certain."

Mikey swallowed a few times. A human? A human who apparently controlled rats? For those creatures had certainly followed this guy's command to halt- what else could that whistle have meant?

"Uh, suddenly I want to go home," he said, voice shaking and not from the cold. "I think I need to talk to Master Splinter."

"Yes," Leatherhead agreed, almost shepherding his young friend before him as they quickly made their way back to the entrance to their underground dwellings. "I think I need to have a few words with him myself."