#borrowed ocs

The streets of New York City looked very different these days. Over five years had passed since humans and newly turned mutants had banded together to fight back against a genuine threat to the world. The Kraang had thought that mutating the humans would weaken them, make them more susceptible to a takeover. Oh, how wrong they were. The last thing they expected was a carefully planned counter-strike. Humans, after all were quite the resilient species, able to change and adapt no matter the situation. Perhaps it was desperation or fear driving the decision to ally themselves with the mutants, but it had the power to tip the scales and ultimately win the war. The fighting had been intense, and although panic and uncertainty remained at an all-time high, the unlikely partnership drove the invaders away, thereby saving the world.

With that in mind, humans and mutants should have gotten along well. The mutant-turned residents were fed the comforting lie that they would work together with humans to build a new society where everyone could live and work in peace. Many years later, however, relations remained tense. Mutants were continually treated as if they were the lowest of society, and most had congregated together in areas of the city with the highest mutation rates. Some of these areas were blocked off and barricaded, keeping the ‘mutant threat’ contained and furthering the divide between humans and mutants. Progress towards acceptance was slow, with few humans taking up residence in ‘mutant-inhabited areas’.

On this particular day, Mira, a non-mutated and completely ordinary human, navigated her way through Mutant Town, as it had come to be called. It was one of the areas in the city now occupied mainly by mutant citizens of New York, and covered a significant part of the borough. It also happened to be the place where she worked in a charming little Italian bakery, serving up freshly made gelato and Italian desserts.

Back home in Canada, her parents had run a wood-fired pizza place, so she was very excited to see a wood-burning oven in which to do the same when she first arrived at the unassuming building that housed the bakery. It needed some work, including new tiles and a few repairs, but she had plans to make delicious wood-fired pizzas eventually—just like her parents and grandmother had taught her. Unfortunately, they had made the list of casualties resulting from the mutagen bombing a few years back. It was Mira’s dream to work in the service industry and use her family’s recipes to bring joy to others. She wanted to do her best to honour their memory. She’d been more than thrilled to get a callback since she’d been struggling for a while to find work.

She had been hired by Steph, a lovely young woman mutated from a tiny twite bird. She often twittered away happily as she worked, often chirping excitedly as a response before reminding herself to use the actual word in English. She was an absolute delight to work with, teaching Mira a lot of new tips and tricks that she’d learned since becoming a mutant.

Mira was fascinated by the different types of mutated humans. She felt very ordinary being one of the few humans in the area. Even though she had been working there for a few months, she still felt like she was still getting her bearings. She knew the reason not many had applied for this job was due to the lingering stigma against mutants. Public relations were strained, but Mira was more than happy to be a positive force in the cause, befriending as many mutants as she could.

It was going to be easier than anticipated. She had no idea the bakery housed a secret, and she was about to find out.

The bakery’s secret was that it served as a front for a mutant-run speakeasy. Since the mutagen bomb, it had been difficult for the newly mutated citizens to find places where they felt like they belonged.

Ever a resourceful bunch, mutants had created homes and businesses for themselves, including restaurants and bars. Regular alcohol was quickly discovered to be too ‘weak’ for those with mutant blood. They needed huge amounts to feel any effects, and that was far too costly for business. Stronger alternatives had to be developed, but before they could be sold to the public, they were banned. Mutant-grade alcohol was deemed too dangerous for human consumption after an incident where several humans broke into a distillery, resulting in their deaths. The ban was considered ‘unfair’ and fueled much of the discord between humans and mutants.

Legislation was put forth that would help regulate and legalize mutant-grade alcohol, but for some reason, they could not get the motion to be passed. In order for one to partake, Speakeasy secret bars had been popping up all over the place.

Mira had no idea, of course. She was more than happy to focus on her work and get the pizza oven up and running. It had taken weeks of working after hours, but she’d finally restored it to its former glory. What better way to celebrate than to make a pizza using her family’s recipe?

After kneading, tossing, and stretching the dough into the pan, she left it covered while she worked on the sauce, busily chopping fresh ingredients and grating some locally sourced mozzarella cheese. She decided to go with pepperoni, a classic, if she did say so herself. In no time at all, she had the pizza in the oven and set the timer.

Unbeknownst to her, the delicious smell of freshly-baked pizza had caught the attention of one very enthusiastic turtleman. Mikey had been setting up the bar for the night when that irresistible scent hit him like a sucker-punch to his senses. He had to find out what it was and where it was coming from.

He'd been vaguely aware of the fully functioning bakery that was above the underground bar but hadn’t had a chance to go in during work hours. Steph was in on everything and had assured him and his brothers that their secret was safe. He’d heard about the new hire but had never seen her. No time like the present, he thought, heading up the stairs to the secret entrance.

The creak of something opening and the sudden appearance of a visitor were enough to make Mira gasp as she emerged from the kitchen in a cloud of flour and surprise. At first, she was frightened, wielding a pizza pan as a makeshift shield as she demanded to know who he was.

Making himself as small and non-threatening as possible, Mikey calmly explained that the bakery was only a part of the building, and if she promised not to hit him with that pan, he’d show her the secret bar beneath. Then he flipped it and told her that even if she did hit him, he would show her because someone who could make such a delicious-smelling pizza could hit him anytime. His flirty wink at the end had her giggling and lowering her weapon as she brushed flour from her red-and-white candy-striped apron.

After he showed her the wonder of the hidden bar, he explained how it came to be, talked about his job as a bartender, and told her she was welcome down there anytime. Mira felt comfortable enough to consider taking him up on that seriously, and the two shared the homemade pizza she’d made. 

Mikey, with much enthusiasm, had declared it to be the best pizza he’d ever had.

-----

The following day, after telling Steph about her adventure with Mikey, she was surprised to discover that Steph not only knew about the bar the entire time, but was also friends with the owners. To quell whatever negative feelings Mira might have had about withholding this information, Steph offered to take her down there herself, and would even make her a 1920s-inspired outfit to fit the vibe. She was instantly forgiven with an enthusiastic ‘yes, please’!

It had taken weeks, but the outfits were finished, pressed and ready to try on. It was a 1920s dropped-waist, flapper-style dress in a soft shade of pink and dotted with tiny sparkling rhinestones. Mira had never felt so pretty in her life, wearing this dress. She was unable to stop herself from thanking Steph profusely, over and over while her friend twittered with laughter. Mira’s look was complete with matching kitten heels, with her hair and makeup done to fit the theme.

Steph’s dress was quite different, but no less beautiful—floor-length with lacy ruffles, a dark brown sash, and elegant pleats running down the sides of the skirt. The light blue fabric complemented her brown and tan feathers well, and she finished her look with a matching hat featuring a dark blue band and a lovely blue feather.

The two ladies, dressed to the nines, were greeted by Mikey’s brother Raphael and an imposing-looking bird mutant with a large, bespectacled bill. Both wore white button-down shirts with black slacks held up by matching suspenders. The bouncers, Steph explained, as Mira had stepped back a little in fear. The birdman, named Lance, received a gentle nudge from Raph to ‘chill’. He needed a few reminders that his gaze was ‘freaky’ and scaring the poor women away. Immediately, his demeanour shifted, and he apologized with a bow. Mira was pleasantly surprised that he was incredibly soft-spoken and quite well-mannered. She and Steph were granted access and even bypassed the line, much to the dismay of those still waiting to get in.

The bar was unlike anything Mira had ever seen. She felt the atmosphere was warm and inviting, with gentle lighting and people and mutants enjoying themselves. On stage, a stunning woman, human, with long, dark brown hair and captivating blue eyes, performed a smooth jazz number. She wore a slinky little black dress and sang alongside a live band composed of both humans and mutants. Her sultry voice and the soft sway of her hips had many of the male patrons, as well as some women, captivated from their tables.

Looking around more, Mira’s attention was drawn to the actual bar that was crowded with people. It was gorgeous, with smooth, lacquered dark wood with a gold filigree inlay. The bar had two sides, each with one or two bartenders on duty. Each side was lined with colourful liquor bottles and several beers on tap.

A flustered but attractive woman with her soft brown hair piled up on her head was scolding someone for spilling alcohol all over the counter. She was dressed much like the men there with a cream-coloured knit, button-down shirt with suspenders and brown, high-waisted slacks. She finished the look with a brown cap and her apron tied around her waist. Mira could already tell she had an important role here just from her demeanour and the way she carried herself.

Mikey was the one who made the mess. He’d been gazing at the vision of loveliness that was Mira and accidentally overfilled the drink he was pouring. He also left to find a cloth to clean it up, but before he did, he briefly caught her gaze and grinned reassuringly at her with a nod, pleased she was able to come.

Two more turtlemen were serving as bartenders, one with a yellow bandana and the other with a navy blue one. Both worked on opposite sides of the bar. The one in yellow appeared so friendly and charismatic, with a kind of comforting warmth radiating from him. He winked at her flirtatiously while skillfully mixing his drinks and sliding them over to his customers. It was enough to make her blush.

The one in navy was trying to work, but seemed easily distracted by a woman with sleek, brown fur and a mischievous glint in her eyes. She appeared to be a weasel mutant, perhaps? Maybe a ferret or a mongoose — Mira wasn’t sure. She giggled softly at the way the woman leaned forward on the counter and stroked her hand up and down his arm while whispering something she was sure to be only for him to hear. She faintly heard him reply, ‘Patience Ma Reine, I’m working.’

Another turtleman, black with striking yellow markings around his eyes, was gliding from table to table, delivering drink orders and tempting-looking pub fare. To her fascination, he seemed to be Australian, and she wondered how he ended up in New York City.

Before her attention could be divided further, Steph had gotten drinks for the two of them. It seemed the turtle in yellow, Jehannet, as he was called, and Mikey had entered into a bit of a competition over who would make Mira’s drink. Both were doing their best to impress her with gravity-defying tricks and sleight-of-hand motions. In the end, both drinks were delicious, but Mira declared Mikey the winner. The flavours danced along her tongue as she took a sip, nodding in approval at the turtle in orange, who did a triumphant fist pump in the air.

By now, the beautiful singer was stepping down from the stage, and the next act was being set up. Mira let her gaze wander once more to see a short, but fiery young woman engaged in an arm wrestling competition with a much taller, brilliantly coloured snake mutant with a bit of a pudge in her belly. It seemed unlikely that this ordinary human with curly brown hair and hazel eyes would win, yet she appeared to be much stronger than she looked. She managed to overpower the snake woman by slamming her fist down onto the table with a triumphant “hell yeah!”. The snake woman seemed to take it all in stride, laughing as she nodded over at the mongoose woman with “you were right!”.

As the drinks flowed, Mira became delightfully tipsy, laughing and chatting with Steph and being introduced to the other brothers who operated this establishment. Even the elusive Leonardo decided to join them. She was stunned to learn that he and his brothers had been the ones to unite everyone in that historic fight all those years ago. They had been mutated years before the bombs fell and were regarded as the unsung leaders of the mutant movement. Running the bar was a conscious choice by all of them to help everyone find a place where they felt at home.

Setting up the bar had taken years, and they even operated an active farm that supplied the necessities to keep it running. Lacey, the one who’d arm-wrestled her way to victory, was in charge on that end. She seemed fully capable of managing the business side of things as well.

Elise, who had just scolded Mikey earlier, was the bar manager. It was amusing to realize that this average-sized woman was in charge of all these turtlemen who absolutely towered over her. Mira had never seen anyone taller than Jehannet and Donatello. She could understand why Elise was drawn to Donatello in particular. He was responsible for brewing different types of alcohol with her assisting him. The two seemed to share a special connection, one that was shy and unassuming yet deep and genuine. Mira could only hope to have a relationship like that. As she looked at Mikey, she couldn’t help but think maybe it was within her reach after all.

“Is this seat taken?” a man’s voice asked, and Mira quickly turned around in her seat. Where had this guy come from? Where had Steph gone? Stumbling over her words, Mira must have taken too long to answer, for the male sat down anyway, placing a drink in front of her. “It’s on me. You new around here? You must be, I definitely wouldn’t forget a pretty face like yours.”

Oh, he was trying to flirt with her. Oh dear, what should she do? She wasn’t interested in this dog-like mutant guy who had sat himself at her table without invitation.

“I… I’m Mira, I work…” Shit, don’t tell him you work upstairs! “Around here, and yeah, fairly new in town.” She laughed nervously while craning her neck to see where Steph had gone.

“I’d be happy to show you around. Here’s my number.” He wrote it down on a napkin and slid it over to her with what he thought was a perfectly charming grin. “It ain’t easy meeting girls these days, harder now since all the crazy shit went down.”

 He kept talking while Mira just stared at the numbers scrawled on the napkin in blue ink without grabbing it. Her mind was whirling, fuzzy with alcohol but still coherent enough to try to think of how she could get away from this guy. “Um, yeah, thanks… I’m sorry, I have to go find my friend.”

His face twisted with disappointment as he watched her stand without accepting the number he’d so graciously bestowed upon her. Trying to slip it into her purse while doing his best to stall her, he said, “She probably left. I saw her talking to a fox guy earlier, probably gonna go home with him. Don’t worry, I can take care of you.”

His persistence caused Mira’s anxiety to spike as she took an unsteady step back. “Oh, no thank you, I’ll be fine, I promise. It was nice talking to you, but I gotta go.”

She must have struck a nerve, because when she decided to turn away from him, he saw it as the perfect moment to firmly slap her rear. “Something to remember me by, bitch.”

Mira gasped, her face flushing with embarrassment as she felt everyone staring at her. To make things worse, the slap had been quite loud and stung a little. Did he really just slap her ass?! She suddenly wished she could disappear. The ground could open up and swallow her, and she’d be perfectly fine with that.

Before she could form another coherent thought, she heard the sound of boots hitting the floor. Mikey had hurled himself over the bar like an Olympic hurdler going for gold, except he was aiming for the dog mutant, and he looked furious.

No one had time to react as Mikey threw a well-placed punch at the dog mutant’s jaw, then grabbed him by his scruff and threw him out of the bar. “We don’t serve pieces of shit like you, get the fuck out of here!”

Whoa, Mikey just defended her honour, and it was both scary and incredibly brave of him. Mira watched as he single-handedly passed the guy off to Raph and Lance before returning to her. His expression was a mix of worry and regret as he hurriedly checked her over. 

“Are you alright?! Is your... I mean, sorry for... that. We don’t tolerate that kind of behavior. Are you okay?” His tone was softer now, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

Mira had been too stunned to cry; she was simply relieved that guy was gone. “I’m okay, thanks for that.”

“I couldn’t just stand there and let him treat you like that.” Mikey replied with a huff. “Not on my watch.” Mira smiled in relief, quietly thanking him with a gentle squeeze back.

By now, Steph had returned, accompanied by a fox mutant and an older gentleman with a fatherly presence. She hurried over, looking genuinely regretful, alternating between worried chirps and apologies while hugging her friend.

“I’m really okay.” Mira told them both softly as she returned the embrace.

She told her their cab was now waiting. The initial reason Steph disappeared was to find somewhere quiet to make the call.

“Oh, I guess… it’s time for me to go.” Releasing Steph from the hug, Mira was hesitant to leave. She’d finally gotten to spend some time with Mikey and wasn’t ready for the night to end just yet.

Mikey, also unwilling to be parted from her so soon, took it upon himself to escort her home. “Hey, Steph, you go ahead with Alastair and James, I’ll get Mira back home.”

Steph chirped her response after Mira had nodded her approval at the idea. “See you at work!”

The atmosphere at the bar had settled back to normal. The patrons were enjoying themselves, the music was playing, and Mikey had offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted. Unlike the man from her awful experience earlier, she knew Mikey was someone she could trust. He would do more than just ensure her safe return; he would protect her with his life if necessary. She felt truly blessed to have gained such wonderful friends, and perhaps something more where Mikey was concerned. One thing was certain: she was part of something bigger now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

End

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The soft click of the door handle caught their attention. The pair of cryptids lifted their heads to look as it opened, the hallway light reflecting green in the mirrors of their eyes.

Newt's familiar scent -- much stronger than his mate's -- overpowered the lavender as he entered the room. Fawn's sinuses tingled with the spicy-sweet aroma of his smell, comparable to sassafras, that indicated his pregnancy as much as the grapefruit-sized swell of his lower belly. Fawn still struggled to describe the scents that were new to her.

The Omega approached her nest and held out the glass of tap water he'd been sent to fetch. Fawn craned her neck and lapped from it, her mouth too parched to obey her command. Her tongue was longer than it had once been, able to bring water to her throat as easily as any straw. She didn't pause to wrap her lips around the edge of the glass until her thirst was mostly quenched.

"Jeez, don't drown," Newt chuckled as Fawn took the drink from his hand.

Asher, the Alpha, got up from his seat and offered it to his mate with a nod of his head.

Fawn gulped down the last of the water and came up panting for air. "Don't tell me what to do," she retorted with a tired, playful grin.

"Don't tell her what to do, babe," Asher said, unable to disguise the smirk on his face as he set the empty glass on the bedside table.

The three shared a brief, quiet laugh.

Fawn's eyelids drifted closed as the room settled back into silence. She shimmied herself deeper into her pile of softness, falling easily into a twilight sleep; at least, for a few more minutes.

A huff of air left Fawn's nose a split second before her brow creased in discomfort. "Ash, start it," she said, curling tighter around her pillow.

"Yes, ma'am." Asher fumbled to unlock his phone and started the timer on his stopwatch app. "Started."

Fawn filled her lungs with air with one long breath and released it as a drawn-out exhale. The contraction coiled itself around her hips and squeezed, growing tighter by the second. The pain grew like a stinging vine around her belly, her ribs, her back, even wrapping around her upper thighs.

With a low groan, Fawn rolled herself onto her back. Her legs fell open at a wider angle than normal -- a sign her hips were loosening in preparation for her large pup to come through. She continued her ritual of slow, deliberate breathing as the contraction continued to climb to its dreaded peak.

Newt leaned into the opening in the tent, enough for him to run a gentle hand over the clammy skin of Fawn's arm. He didn't say anything, but his touch brought her a sense of ease. Even knowing that Asher was in the room, even if she couldn't see him, made her feel better. They'd only known each other a month, but she couldn't imagine surviving labor without them.

Fawn flashed her fangs in a snarl as the contraction reached its apex, the part she dreaded each time. "Ugh!" she growled through her teeth, her head pressed back into the pillow.

Newt's eyes widened when Fawn hooked her hands beneath her knees, drawing her legs up on either side of her belly. "Are you pushing already?"

"She's what?!" Asher gasped in alarm, his face appearing over his mate's shoulder.

"No!" Fawn growled, hardly able to breathe enough to speak. "My legs are about to fuckin' dislocate!"

She could feel the pup pressing its way out, prying open the flesh of her cervix as her womb squeezed it down. The pressure sent stabbing waves of agony between her legs. Her birth canal opened a little more with each millimeter the pup dropped, and now it was putting unbearable pressure on the ball-socket joints of her pelvis.

Fawn grunted in relief as the contraction ebbed. She released her legs, draping them wide apart over her plushies. Thankfully, Newt and Asher's guest bed was queen-sized and allowed her plenty of space to spread out.

"It's done," she announced, so Asher could stop the timer.

"Ooh, getting close," Asher said. "That one was thirty-eight seconds."

Even that short burst of work sent drops of sweat rolling down Fawn's sides. She pulled her tank top over the curve of her belly and tucked the fabric under her swollen breasts. She caressed the sore underside of her bump in long, soothing circles. The skin around her womb was pulled smooth as glass from the weight of the pup inside. She could feel where its surface was gouged by deep, purple stretch marks. Her pup wriggled impatiently beneath her hands, as if able to sense her touch through the thinness of the skin.

"Call me crazy," she said, "but I'm hoping this baby takes its time. It might rip me apart if it tries to break the speed record."

Asher checked the recorded times in his phone. "You'll be fine, it doesn't look like they're in a hurry," he said. "Just stay relaxed and the pup will keep working its way down."

Fawn gave a thumbs-up. "Copy that, Sarge."

"So, guys, are we taking bets?" Newt asked, resting his upper torso inside the tent.

Fawn tilted her head to peer up at him from inside the canyon of her pillow plushie. "On what?"

"Boy or girl," Newt grinned. He propped his chin up on his hand and beamed down at the redheaded wolf woman. "Should we take bets?"

"You boys can if you want," Fawn said.

"Just you versus me, babe," Asher chuckled from somewhere else in the room. "Fawn already knows, that would be cheating."

"No, I don't," Fawn said, quiet and matter-of-fact. She turned her eyes to the little golden lights twinkling over her head. "I didn't know if a doctor would make me contact my mate, so I never went to one."

At the mention of him, the mating scar at the nape of Fawn's neck became hot. She grimaced, able to feel each small wound his teeth had left when he'd inflicted her with the curse of the wolves. It wasn't as strong of a reaction anymore; the pain had at one point been overwhelming.

When she'd taken that first step out of the apartment with the intention to never come back, the mark had burned so intensely she thought she could smell her flesh searing. She was lucky Todd hadn't been home, because he'd no doubt felt the same sensation on the back of his neck -- where he had forced her to mark him as her mate as well. Had he been home, Fawn wouldn't have made it out of the building before he'd realized what she was doing.

"Besides," Fawn added, "I have no idea if I should go to a doctor or a vet now." Her freckled face paled, and she looked back up at Newt. "Shit, is that offensive?"

Newt laughed and leaned in to rub his cheek against her forehead. "Nah."

Fawn smiled as he brushed against her, leaving a bit of his spicy-sweet scent on her skin. She was still adjusting to perceiving the world through scent as much as sight and touch, but she grew more comfortable with it each time the pair scented her. Scent was transforming into language the more she utilized it. Maybe she wasn't sure how to communicate with it, yet; but there was something about it she was starting to understand.

"We'll show you the ropes once you're over the rejection sickness," Asher said, leaning against the nightstand so he could peer into the nest. "So . . . this guy didn't explain any of our lifestyle to you?"

Fawn shook her head. "Not anything us hum-," she paused, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Not anything humans don't already know. Transformation and full moon stuff, basically. He had me sell my silver jewelry before he'd even kiss me. I didn't know werewolves were that sensitive to it."

The boys shared a concerned look.

"Um," Asher cleared his throat, "we aren't. Silver allergies are rare as hell. A few poor bastards had a fatal reaction hundreds of years ago, and humans assumed it was a rule for all of us."

"Good old stereotyping," Newt said.

The lines in Fawn's brow deepened. "That piece of dogshit," she muttered under her breath. "I sold my grandma's pendant for him!"

Goddammit! Why hadn't she thought twice about Todd suddenly needing to "borrow" that money?! Her mating scar throbbed, seeping heat like an open wound where their pair bond had once been. A fresh sweat dampened her brow.

Newt brushed a few stray curls from Fawn's eyes and tucked them behind the point of her ear. "Fuck him. He's a dick."

"Yeah, fuck him," Asher agreed with a frown. His ear twitched as his scowl deepened, knocking his glasses askew. "Alphas are supposed to protect our mates, not take advantage of them."

There was a brief pause. Asher took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and added: "For what it's worth, Fawn . . . I'm sorry on his behalf."

"Me, too," Newt nodded. "Not as an Alpha, but as a wolf."

Fawn sighed and draped an arm over her eyes. "Thank you for that, boys. It helps . . . at least a little."

She felt like the world's biggest idiot.

When they'd met, she'd been seduced by Todd's hyper-masculine physique and charmed by his overly protective "doting". How special she'd felt, having an Alpha werewolf want her -- an average human woman -- as his mate. In hindsight, being an average human woman was exactly what made him want her. Easy prey.

How quickly she'd regretted her decision to let Todd put her in a mating press. After she'd endured the weeks it took for her anatomy to shift into that of his kind, Todd had convinced her they needed to breed as soon as possible. He wanted a large pack, as many pups as she could give him. It didn't take her long to realize they were the only reason he'd claimed her. Days after leaving him, she'd detected the strange smell of sassafras on her skin -- though she wouldn't know what that meant for two months.

The rejection sickness had masked any symptoms of a pregnancy. The effects were like that of withdrawal: fevers high enough to cause delirium, tremors, nausea, and full-body aches. She'd spent endless days and nights confined to the bed of a sleazy motel room. What carried her through was the knowledge that Todd was feeling just as shitty as she was. Yet, in her darkest moments, Fawn considered going back to him just to make it stop.

Then, her world changed when a fellow wolf woman at the drugstore offered congratulations based on her scent. This prompted her to buy a pregnancy test, and the thought of going back never crossed her mind again.

"Fellas?" Fawn asked, still blindfolding herself with her forearm. "Is a large pack, like . . . a status symbol for y'all or something?"

Asher shrugged. "Not as much as it used to be," he said. "It used to be a big deal in the past, like before we had the treaty with humans. That was because our packs needed the numbers for defense. But now? Not as much."

"Except maybe for those freakishly traditional families," Newt chimed in.

"Mmm," Fawn hummed in acknowledgement. She placed her other hand on the upper swell of her belly and gave it a thoughtful rub. "Well, this baby is mine. I'm not giving birth for the sake of some insecure asshole. This is my baby."

"Damn right it is," Newt grinned, his blue eyes glittering in the low light.

After a few seconds of silence, Fawn's limp-hanging hand curled into a fist. "Mmm, Ash . . . " Her voice trailed off into a chesty groan.

Newt looked over at his mate. "Ash, start it."

Asher pulled out his phone with a nod. "Starting."

Newt massaged Fawn's shoulder as she once again pulled back her legs. The pressure in her hips was immense, and the contraction was heaving the baby down with unholy force. Fawn pulled harder on her knees until she felt her pelvis widen, the bones drifting apart like tectonic plates.

"Breathe, Fawn," Newt gently reminded. "You're holding it."

Fawn hissed out her breath like a deflating tire. "God, it's coming down," she groaned. She shut her eyes and whined as the pup pressed harder against her cervix.

"Change position," Asher offered, bending down to see inside the nest. "Let gravity help you out."

Fawn released a high-pitched whimper. "My hips . . . my hips hurt."

"Here, hold on." Newt reached around Fawn and pulled out another of her oversized Squishmallows from the pile. He left his chair and climbed onto the bed, crawling through the opening of the tent with the plushie in-hand. "Sit up, love."

Fawn reluctantly let her legs fall. Her bones were lead. With Newt's help, she got to her knees and straddled herself atop the large pillow plushie so her hips could remain open.

"There, that's better!" Asher said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His phone screen reflected in his lenses, revealing the contraction had lasted twenty seconds already.

Fawn bent forward onto all-fours, rhythmically dipping her hips into the pillow as the pain climbed higher than it had before. The Omega at her side dug the heel of his hand into her lower back, allowing Fawn to rock back against the counter-pressure. Her deep breathing wavered, each inhale growing shallower until the wolf woman was full-on panting.

"Calm down, you're doing fine," Newt lulled, ghosting his claws over her spine. "Deep breaths, like you were doing."

Sweat appeared in shining beads on Fawn's reddened face, dampening the frizzy curls around her temples. "I can't," she gasped. All four limbs trembled, fatigued muscles giving up the last of their strength. "I can't . . . I need to lie down."

Fawn sank chest-first into the fox plushie, arms unable to support her weight. Her tongue dipped in and out of her mouth as she failed to control of her breathing. Her fingers sank into the duvet, claws tearing holes in the fabric.

The end of the tent unzipped, creating an arch-shaped door that Asher climbed in through. While Newt continued to knead Fawn's back, Asher laid himself beside her.

"Hey, Mama, look at me," he crooned, his face appearing in the corner of her vision. When her hazel eyes met his, he said: "You are owning this! There's no need to get freaked out. You're too tough for labor to beat. Take a deep breath for us, alright?"

Fawn wet her lips and maintained eye contact with the Alpha while she drew in a big breath.

"Good!" Asher smiled, patting her shoulder. "Now let it out and make the next one even deeper. Show that pain who's boss!"

She obeyed, but mid-inhale she choked on air. With a canid yowl, Fawn pressed herself against the Alpha's body. Her hips ground against the pillow, as if it would cushion the force of her pelvis being forced apart.

"Ugh, gravity's helping too much!" Fawn moaned into Asher's shirt. "This pup is about to fall outta me!"

"That's a good thing!" Asher encouraged, draping his arm over her and motioning for his mate to lie down beside them. "You're making progress. The pup will be here before you know it!"

Fawn's hips finally settled as the contraction eased off, but she still felt unable to move. Her pelvis sat wide open, and the hefty weight of the pup was sinking deep inside it -- even without the contraction.

“Augh, fuck,” she moaned, the sound rumbling in her chest. “Fuck . . . the baby feels low. It feels so fucking low!"

"Ash?" Newt asked as he rearranged the pillows to better support the three of them. "Are you still timing?"

Asher caressed Fawn's thigh as she shifted to support her upper body against the mountain of Squishmallows Newt had piled up. Newt reclined on his side beside her, flashing her a bright smile -- his fangs always hung over his lower lip when he smiled.

"No, I think we're just feeling it out now," Asher said. He'd left his phone charging on the nightstand, just in case they needed it. "I think we're 'reaching a checkpoint' as it were."

Newt rolled his eyes. "Gamers."

Fawn snuggled into the pillow mountain, trying in vain to get comfortable. It wasn't as dramatic as what they showed on television, but Fawn knew exactly what the hot rush of fluid was as it soaked the pillow between her legs.

"Umm, hey . . ." She nudged the pillow aside, revealing ribbons of cloudy water running down her inner thighs. "I think it's time to lose the shorts."

Asher pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And checkpoint reached!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For five hours, no one left that tent. The room grew darker as the evening gave way to the early morning hours of pre-dawn. The boys stayed at either side of the laboring wolf woman, holding her steady in positions that allowed her pup to ease down with gravity.

Between contractions, the three werewolves lay side-by-side in tranquil silence. The sweat on Fawn's brow would dry, her feverish body would cool, but the warmth of two other bodies prevented the chills from returning. That quiet peace would be broken when Fawn vocalized during a new contraction, signaling the boys to sit her up and widen her stance.

Fawn was growing restless, wanting to switch positions several times during every contraction: squatting against the headboard, kneeling against one guy or the other, or falling into a half-squat in a pile of her plush pillows. The longer the night wore on, the more fidgety the laboring mother became.

At around four in the morning, as the trio rested together beneath the fairy lights, Fawn suddenly spoke:

"Is the cradle ready?"

"Hmm?" Asher sat up and readjusted his glasses.

"Is the cradle ready?" Fawn repeated. There was a glint of urgency in her eyes, although her tone was soft and even.

The fold-out mesh bassinet was visible from inside the nest, placed against the opposite wall. The pup's first outfit was already laid out atop the blanket lining the mattress -- a cotton quilt with embroidered rubber duckies that Newt had donated from the stash he was buying for his own pup.

After a quick glance, Asher responded: "Yep, it's ready and waiting."

"Can you grab some extra blankets or something?" Fawn pleaded. She gradually drew her legs up until her heels touched the underside of her thighs. "Just anything that's soft."

Newt sat himself up and gave his mate a knowing look. "Babe? You think this is that 'final nesting' the baby books talked about?"

Asher's eyes widened. "Oh, crap. It might be."

"What?" Fawn asked. She suddenly realized she couldn't remember what either of the boys had just said -- she wasn't fully aware of what was going on around her. It was so, so hard to focus on anything other than the pounding pressure that had come to rest in the curve of her tailbone.

The mated pair gave each other a nod.

"Ash and I have been reading books about pups like crazy this month," Newt explained in a lighthearted tone. "'Final nesting' is just what your brain does right before the pup is ready to come out."

Asher grabbed the corner of the topmost duvet and rolled it towards them until it became a padded cushion. He carefully slid it beneath Fawn and said: "Yep, it's an instinct. Got to make sure the pup has a safe place to land, you know."

Now it was Fawn's turn to go wide-eyed. "Wait . . . wait, is it happening?" she gasped, her head shooting up off the pillows.

"Maybe," Newt said. "You'll know if it is." He placed a pillow over his torso to protect his belly and scooted behind Fawn to support her into a squat.

"And if it isn't, then we'll just wait some more," Asher concluded. "Don't try to bear down if you don't need to."

Fawn nodded, gulping down the dryness in her throat. She had no idea what to expect with the next contraction. If the monstrous pressure she was feeling hadn't triggered her body to push by then . . . oh, God above, what was about to happen to her?

"I don't . . . don't know if I'm ready for this," she muttered.

Newt leaned in and rubbed his cheek against the side of her neck. "You're as ready as you'll ever be," he said. He intertwined his clawed fingers with her own.

Fawn didn't feel the next contraction as pain, only as a familiar tightness wrapping around her womb. All other sensation was snuffed out . . . massacred . . . left bleeding in the streets! . . . by the wicked downward thrust of her pup moving through her effaced cervix. There was nothing holding that baby in her womb any longer, and it was not waiting another minute to leave.

"Oh, my God!" she screamed -- out of fear more so than pain. Her hips jerked back, trying to escape the demonic pressure burning inside.

Newt squeezed her hands -- his claws never marking her skin. "You feel it?"

"Yes!" Fawn cried, her body shuddering under the hellish urge to push.

"Go with it," Asher encouraged, placing his hand on her knee. "Let's meet your pup."

Fawn held her breath and gave a shallow, hesitant first push. She wasn't sure if she was using the correct muscles, but it felt . . . how could she describe it? . . . it felt like she was doing something. A few seconds of strain later, she let up with a sharp yelp. Yes, she'd been doing it right. That slight nudge had sent the pup rushing forward.

"It's moving . . ." was all she had time to say before her body demanded she continue her efforts -- and double them!

Those few millimeters of progress kicked her urge to push into overdrive. Fawn braced her weight against Newt, put chin to chest, and bore down with every ounce of force she could. The crown of the head pressed deeper against her innermost walls with a fiery, thorny tug. The sensation of her baby moving through her after so many passive hours of labor was startling -- yet beyond rewarding.

Had her eyes been open to see, Fawn would have observed Asher's tender smile as he watched primal focus harden her features.

"Just like that, Mama," Asher praised, again stroking her thigh. "Don't hold back, give it your all!"

Sweat trailed down her flushed skin. Unable to hold the push any longer, Fawn emptied her lungs with a harsh grunt.

"It's already hurting me," she growled through closed fangs. Her voice strained as, for just a few horrible seconds, she resisted the urge to push. "Goddamn, this is gonna suck!"

Newt laid his chin on Fawn's shoulder as she sank into another deep push. "Whatever you feel, don't fight it," he offered evenly. "Your body knows what it's doing, Fawn. Listen to what it's telling you to do."

Fawn's ears pressed back against her head as her hips dipped lower to the duvet. She felt a small trickle of fluid drip from her labia, but the flow stopped as soon as she stopped pushing. A groan escaped the back of her throat as the contraction eased off and she was able to relax.

"That was great," Newt praised, unlacing their fingers and letting Fawn have her hands back. "You got the hang of it right off the bat."

Fawn sighed and balled the duvet beneath them in her claws. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her pulse hammered in her neck. Any sense of physical comfort was gone now, even between contractions. She knew there would be no peace for her until this pup was out and in her arms . . . but God only knew when that would happen. God only knew if that would happen! The pup was barely inside her birth canal and Fawn was already terrified that it was going to get stuck.

"What if . . . what if I can't get it out?" she panted. Her lower back was screaming, so she shifted her hips forward. It didn't help. "What do we do if I can't get it out?!"

"Hey, hey, don't think like that," Newt helped Fawn recline a bit further against him. He steadied her in his arms, his hands gently massaging the curves where her belly met her ribcage. "There's no doubt in our minds that you can do this!"

"And I'm down here if you need a little extra help," Asher said. He carefully took Fawn's leg and draped it over his lap, helping to open her hips now that she was in a more reclined position. "We won't let anything happen to you or your pup, Fawn. That's a promise."

"You're safe here," Newt said in a low, soothing tone. He continued to apply soft pressure to her sides and back, kneading over her sore body as if smoothing out a delicate fabric.

Fawn never doubted for a second that she was in loving hands. She dreaded to think where she would be right now if the pair hadn't opened their home to her. Without their kindness, chances were that she'd be delivering her baby in a motel bathroom or on top of a cot in a homeless shelter. These two had given her the ultimate gift: a warm, safe place to give birth. She owed her pup's life to them.

"I know," Fawn said, snuggling down further into the nest. "I don't want to be anywhere else right now."

Newt bent down and pressed a kiss to Fawn's hairline. "Keep listening to your body. Don't rush what it's trying to do."

Fawn nodded, puffing out a breath as she felt the next contraction roll up from her back to her belly. "Okay . . . let's go."

She took in a slow lungful of air, waited for the contraction to build in strength, and pushed.

Her loosened joints spread easily for the pup's skull as it squeezed its way down her passage. It became an endless pattern: Fawn would push, the head would squeeze down, and her pelvic bones would spread over its shape as it passed beneath them. She could feel the rhythm of the changes.

Push. Squeeze. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread. Spre-OW!

OW! OW! Oh, fuck! Now it was so too big! Her hips were filled to the maximum, her canal stretched wide around a huge pair of shoulders as they slipped from her womb. She could feel her labia bulging from between her legs -- and oh, God, they ached! There was nothing but a layer of her skin holding the pup in, and it felt like a bubble of gum about to burst!

But she couldn't stop pushing. Not now, not when everything was raw and stretched and open and hurting so goddamn bad! Fawn curled her toes into the mattress and wailed as she threw herself harder into pushing. Her voice grew louder as she felt the inflamed skin between her legs starting to open.

"Good job, Mama! Here it comes!" Asher cried, his voice raised to be heard over Fawn's roar of effort.

Asher had his eyes glued to the pale, wet sac pressing out of Fawn each time her body strained. He'd read in their books that it was common for werewolf pups to be born with their membranes wrapped around them. That was fine, he just had to be prepared to remove it.

A tiny spurt of fluid leaked out from around the sac as the head began to stretch the skin of the perineum. The pup's size seemed to be keeping most of its sac unruptured, the fluid too pressurized to leave the birth canal. Asher furrowed his brow but said nothing.

Of course, Newt took notice of his mate's unease. He swallowed the unease in his chest, and scented Fawn's hair with his cheek again in the hopes it would distract her.

"Ash sees the head," he crooned. "Keep going, you're pushing like a pro!"

With renewed vigor, Fawn gave into her body's needs. Asher waited until a few centimeters of the solid white membrane stretched open Fawn's lips, then he placed his index finger against the bulging sac to gauge how much fluid was inside. He felt the semi-solid squish of the pup's head just beneath the film, but his finger pad felt the swish of water when he pressed down. That wasn't a very good sign, but Asher still felt confident that he could handle it.

"I'm going to help you out a little, okay?" Asher told Fawn, cupping his hand over the crowning pup. "Focus on pushing, and I'll help you open up. I'll go slow."

Newt once again sensed Asher's unease and made it his mission to protect Fawn from sensing it, too. "Pup's almost out, Fawn," he said as he gave her shoulders a brief hug. "It'll be out quicker with Ash helping you. Just take a deep breath and let yourself stretch."

"I'm trying," Fawn whimpered. "I'm trying."

As Fawn bore down against the pup, Asher ran his fingers against the sides of her lips. He nudged her skin open bit by bit around the sac, watching as it stretched from a small oval to a wide circle over the course of several minutes. Asher cringed as he saw the skin of her labia discolor from a raw red to an almost beet purple with the width of the head.

Fawn, meanwhile, had fallen completely taciturn. Aside from wolfish growls and whimpers, she made no efforts to express her pain verbally. Her focus had shifted solely to bearing through the ordeal, working with her body to bring it to a swift end.

"Keep going, we're almost there!" Asher cheered. He had his hands positioned at the apex of her inner thighs, supporting the tight skin as Fawn pushed the head to its widest point.

Fawn shuddered and let her head fall back on Newt's chest. Her mind was a mess of black static as the pup's shoulders ground against her pubic bone. She arched her spine as the pup ceased to move for one heart-stopping moment. Then, in a sudden lurch, the sac-covered head popped free into Asher's waiting hands.

"Awesome! Awesome, Fawn!" Newt cheered, peering over her shoulder as much as he could. He could see the white membrane resting in his mate's palm. "Babe, you got it?"

Asher nodded. "I've got it, don't worry."

Without drawing attention to it, Asher took the claw of his thumb and carefully -- oh-so-carefully -- punctured the membrane at the base of where he felt the pup's neck should be. A quiet sploosh filled the nesting tent as amniotic fluid rushed over Asher's hands. He hooked his claw inside the tear and slowly peeled the sac over the pup's head.

There wasn't much hair on the pup's head -- unusual, though not uncommon -- but that wasn't what Asher was looking for. He craned his neck at a painful angle until he could catch a glimpse of the pup's face. When he saw it, he paled. The features were predictably swollen, but the puffy lips were hanging open and dripping a thick yellowish mucus. Asher thanked the stars above that he and his partner had read up about whelping -- for he was able to recognize the tell-tale symptom of waterlogged lungs.

The mates locked eyes with each other and nothing else needed to be said or done. They both understood.

"This is it, love," Newt said, leaning in to help Fawn hold her legs apart. "This next contraction is going to be the one."

Fawn's jaw gaped like a suffocating fish, but finally her voice obeyed her command: "Is my baby okay?"

Oh, hell. She must've smelled the pheromones of their stress. Newt had been hoping she wouldn't understood what the scent of fear was, yet.

Newt smiled at her and brushed her sweat-plastered hair away from her eyes. "They're fine, they just need some extra help."

"When you push, I'll give them a little tug," Asher said. "It's going to hurt, but it'll be over before you know it."

Fawn squeezed her eyes shut. "Can't hurt any worse than this," she mumbled. "Just do it."

The boys were expecting the horrific scream Fawn released when Asher began guiding out the first shoulder, but it still made their sensitive ears ring.

"You're so strong, Fawn!" Newt said into her ear. He felt her legs trying to close against the pain, and he had to pause to pull them back apart. "I know it hurts, but you're handling it so well! We're so proud of you!"

Asher kept his focus locked on delivering the pup as fast and as safe as possible. One hand supported the pup's body while the other pulled down on the emerging shoulder.

"Come on, little guy," Asher muttered under his breath. "Come on, you can do it."

With an audible pop of Fawn's hip joints -- and another yowl from the wolf woman herself -- the pup's first shoulder slipped free. Asher wasted zero time in hooking his thumb under the tiny arm and continuing his steady, gentle tug.

A rather disgusting squelch accompanied the pup as it slid onto the duvet. The remains of the membrane bunched around its feet as Asher scooped it into his hands. The body was grey and limp, and all three heartbeats stalled.

"What's wrong?!" Fawn cried. "What's wrong with it?!" She reached for her baby on instinct, but Newt held her back.

"It's okay!" he said, adjusting himself to block her veiw of Asher and the baby. "It's okay, I swear! Asher's taking care of it."

Newt stroked her sweaty face with the back of his hand, doing anything he could think of to soothe her. It didn't stop the tears from flooding the exhausted mother's eyes.

Behind his mate's back, Asher brought the pup's face to his lips. His mouth easily covered the nose and mouth of the newborn, and he gently sucked the sour-tasting fluid out of its airway. Asher spit the gunk into his sleeve and repeated the action, rubbing his thumb against the baby's chest as he did.

It was a process that lasted less than twenty seconds, but to all three werewolves it felt like eternity. But eternity ended when the pup sucked in a deep, squeaking breath. The sound of its first cry was shrill, but to the trio it sounded like singing.

Asher couldn't help but start crying as the little body he'd resurrected wiggled to life in his hands. "Here he is!" he said, voice wavering with joyful tears.

Newt sat back immediately, allowing Fawn to see the baby alive and well in Asher's arms.

"Here's our boy!" Asher announced, laying the crying baby over his mother's heart.

Through the haze of her tears, Fawn looked over every detail of her little boy. She saw the layer of damp fuzz covering his skin, the points on his pink, folded-over ears, and the coating of protective skin over his miniscule claws. She thanked whatever power was out there for that last detail, because such tiny needles would've been horrible to feel coming out.

"Sweetheart," she told the baby, wrapping her arms around him, "don't make a habit outta scaring me like that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is he already nursing again?" Newt asked as he placed the glass of water on the nightstand.

"He eats like a horse," Fawn chuckled, adjusting the nursing pillow under her baby. Jacob was the name she had settled on.

The sun was coming up now, filling her bedroom with a soft white light. Asher was on the floor, disassembling the nesting tent. It would be taken out again in a few months for Newt to use, but the Alpha was determined to Tetris the pieces correctly into their box.

Jacob was an aggressive nurser. Three hours old and this was his third time demanding his mother's milk. Newt and Asher insisted such an appetite was normal for a larger werewolf pup, but Fawn wasn't too thrilled to learn she was going to get even less sleep than she anticipated with a new baby.

Fawn quickly drained the glass of water. She wasn't sure if she would ever feel not-thirsty again. "So, Newt," she said, "I didn't scare you into wanting a C-section, did I?"

"Nah, not at all." Newt laid down on the bed beside Fawn, propping himself against the Squishmallow pile. "If you could get him out, I'm pretty sure I'll be okay."

Newt pet the thin strands of hair on Jacob's head. The newborn swiped a clumsy, mitten-covered fist over his head with a teeny-tiny growl. All three adults stopped and stared.

"Was that him?!" Asher asked from the floor.

"Yeah . . ." Newt said, withdrawing his hand. "He's very protective of his food."

Asher almost fell over laughing. "That's Alpha behavior if I've ever seen it!"

"How do you guys even determine that stuff?" Fawn asked. "Is it a sex thing?"

"Eh, a bit," Newt shrugged, "but it's also a personality thing." He tickled the folded tip of Jacob's soft ear, and got the same response as before.

"Ow!" Fawn jerked as her son bit down on her breast. "Stop annoying him, or I'm biting you, too!"

"Sorry," Newt chuckled.

"I can't thank you boys enough for this," Fawn said. "This werewolf shit is all sorts of weird for me, and . . . now I know for certain that Jacob wouldn't have been alright if you weren't with me."

"That's what packs do," Asher said, re-folding a segment of nylon tarp. "We look out for each other."

"Do we even . . . " Fawn stopped herself mid-sentence and looked away.

Newt grinned and touched his forehead to Fawn's temple. "I don't know. What do you think?"

Real Ale

"Here me out," Don said as he leaned over the bar, "what if we start brewing real ale?"

“No. Nobody is going to drink it. Nobody in New York City wants room temperature beer,” Elise replied, her voice muffled as she was crouched down behind said bar and messing with the soda line. Don simply leaned his long frame further over until he could just see her back half sticking out.

“But think about all of the fascinating tasting notes as it ages,” he countered, and then snorted a little as she backed herself out and bumped her head on the edge of a shelf. With a smirk he then said, “glad to see someone else hitting their head for once.”

“Don’t be cute,” she grumbled and then slowly stood and grabbed a bar towel to wipe her hands off before she turned to him with curiosity. “What put this idea in your head?”

Don shrugged. “Thought it would be fun. Live yeast, natural carbonation, evolving fermentation process, what’s not to like?”

“I mean I’d like it, but I can’t see the average patron going for it.” Elise eyed him skeptically, wondering what had gotten into him. When he simply kept looking at her like it was a brilliant idea she flapped her hands. “They’re not gonna understand what it is, and it won’t keep long. And where is there room to put a cask on the bar? Unless you were thinking of running a new line and pump up from the cellar and we’re already packed down there.”

Not to be deterred, Don held up a finger and then moved further down the other end of the bar and gestured to a space that currently housed some of Elise’s houseplants which she babied. 

“Nah, we’d do just a small batch. I picked up a small cask yesterday, it would fit perfectly right here.” He splayed his big, three fingered hands out to showcase the spot. Elise pursed her lips.

“You can’t move Whilamena, that spot is the ideal lighting for her,” she protested.

“Put her on top of the cask, it’ll be fine,” Don waved her off with a grin. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“It’ll never sell,” she sighed, not wanting to admit it did sound fun. It was traditional, old school brewing that they didn’t get to mess around with all that often. Sensing her weakening, Don then walked back to her to lean on his elbows and pushed his glasses further up his snoot as that damn boyish smile spread across his face.

“What if we made it just for us? We’re allowed, right? It is our bar.” He sounded entirely too reasonable and her eyes slid to her house plants which…she supposed…she could move temporarily. 

“We’re going to end up drinking the majority of it, you know that, right?” Elise sighed.

“That’s fine. You’re fun when you’re drunk,” Don grinned and smacked the bar in triumph.

After Shift Smokes

It had been a long, slow, and yet somehow irritating night. Raph couldn’t put his finger on why, just that it was, and he stalked down the stairs into the bar after his shift ended at closing time. The last patron had left, seen out by him personally, and now he walked into the empty club with a scowl and weary sigh. The club wasn’t completely empty, of course. Elise was still behind the bar, doing the final closing tasks as Raph lowered his heavy frame down onto one of the reinforced barstools that were lined up along the fine mahogany wood. 

“What, those bozos all ditch you to close on your own? What the shits that?” He grumbled as he watched her lift one of the heavy racks of now clean glassware out of the dishwasher. Elise just huffed, already sensing he was in a mood.

“Chill. You know Bayz is off tonight, and Mike had plans to meet up with Mira. Also Avery just got back into town and J was eager to see her, so I told him to go, too. Both him and Mike were being antsy for the last hour. In any case, they didn’t leave me with much to do. Almost done.” She stopped in front of Raph and splayed her hands out on the bar and pursed her lips at him, trying to gauge what exactly his mood was. He in turn tried not to scowl as he picked out a few of the fancy maraschino cherries from the garnish tray and popped it into his mouth.

“Seems everyone but us have dates,” he said surprisingly neutrally, which just made Elise arch a brow and assess him.

“You could fix that real easy, you know,” she smirked, rested her chin on her upturned palm as she alluded to what they all (except for him) affectionately referred to as his harem. It was fun to tease him about it because for whatever reason he always turned a little bashful over it.

“Could say the same thing to you,” he lowered his voice, wise to her teasing, and gave her a pointed look, clearly referring to her poorly concealed love for his brother, to which she scoffed.

“Don’t start.” She rocked back on her heels and squinted at him before she grabbed a bar rag and set to wiping off some of the service area. Raph rolled his eyes affectionately, and then looked around the empty club. The lights had been turned up and it always looked so strange this way to him. Not natural. He didn’t like it, but nor was he ready to head up to his apartment and call it a night. He then patted the inner pocket of his tailored jacket and felt the oblong object there.

“Hey, you wanna go bum a few puffs off this cigar I got? I need a break,” he then said, pulling the stogie out and wiggling it a little as if that would tempt her more.

“You’re off shift. It’s all a break now,” she laughed.

“You wanna smoke or not?” He groused and stood, then made his way down the hall and towards the little courtyard that was only for the employees. He didn’t need to turn to see if she was following because he heard the pass through lift up and snap shut again.

The courtyard was quiet, peaceful, and filled with enough greenery to make it look like a small, misplaced jungle. Both Elise and Lacey had made sure it was planted up nicely to be a suitable rest area for staff and family alike and the big banana plants were particularly large and leafy right now. Both Raph and Elise settled themselves around the patio table out there and sort of melted into the chairs, each giving a long sigh after being on their feet for hours. That part of the building backed up to one of the many alleys in NYC, making whatever street noise there was rather minimal so it was indeed a bit of an oasis.

 After a moment Raph dove back into this coat pocket to fish out the pack of matches he had and then put fire to the end of the cigar as he held it loosely in his lips. A bit of work and a few puffs later and Raph closed his eyes and relaxed fully into the smell and taste of it, letting out a low groan to let out the last tension of the work night. When he opened his eyes again he simply saw Elise reclined back in her own chair, suspenders hanging off her shoulders, eyes closed, but with her hand out, waiting. With a chuckle he handed the cigar over.

“Ugh, gross. You duck arsed it,” she complained after taking her first puff. The smoke from it curled around her, slowly drifting away on the slight breeze. Raph nearly choked.

“I fucking what?”

Elise just grinned as her eyes stayed closed. “You made the end all soggy with that giant mouth of yours,” she clarified. Raph scoffed.

“Who the fuck calls it ‘duck arsed’?”

“The Brits do.”

“You and yer bougie Euro slang. Hand it back over,” he demanded, and with a low laugh she did.

They sat like that for several minutes, just lazily passing the cigar back and forth, enjoying the quiet and the end of a long work shift. Eventually Elise did turn to him, though.

“You wanna talk about what’s put you in a mood?” She asked casually.

“Not really,” Raph shrugged, and they left it at that, both closing their eyes again.

After another minute or two Raph felt something shift around him, and opening his eyes he gasped loudly as Myrtha’s unusual face hovered just in front of him, held up on her even more unusually long neck. Raph’s gasp was enough to make Elise jump.

“Goddamnit, Myrtha. What’r you tryin’ to do, ruin my ninja cred?” He wheezed, having inhaled some of the cigar smoke. It was really, really unnerving how Myrtha could sneak around so silently.

Apparently Myrtha was not in a talking mood, either, and she simply eyed what was left of the cigar, and then slowly reached out for it and took it from Raph’s hands. Closing her peculiar eyes she then took a long drag, letting the smoke come out of her nostrils in curling tendrils. Then she simply turned, shuffling back to her apartment which adjoined the courtyard and taking the cigar with her. Both Raph and Elise watched her go, perplexed.

“Well, I guess that’s the end of that. That was my last one,” Raph mumbled. Elise groaned and let her head fall back against her chair again.