Chapter Text
Michelangelo stopped at the sewer junction below Amsterdam Avenue and West 173rd Street, listening for the rumble of cars overhead. He heard nothing, so he lifted the manhole cover a few inches and peeked out at the darkened Highbridge Play Center. It was always a risk coming up out of the sewers in the city, yet he knew from experience that this corner was usually quiet at around midnight, and this overcast evening was no exception. He looked left and right for people and cars, then he quietly slipped onto the sidewalk and replaced the manhole cover before running to the shadows beside the building.
He liked this part of the city, especially the park, and sometimes he would hop the fence behind the rec center to go for a late-night swim in the pools there; but tonight he had other entertainment in mind, so he gripped his skateboard tightly and continued on to the tree-shrouded concrete walkway that circled behind the pool area. There, he leaped onto his board and got a speed-start before launching himself up onto the metal railing that went along the stairs that led to the lower pathway. His board screeched and sparked on the way down, and at the bottom he landed securely on his wheels as he continued on to the left.
There was little he enjoyed more than skating the sewer pipes and subway lines below the city, but sometimes he just wanted to get out in the air; and though last year the city had opened mountain bike trails and dirt jumps in Highbridge Park, they were not at all suited to skateboarding, even with the rough-terrain modifications Donnie had made to his new board. The paved paths around the park were better for that, but in his mind they were just not quite open enough, and more than once he'd come a bit too close to hitting a wandering raccoon or a mother opossum with her babies on her back for him to feel comfortable going along that way at the speed he liked.
At the point where the walkway turned on a hairpin to the left he stopped and kicked his board up, catching it in a smooth and practiced motion. He tucked it under his arm as he looked at the low building there; then he vaulted over the seven-foot-tall wrought iron fence and hopped down the stairs. There, he paused for a moment, casting his sight high above the gatehouse, where the Highbridge Water Tower stood like a sentinel against the clouded sky; then he shifted his eyes down to the building's metal door, where on the lintel were affixed the brass numbers 1848.
The High Bridge between Manhattan and the Bronx was the oldest bridge in New York City, though it was really nothing more than a pedestrian walkway. It had closed down some time in the 1970s, but Mike had heard on the news that the city was going to start fixing it up next year for public use again, so he wanted to get as many rides on it as he could before that happened. He was really going to miss it up here, since it had always been his favorite place to just get out to catch some fresh air and maybe stare up at the stars for a while.
Not that there were any stars out tonight. Honestly, he thought, it looked like it might rain. Still, that did provide one small advantage, since on nights when bad weather threatened, homeless people didn't tend to come out to the bridge to sleep. It was unfortunate that they had to do that at all, but it was a sad reality in New York, and when people were up there resting at night, Mike didn't like to disturb them with his skating; so he had gotten into the habit of strolling along the 1400-foot span before taking to his board, just to see if there was anyone there that he might bother.
He spun around east and started walking along the bridge, heading towards the Bronx end, which was invisible in the darkness far ahead. For the first hundred feet or so, cars rushed by on the roadway beneath the western stone arch, but the traffic noises faded as he continued along the iron span that towered some 140 feet above the Harlem River. A few boats slid by on the water below, their lights mere pinpricks on the black nothingness, and even though Mike had no fear of heights, he still got an anxious tingle in his feet when he glanced over the side.
Funny how that never kept him from grinding the rails there, but he supposed that focusing on his skills kept him from thinking about the plunge. Still, he had stopped bringing his chucks out on nights when he wanted to ride the bridge, ever since he'd accidentally lost one over the water while doing a frontside bluntslide that had gone a bit awry a few months ago. The flip itself had gone well, but on the landing he had hit a hidden groove in the metal and the board had come out from under him, and he'd only just managed to keep himself from falling into the river by grabbing a light pole… though the front truck of his board had bent, and one set of his chucks ended up taking the long dive into the water.
Mike pushed the memory of Splinter scolding him about that to the back of his mind and continued on, thankful, at least, that the accident had led to Donnie making him this new board. He was eager to get on it for a long, straight rush, and for a while he figured he would soon be able to do just that, since he saw no indication that anyone was making the bridge their home for the night; but then on the light breeze he caught a whiff of what might have been cigarette smoke.
He stopped, sniffing the air and looking intently ahead. He saw nothing except the faint lights of the Bronx shining through the overgrown trees on the eastern side of the bridge, so he walked on. Then he stopped again. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that perhaps he had just seen a small light about fifty feet away on the right. It was there for a moment, then gone… and at once he smelled smoke again.
His shoulders slumped. There was someone there, and so his hopes of having a nice evening out evaporated. Still, he thought, maybe he could come back in a couple hours and they would be gone, then he could have his ride without disturbing anyone. If it wasn't raining by then. Not that he minded the rain, but it made his board a bit more unpredictable than he liked, especially on the rails.
Regardless, he didn't immediately turn around and leave. Instead, he peered into the shadows, and at last he could just make out a figure dressed in clothes so dark that they practically blended into the night. Curiosity got the better of him then, and he silently stepped a bit closer, halting at about thirty feet away, where he had a little better view.
He could see now that the human was leaning against the chest-high rail, just to the side of one of the many non-functioning light poles that lined the bridge. Their head was covered by a hood, and they were wearing what seemed to be a black leather jacket; and though he could make out little else, it looked like they had what might have been an old canvas backpack slung over their shoulders. As he watched on, the person lifted a small, pale hand to their hidden face, and the tip of their cigarette glowed brightly as they took a long drag.
Yeah… he thought. They don't want to be bothered.
Mike at last made the decision to go home and backed a step away; but before he could turn around to leave he saw the person stiffen up. They then threw their spent cigarette into the river below before sticking their feet on the horizontal lower bar and lifting themselves up onto their toes in order to lean over the railing.
Oh… that's not good…
The human leaned farther and farther over, craning their neck as if searching for something below; and though their hands seemed to be gripping the rail tightly, still their feet began to slip slightly off of the bar below them. Mike felt his own feet begin to tingle as he imagined the human plunging head-first into the darkness, not knowing how far they had to fall before hitting the water.
Bad idea! he thought as the person's feet slipped a little more. Very bad idea!
Without taking another moment to mull it over, Mike dropped his board to the ground with a loud clatter and charged forward. The stranger whipped their head around, presumably looking to where the noise had come from, but they barely managed to let out a brief yelp of alarm before he had grabbed them by the backpack.
The person tried to pull away, sliding one arm out of their pack strap and nearly sending themselves over the side of the bridge in their fright; so Mike reached out and seized them by the wrist, then wrapped his arm around their waist to pull them back again. Their legs kicked and their arms flailed against him, and he was taken by surprise by an abrupt elbow to the jaw.
He let go then, dropping the person rather indelicately to their knees on the bricks and sending the backpack to the ground beside them. Their hood slipped off as they wheeled about, revealing a young Japanese lady with short black hair and bangs that fell untidily over her brow; and when her eyes fixed on Mike's face, she gasped and fell back onto her bottom. She then grabbed her bag and scurried away from him for a dozen or so feet before standing and hollering something at him in Japanese.
There were only a few words that Mike could translate, and he suddenly wished that he had paid more attention to Splinter's language lessons. Not that she was taking a moment to pause in her berating to let him respond, so he simply gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. The girl just seemed to grow more agitated by this, and she swiftly unbuckled her backpack then reached inside, drawing something out before tossing the bag down and spilling the contents onto the bridge. She then waved the object at him threateningly, all the while yelling things that he could not understand.
Mike took a step back, thinking at first that maybe she had pulled a gun on him; but when he looked closer at what was in her hand he realized that it was green.
She yelled louder still, and Mike held his hands out in a peaceful gesture.
"Hey, I'm… um… I'm sorry if I hurt you and your…" He squinted at the object. "…Cucumber?"
Her jaw slacked. "You speak English?" she asked, lowering her hand a bit.
That was kind of an odd question, he thought, to ask someone that lived in New York. "Uh… yeah?"
She gave him a puzzled look, then pointed the cucumber at him again. "Fine!" she said. "You want this? Do you want it?"
"Not really," he told her, rubbing his sore chin. "My brother Leo might, though."
"Your… brother?"
"Yeah. He's a vegetarian. I mean, he does eat cheese and—"
"Whatever!" she cut him off; then she turned the cucumber over and showed him the Japanese writing that was carved into the side. "You see this? This is me!" She then held the cucumber high in the air before throwing it over the railing, to the river far below. "Go get it, and leave me alone!"
"I, um… I'm good." He glanced at where the vegetable had vanished into the darkness, then turned back to her. "Thanks, anyway."
She drew her eyebrows together. "You… you really don't want it?"
"Not really," he said, grimacing as he pictured the cucumber floating down the Harlem River. "Especially not now."
The confused look on her face deepened. "What kind of kappa are you?"
Oh, he thought. Kappa. Right. It wasn't the first time he had been mistaken for one of those… though he didn't know what the cucumber had to do with anything.
"I'm not a kappa," he said with a wave of his hand. "I'm a turtle. Just a turtle."
"If you were just a turtle you wouldn't be standing on two feet and talking."
He scratched the back of his neck. "Okay, that's fair."
Still she stared at him, and Mike shifted his eyes uncomfortably to the side to avoid locking gazes with her.
"What do you want with me?" she asked at last.
"I don't want anything," he said. "I actually… I was just afraid you were gonna, you know, fall into the river, so I kind of…"
She looked to where she had been leaning over the rail not so long ago. "You were… trying to save me?" she asked. "Why?"
Mike lifted his shoulder in half a shrug. "Because, um… gravity?"
"No! Why would you want to save me at all?"
"It's just… kind of what I do," he said, his cheeks growing slightly warm. "So, um… I'm sorry I scared you, but I guess you're okay now, so I'll just, you know… go home." He turned his shell to her. "Have a good night."
He started making his way back towards the west side of the bridge, picking up his board as he went; but he didn't make it very far before she called out to him.
"Wait!" she said. "Just… wait!"
He stopped and turned around, watching as the girl slowly walked near to him and studied his face. Up close, he could see that her eyes were much lighter than he might have thought, though in the shadows it was difficult to tell exactly what color they were. She looked him over for a few seconds before lifting her hand and poking him on the arm. He glanced down at where her finger had touched, then back up to see that her eyes were narrowed with confusion.
"Heh, yeah," he said. "I'm real."
She let out long breath. "Okay…" she said, then she shook her head as she turned away. "I need a smoke."