A/N: First in a series of short pieces. This one in particular is set in a blend of 2k3 and 2k12 verses. A number of years later - Urged by his younger brother and the promise of one too many romance movies, Donatello seizes his last best opportunity to reveal his heart's deepest secret. Comfort comes from an unlikely source. Raphael, Donatello, April

"Hope, in reality, is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man." -Friedrich Nietzsche

In Time

In the time it took him to climb the fire escape, sweating calloused palms, and dash across the roof, shaking legs, she had already left the chapel. His aching feet staggered to a halt on the opposite building, a dry cleaners; steam rising in tall columns from the multiple exhaust vents and chimneys dotting the roof; creating a halo of man-made clouds hovering over the structure. Like a cartoon character feeling blue, the steam cloud hung over his head. His alone.

The guests were chatting happily, filing out from the wooden double doors of the small church down the stone steps to their respective cars parked along the street. The hems of bridesmaids' dresses barely brushed against the rough surface of the sidewalk; shushing the ground like a teacher scolding chattering children. Heels of polished black shoes tip tapped; making a song of walking; a secret code even Donatello could not decipher. Compared to their suits and fine clothes, he was a filthy shadow, covered in grime and old scars and frayed padding. Car doors opened. Closed. And he stood, blank with the shock of his own late arrival.

Out of breath. Out of luck. Burning lungs and a mind full of regret, Donatello collapsed to his bottom with a rough grunt. Though it was his own reluctance to accept the opportunity when it had surfaced, urged on by all people, Michelangelo, to hurry and try to catch her before it was too late, he chose instead to blame his tardiness on his aging body. Had he slowed down that much over time? If this had been ten years ago . . . even five, maybe he wouldn't have taken so long to get here.

He looked about helplessly. The opportunity to grasp and squeeze, to bite and devour, as Mikey had put it, had slipped free. His one true chance. His last best chance. His moment of truth. His glorious last-ditch exclamation of true love for whatever it was worth was gone. Gone forever. Gone for good.

April was heading for her honeymoon with Casey. Heading for the airport. For their future.

And like the past brushed aside, Donatello remained. Obsolete and discarded. The truth was, it had been too late for years now. What was he thinking, rushing here like a fool? Did he really think it would be like all the recycled romantic trash that the movies continued to shove down their throats? That all it would take would be a moment of exclamation, a glorious shout of his deepest secret, a whispered plea laid bare to her in her moment of doubting the path she was about to step on. How could he have ever thought she'd consider him? When she hadn't for all these years? A hollow feeling filled him from foot to skull, one that just couldn't be dealt with by any rational reasoning so he sat there, like a lost child, like an animal discovering too late that the latch doesn't open from this side . . .

The sky darkened, blue, bluer, violet then opening up to inky vast emptiness above him. The stars could not compete with the light pollution, so the sky yawned blank and expansive. Soft footsteps approached and Don knew he should move or brace for an attack or even dash for cover. But he couldn't move. It wasn't for the numbness he'd developed in his legs for sitting like that for so long, but rather, he had no will to move. No motivation. What was the point? He hoped it was a horde of some of the last remaining Foot soldiers loyal to the ghost of Shredder that had discovered him. Maybe they could do him a favor and put him out of his misery. His hopes were dashed as the familiar form of his brother sat down next to him. The sound of joints protesting filled the air and he finally settled in with a soft grunt.

The two of them sat like that for a while. Neither moving nor speaking. The sound of the city at night surrounded them with feral noises of grumbling traffic, squealing tires, harsh laughter, lewd comments and the shrill call of an ambulance racing by. Some things remained the same despite the passage of time. His brother's stubborn silence was one of them. As always, Don found it grating on his nerves. He felt the need to fill the silence between them. He spoke the first thing that came to him.

"I missed it," Donatello croaked.

His brother gave him a sidelong glance before dropping it back to stare ahead. The church sat in the gloom. Twin stained glass windows peered back at them with a curious if not unimpressed expression. Abruptly, Don stood up. He immediately regretted the action. His feet shot pins and needles up through his calves and he shook his legs out one after another.

"Dammit," he muttered.

He turned to go when he noticed his sibling had not moved. He fidgeted where he stood. Growing impatient, he shifted his still tingling feet. He looked over his shoulder, suddenly eager to be rid of this place and the shadow of the looming church, glowering at him from across the street, silent as his brother but full of unspoken accusations. His rough voice made Don jump.

"You deserve better."

Donatello's mouth dropped open. Of all the things he'd expected to hear, that was not one of them. He felt an irrational surge of anger and defensive protest go through him. He clenched his jaw and took a step towards his brother before stopping and considering. He spun on his heel and stomped a few steps away. Hands clutched at the strap going across his chest.

"What are you . . . you don't . . . how can you . . ." he stammered and flustered, spun back around.

With a heavy sigh, Raphael pushed against his thighs and climbed to stand. His knees creaked and popped with the motion. The scars of too many battles barely survived marred the surface of his carapace and when he turned the damage was more severe. It was a sight that Donatello was used to more or less, he had more than a few of his own, but here in the yellow light of the street lamps below, the ridges and gashes, the criss-crossing hatch marks that told of their rough life and the struggle to survive seemed exaggerated. Vulgar and gruesome. But mostly, it seemed wrong. So wrong. Raphael gave him a slow blink and fixed upon Donatello a steady look with a single amber eye. His head was tilted to one side, the patch hidden in shadow.

"You heard me."

Donatello gave a sour look as he turned his face away. "What would you know?"

"I know that ya passed up opportunities while waitin' for that one to come around. I know that she only ever cared about you in a way that wouldn't satisfy ya. Never saw ya fer what ya were."

He moved slowly to stand near Don. He turned his head slightly, glanced at him and swept his watery gaze down. Donatello dimly wondered if his brother was in pain again. He could always tell by the way his eye watered like that.

"And what's that?" Don managed, almost too afraid to hear it.

Raph huffed. "Someone worth lovin'."

The lump formed in Don's throat and they stood there awkwardly for a moment before he cleared it.

"Th-Thanks, Raph."

He wanted to say more, but there were never that many words spared between the two of them. In fact, this was the most Donatello had heard Raph say in a very long time. They shuffled towards the fire escape, heading towards home. Raph gave him a brief pat on his shoulder followed by a little shove.

"It'll get better in time, Egghead."

"How'd you get so smart about this stuff?" Don choked out between wiping the corner of his eye and clearing his throat again.

He huffed. "Too many years of watchin' my brothers hurtin' over women." He shook his head. A sad expression darkened his face. "Told Leo the same thing 'bout Karai. Couple years ago."

Don exchanged a long look with Raph. "Huh."

He chewed on that piece of information as a melancholy emotion swept through him at the thought of Leonardo. How he was always silently watching, bringing up the rear of their scouting runs, always waiting, no doubt hoping with all his heart, for any sign that she'd changed her mind; thinking he was hiding his feelings from the rest of them, when they all knew of his pain. The twisting anguish of that lingering hope. It was written in his eyes, exposed in the subtle turn of his head, as if listening, when all there was to hear was the wind whipping over the roof tops. Nothing more.

He decided that he would not end up like their eldest brother. He would let this futile hope go. He had to. The burden was pointless to carry forward. This pain would lessen in time, he just needed to get used to the burden of longing being lifted from his shoulders. He knew he would, in time.

A/N:What do you think?