I don't own the TMNT

A/N: I'm writing this partly for my own cleansing. I spent 8 years in the military, and lets just say that I picked stuff up. I was medical, so on top of everything else I also served as therapist. My ear heard stories from a LOT of people so that they could vent and talk it out. The only problem is that I really haven't been able to do that myself. The people at the VA, at least in my personal experience, are crap. I don't feel comfortable talking to them. Can't bring it up in real life, that's a sure conversation spoiler. So since I already write as my own form of therapy, this can be even more so. I will include personal, first hand and second hand stories in this fic. Whenever I use something from real life, I will put it either at the end or at the beginning of the chapter after A/N labelled R/L. I will kindly request that if you have any questions concerning the R/L issues ask me in a pm, not a review. Talking about it helps, I'll answer what I feel comfortable doing so. I also respectfully request that you keep your judgements to yourself.

R/L: PTSD is basically an anxiety disorder. The stuff you hear about are forms of anxiety attacks. The one in here is a bad one, I will say that manifestations like what I described are incredibly rare. For me, the attacks are characterized by an overwhelming sense of panic, basically fight or flight. I can feel my heart beat in my chest, and no matter how big of a breath I do or how steady, I feel like I don't get oxygen. Like I'm suffocating. In normal people not used to this it can be mistaken for a heart attack. Sometimes they are triggered, sometimes they happen for no reason whatsoever. Keep in mind that these attacks and the levels of anxiety are different for everyone, all I can really tell you are how mine are. So when you hear about stuff like that, just try to keep an open mind.

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This is shit.

I glared out into the night from the interior of the cruiser. What a shit job. Not at all what I had expected, that's for sure. But I was only here because I had to. Normally I'd take the moral high ground and quit, but with jobs this tight, I swallowed my pride and let the filthy pig say it, let it stick.

"Look, normally we wouldn't take someone with your…history. But the fact is that this is great PR. You're a veteran, and a pretty female one at that. It'll look great in the papers. Show that we're military friendly, support the troops and all that shit."

Couldn't believe that hewas my chief. Guess things didn't end up like they did in the movies. Not at all like the marines either. So…disappointing.

My fingers tightened around the coffee cup. I glared at the brown liquid as if it was at fault for the situation. But really it was mine. I could've put my foot down, I could've done something. But in a way he was right. Who would hire someone with my kind of anger issues? Especially with all those horror stories of people with PTSD snapping and going ballistic. Most weren't true of course, they were just hyped up assumptions, but it still didn't help things.

Or at least that was my excuse.

Reaching into my pocket I took out a metal flask and dolloped a heavy dose of clear liquid into the coffee cup. Taking a sip, I smiled as my insides warmed as the fiery liquid filled me. Shaking the flask in my hand, I guestimated that I might get two more cups out of it. Maybe enough for the night. Might need to stop and get more.

My gaze once again traveled to the night outside the cruiser. It seemed so ominous.

They put me in this section of the city to keep my out of trouble. Though it never was said directly, it was blatantly obvious that the station had some sort of deal with a criminal boss here or something. Basically if anything happened here then we were to turn a blind eye. They still had to assign someone over here for the purposes of being legal on paper. And make an appearance so that people couldn't say that we never showed up. The guy that I took over for suggested a few good napping spots, saying that the visible presence needed was negligible. Better that way. Nobody complained. Everybody that lived here seemed to accept that the police were just a figurehead. So whoever got this patrol was normally the most useless. Once I was placed on this patrol, I instantly lost any respect that I might have gained in the precinct. There was that crazy ex-marine chick, put on the shit patrol.

That wasn't really the part that bothered me a lot though. Strange as it seemed. I was used to such things, especially recently from the VA.

It was those stories…

Weird ones. Freaky ones. Of monsters and other really weird stuff. Started happening about five years ago apparently. All that I had heard sounded too fantastical to be real. Things like ninjas, giant demon dogs and bat-like monsters. Surely the cops at the precinct just wanted to make me scared or something. Some stupid rookie trick.

Especially with the tales of the green ones. Seriously, how stupid did the other cops think I was?

It was all complete shit.

Then again, my grandma always said that all legends had some ring of truth around them.

I shook myself. No use thinking such useless thoughts.

I must be more stressed out than I realized.

For the umpteenth time I looked out into the night. According to what I was told, not directly of course, was that our presence should be minimal at best. Yet here I was, parked in the middle of the area in a dangerous part of town for the third night in a row, disobeying orders.

Call me what you want, but it irked me, the thought of deliberately shirking my duties. Technically, at least on paper, I was hired to patrol this area. I knew that I would get into trouble for actually doing so, but my own moral function fought against it. What did the people here do if they were in trouble?

The thought of the local legends popped into my brain.

I'd be an idiot if I said that I wasn't the least bit curious about those legends. Maybe they were some costumed vigilantes. Maybe all the stories were thought up by some stoned kids. Maybe they were a front for something bigger.

Maybe I was just bored.

Which would totally explain why I had been sitting here, slowly patrolling an eerily silent neighborhood for the last four hours. It was so weird. Almost as if the residents knew better than to walk the streets at night.

Probably wasting my time.

Bad idea, especially since my anxiety level had been slowly winding up the past week or so. I was due for a bad episode any time now. With any luck it wouldn't be crippling.

Something crashed in the night, shattering the silence.

I tensed at the sound, ears straining into the night. Then, it started to creep up on me. Getting startled like that must've triggered it. That feeling, that high, scared feeling. My heart thudded, my chest tightened, my lungs seemed to twitch.

Not right now, Jack, focus girl.

Senses still keen, I took a deep breath. It didn't work. No matter how big a breath I took, it didn't seem to be enough. The feeling of suffocation made the rest of it amp up. I gritted my teeth, fighting it.

I don't need an episode now.

Then someone cried out.

Angrily I punched the dashboard. Screw breathing exercises. That shit never worked anyway. Action. I needed to move.

I couldn't call it in, he said I'd be fired, I wasn't supposed to be here anyway. Whatever I did was up to me. With slow, controlled fingers, I unhooked my seatbelt and opened the door, sliding into the night. Muscles tensed, I carefully shut the door and flicked the safety loop off my 9mm. Even this slight movement seemed to help the rising panic that clawed inside me. Or maybe it just distracted me from it.

Another cry sang out into the night. This one seemed more joyous, similar to the ones that you might hear from a kung fu movie.

Fuck. The stories are fake. Totally fake. I was just paying too much damn attention to them. Yes. That was it. Probably imagined that last sound.

Sliding the gun out of the holster I walked around the car down to the precipice of the alleyway with quick, careful steps, gun pointed low. I could hear my own heart beating and my lungs still felt tight, so the episode wasn't gone, but surely it was under control. I could do this. Eyes flitting everywhere, all my senses were wide open.

I froze when another thud sounded. I couldn't place it, the sound echoed off the walls of the alleyway. Almost like it was coming from the top of the building. But that didn't make any sense. Who fought on the roof? From the street I looked up, gun held low, but saw no movement. Then I heard a low thud. It was followed by a yip and the sharp tangy sound of metal hitting metal. Like swords. Fucking ninja swords.

Shit. Fake. It was all fake. Made up to scare the stupid ex-marine. I always did have an active imagination, right? That was all.

Yet I was moving faster now, near a sprint straight into the narrow alley. As soon as I entered it I started to go faster. Too fast. It must be this damned alley. It was too reminiscent of the close buildings of a dusty middle-eastern town. An episode was nearing. My last breath wheezed just a little bit, I could feel my heart palpitate in my chest. I was letting the panic that clawed in my very gut take over. Struggling, I tamped it down. Wrestled it under control. At least temporarily.

By now I could tell all the sounds were coming from the damned roof. I kept my eyes glued to it, hugging the wall in the trash strewn alley.

Then I saw a movement. Instantly I dropped into a low stance, tucking myself into the shadows. I pointed the barrel of the 9mm up to the roof just in time to see something fly off of it. It glinted in the moonlight as it fell, clanging loudly on the fire escape on the way down. It landed on the pavement a few yards in front of me. My gaze zeroed in on it, teeth clenching at the sight of it.

A sword. It was a fucking sword.

This can't be happening.

I realized that my breathing was too rapid. Staring at the blade, I deliberately took a few long breaths in an attempt to control it. "You're not over there right now, Jack, calm the fuck down. You're in America, that shit doesn't happen here." I whispered to myself. It wouldn't go away.

Maybe I should go. Call it in, risk getting fired. What use would I be if I had an episode? Blinking, my gaze went from the sword to the roof where it fell. Indecision warred within me.

But I was already moving. My instincts had decided for me.

I wrapped my hand around the cold metal of the fire escape, slowly sliding down the ladder, planning on going to the roof. The sound of metal grinding on metal as it moved seemed to scream in my ears. Another cry sounded from the rooftop, this time one of pain, followed by a whoop and another thud.

I must be out of my mind. What did I expect to find? Urban legends come to life?

I heard it before I saw it. The slight whispering of cloth on cloth.

Letting go of the ladder I dropped down low, slipping behind a trash can. The ladder, already halfway down, slid the rest of the way. Without my hand to control it, it picked up speed, the metal screeching against each other until it reached the end with an earsplitting clang!

Then it almost looked as if the shadows moved. I had to blink and squint just to be sure. No, not shadows. People.

My eyes widened. The panic within me turned up a notch or two, my heart now thudding in my brain.

People in fucking ninja clothes.

The ninjas, four of them, moving almost without a sound, approached the ladder. They whispered to each other in a foreign language, their voices muffled by the cloth enveloping their heads.

I shifted. Though the sound was miniscule, it was enough to cause all heads to whip in my direction. Swords drawn, they charged towards me on freakishly light feet.

No invitation needed. By this time I was spoiling for a fight. I was a fantastic shot and they made the mistake of bringing swords to a gunfight.

Raising my gun I squeezed the trigger. The head of the nearest ninja whipped back, a spray of scarlet arcing in the air as he crumpled to the ground, all sense of grace lost. The others reacted immediately, scattering. One rebounded off the wall, leaping at me, sailing in the air, moonlight glinting on the blade. Whipping around I shot again, hitting him square in the chest. He fell to the ground.

Another rolled behind a dumpster, throwing something metallic.

The sight of it inspired a new kind of panic. I knew it wasn't part of an IED, but my brain didn't listen. Inside me, the fragile line that I had tethered my welling anxiety with snapped and it took control.

Shit.

Instinctively I rolled away even as the metal hit the trash can, ricocheting into the outside of a street light, hitting it hard enough to flicker wildly. Turning as I rolled, I fired, hitting the man in the knee. He screamed as the joint seemed to explode into a wet chunky pulp.

The fourth insurgent threw something down. Smoke exploded everywhere. An explosive device!

The flickering light, reflecting off of the smoke that enveloped everything played havoc on me. Fire. Everything must be on fire. I had to get out. Where were my marines?

There are no marines.

Coughing into my sleeve, I fumbled for my comm but it wasn't where it was supposed to be. My armor wasn't there either.

You're not over there, Jack, get ahold of yourself.

My body, my brain wouldn't listen. Flickering light against the smoke. I gasped for air even though the smoke hadn't yet reached my mouth. My heart thudded hard enough to cause my chest to quiver. Flames. It had to be flames. Everything was on fire. Again. No, it wasn't. But it had to be… Holding the gun out, body low, I struggled to scan the area but only got more panicked when I couldn't see a single damn thing.

Shapes started moving in the smoke. More than one. He must've called backup. I was surrounded. I was going to die. I clenched my jaw and with fluid, practiced movements popped in a fresh magazine. I wouldn't go down without a good fight.

Then came an odd, metallic whirring. Through the smoke two more insurgents came, only this time their eyes glowed red. Then they stepped fully into view, charging me. Looking at them, I bit back a scream.

They had four fucking arms. Each holding a different bladed weapon.

Muscle memory took over, relieving my screaming brain. My gun whipped over to aim at one and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit him in the head, knocking him back slightly, emitting a shower of sparks. It didn't slow him down one iota. Letting out a cry I squeezed out three more, one after the other, aiming right between the eyes. Each bullet further took apart its head, the interior filled with mechanical wiring. Finally it dropped.

The other one was nearly to me. I was only able to squeeze out two shots. The first hit him in the head, not slowing him down, the second went wild as he struck, getting him in the arm right at the joint, blowing it off. Sparks and wires sprouted from the stump.

This can't be fucking real.

I narrowly moved my head in time to avoid the sword. It imbedded right above my ear, stuck fast in the brick. The freak insurgent seemed to know it and released it, grabbing my throat and lifting me off the ground in one smooth, ridiculously easy motion. I brought my gun up but another hand grabbed my hand, pinning it to the wall, the brick digging into the skin on my wrist beneath its vise-like grip.

My panic reached fever pitch, blurring my vision.

Full fight or flight mode, I screamed at it. Gripping its arm to keep it from choking me, I spat at it, kicking at it furiously with my shoes, knocking it with my knees, writhing my entire body wildly in an attempt to dislodge myself. All I did was hurt my toes, knees, and everything else. A red light swept its insect-like eyes as it stared at me with a blank expression. "You FUCKER!" I screamed at it, tears beginning to form at my eyes. I was going to die, I knew that, I honestly expected it to happen a lot sooner, but not like this. Not so helpless. So fucking damned helpless. Then, without a second's more hesitation, it lifted its one free arm, holding a sword, and brought it down swiftly to my head.

But the blow never came.

Instead the thing was wrenched away so violently that it took me with it for a second, dragging me along. Then something twisted and snapped and I was released. I hit the hard pavement with a jarring thud, catching myself on my hands. I was back up in an instant, wheezing through my bruised throat and the tightness in my lungs from the anxiety attack. Eyes flitting, gun raised once more, I searched for my attacker and my savior.

Then, through the receding smoke, I detected another form. This one was hulking, huge, the mass on the chest and back much greater than the insurgents surrounding me. Green. It was green.

Relief struck me when I realized it must be another marine, the hulking shape had to be the body armor and gear. Though why he was wearing a green uniform here was beyond me. He was still wrestling the freaky insurgent, grunting with the effort. "Marine over here!" I called out.

My brain shifted, my sense of reality trying to fight through the panicked murk.

He's not a marine…

Feeling more confident, the panic ebbed and my gun steadied. I saw another lithe form through the fog, the flickering light illuminating him just enough, the blade raised towards the marine's back. I fired. He disappeared from view. Then my brother took down the monstrous thing, whipping around with lightning speed to take down two more regular insurgents even as they charged. He wasn't using his gun, but I didn't care. I'd razz him about it later. Another form, this time a slender stocking-clad foot. He cried out as my bullet tore through his ankle. An arm. Squeeze of the trigger. Arm no more. The form of a back. He fell to the ground.

We had to get out of here. The fire must be out of control right now, the flickering seemed to be stronger.

There is no fire…

Then the marine stopped moving. I looked around, realizing that the insurgents were gone. The battle was over. Standing up fully, I smiled. I survived. Fuck it all, but I survived. Even my episode was winding down slightly, my palpitating heart more bearable, I was even able to get in a few good breaths from my tight lungs. Shit, but I wouldn't have survived without my brother's help. Smile broadening, I turned to the marine to thank him, just as he turned around to face me.

I gasped.

Everything around me seemed to slow. The fight that we just had, it was almost as if it was in the distant past. All that I could see was what stood before me right then.

The flickering light played off his face. His malformed face. No external ears or nose, skin rougher than normal. His eyes were large, seeming larger by the fact that it wasn't set in a natural looking face. His expression…was that fear? Fear of what?

Fear of me.

In my current state, my mood switched drastically.

He was scared of me.

I realized what it was even as I realized that it wasn't real. Warning bells rang in my head, but I ignored them as I leaned in closer. Reaching out, I cupped his cheek. The fear on his face mixed with surprise. I smiled. Dan had no reason to be afraid he knew that. When had he arrived?

That isn't Dan.

Last time I saw him, he was lying in a medical bed in Bethesda, being treated for the burns all over his face and arms. He had hardly spoken when I visited him on my way to New York and as I left, he had told me in an anguished whisper; "I'm a freak."

The door had closed before I could respond.

A freak.

I smiled and, reaching out, touched his face. He started, staring at me with wide, vivid blue eyes.

Dan doesn't have blue eyes.

An orange eye mask encircled his head. Somehow it seemed to brighten his face. Slowly I rubbed my thumb over his cheek, the skin smooth yet rough, soft yet hard. Strange how burns affected the skin. His last words echoed in my head. Tears threatened behind my lids as I smiled broader. "You're not a freak. You're beautiful." I whispered, meaning every word.

That isn't DAN!

I blinked as things slowly dropped into place. I just had an episode, a bad one, fueled further by the fight, and this…

This isn't Dan…

Slowly the realization started to seep in. These weren't insurgents. They were the ninjas. This wasn't fire, it was smoke with a flickering street light. And he wasn't a marine, he wasn't Dan…

My eyes widened as the thin veneer of illusion got pulled away. As my eyes took in the actual figure that stood before me. A hulking creature. The green was his skin, not a uniform. The large mass was a shell, a turtle shell, not armor and equipment. And his face wasn't disfigured by burns…

I probably should have been freaked out. True, I wasn't the type for girly screams, but at the very least I should've done…something. But, truly, I had seen worse. Dealt with worse. And he obviously just saved me, I was outnumbered, and he saved me.

The legends, the stories…they were all true.

Green ninjas, patrolling the streets. Fucking ninja turtles.

His eyes, the vivid, baby blue eyes, were such a mix of strange emotions. Chief among them was fear, apprehension and something akin to…friendly curiosity? Either way, from the intensely nervous way that he held his body, I knew he wasn't used to this kind of contact. Hell, technically I wasn't either.

I needed to sort this out. Get my mind together.

Slowly I took my hand away from his cheek. He sighed as the contact broke, his head following my palm for a millisecond. Palm much warmer than it should be, I returned it to my body as slowly, so he could see the movement, I holstered my gun. I didn't want to startle him, unsure of his reaction.

The smoke was already nearly gone. The bodies, nearly a dozen of them, littered the streets. A few of them were moving, moaning as they clutched their wounds.

Suddenly nervous, maybe a little embarrassed, I looked away from the turtle ninja man to look at them, wondering what to do. Should I call it in? Who would believe me? I'd probably get fired…

And of course there's this giant green turtle man who won't stop fucking staring at me…

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the turtle cleared his throat. "They take care of their own. They'll be over here in a minute, clean it up, take their wounded and stuff."

For a second I was mesmerized by his voice. Partly the fact that he even had a voice like that. That he could speak. And it was raspy, masculine, and nervous as fuck. A voice that was used to laughter. It was pleasant in a strange way. I shivered despite myself.

This can't be real. Maybe I'm still bad in my episode.

Then something moved above me. The old instincts kicked in and I immediately grabbed for my gun, swinging my body low, using a dumpster for cover.

The turtle was beside me in an instant, his hand over mine, lowering my gun. I couldn't help but stare at that hand, broad with three fingers. The calloused fingers seemed to cling to my skin like Velcro.

Shit, I must be going out of my mind.

He looked up as another voice called from above. This one was rough and deep. "Mikey! You alright? Heard shots."

Mikey? Seriously? What kind of name was that for a turtle-man-monster? Then again, what did I expect? Tortuga or something like that? Maybe Snapper…or Shelly…or Greeny…

Or I'm just an idiot…

"Yeah! Everything's kosher down here! I'll be right up!" He answered, then looked down at me. His blue eyes seemed so bright that they glowed in the dark.

Maybe this was a freaky hallucination.

Then, of all things, he gave me what I could only describe as a cheeky grin. "You're beautiful too!" With that, he was off, flipping off the fire escape in a way that shouldn't be possible for a creature of his size. And he looked so damned happy…

I stared at the direction that he went for a few seconds, not truly believing what had just happened. Then I looked around me and saw the ninjas still lying on the floor. I poked one with my foot. Yep. Real. I rubbed my throat, wincing at the tenderness of it, then looked at my wrist, already forming a bruise. Yep. Those were real too. Then I checked the magazine in the gun. Sure enough, nearly empty.

It was seriously real. This seriously fucking happened.

So then the turtle man? Mikey? He was real?

Scratching my head beneath my ponytail, I shook my head as I walked back to the cruiser. I would swing around in a few minutes, see if the ninjas were still here. The turtle man…Mikey…said that they would be gone soon. Somehow, despite all the evidence, I couldn't wrap my brain around it. Partly it was the lingering effects of the episode, making me feel light-headed and weak. This'll probably sink in tomorrow, then I'll have to lock myself in the looney bin or something.

There's no way that I just met a fucking ninja turtle in New York City.

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A/N: So, what do you think? Not too cheesey or lovey-dovey? This is my first attempt at romance in a while and I hope it doesn't crash and burn like my previous attempts LOL I would like to bestow an enormous thank you to Lexifer666, who beta-read this chapter to help me keep cheese at a minimum. She also encouraged me, giving me the confidence to post this, as I was nervous as hell doing so. Read her stuff, it's awesome!

The next chapter will be in Mike's POV, 1st person of course. In any case, please leave a review and let me know what you think! :D