A/N: started writing this when I was having a bad day. I can't remember why

But yeah: first of four one-shots, written to celebrate me hitting Chapter Twenty with my on-going TMNT fanfic, Mysteries of High School: Sophomore Year. 2014 Apritello, but implied so if you really want, you can interpret it as not-Apritello

Oh look a reference to the 1987 series. Yes good

Cuddle Monster

God, April was fed up. She'd woken up in a spontaneous bad mood this morning and had been waiting to get off work ever since. It genuinely felt like she'd been waiting for hours to leave; and that thought alone covered the last thirty minutes. She had known today wasn't going to go well: her bike needed replacing, her shower was only giving her five minutes of hot water at a time, and she was no longer being put on serious stories.

The first two were things she could deal with, no problem: some cash would get her a new bike, a better one maybe; and Donatello would be able to fix the water heater for her. What was getting to her, now more than ever, was that Channel 6 still wasn't taking her seriously, even after putting her on the story about the Sacks incident. She could've sworn she'd done a good job on it.

She had done a good job on the story, right?

"Hey, you're still doing some good, you know," Vern said, attempting to reassure her, as he drove her home in the Channel 6 van; the one he'd been given to replace the car Michelangelo had accidentally blown up. April almost snarled at him.

"I was covering the Fat Cabbie of the Year awards," she spat, glaring out the windows. She just wanted to be back on decent stories. Was that so much to ask? Was she not good enough?

"The public eat it up."

"Right. With lots and lots of onions. Drop me off at Wal-mart, Vern. I promised the guys I'd do a grocery run today. I can make it from here."

Vern reluctantly stopped the van and as April climbed out, he leaned over and said, "Hey, don't worry about it, O'Neil. They'll come around at Channel 6."

"Sure," April said bitterly, not really believing it. She slammed the door with more force than was necessary. At least he hadn't tried to get with her today when he saw what a rotten mood she was in. So that was a bonus. Or something.

Personally, April just counted herself as lucky not to be stupid and slip on the floor at Wal-mart. It was one of those days where if you could mess up somehow, chances were that you would. That was the up side of the whole thing, though.

They were all sold out of her favourite brand of cookies – she'd been hoping to drop the groceries off, go home and binge – and the guy behind her in the line wouldn't leave her alone or stop hitting on her, even when she lied and said she had a boyfriend.

Okay; fine. She could take a hint with the cookies. Snacks, wine and television wouldn't be there to cheer her up tonight. She was going to need some company instead.

When April arrived at the Lair, still feeling rough and all but weighted down with grocery bags, she wasn't particularly surprised to find only Donatello in the den: since Master Splinter hadn't yet fully recovered from the attack at the old Lair, Leonardo always made sure one of his brothers stayed behind while the others went out on patrol, to take care of their surrogate father.

Today was clearly Donatello's turn to stay behind and keep an eye on Splinter, and April figured the others were on patrol right now for two reasons: Michelangelo was very good at making his presence known; and Donatello was watching either a sci-fi or a creative science documentary. He didn't get to watch those in the den when the others were in unless he chose a sci-fi for Movie Night.

April was somewhat surprised to see that his tech-pack wasn't slung over his shell. She tried, but the only time she could remember seeing him without it was before he had mutated; when he was so small he could fit in the palm of her hand.

It suddenly struck her how weird that thought was. Years ago she had been able to pick up all of the Turtles at once. Nowadays, her head didn't even reach Leonardo's shoulders, and Donatello was even taller than him!

On a side-note, the tech-pack was probably in Donatello's lab.

"Hey, Donnie," April greeted somewhat unenthusiastically, after unpacking her shopping and returning to the den.

Maybe her tone was rough, or maybe she sounded more mope-y than she thought, because a small frown creased Donatello's brow and he paused whatever he was watching, turning bodily to face her. And apparently whatever he saw on her face mirrored what he had heard in her voice. "Is everything alright?" he asked gently.

See, this was why she loved the guys so much. If she was ever upset, she could count on them to be concerned.

Brushing her long hair out of her face a little too aggressively, April shrugged and said, "I've had a rough day, is all; I'll get over it. I guess."

There was a tiny, thoughtful pause – it almost wasn't noticeable, but April could see Donatello figuring out how best to respond – before he scooted away from the middle of the couch and offered her the free side. He needn't have bothered. April sat down, yes, but she sat curled up against him. She felt him jump slightly at the physical contact; then he relaxed again a moment later.

"I need your help later," she muttered. "My water heater's broken and I want a shower tomorrow."

Donatello cleared his throat. "S-sure," he replied quietly. "I'll fix it as soon as the others get back from patrol."

"And I have to buy a new bike because mine's falling apart."

"W-well, if you ever, uh –" he cleared his throat again – "need a ride in the Turtle Van, just say so."

"And I haven't been given a serious story to cover in weeks."

Donatello nodded sympathetically. "Fat Cabbie of the Year. Not a story I would wish on anybody. Although I don't see why it requires news coverage."

"I know, right?" April agreed. Then the penny dropped and she released a pained groan. "Oh God. Don't tell me you guys saw that," she begged.

But she didn't need the silence that followed to tell her they had seen it. April knew the Turtles and Splinter always watched her piece. Whether to be supportive or otherwise, she didn't know. But that didn't matter. She would be embarrassed about the whole thing if she wasn't so annoyed at the awful stories she'd been put on lately.

"I just… I feel like they aren't taking me seriously," she complained softly. "I mean, it was good when I did the piece on Eric Sacks, right?"

"Of course it was. You were – remarkable."

"Yeah, well Channel 6 didn't think so," April grumbled, resting her head against Donatello's arm. Again she felt him jump slightly; tense in surprise; relax a moment later. It occurred to her that they hadn't personally interacted much before tonight. And here she was, complaining to him; she wanted to stop and have a pleasant, friendly conversation instead. But she couldn't. "They keep putting me on fluff stories. Can't you guys go save the world for me again? Or, I dunno, scare my boss into giving me something good to cover?"

Donatello gave a snort of laughter, making his shoulders jerk considerably and suddenly. The movement surprised April, who made a small squeaking noise and grabbed his arm; clung to it. He froze – for the third time – but April didn't let go. She'd had a bad day and she needed a cuddle… or more wine than she could afford right now. She sighed.

"So how come you're out of your lab, anyway?"

"The quiet in the living room is a nice change," Donatello answered. "Ordinarily my lab is the only place I can find which is quiet. Or where I can watch what I want."

April nodded and gave a small hum of agreement; but because she was still resting her head on Donatello, it came off more as though she was nuzzling against his arm. He cleared his throat awkwardly again.

"Are – are you feeling alright, April?"

"No," April complained. "I've had a bad day and I need a cuddle."

Another minuscule pause followed. Not a silence but a pause, in which Donatello again seemed to weigh his options. Then, ever so haltingly, slowly so April could tell him no if she wanted, he lifted his arm over April's head and set it down on the other side of her torso.

April didn't tell him no. Instead she wrapped one arm across his front as best she could, hooked her other hand onto the back of his shell and settled her head against the front of his shoulder. For someone who lived in a sewer, he smelled surprisingly pleasant. There was a small amount of nostalgia in the laboratory-chemical smell, the way her dad used to smell sometimes, but it was hidden under his own scent, which was warm and rich; almost sweet.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

Thinking about it, Donatello was possibly the only one of the Turtles April could get away with doing this with. Raphael was too macho and probably had no idea how, anyway; Leonardo didn't really seem like the type to cuddle; and while Michelangelo would be up to it, chances were he would be too enthusiastic and go overboard, and that wasn't what she wanted – or needed, for that matter – right now. What she wanted – needed – was… well, this. Downtime and a cuddle with someone she cared about.

Besides, while Donatello was sort of awkward with the physical contact, he hadn't said no. And he was kind of comfy, too, April realised, stretching her legs across his. Donatello adjusted his glasses and took her action as a hint to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her onto his lap in the process.

This move came as a surprise to both of them. April would never have expected Donatello to do anything so – was forward the right word? – and to be honest, neither did he. But she did need a cuddle. And she didn't want to move. She was warm and comfortable now.

"If Mikey walked in right now," Donatello muttered, "he'd kill me."

April gave the tiniest smirk, accompanied by a faint and short-lived laugh, and Donatello seemed to gain some further confidence.

"Do you – uh – want to talk about it? I mean, you did already, but…" he trailed off.

April angled her head so she could look up at Donatello. He was nervous, unsure of himself and what he was doing, not realising he really was helping. And at the same time, that emotion was overpowered by concern… concern for her. It felt selfish to think, but it was nice to have someone worried about her.

She would have smiled if she wasn't still feeling miserable over her suckish day.

"Nah," April muttered, tucking her head into the crook of Donatello's neck. "I'll be okay in a bit." She almost added 'let's just stay like this for a while' but she didn't need to. Donatello seemed to know that she'd move when she was ready. So instead she added, "I just need a cuddle."

So they stayed like that for a while. Quite a while, actually. April must have dozed off at one point, because the next thing she knew, she was awakened (or maybe just brought back from the brink of sleep) by a small, reluctant groan which emanated from Donatello's throat. Then she heard the sound of the other Turtles returning.

They froze for a second and looked at one another. Donatello seemed to want to unlock his arms from around her and scramble to the opposite side of the couch like a small child. April felt the unexplainable urge to do the same, blushing as she might have done when she was younger. But that was ridiculous. She was no longer in high school. She'd had a bad day and had gone to her friend for comfort. What did she have to be ashamed about?

So she stayed put. So did he. And, actually, she felt a lot better.