Hi All
Welcome to my Bold Experiment. I've never submitted anything to this site before, but here we go. This story takes place in the Mirage Universe, shortly after the Return to New York story arc, and before City at War. Raphcentric, adult situations, and I'm not sure yet how this site will deal with Raphael's potty-mouth. Guess I'll find out. ;o)
GW

Sunni
One

It was supposed to be a simple operation. Mike had found the old electric stove listing forlornly up against a dumpster under the concrete supports of the on ramps to the bridge, almost at the water's edge. A tall water spillway emptying into the East River allowed ready access to the underground tunnels which led eventually to the new area that had been decreed home, even if only for a while.

While Mike had stayed to help Don as he raced to work out the new wiring system, Raph and Leo had headed up topside in the dead of night to retrieve the stove. Now that they had found a more or less suitable place, they were anxious to make their new accommodations livable. They had lived too long with the comfortable amenities of a normal household; too long in the farmhouse with wood heat and hot showers, and too long without the uncertainty of where the next meal would come from.

Of course, that seemed to be one reason they were back in the sewer.

It was early spring, and even this close to the water, the frost had formed patterns on the black windshields of the abandoned cars beneath the expressway. The burn barrels of the homeless had long since died out, though their oily smell hung in the air, mixing with the taste of exhaust and smoke. The city still rumbled around them, in the darkness, familiar as the throb of their own pulses. Her late night song seemed distant and muted, almost a melodious lullaby. Almost.

Looking like two raggedly dressed derelicts, Leo and Raph crept from the shadows and hefted the stove. They made their way carefully through the broken glass and debris to the concrete embankment that led to the spillway. Raphael cursed under his breath at the awkwardness of the task, balancing his side of the appliance against his thighs as his toes curled against the cold concrete.

"You OK?" asked Leo holding the uphill end of the stove.

"Got it."

Once inside the five-foot tall tunnel the going was easier, albeit pitch black. The darkness was not an issue though. Even with the recent two-year hiatus from New York's underground world, the habits of the previous 15 years, years spent living with every sense extended to the fullest, were not easily forgotten. They knew with an almost sonar confidence where the damp brick walls led. And each knew the movements of the other's body like his own.

The problem was the stove. The most direct route to the new site brought them to a section of tunnel that had at one time collapsed, and had been hastily rebuilt. A human might be able to pass through crawling on all fours. Two five-foot tall mutant turtles certainly could have. The boxy stove refused.

"Damn."

"She's just not gonna go, is she?"

"Nope." Raphael sank down on his haunches in the tunnel, aware of the two inches of icy water soaking the bottom of his overcoat.

Leo sighed. "I guess we could double back. Take a different route, come in from the north side."

"Take all night."

"It's gonna take as long as it takes anyway."

"Ah, jeez…."

"Hey, what if we took it apart?"

"Took it apart?"

"Yeah, look. If we pry the back off, and take off the upper panel piece with the clock, we might be able to get it through sideways." Leonardo was already working on wiggling loose the top section.

"You're gonna need a screw driver. How can you see, anyway?"

"Hand me a sai."

"Leo, this is bullshit…" Raphael gave him one sai and set to work on the back panel with the other.

They managed to break the stove down into three smaller components that would fit through the narrow section and were sliding the first and largest section through when Raphael yelped.

"Ow!"

"What?"

"Damned thing bit me."

"You cut?"

"Yeah. Just my hand. Damn. It's a bleeder."

Leonardo passed him his mask in the dark.

"I can use my own, Leo."

"It was in my pocket. It's clean. Go ahead."

Once they had gotten the stove pieces through the narrow section they were left with the annoying dilemma of how to carry the three odd shaped parts connected by dangling wires with two sets of hands. Leo lifted the two panels, shouldering the smaller boxy piece, and Raph lifted the larger heavier base section. They set off again in the chilled still air of the underground, their feet sloshing in the cold run-off.

"Where are we you think?" asked Raphael eventually as they trudged along in the cold gloom.

"Twenty-fifth? Somewhere in there. Midtown anyway."

"I'm starving."

"Me too. I hope Splinter ate that bread Mike brought him."

"Why wouldn't he?"

Leo didn't answer.

"Why wouldn't he?" repeated Raphael. " Cause none of us had anything?"

Leo nodded without turning back.

"Hey, I was thinking we should go check out that place I was at the other night. Whatsit?…the Regency."

Leo paused. Hunger twisted his stomach. "It would be a good thing if we brought something back with us. I don't know if it's a good idea to hit the same place twice so soon."

"Yeah, well, I uh…" Raphael hesitated. "Ya know that roast I got there? I think they left it out on purpose."

Leo turned in the dark. He could barely make out his brother's shape two feet behind him in the murky darkness. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think it was left out for someone to pick up, on purpose. It wasn't in the dumpster. It was wrapped in plastic, in a paper bag, sitting next to it. And remember; it was perfectly good. Not spoiled at all."

"Hm."

"OK, Leo, here's the other thing. I didn't tell you before cause I figured you'd blow a gasket, but Mike an' me were there last week, and uh… someone saw us."

"Someone saw you?"

"Well, not like saw saw. It was raining. All they saw was some guy in a trench coat goin' over the chain link fence."

"Great." Leo propped his burden against the wall and leaned into it for balance. "And you think we oughta go back there?"

"Hey, if someone's leavin' food out for us on purpose seems like a good deal to me."

"So what? Are they leaving it there out of some altruistic motive or as bait?"

"Bait for what?" Raphael almost laughed. "What is it, open season on winos? Come on Leo, for once I might be right, heh?"

Leo's stomach ground again. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this hungry. Probably over three years ago. His own discomfort he could deal with, and he didn't want it to be a part of his decision. But he knew Don and Mike must be feeling the same, or worse. Donatello wouldn't leave the new lair until he finished whatever project was driving him.

"And besides, if Splinter didn't eat that bread-" Raphael was sounding remarkably reasonable.

"Alright, alright. We'll check it out."

The fenced service area behind the Regency Hotel was bordered on two sides by alleys and by the back of another hotel on the third. Downtown was still alight, erasing the fine line between very late at night and very early in the morning, but the service yard was small, cluttered and blackened in shadows. Leonardo perched on the seven-foot fence close to the brick wall, crouching close to a pile of discarded building materials, the pads of his bare feet balancing on the cold steel bar. The rolls of insulation and several long boards leaned against the chain link and extended two feet over his head, efficiently concealing him.

The wet smell of old food wafted from the two dumpsters; onions, tomato sauce, and souring milk. Leo's stomach growled at the same he felt like retching. He had almost forgotten what it was like to eat everything with a coating of used coffee grounds, but he had a feeling he was about to be reminded.

He trusted Splinter's wisdom in this. He knew he had good reasons to bring them back here. He just couldn't help wondering, right this moment, what those reasons were.

Raphael was on the ground, slipping silently through the darkest recesses of the service yard. Leo watched him move, quickly, low, cat-like in his silent stalking, to the two large dumpsters. He heard him let out low hiss and then the soft rustle of paper bags.

Cigarette smoke—Leonardo looked up. A light shone dimly at the door, a sense of movement within. He whistled sharply, saw Raphael drop and pivot, one bag clutched to his chest. Raph ran and leaped, hitting the chain link fence. Leonardo heard the clang and rattle of the steel behind him as he dropped over the other side and ran for the alley. He waited, pressed against the wall, to see his brother running toward him. No one came. He'd heard him climb the fence. Where the hell was he?

"Raphael?"

Raphael froze for an instant, fingers curled through the steel links. He couldn't have heard that right.

"Raphael," repeated the woman's voice behind him. "Hey. Lucindra says 'Hi'."

In two quick movements Raph cleared the fence and landed on the other side. He ran to Leo, holding the bulging bag of groceries, and the two dashed for the manhole, uncomfortably well lit, and close to the main street.

The haul had been impressive. A loaf of bread, a bag of apples, a bunch of carrots, a gallon of milk and some slightly stale cookies. The cookies went first.

"Donatello, eat something!" said Leonardo, holding the dim flashlight aloft for him.

"If I don't finish grounding this connection before those batteries give out, we're gonna all be in the dark and I won't be able to find my lunch anyway." He dropped the screwdriver and Leo directed the beam to the ground so he could retrieve it.

"You're standing in water, Don," said Leo.

"I know, I know. Just try and find someplace in here where there's no water-" he snapped his mouth shut, cutting short his sentence, and glancing quickly back at Splinter.

Splinter sat on a crate in the opposite corner of the area which had been designated the new living room. He was wrapped in one of the wool blankets April had sent them off with, thoughtfully chewing an apple.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Michaelangelo.

"Yeah, somewhere behind the box over there is the electric tape-"

"Here y'go." Mike tossed it and Donatello deftly caught it.

"Look, you guys," said Don between his teeth as he bit off a section of tape. "I know how to do this stuff so much better now. This place we're gonna have lights, we're gonna have heat, we're gonna have a shower, we already have a stove--"

"Don," said Leo. "I'm shutting off this flashlight. Please eat something."

"Ok, ok. I think we have it now." Donatello stepped back and plugged one end of and extension cord into his newly devised socket high on the wall, and carefully draping the cord so it didn't fall in the water, plugged in the small electric heater sitting on a broken chair. The heater buzzed, and slowly began to glow red.

"Ha ha!" crowed Donatello, and turned the heater toward Splinter.

Outside the warming glow of the noisy heater, Raphael leaned against the mortared wall. He had decided not to say anything about the woman who had called him by name. He could have been mistaken, too, though he doubted it.

"Lucindra says 'hi.'"

Too weird.

It had been three years since he had seen Lucindra. His friendship with her had been nearly impossible to explain to his brothers then. She'd been one hell of a good sparring partner, for as long as that had lasted. She stopped meeting with him after they'd both nearly been killed in a surprise ambush. Couldn't blame her. But it had caused so much dissension, so much mistrust directed at him. There didn't seem to be any point in opening that can of worms again. Arguing with Leo about things like that just made him feel worse. Splinter sided with Leo. Mike and Don sided with Leo. Raphael was always on the other side of the fence. It was a fence that kept him prisoner, bounded on all sides. Locked in and locked out at the same time.

Look at 'em now. Acting all happy. Don going on about his great plans to make this pit into the Taj Mahal or some damn thing. Leo kissing up as if he thinks this idea of Splinter's is the greatest thing since chopsticks. Mike juggling apples.

Yeah, well, if it weren't for me, there wouldn't be any damn apples to juggle.

Am I the only one who thinks coming back to the sewer just sucks? Or am I the only one with the guts to admit it?

Raphael waited one night before going back. Two days working with his brothers in the dark and wetly dripping new "home" was enough to drive him to distraction, but he hung in with them as long as he could. He chose a moment close to dawn, when everyone was sleeping, curled up on the odd sized packing crates under April's blankets. With no one to ask where he was going, Raphael slipped away silently and headed for the Regency.

It was drizzling, one of those steady, chilling drizzles that a month prior would have been snow. He made his way down the alley, hugging the walls as much to avoid the rain as to remain unseen. Slowly, with deliberate care so as not to rattle the cold steel, he climbed the fence, and stole over the wet asphalt of the cluttered yard. The hiss of rain helped to mask any sound he might have made. Something black and shiny fluttered fitfully in breeze sitting next to the dumpster. Raphael grinned as he crept up to it. It was black plastic bag, smelling wonderfully of fried chicken. A piece of masking tape was stuck across it. The bare bulb lit by the back door shed enough light he could read what was written in black marking pen on it:

RAFAEL

Raph started, his heart thudding. He picked up the bag, spun around and was over the fence, down the alley and slipping into the manhole in four seconds.

On his way through the darkened storm drains he tore the masking tape off the bag and stuffed it in his pocket.

He was back two nights later. Raphael was glad at least he had no rain to contend with, the night was clear and cold. He had found a smooth board to crouch down on, hidden behind a barrel and most of an old freezer. It was early, much earlier than he was accustomed to being out, but he wanted to be there before the kitchen crew left for the night. He knew the tattered overcoat and shapeless fedora offered little in the way of concealment if anyone were to get a good look, but if he was being hunted, he had to turn the tables, and become the hunter.

Spaced about 20 feet apart in the old brick face of the wall were two entrances; a large wide delivery entry, with a roll down steel door, and a smaller screened doorway with the yellow electric light, which led into the kitchen. Overhead the latticework of fire escapes and small windows extended up twenty floors. Above that, the starless sky was a narrow band of black between the towering buildings. The large airy windows, which were the eyes of the individual hotel rooms, were on the other sides of the building, facing the Avenues.

Inside the kitchen door he could hear voices, sounds of activity, the clanging of pots, and low thudding of large heavy doors. The smells of cooking food, and hot water and soap drifted his way. As he waited, the sounds quieted, became less frequent. He watched his breath float white in the night air, and pulled the battered fedora further down, eyes narrowed.

The kitchen screen door opened with a tinny creak, sending a long quadrangle of light into the center of the service yard. Raphael tensed, lifting himself a fraction of an inch higher to get a better look. A young woman stepped out, carrying several large, well-stuffed white plastic bags. She was dressed in white, an apron over white pants, and her curly brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She walked quickly to the dumpster, heaved it open, and threw the bags in. She crossed her arms against the chill, and hurried back to the door at a jog. Moments later she re-emerged, this time with a brown paper shopping bag. She set it against the dumpster and knelt down. The smell of marking pen hit Raphael's nostrils as she wrote on the bag. She sat back on her heels, seeming to reconsider, then capped the pen and sat the bulging bag up a little straighter.

"You spelled it wrong."

The young woman yelped and nearly fell backwards; turning around so fast she slipped and had to grab the dumpster for support.

She gulped, breathless, looking around the yard for the source of the voice. "Who's there?"

"Who do you think?"

The woman planted her feet, shifted the marking pen in her hand so she gripped it like a knife, and steadied her breathing. "Is that you, Raphael?"

"Could be."

"You don't have to be afraid, you know," she said. "I won't hurt you."

There was a long pause.

"Hello?" she said, and took a tentative step toward Raphael's hiding place. "I said I won't hurt you…"

"Well, good. That's good. Glad to hear it," Raphael finally answered with a small catch in his voice as he suppressed the urge to laugh. He stood and stepped out from behind the freezer, still half hidden in the shadows, one eye on his escape path.

The woman narrowed her eyes, staring at the dark, trench coated shape as it moved forward a step or two. "Are you Raphael?" she asked.

"You keep calling me that. Guess so."

"Well, OK, then. Until you tell me otherwise I'm going to call you Raphael. Hi. I'm Sunni."

"Nice ta meetcha." Raphael pulled his collar up to better cover his wide face. The exposure was nerve-wracking, but his curiosity had already won out over caution. "So Sunni, what's with the grocery bags?"

"I left 'em out for you." She had dropped her defensive stance and stood now facing him with a relaxed confidence.

"For me. How come?"

"Well, if you're who I think you are, you know my cousin, Lucindra Thompkins."

Raphael didn't react outwardly, not that she could see his face anyway in the dark. "You're Lucindra's cousin? She told you about me?"

Sunni smiled. "Not exactly. I told her about this strange footprint I saw a couple of weeks ago, and this guy who'd been in the dumpster, and she thought it might be someone named Raphael. She wouldn't tell me how she knew you."

Raphael breathed out, somewhat relieved. Cindra had mostly kept her word, it seemed.

"So, why don't you come on out, Raphael? I told you I'm not gonna hurt you. And I'm not gonna call the police or anything. Come on out where I can see you."

This time he chuckled out loud. "That's OK."

"Look," she said in a gentle tone, as though coaxing a small child. "You don't have to worry. I work with a lot of people on the street. I know things can get pretty bad. There isn't much I haven't seen."

You haven't seen this….

"Sunni, you're a nice person. Thanks fer leavin' the stuff out. You see Cindra, you tell her I'm doin' fine an' I hope she is too. But I gotta be goin' now."

"Well, OK." Sunni quickly turned and picked up the bag of food and Raphael realized the strategic error he had made. "Here ya go," Sunni smiled, lifting the bag in his direction.

"You can just set it down, I'll get it."

Sunni smiled even wider, lifted her chin, and stood her ground.

Raphael considered his options. He could turn and be over fence and gone before she even knew what had happened, and go home empty handed. He could take one running jump forward, handspring over her head, and in the resultant confusion, get the bag from her from behind and escape, doubtless scaring her half to death in the process. Or he could stand here trying to negotiate and hope she became impatient and would simply leave the bag and go. Raphael figured it was a safe bet whose patience would wear thin first, though. A sharp exhale escaped him. Yep, he wasn't going to win any patience contests.

"Come on Raphael, I know you were friends with my cousin. Nothing could be all that bad."

She stood expectantly, the yellow light illuminating her hair from behind, creating a golden glow around her face. Medium height, most of her shape hidden by the kitchen apron, Raphael figured she was in her 20's. She actually didn't look much like her tall, lean cousin. He had always thought of Lucindra as snake-like: sleek and languid, until she struck with lightening speed and strength. This girl was more like a bouncy puppy. Raphael scratched his cheek and cocked his head.

"So what do you want, Sunni? What's the angle here?"

"There's no angle. I know a lot of people. Not social workers, or people in the system. I mean good folks who are out on the streets, helping people like you. I might be able to help you if you let me."

"I don't need any help."

Sunni sighed. A knowing look passed over her face, as though she had heard that many times. "OK, Raphael. I gotta finish my clean up. I'll just leave it here." She stepped back and carefully set the bag on the ground. She turned and walked back to the kitchen, then paused at the door. "Oh, listen. There's a friend of mine who's gonna be opening a place up in Harlem, at 128th and Burton real soon. You might want to check it out. Free food. And you get to eat indoors if you want. You come back here, and I'll let you know, 'kay?"

"OK, thanks."

He waited until she had been inside for several minutes before stealing across the yard, snagging the bag, and taking off.

As he hurried along through the gurgle and hollow darkness of the sewer tunnels, it began really bothering him, the whole thing, but he wasn't sure why. It grated on him. Gnawed at him.

What the heck is it? She thinks I'm a homeless street person, fine, I can work with that. Who cares what she thinks? Bottom line, we eat decent food….but...

She feels sorry for me.

Gah.

That sucks.

(Chapter Two coming shortly)