Disclaimer: The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, April O'Neal and all other recognizable characters are the property of Peter Laird, Kevin Eastman, and Michael Bay. I have simply taken them out to play with.

Because of Grace (One-Shot)

by WhisperingWolf

It wasn't a secret, though they all pretended that it was. Each of his brothers, Splinter, and even April knew that he had a serious side, a quiet side, one that didn't come out very often. It wasn't that he didn't want anyone to see that he had this side, this solitary reflection. Rather it was the need to be alone, to seek whatever it was he was looking for without anyone else there. Michelangelo moved across the rooftop slowly, his mind distracted by thoughts and questions that wouldn't leave him.

It had been a week ago that he had seen her. She had been out walking alone, and he had been enjoying playing in the shadows behind would-be muggers. It was one thing that had, at times, caused discord between himself and Leo. Michelangelo loved to run behind those that had the dangerous auras, the ones he knew meant to attack others. He wouldn't wait for them to attack, instead he would simply dodge between the shadows, and remain unseen but whisper things just load enough to only barely be heard. Because of that, there was an area of Central Park that had been deemed 'haunted' by the locals.

That wasn't what had Michelangelo distracted though. It was the contemplation of life, of infinity, and finality. He had come to the park for a quick run, a little time to play, but instead he had found a girl sitting alone on a bench. She had a perfect view of the stars and that was where her attention had been. There had been a man behind her, someone with dark intentions, and he had stopped anything that could happen before it had the chance. He had stayed in the shadows of the trees, leaned against the rough bark, and had felt his heart stop when she had looked in his direction and smiled.

He had thought for certain that she couldn't see him, but she had. She hadn't run, hadn't screamed, or even appeared afraid at all. She had simply held out her hand and invited him to sit next to her in the moonlight. There was no one else around, and for a few moments he had felt it would be safe enough to be in the open. 'Valerie Grace Waters', she had said her name was, but added a 'Just Grace' to the end. She had told him she that she was sixteen, but he could have sworn she was older, her eyes looked too wise to be that young.

"Neuroblastoma."

She had said the word only once, and never elaborated on what she was saying it in reference to, but Michelangelo had the distinct feeling that she had meant she had it. He hadn't known what it was at the time, though he did have a vague awareness that it meant she was sick. He had sat with her for almost two hours as she told him about the stars, her passion for them coming through in every word she spoke. He had watched her as she had grown tired, wrapped his arm around her when she had leaned against him, and asked her in a quiet voice where she lived when he felt her near sleep.

Michelangelo had carried her home that night, to a brownstone just off of west fifth avenue. It was a beautiful house, but he had come to realize that her family weren't the owners of the property. He had snuck into her room the same way she had snuck out, and had wondered how she could be comfortable in what amounted to a closet with a bed. He had removed her shoes before tucking her in bed, and listened at the door to the slightly raised voices in the hall. The owner of the house was rich. Apparently, too rich to buy manners, he had thought. The woman had spoken to someone, whether a mother, or a sister, he couldn't be sure. What he did know was that Grace would be without her family on her birthday.

The idea hadn't sat well with him, and after learning that her birthday was only a few days away, he had planned something for them to do. It had taken April's help, a long-standing favor finally called in, but she had gotten him a key to the Kopernik Space Center in Vestal. The directions April had printed would take more than three hours by car, but he could run across the rooftops faster than any car could navigate the city streets. It hadn't been easy to keep it all a secret, or to sneak away from his brothers, but he hadn't known how to explain everything. The only thing he hadn't expected was for Donatello to follow him.

"Who's your friend?" Grace asked as she looked over Mikey's shoulder and around the curve of his shell.

"My who?" he asked as he came to a standstill and turned around. "Donnie," he had greeted his brother, unsure if he was glad to see him, or not. "My brother, Donatello," he introduced them. "Donatello, this is Grace."

She had been as kind and warm to his brother as she had been to him, and Michelangelo wondered if she had a mean or prejudiced bone in her body. She had seemed pleased to meet one of his brothers, and it was that reason alone that had made him happy Donatello had followed him. Grace had talked with them both as Michelangelo ran with her in his arms, and led the way across the state to reach the observatory. The three of them had stayed there until sunrise, watching the stars and talking about everything and nothing.

"Mikey. . . " Donatello's voice had been gentle, cautious when he had spoken that night, only moments after they had both seen the girl home. "Be careful, okay?"

"With her?" He had laughed at his brother's concern. "She can't hurt me, Donnie. I doubt she could hurt a fly."

"There's more than one way to be hurt by someone, Mikey. Just. . . just be careful, okay?"

"Ex-excuse me." Michelangelo stopped at the sound of the hesitant voice, and looked up to be certain he was still hidden in the shadows. "I know you're there. . . My name is Michaela, everyone calls me Mike, but. . ." Her voice trailed off as Michelangelo stood watching the girl from the darkness. "Are you Michelangelo?"

"How do you know my name?" he asked after a long moment, uncertain at the time if he would answer her or not.

"Grace, she told me about you. Not anything specific, she said you were her friend, and that she had met you here," Michaela hurried to explain. "She asked that I bring this. "

He watched as she held out a simple white envelope, and felt a shard of ice settle into his heart. He wasn't certain that he wanted to know what was inside of it, but he did want to know why she had brought it.

"Where's Grace?" he asked as he stepped slowly from the shadows, and waited to see if the other girl would scream. She did gasp, but didn't move away. "Why isn't she here?"

"Grace. . ." He watched as tears gathered into her eyes, the girl's chin trembled as she fought back her sorrow. "Grace won't be coming here anymore, but I wrote down where you can find her now."

He stepped closer and took the envelope slowly. Her whispered apology made the coldness in his heart grow as he watched her walk away. Why wouldn't Grace be coming back? And why did it feel as though he'd never see her again? He moved slowly as he retreated to the shadows, and leaned just close enough in the moonlight to read the letter folded inside the envelope. The writing was slightly messy, but he knew the tone of the words to belong to Grace.

Michelangelo,

I wanted to thank you. You don't know how much it meant to me that you took me to the observatory. You showed me the stars in a way I've never seen them before, in a way I thought I'd never be able to. I loved meeting your brother and the stories he told about you. I didn't know how to tell you that night, or any of the nights before, but when you left us to get something for me to drink, I told Donatello. If you're reading this, than it means that I'm no longer able to tell you myself. I made Mike promise to bring this to you if anything happened to me, and I guess . . . I guess it did.

The night we met, you seemed confused by what I said and I wanted to explain it to you. You deserved to know. You deserve so much more. Neuroblastoma. I was diagnosed two years ago with it. I thought I just had migraines, but when I collapsed walking down the stairs at school, I was rushed to the hospital and they found it when they were looking to make sure I didn't have a head injury. My parents died just before I started high school, and I had thought all the bad things had already happened, but then came this.

Mike - Michaela, my sister, she took care of me when she could barely take care of herself. She got a job as a live in maid and housekeeper because it gave us both somewhere to live. I didn't do much, just the laundry occasionally and the dishes, when she let me. We didn't have insurance, and there was no money to pay for treatments. I talked to the doctor who told me about my condition, and learned that the part of my brain the cancer affected would simply leave me weak and tired, give me a few really bad headaches, but that was it. He told me that most likely, I would simply go to sleep and not wake up. It sounded so. . . peaceful. I didn't tell Mike, I didn't want her to know. There was nothing that could be done to fight it, so I told her I just lost my balance. She found out anyway though, and I've never quite seen her cry like that before.

Maybe, I'm a coward for telling you in a letter, but I didn't really know how else to say it. Just promise me something, Mikey? Look after my sister for me? She can't be alone. She's always taken care of me, and now that I'm gone, I really don't think she'll make it on her own. She needs someone, and I know that you'll be a good friend to her. She always wanted to be an engineer, you know? She's damn good at fixing things and making something from a whole lot of nothing. And when you're hungry, even when there's no money, she still finds a way to make the best homemade pizza you've ever tasted. She can even toss the dough like the guys in the shops.

Just promise me that you won't let her be alone? I don't think I could handle the thought of it. You gave me the best week of my life, Mikey, and the best birthday I've ever had. I knew my time was drawing near when we went to the observatory, a person can feel that kind of thing. I don't know how long it'll be since then when you receive this letter. Maybe it'll be weeks, maybe months, but if I'm right when I think of how I feel, it will only be days. I'm sorry, Michelangelo. I wished I had more time with you. You made everything beautiful. Thank you for that.

Yours always,

Grace

Michelangelo didn't know he was crying until his teardrop his the letter, the moisture making a few of the words bleed as the ink grew wet. He dabbed it dry as gently as he could, careful not to smudge anymore of the letter and folded it neatly before he tucked it back inside the envelope. She hadn't looked sick, he thought. Tired yes, but not sick. He turned at the feel of someone behind him and met the compassionate stare of Donatello. His brother held up a similar envelope for him to see and nodded back down the trail.

"She asked me to look after you," he told Michelangelo with a sad grin. "I asked Raph to see her home. You should've seen him, I don't think he's ever seen a girl cry before, certainly not like that."

Michelangelo nodded quietly. "She didn't look sick."

"I know," Donatello aid as he stepped closer to his brother. "I scanned her that first night, when I was following you guys, before she saw me. I didn't know who she was then, but my scans told me she wasn't well."

"Do you think she suffered?"

"I don't know." Donatello shook his head. "I do know that she was happy though. Michaela said much the same. That she had seen Grace look more alive in the last week of her life than she had in the last four years. If for no other reason than that, she brought the letters. She wanted to know who you were."

Michelangelo nodded silently as he looked to the ground, and sniffed back a few tears. He didn't want to cry. Not out here, not around anyone. He closed his eyes as he felt himself drawn into a strong hug, Donatello and Leonardo held him in between them. He shook then as his tears began to fall, and felt the larger, stronger hand of Raphael on his shoulder as he released the grief that demanded to be felt. He looked up at the stars, his eyes finding the one she had pointed out as her favorite, and whispered to her.

"Goodnight Grace."