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What's in a name?

C Turtle Tot Fiction! It started so innocently-a lazy Sunday afternoon. However, all that changed when Mikey notices a significant difference in the way Splinter adresses them-why won't he use a nickname?

Devoted to:

Mary is a ray of summer light
Answering a dark, tormented sky.
Rarely does she fail to feel delight,
Yet Mary feels and does not wonder why.

Anna has a smile I simply adore,
Not one, but two, framing her lips.
Nor in my own smile could I ask for more:
And Deep Sapphire orbs set with deep diamond chips.

Megan is a cool wind off the water
Easing the brutal pleasures of the sun.
Gifts like hers come often without quarter,
And thus her gentle soul is dearly won:
Not easily is Megan's talent undone.

Rhoda's joy is wonderful:
Hopeful and glowing, free and light.
Oh, reason simply can't supply
Day's sufficient explanation why,
And though thought is not the cause, but sight.
Just Each day is super bountiful, not least this day--as is her right!

Sorry I've been gone for so long, people...I've been gone at camp.

And now, with the fact that I just had the brace taken off my leg-hooray ^^-and that the custody circumstances switched, my life is going to become a lot more complicated.

I plan to apply for a job soon at the library.....and, in between school and my weekend custodial visits...I'm going to be extremely busy. But Fanfiction is a very important aspect of my life, and I refuse to let it die.

Que Sera Sera.

* * *

It was everywhere. You couldn't escape it.

Even as people took cover under a shop doorway with awning, it plunked in an arrhythmic pattern on the canvas above. Streams trickled off the corners, making a constant splattering noise that seemed to always be right next to you, never breaking rhythm. They seemed to defy gravity as some flowed on support bars for the awning, leading right into the center of your shelter and dripping, cold, wet and slightly uncomfortable, onto your face, hair and shoulders. The little droplets rolling off your jacket dulled the color of the fabric, making it match the surroundings of the shop: dreary, blurred and gray.

The sound was everywhere. The smallest trickle running through shaded cracks in the pavement; the light, repeated, bouncing plink it made when it hit the leaves of trees; the steady river bubbling out from gutters into the streets; the constant showering and splashing of what poured from the dark above.

It was as though you were standing in a circle of thin waterfalls, but there was no end to the drops that pelted your body mercilessly. They had already gotten the best of many New Yorkers as they sprinted for cover, seeking warm refuge. The air that surrounded him was a moist chill and it soaked into your clothes. Replacing a warm protection, it covered you with a layer of liquid ice.

A turtle below the surface as such:

"Brrrrr!"

Mikey shuddered slightly as Splinter gently tucked the quilts more tightly around him, looking a trifle amused.

"Michelangelo....really. A late Autumn shower is not that all to be concerned about.

Raph wriggled in between his cool pillows with a smile.

"Shower? More like a downpour."

It was true. Outside, the icy winds were whipping about as they released their full fury about upon the city. Leo clapped his hands over his ears as Splinter began to tuck them in.

Some people found it soothing to fall asleep to the sound of raindrops pattering on the rooftops...but when you live underneath the city streets, near the storm sewage and rain

drains, geysers of water splashed themselves in an echoing roar.

If you weren't reasonably used to it, it would take hours to fall into slumber, IF you could sleep at all.

"Donatello....take care that you do not tumble out of bed again. And, Raphael, please face the other way. I do not wish you to kick Leonardo."

"HEY!" exclaimed Raph indignantly. "I don't kick Leo!"

"Do too!"

"Do NOT!"

"Do-"

Splinter silenced them with a stare before giving each turtle a small peck on the head.

"Good night, Raphael. Donatello, Michelangelo, Leonardo. Sleep well."

Mikey frowned as the turtles sleepily responded, and Splinter blew out the light, leaving them surrounded in shadow.

There it was again.....

Hopefully, the rat could manage a few minutes to himself....he picked up his knitting basket and reached for his needles.

He'd found them slightly dullened, but still reasonably good. Hopefully, they could handle repairing Donatello's cap before winter....

A soft pattering behind him.

Splinter started slightly as he turned, a small frown upon his face.

"Son....? Michelangelo?"

Mikey timidly stepped into the dim candlelight, fidgeting slightly.

"Um.....er....hi, Sensei."

Splinter dropped his knitting, looking careworn.

"My son....what is it? What are you doing up?"

Mikey paused, not sure how to voice himself properly. Splinter never did approve of them leaving their room at night.

"Master Splinter? There's....somethin' I wanna ask you."

Splinter blinked.

"My son, I have already told you-time and time again. You will NOT be pulled down the drain at bathti-"

The youngest by three and a half minutes shook his head vigorously.

"No! Noooo! Not THAT!"

The rat paused.

Well-this was something new. The rat patted his lap, and Mikey scurried into it.

"Sensei.....how come?"

The rat frowned.

"How....come....what, my son?"

Mikey squeezed his hands, looking timid.

"Why....don't you ever call me Mikey? Why Michelangelo?"

The rat blinked again, looking very much taken aback.

That really wasn't what he had expected at all.

Mikey plowed on.

"And....how come you don't call Leo Leo? Just Leonardo? And Donny Donny or Don? Or Raphie-"

Much to the turtle's surprise, the rat to chuckle.

"Ah......an odd question, my son, seeing as things have always been as they are now. But..."

The rat reached for an old book perched on a nearby shelf, and then quietly began to flick through the yellowing pages. Mikey peered over it with interests.

"There are no pictures in it!"

He chuckled slightly.

"That is what makes it special, my son."

Mikey scowled.

What kind of story didn't have pretty pictures? The rat paused in mid page turn.

"Ah.....here it is." The rat cleared his throat.

"I....made these for you when you were much smaller." he managed a quiet chuckle.

"Birth...certificates, if you would."

Mikey started, and peered at the timeworn paper with interest.

"What's it say?"

"What does it say, my son," corrected Splinter gently. "These are your proper names that I selected four years ago.

Leonardo Sora Yoshi Splinterson, Nov. 12

Raphael Kano Yoshi Splinterson, Nov. 12

Donatello Benjiro Yoshi Splinterson, Nov. 12.

Michelangelo Akeno Yoshi Splinterson: Nov. 12.

Splinter smiled, nostalgia rushing at him.

"Your...nicknames, as it were, were created when you were much younger and learning how to speak. You weren't very coherent....and your names may have seemed a little

complicated. I thought it would be a habit you'd grow out of, but..." he shrugged, a small smile on his face.

"I make no problem of it, my son. I merely amuse myself by addressing you as so, because each time is a happy one. Names can mean power, little one. And I still remember that

late evening, when I finally found something suitable to name you a-"

Splinter paused.

Mikey had fallen asleep then and there on his knee.

The rat laughed softly, before closing the book and placing it carefully on the shelf before standing, Mikey's head lolling slightly as the rat carried him back to his bed, and gave a

gentle kiss on his forehead again.

"You're nothing if not typical, my son."

End