Dearest Readers Whom I Am So Very Grateful For,

This fic was inspired by a rant by Serendipity1 (and the ensuing discussion) about just what, in God's name, is up with all the clichéd, OOC, Mary-Sue laden fan fiction out there about the turtles having kids. I heard the people cry for a believable take on the matter, and have done my best to answer it.

I have endeavored here to take a completely realistic, very IN CHARACTER approach to the notion of one of the guys getting a human girl pregnant and the consequences, on both a personal and a scientific level. Most fics out there with the turtles as fathers skim over the scientific probabilities (or rather, improbabilities), the moral dilemmas and hardships of pregnancy (and in particular, teen pregnancy), and the danger and guilt involved in bringing another being into the life that the turtles lead. This fic does no such skimming, which is what makes it such a to write and hopefully something interesting to read.

I would like to thank, in no particular order: Mandy, Midnight Heir, Nekotsuki, Pi90katana, Serendipity1, Sewer Slider, and Shell Mel. You gals just … rock! hug'n'squeeze!

So, enjoy! Or not; I mean, there's every chance this fic is not your thing. I'm hoping you like it, anyways, and I REALLY hope you leave some concrit. This is, after all, my first multi-chaptered fic.

And I lied about the 'no particular order' thing. They're listed alphabetically.

--Love Dis

Rockabye baby

Thy cradle is green

Father's a nobleman

Mother's a queen

Betty's a lady

And wears a gold ring

And Johnny's a drummer

Who drums for the king


It was only ever going to be a one night stand. They were two self-confessed fuck-ups in a harsh world. They weren't lovers by any means, but they played pretend in a heady state of intoxication, in her room – her bed – with the lights off and the door locked and the stereo pounding.

She had kept her eyes shut through the whole thing.

He knew he'd never know contact like this again.

He had savored every second of it. He remembered what music had been playing, what time it was, where and how her fingers had trailed over his arms and shoulders. Normally, that kind of crazy attention to detail was something he left up to Leo or Don, but for that – for that he had made an exception. Everything about that stolen night was something he'd keep with him until his dying day, and something he knew she just wanted to forget. How she'd clung to him. The sounds of stifled gasps and whispers and rustling sheets. The way he'd felt his way in the dark, like the monster he was. How goddamned rotten he'd felt, days later, when he finally understood that, more than anything, she'd given him nothing more than a pity fuck. But he could deal – and he had thought he would, in time. A pity fuck was better than dying a virgin, he had reasoned.

It was one time. One time, and he'd still managed to mess up.

The digital clock on his Shell Cell had read 11:54 when he'd gotten the text message. He hadn't even tried to fool himself into thinking she wanted him again, but whatever he'd been expecting when he had clambered through the window into the messy apartment – a smirk on his lips and his skin tingling from the cold – it had not been this.

For one thing, she wasn't even dressed. She had been sitting on the worn couch in a boy's t-shirt (probably her brother's) and panties, her feet and legs bare, hands clasped in her lap as she waited for him. For another, she reeked of drink and looked like hell on earth. Her hair was loose and in dire need of combing. He could see, even in the dim light, that her face was blotchy, her eyes were puffy and her nose was running. The area around the silver nose-stud she usually wore was red and obviously inflamed. All were tell-tale signs that she'd been crying, maybe for hours.

And from that moment there, everything had gone to hell.

Raphael now stood with his face buried in his hands, the words Angel had just spoken ringing in his head.

"Christ," he muttered. "You sure?"

"No, Raph," she snapped, flaring so suddenly and so completely that he was taken aback. "Actually, I decided to message you in the middle of the fucking night and ask you over here to tell you I'm joining the circus! Course I'm sure, ya stupid –!"

She suddenly hurled a small white object across the room with all the force her slender arm could muster. Raph caught it easily, not taking his eyes off her. Oh, the perks of being a ninja. When he opened his fist and looked down, he saw it was long and made of plastic, with a little window in the middle. And in that little window, almost mocking him, was that little blue line.

Raph stared at it, holding it limply in his hands as a weird sensation hit him, something that was at once hot and cold in his gut, simultaneously swelling and shriveling in his chest. Ever so slowly, coherent thoughts pushed their way through the cotton-wool haze of utter shock his mind had become.


But Don said we wouldn't be able to –

Oh, this is SO going to fuck up my whole life –

What's Leo gonna say? Master Splinter?

Christ, I can't raise a kid!

I ain't ready for this!

Angel … what's she going through right now?

At this last thought, he looked up at her, opening his mouth to say something comforting, something to give the kid a little hope and let her know just how sorry he was to have gotten her into this mess. She was crying again, holding the palms of her hands to her eyes and shaking with silent sobs. He wanted to say so many things – that he was gonna stick by her, be her friend and partner in this to the end, even if they weren't together. He drew breath, ready to say stuff about how he was going to support her decisions, and if anyone even thought about trying to push her one way or another, he was so there. He was so ready.

"We are so screwed."