#tmnt4p

Angel hadn’t been home. After crouching in the alleyway behind her apartment for ten minutes, shell-cell bouncing between his hands, Mikey gave up on texts. He called instead. It’d taken six rings to answer and, when Angel had, he could hear screams in the background. His stomach had curled, and he told himself that maybe they were excited screams. She could be at a concert! Or a theme park! Or a really enthusiastic book signing!

“—Now’s a bad time, Mikey!” Angel shouted into the receiver. She’d grunted, and the line jostled. “But—uh!—hey, if you’re not busy? I-I think the south dock warehouses could use a—WHOA!”

Something erupted, and the line went dead.

Mikey’d been up the fire escape and halfway across the roof before he’d even realized he’d started moving.

It wasn’t much information to go off of, but once he reached the docks? The warehouse in question was easy to find. Below, crowds of teenagers scramble into the alleys, kicking up fallen band posters and other scattered trash. A slow plume of smoke rises from the north-side wall, dappled in a blend of colors from fire and stage lights alike. A loud creaking noise seeps into the air, and Mikey shivers as vibrations tickle his scales. He finds a skylight already shattered from the other side, glass sprayed across the roof and reflecting city light in strange, pulsing patterns. He breaks what glass remains in the window with one nunchaku and drops onto the catwalk below.

Not the best decision. The moment his feet touch metal, a sharp wail sends a jolt through his chest. Mikey inhales, chokes back a scream, and throws himself forward to grab the catwalk rail. He slings his arms around it as something above him snaps, and his body drops with the catwalk before abruptly catching and beginning to swing. He squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath. A second of stillness passes before he wills his eyes open.

It stings at first. Skylights were a great point of entry for ninja and, as it turns out, also a favored exit for smoke. The cloud scratches at the corners of his eyes until tears trickle down his cheeks. Still, he forces himself to search the chaos below.

A handful of teenagers—some who he guessed were members of a band—scream as they flee the stage area. Two more kids huddle behind the shelter of a DJ booth. The large open space across from the stage is abandoned, and three rows of metal chairs are strewn about, likely knocked aside in the initial panic. Several crates stood as makeshift merch stands or tables for paper plates, pizza, and red solo cups. Posters decorated crate-sides and various columns, but they weren't band posters like the ones he'd seen outside. They promoted safe spaces or families who’d lost their homes in the invasion; assurances that all proceeds from the night’s events would go toward those who needed it, no matter how meager. These kids must have felt the need to do… something in wake of feeling so helpless. And some jerk decided to crash their party.

“ANGEL?” Mikey calls out, his voice barely cutting through low, shuddering groans from the warehouse around him. A voice in the back of his mind chides him for being so brazen, but he doesn't care. He grunts, working one leg over the catwalk rail and settling into a crouch. The metal under his feet was warming. Fast. “ANGEL, ARE YOU DOWN THERE?!”

Below, one of the clouds of smoke shifts. Mikey stiffens, and he locks his attention on it. "—Angel?!" 

A flash of yellow light cuts through the air, heading right for him.

“—aw, shell!” is all Mikey manages to squeal before he throws himself right. 

He windmills his arms, manages to flip himself in the air. Mikey lets out a yelp when his side clips something. His shell slams into something else. The world spins, and he hits the pavement hard. It takes a second or three to blink himself back into clarity, and then another four to realize he’s face-down on his plastron. That fall... seriously sucked… but it’d given him cover. Something something, silver linings, green grass, something something.

Carefully, he nudges himself onto his hands and knees. Looks like he landed behind the DJ stand. Mikey keeps his head low and crawls toward the stand’s corner, forcing himself to ignore the ache in his shoulder and the dull throb thrumming behind his eyes. He inches forward, wobbling as he peers around the stand.

Across the warehouse, a hunched, bug-like robot raises itself to full height. Its four ‘eyes’, pulsing with yellow light, remain focused on the catwalk Mikey fell from. It had four ‘legs’ and a set of bladed appendages at its body’s mid-section, arced high over its head. A red beam of light washes over the surfaces in front of it, emitting from two small sensors at the center of its face. Mikey's throat goes tight, and despite the slow-spreading fire, his body runs cold. 

That was the robot they'd fought back when the Dragons, the Foot, and the Mob were all warring with each other. Only... only something about it seemed different. The way it moved... had it been that fluid before? 

The robot strides forward. It swings an arm and knocks aside a ping-pong table, clamping the other hand down on what must have been a drink stand. It yanks the stand from the ground in one sharp movement, the red sensor beam flickering. The ground in front of and around the robot glow with vibrant light, a stream that washes several feet ahead of it until it soars up the wall and cuts through thickening smoke. Mikey swallows, and he shrinks further behind the stand. 

...is it looking for something? Mikey wonders. He rolls his lips together. ...—What is it even DOING here? I thought there was only one, and Donnie—

“Hey, aren't you—”

Mikey whirls around, the beginnings of a scream leaping up his throat. A gloved palm clamps over his mouth, its force shoving his head back against the DJ stand. Mikey's eyes shoot from the hand, up the attached arm, to the face of who they belonged to. Large green eyes. Ruffled...green hair. Vibrant green skin—

He could have screamed again. Just from sheer, unbridled excitement. He reaches up to snatch and yank the hand away from his mouth, his heart all but vibrating out of his chest.

“—Beast Boy?!” Mikey's barely able to keep his voice at a shrill whisper.

“SHH!!!” Beast Boy hisses through his teeth. He leans sideways, peering around the corner of the stand. 

“No way. I-I can’t believe it!” Mikey grips his head with both hands. Keeping his voice down was getting harder with every word. “You’re... you're ACTUALLY...—wait."

His heart stutters, and for a moment he thinks he may have misheard. Almost convinces himself he had. 

"Did... —do you KNOW... —did you think I was someone?!"

Definitely about thirty better ways he could have asked that. Choosing not to think about it. 

“Uuuuh.” Beast Boy raises an inch or two on his haunches. As he does, Mikey realizes his ears are twitching—swiveling, even—both in different directions. Beast Boy lowers back into a crouch, turning his eyes to Mikey. “Turtle Titan, right?"

Mikey can't remember the last time he wanted to scream. "Y...—YEAH! How did you know about me?!"

"Sentry mentioned you on the news, like... a year back?" Beast Boy answers. "And my—..." He pauses, scratches at an ear as though to hide a wince, then continues, "someone I know kinda thought you were me pulling a prank. Y'know. Green skin, animal, uuuuh... 'theme'?... kinda my whole deal."

"Oh." A pause. "...um. Sorry?"

Beast Boy shrugs. His left ear slowly rotates away from his head. It takes Mikey a second, but he realizes it's following the direction of the robot's steps. Away from them. Which means he has time for more questions.

"Wait, what're you doing in New York?" Mikey whispers. He leans forward a bit, dropping his hands to the floor on either side of him. "Jump's... kinda on the other side of the country, isn't it?"

“Short version? Checking on a friend. She was in town when those dino-aliens blew through, and—”

“—oh man, did the Triceratons hit you guys, too!?”

“Um.” Beast Boy visibly winces this time. “If… —prooooobablyyyyy?"

“Huh?! What do you MEAN 'probably'?!”

“—DUDE. Be quiet!”

Mikey’s hands shoot into the air between them, and he sinks against the stand. “—Sorry!! Sorry.”

Beast Boy eyes him. He looks in the direction his ear was pointing, and his posture wilts.

“We were kinda off planet,” he mutters after a pause. “Starfire… uuuh... had to go home to get married?—except it was a whole thing because her sis is kindaaaaaaa—“ he keeps the 'aaaaaa' going and raises a finger, swirling it around the air just beside his ear. Mikey blinks widely. He opens his mouth, but Beast Boy hastens, “—it’s not important right now, though, okay? The last signal from Charlotte's communicator was around here! She might've gotten caught up in... —this!!"

Remaining in a crouch, Beast Boy sidles a bit more around the stand's corner. He eyes the warehouse ahead before looking at Mikey again and jabbing a thumb in the direction of the robot.

"D’you know what that thing is?! Is it something the alien dudes left behind?”

Mikey shakes his head.

“No,” he says, “pretty sure it’s one of Stockman’s.”

A pause. “I dunno who that is, dude.”

“—um. Crazy scientist guy?” Mikey offers. Beast Boy's expression dulls.

"Yeah, that narrows it down."

“He… might also look like a head-crab. Sans the zombie part.”

“Uuuuuuh. ...That’s… cooooooool…?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.”

"—Look." Mikey turns, lifting up enough to poke his head over the DJ stand. The robot had moved behind the stage, only the top-half of its body visible. "A friend of mine was around here, too, and I haven't seen her. Maybe if we work together, we can take this thing out and find both of them!" 

He looks over his shoulder. Beast Boy eyes him again, but not in the doubtful way he'd experienced before. “So you've fought one of those before?"

“Yeah! ...—kinda. ...a building dropped on it, but Donnie still had to electrocute it to take it out."

“Electrocute it with what?"

“...big wires?”

"Yeah, that's more Cyborg's thing," Beast Boy mutters. He shifts forward and crawls to Mikey's side, planting one hand on the DJ stand's corner. “Do you think you can distract it long enough for me to get a jump on it?”

Mikey’s stomach turns over. “...say what?”

“I already tried rushing it, like, four times,” Beast Boy says. “That stupid scanner thing is better than Cyborg’s!—" he interrupts himself to jab a finger at Mikey "—don't tell him I said that. It even noticed I was a mosquito on my third try. Almost fried me.”

He shivers and looks down at his shoes. “Tried being bigger after that, but the stupid ray gun still packs a punch.”

“You’re telling me.”

Mikey peeks over the stand again. The robot had finished rounding the stage. It rotates its upper body, sending a wash of red light over the crates, tables and columns on the opposite side of the warehouse.

“So,” Mikey says, shifting his weight, “you… just need me to play chicken with it long enough for you to get close and… turn into a t-rex or something and tear it apart, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” Beast Boy says, and a little too quickly for Mikey’s liking. Almost like it were more the start of a plan than it was THE plan. But, hey. He wasn’t a stranger to ‘winging it’.

Or going from Plan A to Plan D in less than five minutes.

Mikey nods. “Okay. Just… just don’t let me get fried, okay?”

Beast Boy flashes him a wide, toothy grin and shoots Mikey a set of double finger-guns. “Will do my best, dude.”

Mikey blinks and—for a split second—he thinks Beast Boy straight up disappears. But movement to his right catches his eye, and Mikey turns in time to see a tiny, green mouse vanish into the crate shadows across from them.

Again, he kinda wants to scream and flail his arms around. Just for a second. But there'd be more than enough time for that once the robot went down and Angel was home safe and sound. 

Mikey inhales, nods once, and zips around the DJ stand. He lets out a whistle as he slides to a stop in the open area at the stage's front. The robot jerks, and its body swivels in his direction. Mikey grins, but he's unable to stifle the nervous chuckle that bubbles up his throat.

“Hey, discount pinsir!” He shouts. He yanks his nunchaku from his belt, snapping them out and whirling them back to snare under his arms. “Where’d you get your hyperbeam? You know modded TMs are against the rules, right?”

The robot’s lights flicker. Mikey braces himself to spring left when the shot went off. But it didn't.

The robot barrels toward him. Mikey's breath catches—eyes growing huge as he realizes the bladed appendages have poised high over the robot's head. He lets out a shriek as he whirls on his heels, stumbling into a zig-zagging sprint. A jolt in the back of his mind yells at him to duck, and he throws himself forward. Cold air cuts over his shoulders as one of the robot's blades slides the air beside him. Mikey lets himself drop. He rolls, arms covering his head and legs tucked to his chest. His timing had either been lucky or perfect—he'll decide later—because the robot's wide stride just missed him. Its foot hit the ground just to Mikey's right, and Mikey lets himself go loose, planting his feet and propelling himself into a sprint anew. And as he raises his head to throw a glance over his shoulder, something dives from above. The bird is soundless—some kind of owl—and it lets out a screech as the robot's charge grinds to a halt. 

The change happens blink-and-you-miss-it-fast.

Where the owl had been, a large, armored dinosaur whirls through the air. Its mallet of a tail arcs, hits the robot with an impact so shattering that Mikey drops his nunchaku as his hands fly to cover his ears. He feels the crunch of metal in his teeth, and his bones vibrate with the tear of its exoskeleton across the concrete when its sent sliding several feet across the ground. Oh, shell, that's SO MUCH WORSE than nails on ANY chalkboard!!!

Mikey forces his attention to remain on the robot. He thinks—for a split second—that it's down for the count. There's a dent the size of a basketball on one side of its head, and half of its eyes have shattered across the pavement. But the robot raises its appendages and slams them into the ground, halting its slide with a spray of sparks.

The dinosaur shifts before touching ground. Some kind of large cat drops from the air, and it springs after the robot. Something in Mikey’s chest tightens. The large cat primes itself to pounce, but the robot turns, blade twisting into a strike. Mikey’s hand moves faster—snatches a throwing star from his belt. He arcs his arm, takes a wide step forward, and lets the throwing star fly. It glints once, then buries itself in one of the robot’s remaining eyes.

The robot locks up—stunned just long enough for Beast Boy to dig his paws in and change direction. The bladed appendage snaps down and spears the cement where Beast Boy’s upper body had been. Beast Boy rolls gracefully through the air and plants his paws on the side of a crate, and he swiftly rebounds into a high-flip over the robot's head. 

Mikey produces another throwing star. He grins and takes another long step forward, targeting the final glowing eye. This time there's an explosion of sparks as the robot reels backward, and behind the flashes of white and gold electricity, Beast Boy’s form morphs again. A huge gorilla lands on the robot's head and roars, catching one of the bladed appendages in an iron grip. Beast Boy throws his weight back and rips the arm loose with another explosion of sparks. And there's a moment where Mikey thinks—hopes—the damage is more than enough to shut it down.

But in a sudden blur, the robot's other appendage sweeps across its head. The blunt side slams into Beast Boy's abdomen, smacking him from the robot's back and sending him sprawling across the floor. The appendage he’d torn off, now clattering alongside him, narrowly misses his head when he shrinks back into his human form.

Beast Boy lets the momentum carry him back onto his feet. He and Mikey lock eyes in the same second a low, whirring noise fills the air, and Beast Boy yelps as a flash of yellow light nearly clips his shoulder. The robot swerves, and Mikey nearly chokes on a gasp when he realizes the next blast is for him. He lets his knees give and slings his arms over his head, the laser cutting through the air above him. And just as soon as it’d gone, it came back. Mikey squeals and leaps sideways, having nearly been hit in the back of the head as he'd stood straight. He snaps his head around to look behind him, half-expecting to see a second robot stomping onto the scene. But there wasn’t anything there. Just a pile of props meant to be used on the stage show: some sheets, three large mirrors crudely duct-taped together to form a pyramid, a fog machine, some extra drums—wait.

Mikey’s eyes widen.

Mirrors.

He races toward them, his entire body flinching and feet almost tripping over themselves when a rake of metal tears through the air.

“—A LITTLE HELP, DUDE?!” Beast Boy shouts from somewhere behind him.

“I’M WORKING ON IT!!!” Mikey yells. He slides to a stop at the pile and gropes anything on the mirror he can grip. His hand finds an awkward, maheshift handle wedged between two of the frames, and a brief wave of relief washes over him when he sees the handmade prop has wheels. He yanks with his whole body, dragging the mirrors toward the robot. One of the mirror wheels catches, causing the prop to rattle. The robot whirls on Mikey and its eye flashes. Mikey freezes, squeaks, and flings the rolling mirrors ahead. The mirrors spin wildly as they hurtle toward the robot, and Mikey’s stomach drops.

...uh oh--

A laser fires, and it reflects off one of the mirrors. Mikey snaps his head just in time to see it connect with Beast Boy as he'd changed into an eagle, knocking the green bird out of the air with a shrill squawk. Mikey scrambles after the spinning mirror. The robot marches toward him, the low whirring noise starting up again. Come on come on come on COME ON—

—Mikey catches pyramid’s handle and drops his weight back, forcing it to a full stop. A bloom of light bursts from the opposite side, followed by a blinding flash and explosion of sparks and metal. Mikey lets go of the mirror and falls onto his tail. He digs his heels into the ground and shoves himself backward until his hands find enough purchase to push onto his feet. He hesitates, then rounds the mirrors.

On the other side, the robot stands stone still. Every second or so, its limbs twitch. Small flashes of electricity emit from a large hole boring through the center of its face, clean to the other side of its body. It gives one final jerk before crumpling to the floor.

Mikey inhales, exhales in a thick gush, and turns to run in the direction Beast Boy fell. He vaults a crate and lands with a grunt on the other side, turning toward the faint sound of a groan. Beast Boy sits up from the splintered remains of a crate he'd crashed through, and Mikey jogs up to him, extending a hand. Beast Boy blinks, eyes him, but grasps his hand and lets Mikey tug him back to his feet.

“Heh," Mikey chuckles, sheepish, "sorry about that."

“It’s, uh, s'cool, dude,” Beast Boy says. Mikey winces at a slight slur in his words.

"You... good?"

Beast Boy shakes his head—more in the way a dog would shake off water than in place of an answer. He grunts and bonks his temple with the heel of his palm. “Yeah. It's just... do you hear whistling—”

Something bright red hits Beast Boy with enough force to knock him off his feet. Mikey lets out a scream and springs back in reflex, watching Beast Boy slide a small ways across the floor before whipping his attention to the attack's source. Again. It wasn't anything he'd expected to see.

Striding toward them was a lean, blonde teenage girl. Her left hand swung back to her side as she walked, but not before Mikey saw the shape of a red 'x' on her gloved palm. In her right hand, and propped casually against her shoulder, was a Federation blaster. Mikey squints, trying to spot any sign of a tell-tale purple tattoo. But, if she had one, her green bomber jacket and black leggings-jean shorts combo covered it. The way she walked—chin tilted up, eyes peering over the rims of her sunglasses, hair grazing her shoulders, stride and posture so loose and fluid he nearly thought she was walking in slow-motion... 

Whistling? No.

The theme that followed The Plastics down the halls of North Shore High? Yeah.

And that? Was not a good sign.

She stops, and her lips drop into a wide 'oh' shape. She takes her sunglasses between forefinger and thumb, lowering them just enough to meet Mikey's eyes with hers. "Whoa. ...what are you?"

Mikey bites the inside of his cheek. Before he can answer, Beast Boy lets out a growl from behind him. 

“Aw—man!” 

Despite knowing better, Mikey glances back at him. Beast Boy had sat up, now pulling and prying at some... long, thick red material latched to him, crossed over one shoulder and under the other arm to snake around his back. No matter how Beast Boy angles himself or wriggles away from it, it stays put. If anything, it... almost tightens with every rip and tear. Beast Boy inhales, but before he can shift the girl speaks up.

“I wouldn’t try shrinking if I were you!” She warns, propping her free hand on her hip. “It won’t expand, but it’ll shrink with you. Might even crush you if you get too small! Wouldn’t that be a bummer?”

Mikey slides to the side, positioning himself a bit more between Beast Boy and the blonde. She tilts her head, smile wide and sharp.

“Alice—” Beast Boy snaps, sudden enough that Mikey stiffens. He shoves to his feet and moves to Mikey's side. “What are you even doing here?! Aren’t you supposed to be… —I dunno! Helping Mister Nobody eat Paris or something?!”

“—huh?!” Mikey glances between the two, flabbergasted.

Alice pouts.

“Yeeeaaah, that whole thing got dull fast." She shifts her weight more to one foot and lets her body rotate nonchalantly, forehead rested against the Federation blaster. “Paris is so basic. And who wants to be stuck in an art museum version of one city for the rest of reality? Booooooooor-riiiiiiiiinngggguh.”

She tips her head back, seeming to eye the ceiling as she continues, “man, that whole alien invasion thing was crazy, wasn’t it?”

Beast Boy and Mikey exchange a sharp glance. Alice lets her weight rock back and forth from her heels to the balls of her shoes, sights still skyward. When she remains silent, Beast Boy lets out a frustrated noise.

“Where’s Charlotte?!”

“Nearby,” Alice answers. She lowers her gaze again. “Nobody’s always itching for some hot new curve-ball to toss at you weirdos. I thought I’d take advantage of the recent situation." She flicks her wrist in a loose, vague gesture to the warehouse around her. "Always a big fan of learning how to use new toys. Especially when I get to use them on you! And when I heard she was in the area, well.”

Her smile sharpens to a smirk, one shoulder lifting in a lazy shrug. "You're not as unpredictable as you like to think you are, Garfield. ...—aw! Your new friend even likes orange; isn't that apt?"

Beast Boy's (Garfield's???) arms drop to his sides, and he rolls his eyes. 

Mikey glances between the two of them, then slants his eyes in the direction of the mirror pyramid. About two yards from where it stood, he could see where he'd dropped his nunchaku.

It wasn't far. He could reach them if he needed them.

“New toys, huh?" Mikey says. He shifts his attention back to Alice. "They're just high-tech guns, dude. Are we supposed to be impressed you figured that out?"

Alice blinks widely, her expression becoming nothing short of delighted.

“Oh, no.” She shifts her weight and levels the blaster at them. Her thumb swipes something on the back of its grip. “You’re supposed to be impressed I figured out how to get it to do this.”

The blaster jolts.

There's a brief, high-pitched whistle, and something crunches into the pavement at Mikey's feet. He sucks in a breath and bounces back, eyes locking onto a needle-thin device buried in the ground. The visible end of was already blinking red.

...--oh shell.

He doesn't think twice. Mikey grabs Beast Boy’s upper arm and yanks him into a blind sprint across the warehouse. They got maybe ten feet before a blinding burst of light washed over the pavement. A thrum filled the air, and a wave of force knocked them off their feet. Mikey cries out, the sound cutting off as his shoulders hit and scrape across the ground. A burning sensation shoots through his skin and the top-most curve of his shell. He throws out his arms, flails them, and shoves against the first thing his hands connect with. The new momentum carries him through a clumsy roll but back onto his feet. He stumbles sideways, nearly trips face-first into a column, and somehow thinks fast enough to snatch Beast Boy's wrist and all but tear him to his feet. The two of them scramble forward until they drop behind a large tower of crates, and they crawl the rest of the way to its center before shoving their backs to the wood. 

A crackling noise fills the air and gradually dies down. Mikey stops a cough midway up his throat, cringing and swallowing it back down. Beside him, Beast Boy tries to catch his breath. For too long of a moment, neither of them budge.

“So,” Mikey starts, swallowing again, “do... you also love lasagna and hate Mondays?”

Beast Boy's head snaps toward him, and his hiss is somehow more reptilian than before, “—shut up."

"—o-okay! ...Sorry."

Beast Boy's glare holds a second longer before it withers, and he shifts his jaw, looking away. "...No, it... s'fine. —forget it."

He reaches up and grips the red binding still stuck across his chest, giving it another few forceful tugs. When it remains unmoved, he slams his fists against the ground on either side of him, even grinding one set of knuckles against the concrete. Mikey rolls his lips together and watches, uncertain. Another long beat of silence passes before Beast Boy looks to him again. 

“If she's got Charlotte somewhere around here, she might have your friend, too," he says lowly. "I don't think she'd hurt them. Not yet."

"Not yet?" Mikey repeats. He tenses and leans forward, but Beast Boy raises a hand to cut him off.

"We gotta find where she’s stashed them.” He jabs a thumb at the red material around his chest. “Char’ll be able to get this off me. If it’s what I think it is, I’ve dealt with it before, and she’ll know what to do. Then I can get the jump on Alice.”

Mikey blinks. “Get 'the jump' on her? We just gotta get that Federation blaster away from her, right?”

“...yyyyeaaah,” Beast Boy says, squinting. He glances down at himself. "That glove DID only fling half an 'x' at me. Guess it wasn't fully juiced."

“Well, that’s easy! I can just sneak up on her and knock it outta her hands.”

Beast Boy looks back up. There's a new shade to his expression. One Mikey can't quite place. “I don’t. ...I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

"Huh?" Mikey's brow furrows. "What? ...Does she also have super strength or something?!”

“Um… no.”

“...Super speed?”

“No—”

“Can she fly?!”

“—no—”

“Shoot lasers from her eyes? Mind control me? Banish me to the no-pizza-only-meatloaf dimension?!”

“—NO! But—”

“—then what’s the big deal?! I'm a ninja! —the TURTLE TITAN! I could wipe a room clean of purple dragons without breaking a sweat!”

A moment’s confusion crosses Beast Boy’s face, replacing whatever tension had formed there, but Mikey doesn't give him the chance to ask. Instead, he springs from their hiding place and darts full-speed to where his nunchaku still lay on the floor. He drops his weight, scooping them up in a slide, and swiftly redirects his sprint for Alice. 

Feels in poor taste to clip her in the back of the head, he thinks. So, when he's two strides from her back, he dips to skim the ground on his outer leg and slams the other into her heels. Alice lets out a shocked squeal and drops, landing hard on her back. Mikey rotates onto the balls of his feet and straightens to his full height, letting the continued momentum bounce him a few steps away from her.

“Sorry to rain on your parade or whatever," he says as Alice groans and eases herself onto her elbows, "but I think you normally need tickets to get into one of these things. NOT giant killer robots! ...—assuming the big bug was with you.”

Alice tilts her head. Her sunglasses now sit at an odd angle on her nose, allowing him to see her eyes as she openly looks him up and down. Mikey steps back as she rolls sideways and onto her feet. Alice gives one foot a brisk stomp as she stands, and she hefts the Federation blaster back against her shoulder. The gesture felt a little too natural for a weapon that'd only been on Earth for a week or two. Maybe she’d just used a gun before. A big one. Yeah! That made sense.

When she grins at him, he clears his throat and points a finger at her. “Where'd you even GET that thing anyway?!”

“The 'big bug'?" She asks. Then, brightly, "oh, I found it! It was in pretty bad shape, but, oh, y'know! Nothing I couldn’t fix.”

...okay, yeah, yeah, yeah, nooooo.

Something was starting to feel off. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“That was a pretty cool move you used,” Alice says, jolting him back to the present. Her grin widens, and she tips her upper body forward. “What was it?”

Mikey stiffens, suddenly uncertain. “...just a basic ninja move.”

“A ‘ninja move’,” she repeats, brows high. “...can I see some more?”

Her arm snaps straight, the blaster now pointed at his head. Mikey ducks, bracing his upper body on his hands. The beam slices through the air overhead as he launches for her, one nunchaku already flowing into an arc. He spins past her and, with a brisk snap to her inner wrist, knocks the blaster from her fingers. Alice yelps and clutches her hand. She stumbles backward, head and eyes snapping up to follow Mikey as her sunglasses fall down her face to the tip of her nose. Her lips curl into a grimace. Then a scowl, then a smirk.

“Not bad,” she says, and Mikey flicks his other nunchaku into a whirl.

“’Not bad’?” He echoes, even parroting her cadence. “What? You an expert or something?”

Her smirk widens. She slides a foot back to square her stance and raises her arms so one hand hovered near her head and the other extends toward him, palm held vertical. She then rotates the palm so it lays parallel to the floor, waving her fingers in invitation. It's the hand he’d hit. Purple bruising had already begun to bloom along her thumb and wrist, and the former twitches slightly, even as her other fingers stay still.

Okay, he thinks, catching his nunchaku under his arms and mirroring her stance. She bruises. So, she’s not invulnerable or anything. ...But why does this still feel super wrong?

For a second, they stand stone still. Then, Mikey lunges. He feigns left, easily redirecting his momentum from one foot to the other and letting it guide his arm into a swing. It’d be an easy—if not cheap—hit. 

Only. It didn’t land.

Alice slides out of the nunchuck’s path in a single, liquid movement. Mikey barely realizes what's happened before she turns the dodge into a strike. White explodes in his vision as the heel of her palm connects with his temple. He stumbles—rights himself—narrowly dodges a kick to his bridge. Alice barks a light laugh. She spins and swings for his head. Mikey sucks in a breath and deflects her arm with his, but her other palm cracks between his collar bones. Again, he stumbles back, confused and slightly panicked. He was losing ground, and she was gaining it. He springs away from a kick and lets his weight carry him several more steps back. He manages to catch his nunchaku under his arms again and ground his footing. But his chest is tight, throat struggling to get air to his lungs.

What the shell was that?!

Across from him, Alice rolls her shoulders. She giggles, puffs some stray hair away from her glasses.

“This is fun!” She says. “I can’t believe I never tried this before.”

Mikey can only gawk.

Never… tried this before??? … but—

“Hey, can I have one of those?” Alice points to his left nunchaku. “A little unfair you’ve got two and I don’t have any at all, don’t you think?”

“Um. No???”

His mind's racing. He can't come up with anything else to say because Alice is charging him again. She chops for his arm, but he dodges out of the way. He braces his back foot and shoves off, swinging a nunchaku for her side. But she twirls into the swing and catches his forearm in her hands. He feels her grip tighten—twist. Pain screams up his arm, and he lets out a yelp. The nunchaku drops from his hand.

Alice snatches it out of the air and weaves him through his remaining momentum. Mikey scrambles to regain control of his feet as she releases his arm, whirling around and clutching his now empty fist. His remaining nunchaku is a blur at his side, and he grits his teeth. Alice twirls her stolen nunchaku between her hands, the motion so effortless that weapon seemed flexible as a snake. The sight makes something deep in his chest lurch. How—???

She barrels forward; Mikey slides back. He dodges the first swing—the second—but the third catches his chin. He’d only just recovered from that when another swing clips the side of his head. His vision swims, and he realizes too late that the wood and chain of his own weapon has snared his neck. His weight drops back, and he lets out a startled cry as Alice flings him over her back. The warehouse spins once—twice—and he crashes into a pile of crates. All he can do is groan as he slides the remaining distance to the ground, cringing when his shoulders connect with the floor and his body flops limply onto his plastron.

He considers just lying there. Playing dead, maybe? That could work.

“You wipe the room yet?”

Beast Boy’s voice. Somewhere above him.

Mikey groans. Guess I deserve that.

He turns his head against the cement and peels an eye open. Beast Boy’s figure perches on the crate he'd crashed into, his forearms draped over his knees and his head tilted to meet Mikey’s eye. Mikey groans again, this time with a healthy portion of 'feel bad for me' slathered on top.

“… I think I broke my collar a little bit,” he mumbles.

Beast Boy grunts. “Happens.”

“Yeah.”

Mikey swallows. He's vaguely aware of Alice laughing somewhere nearby, but he opts to ignore her for now. “How, uh. How much of that did you see?”

“Depends. How embarrassed d'you wanna be?”

“Cool. Rad. Awesome.” Mikey turns his head a little more toward Beast Boy. “One of my heroes just saw me get whalloped. No big deal.”

Beast Boy clicks his tongue, and one of his ears twitches. “Yeah. Alice is... kind of good at everything.”

“...say what now?” Mikey sits up on his elbows and squints.

“She’s good at everything," Beast Boy repeats, his tone dull, if not irritated. "That’s, uh, what her alias is supposed to imply.”

He raises his hands and wiggles his fingers. “’The Breeze’. Cuz learning new skills is one. Calculus? Darts? Alien robot science? ...~It's a breeze~.”

Silence.

“Yknow,” Mikey finally says, “you’d think she would be better at picking a name—”

His remark's cut off as Beast Boy suddenly ducks and grabs hold of his plastron, then throws his weight back to yank them both over the side of the crate. The movement is clumsy, and Mikey lets out a 'yipe!' as his already sensitive body tumbles to the floor all over again. The side of the crate they'd been on explodes in a burst of splinters and crackling yellow light. Beast Boy coughs, grunts, and shoves Mikey off of him and to the side. They both shamble onto their hands and knees to crawl a small distance across the length of the line of crates.

“Yeah, well. I COULD have gotten the jump on her, but now you’ve taught her whatever THAT was!” Beast Boy whispers sharply. Mikey inhales, crawling faster to reach Beast Boy's side and glower at him.

“You coulda given me more of a warning!”

“—Dude, I TRIED!”

“If you can’t shift while that thing's on you, what were you gonna do!? Use harsh language?”

Beast Boy bristles. “I could’ve gotten close enough to sting her!”

“Sting her??" Had he not been listening!? "But she said if you shifted that goop would—”

Beast Boy’s hand snaps out, and he hits Mikey on the beak with a brisk flick of his finger. Mikey squeaks and shakes his head, blinking wide-eyed at the other. The initial pain came sharp, as expected, but then… then—

Mikey gasps. He blinks rapidly, eyes all at once wet from the broil blooming under his skin. It burned. It really, REALLY burned. And the tingling sensation spreading through his face was almost worse.

“Ow!” He could barely keep his voice at a whisper, and his palms smacked uselessly at the source of the pain. “Ow—ow! OW—w-what did you—WHY did you—?!”

“...It’ll wear off in a second,” Beast Boy grumbles.

“NnnNNnnbut you didn’t even…?” Mikey blinks through the blur of tears. As they fall away, he sees Beast Boy’s posture is still stiff, his shoulders squared and tense. The spaces under his eyes looked strained. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t anger or even irritation. He's seen that look before... —on Raph. Right after his anger had gotten the better of him. When he stood somewhere between fear and shame, but didn't know if he wanted you to know.

Mikey shifts his jaw and exhales. A mild shiver runs through his skin as the burn begins to subside. 

“So, uh,” he starts, sniffing and swiping the back of his hand under his beak, “you really think Charlotte will be able to get you outta that red thing?”

“Yeah,” Beast Boy says. He frowns, eyeing Mikey with a different air of caution. “...you really think you can handle Alice?”

Ask me in five minutes.

Mikey pushes to his feet, ignoring the question. “How're you gonna find her?”

Beast Boy hesitates. Then, he exhales and stands up. It's when he rubs his hands together, twists at his palms, that Mikey realizes his gloves are missing.

"It might take me a few minutes," Beast Boy mutters, "but I can do it. Just keep her distracted until I can get outta this thing, okay?”

Mikey nods, and Beast Boy bolts toward one of the adjacent columns. He crouches at its base, flattens his palms on the floor and one of its sides. For a moment, he's stone still. Mikey blinks, and he opens his mouth to ask what the shell Beast Boy was doing, but the shifter's head suddenly snaps to his left. There's a pause, and Beast Boy sprints further into the warehouse. 

With a heavy exhale, Mikey shakes out his hands and realizes he's—thankfully—still clutching one of his nunchaku. And this realization reminds him that Alice stole the other. Which reminds him that he's actually pretty darn dang pissed off about that. No one steals Chuck 2: The Sequel and gets away with it. A faint growl rumbles in his throat, and he ducks into a low run to round the crate pile. He slows as he reaches the final crate in the line and lowers onto his hands and knees again, peering around its corner.

Alice struts through the open floor space before the stage, his nunchaku draped over the back of her neck and the retrieved Federation blaster swinging by her side. She’d pulled a lollipop from one of her jacket’s pockets, and tore the wrapper off with a swipe of her teeth and a flick of her wrist. Without breaking stride, she spat the wrapper out, twirled the candy in her fingers, and let the ball of sugar plop onto her tongue. With the dying fire flaring behind the stage as a backlight, her blonde hair almost seemed to glow and flicker with it.

Guess being 'good at everything' included looking effortlessly cool. ...life seriously just wasn't fair.

"Oh, boooooooyyyyys?" She calls, tone light and sing-song. "This's been fun and all, but I'm starting to get bored. I don't think your friends want to deal with that." 

Mikey shifts his jaw. He crouches lower and creeps in her direction, careful to keep his head tucked between his shoulders and his movements light as possible.  The good news (if there was any) seemed to be that Alice’s ability to be good at everything gave her unearned confidence. SHE wasn’t trying to keep quiet. The heavy foot-falls caused by her boots filled the otherwise quiet room, making it easier to track where she was even if he couldn't see her clearly through the smoke. Mikey allowed his movements to slow until he came to a stilled position behind his old friend: the DJ stand. He holds his breath, turning his head against the stand to follow her movements as she passed. 

He remembers the bruise on her hand. Beast Boy hadn't warned about any invulnerabilities—just that she was good at everything. Hypothetically, this could mean one well-placed sneak attack could knock her out. 

Alice walks down the center of the floor, her pace unbroken and her gate more that of a skip than a walk. Mikey rolls his shoulders. Closes his eyes. If this worked? It was gonna be awesome. If it didn't? It was gonna suck.

He snaps his eyes open, digs the balls of his feet into the floor, and lunges around the stand. The room passes in a blur of dancing light and shadow. He grips the nunchaku, allows his energy to flow up and through his arm, shaping the strike's curve. In the same exhale he brings his arm down, Alice turns her head. His reflection flashes in her sunglasses.

—crap—

He attempts to redirect, but it's a beat too late. Alice dips, twirls into his swing and out of the nunchaku’s reach. He spots the glint of her teeth before letting his remaining momentum carry him through a spin of his own. It’s just enough to move him out of her uppercut's path, but her knuckles still graze his cheek.

Mikey stumbles, cursing himself for not having snatched his nunchaku when he’d been so close. He rights his footing, and not a second too soon. Alice lands in a squared stance—blaster raised—and he leaps away when she opens fire. She barks out a “hah!!” and shifts aim, forcing Mikey to dart right. He glares at her as he circles and keeps his distance, ignoring the singe nipping his heels. He couldn’t remember how Federation blasters worked; they didn’t have bullets or clips, and he didn’t know how many rounds one could get off before it’d need to cool down. —Raph had said something about that, hadn’t he? That, instead of reloading, the blasters had to—

—a dull buzz whirs from the weapon, the flashes of yellow energy giving way to a thin, pathetic wisp of smoke. This must have been the first time she’d fired one so many times in a row, because Alice stiffens at the sight of it, her eyes going wide behind her glasses as she turns her head to look at the blaster.

Big mistake.

Mikey shifts direction on a dime. He can't stop himself from smirking as he races toward her. She looks at him—bewilderment washing out what he could see of her face. Mikey feigns a swing with his nunchaku. This time she falls for it, ducking out of the way only to yelp when his fist collides with her face instead.

“NYEHHEHEHEH!” Mikey cackles. He ducks into another spin and slides up and out of it into a second hook. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a--”

Alice snares his arm in both of hers and twists inward, driving her knee into his diaphragm. Mikey lets out a half-strangled gasp, and Alice lets out a high-pitched yelp. She releases him and stumbles backward, knee tucked to her chest and gripping it as she hops up and down on her other foot. Mikey coughs and spits off to the side. He rubs the spot her knee connected with and curls his lip at her.

“Dude, even with slick moves, it’s still a plastron!” He says, rapping his knuckles against its surface. “What did you expect—”

She snarls, and his stolen nunchaku suddenly slams into the side of his face. Mikey lets out a yelp, but he allows himself to stumble through the hit and into a run. That hit hadn't been as sharp and snappy as the others. Gaining the upper hand—even for a moment—had thrown her off her game. And he could do it again.

Mikey raced toward the closest crate. When he hits one stride's length away, he hikes up a foot and plants it on the wood. He half-runs up the crate's side and shoves off, flinging himself into a backflip. The world turns upside-down, and he spots Alice craning her head to stare up at him. It's that split second—where she hesitates between raising the blaster or reaching for the nunchaku around her neck—that he knows he's got another hit. He lets his knees give and drops low through the landing, blowing an exhale through his nose as his stolen nunchaku cuts though the air above him. Its swing a beat and a half too late. And the best part? She knew it.

“—MOTHER—” Alice’s voice cuts off with a shrill yelp as Mikey drives himself upward and crashes his fist into the underside of her jaw.

She spirals back and stumbles sideways, narrowly catching her weight against the crates. She still grips his Chuck 2: The Sequel in one hand. Her sunglasses lay, cracked, a few feet away.

Alice shifts her jaw and spits a wad of blood off to the side. The glare she steels on him is needle-sharp. ...and oh, so satisfying.

“...you’re starting to get annoying.”

“Heh,” Mikey huffs. He twirls his remaining nunchaku (with a bit of unnecessary, petty flourish) and snares it under his arm. "I'm also starting to get bored."

Her eyes flash. Mikey grins, and he's about to slide into another whirlwind of strikes when movement from above catches his eye.

Keep her distracted.

"—but hey!" He says instead. "Good effort? Really appreciate the workout. I did really need that today! Yeah, thanks, man!"

Alice squints at him, and her fingers curl tighter around the nunchaku. He keeps going.

"Hey, really appreciate it, dude. No—I appreciate it, man. Really much appreciate it, bro—"

Alice screams, baring her teeth and charging toward him. Just as Mikey's body stiffens and he braces to fling his weight backward, something large drops from the rafters above. The ambush is so sudden—silent—that Alice hadn’t even thought to look up. Her scream ends with a sharp shriek as the hulking mass slams into her shoulders and sends her crashing into the pavement. Mikey recoils, closing his eyes and half-raising his arms in front of him to safeguard against any chance of an incoming attack. But nothing happens. Alice keeps screaming—now out of rage or fear, he can't tell—and Mikey nervously cracks an eye open.

Just a few feet ahead of him, Alice thrashes and writhes against the coils of gigantic python, trying in vain to get enough force behind a kick or jab to free herself. But with every movement the python's body tightens, until all she can do is squirm with her arms pinned to her sides and her legs tangled together.

It takes Mikey longer than he’d like to admit to realize the snake isn't some crazy New Yorker’s escaped pet. Beast Boy must have found Charlotte. 

Mikey swallows, and he lowers his arms back to his sides. He didn’t know how long it’d take for a human to pass out from snake-induced breathing difficulties. But he DID know it wasn't an answer he wanted anytime soon.

He shoves to his feet—catching himself as a wave of lightheadedness causes him to teeter—and walks toward the writhing mass of reptile and human. Alice, already beginning to wheeze, glares up at him. Mikey glares back, and he snatches his nunchaku from her hand. “I'll be taking that back now."

Then he clacks the two ends together in his hand, draws his arm back. The strike is sharp—precise. A clean cuff of his knuckles to her temple. Alice’s next breath comes in a squeak, then her head drops limp.

Mikey straightens. He eyes Alice for a long moment before allowing his posture to relax. The snake’s binds loosen, and Alice slumps to the pavement. Beast Boy’s form shifts in a blink, the snake's binding body gone and leaving him crouched beside Alice's head. He huffs, pushing to his full height, and dusts off one of his arms.

“You okay?” he asks, shooting Mikey a glance.

Mikey nods, but it's not what he's worried about. "—was Charlotte alone!?"

Beast Boy unlatches his belt and tugs it loose from his person, pausing long enough to shake his head before kneeling at Alice’s side. “Nah. There were two other girls and a dude with her. They're by the stage.”

“Are they okay?!”

“Yeah! I asked if any of them knew Turtle Titan, and a girl with purple hair started to—"

Mikey doesn't wait for anything else. He whirls on his heel and sprints in the direction of the stage. He slides as he rounds its corner, and his heart skips a beat when he spots a pair of deep purple pigtails.

“—Angel!!”

Angel’s head whips toward him. Relief floods her expression in an instant, and Mikey closes the short distance between them to sling his arms around her shoulders. She catches him in a vice-like grip, hands clasped against the backs of his shoulders. Jeez, she must have been scared. More than she wanted to let on. He tightens his hold—just for a second—before letting his arms slacken. He leans back from her enough to search what he can see of her for injuries.

“Are you okay?” He asks, then fumbles, “—sorry—stupid question.”

“Shut up,” she says with a weak laugh, and she swat his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. —but I’m fine. Charlotte kept us cool!”

Mikey blinks. Then, a wave of cold, tense nerves rushes through him.

Oh. Right. Angel... wasn’t the only one here. 

Mikey swallows, and he turns his head. The other girl and boy must have dipped while they thought they could, leaving behind a girl with vibrant orange hair and yellow tips that couldn’t have been natural in color. Her round eyes looked him over, lids dusted with smoky blacks on the sides and a streak of glittering gold down the center. Mikey braces himself—expecting her to scream or freeze or throw something at him or all three somehow at once—but her already wide smile only softens.

“You're the Turtle Titan!" She says; a fact, not a question.

Mikey blinks. When he doesn't speak, Angel thumps a fist against his chest. "In the FLESH."

Charlotte beams, and she moves to close the distance between them. Angel side-steps, not before giving Mikey a reassuring smile, and Charlotte takes his hands in both of hers. If his scales or slight points of his claws bothered her, she sure didn't show it. 

“Thank you so much, love,” she says, patting the back of his hand. “I know Breeze can be… a bit much.”

“Unfortunately for her, Turtle Titan, here, can also be 'a bit much'," Angel murmurs out of the corner of her mouth. Charlotte laughs, and Mikey manages a nervous, but sincere, smile. She didn't seem freaked out at all! 

—and. Then. He realizes why.

"Yep! That's me!" He blurts, forcing on a wide grin. “Turtle Titan!—which, um! Is to say: I’m totally suited up right now!”

Charlotte’s brows raise, but she says nothing. He can't tell if that's good.

“...--this is my suit. My costume, that I am wearing,” he fumbles on before he can stop himself. “I just forgot my cape in the little turtle's room. And also my boots. And. And my gloves. And...”

It's then that he realizes Angel's still smiling. Charlotte lets out a graceful laugh.

“Darling,” she coos, and she tips her head toward the corner stage. Beast Boy, in the form of a gorilla, ambled toward them with Alice draped over one shoulder. Charlotte's lips curve into more of a sugar-sweet simper. “...he’s green.”

Mikey has no idea how to respond to that. "...is he not supposed to be?"

This earns another delicate laugh from Charlotte and a snort from Angel. Beast Boy settles Alice on the floor, her arms bound in a makeshift set of handcuffs from his belt, and shifts back as he approaches them. One of his ears flicks as he scratches the side of his head, and he smiles, albeit awkwardly, in Mikey's direction.

“It's cool, dude,” he says. He steps to Charlotte’s side and bumps his elbow against her ribs. “Char’s mom is kind of a big-wig in our circles. She designed, uuuh… —she designed the suits for some people I know! They got some wild things to work around when it comes to what they can wear without... destroying... it. And stuff. —And Charlotte designed mine! —She actually makes most of my clothes, so they don't, like, y'know, explode, when—"

Charlotte huffs and rests a hand on Beast Boy's shoulder. “What Honey-bee is trying to say is: the world's 'weird' is my family's 'mundane'."

She smiles and tilts her head with a wink. “So. Is this your suit?”

Mikey hesitates. Weighs the question. Then he shakes his head. “Uh, no. ...this is just me.”

“Do you have a suit, Turtle Titan?”

“Yeah!! —not on me. I-it’s back… —at my lair.” A strange sense of embarrassment rushes through him, and he can't help but shrink a little. “I-it’s just something a friend and I threw together. Nothing ...nothing special.”

Charlotte's expression softens, and her smile warms. "I wouldn't want to replace such a valuable garment. Would you be open for a touch-up or two? As a 'thank you' for helping Honey-bee today?"

Mikey’s eyes snap open, wide as saucers. All the embarrassment gave way to pure, unbridled shock and excitement. “W...—yeah! —Yeah—wait! Are you serious?!”

Charlotte nods, eyes sparkling as she turns to stride to the other end of the stage. "I'll fetch my sketchpad—it's tucked away in my purse!"

Angel jabs Mikey in the upper arm with her fist and lets out a laugh. “Look at you, Turtle Titan. —hey, Char, wait up! I think I have a picture of him in the suit on my phone!”

She jogs after Charlotte, fishing around her hoodie pouch and pants pockets. Mikey gapes after them. He almost forgets Beast Boy is still standing off to his side, and he whirls around, pointing in Charlotte's direction.

“—this isn’t a prank or something?" he asks, though it's more of a plea than a question. "She’s actually gonna do it?”

Beast Boy smirks. “Duh. Char doesn’t play around. That’s my job.”

This time, Mikey doesn't have to stifle the squeal as it surges out of him. He wiggles in place, flails his fists in the air under his chin. No way. No WAY this was happening. Someone pinch him right now—NO, DON'T—even if he IS dreaming, he didn't want to wake up.

"Hey."

The sudden shift in Beast Boy's voice catches him off guard. Mikey goes still, and he turns his attention back to the shifter. Beast Boy eyes him. One of his ears flicks in the direction of the girls' chatter, but his focus remains on Mikey. He'd propped his hands on his hips, and one finger tapped nervously against his suit.

His gloves were on again.

Mikey blinks. He rotates to face Beast Boy in full. "...yeah?" 

Beast Boy opens his mouth. He hesitates, closes his mouth again, and sets his jaw. 

"Sorry," he finally says, frowning. "For, uh. ...—for flicking you. Back there. Aaaaand everything else." He pauses, then looks off to the side. "I think... I think everything with, uh. Star. ...I think my brain's still out in space somewhere."

"Oh! Yeah. No, it's okay!" Mikey starts to smile, but it falters. Then he frowns, too. "But. Um. ...No offense? I dunno if 'flick' is the right word? My entire snout kinda—"

"—please don't tell anyone about that."

The words spill out with such hushed urgency that Mikey's jaw snaps shut. Beast Boy looks to him, sharply, and the strain under his eyes is back. Fear? Shame?

...both? ...

They stand in rigid silence. Then, Mikey holds up his hands, and he shrugs.

"Dude," he starts gently, offering a sheepish smile. "...whoooooooo am I gonna tell? The sewer algae?" 

When the question only gets a cautious squint from Beast Boy, Mikey drops his arms. "I won't tell if you don't tell there's a mutant turtle running around New York...? ...Deal?" 

"...Yeah. Uh, deal." Beast Boy glances away again. He exhales through his nose, nods once, then looks down at Alice. "...should probably drop her off at a station and head back west. Rob's gonna get antsy if I'm out too long without reporting back."

"—Is Charlotte gonna be okay?" Mikey asks. 

Beast Boy nods. "Yeah. Feel I should be asking you that, though. You're the one 'bout to be bombarded with fashion questions." He flicks his gaze back to Mikey, brows raised. "Hope you're chill with that."

"I'm SO chill with that. I've got ice shivering in its boots."

"..."

"...I'll workshop that one."

Beast Boy smirks. Genuinely. "I look forward to hearing it later, then."

He straightens and extends a closed fist. "Nice working with you tonight, Turtle Titan."

Mikey grins. He takes a small step forward, bumping his knuckles against Beast Boy's.