Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2012): Beauty and the Beast
Author's Note: I've been out of the FF writing community for over four years now despite the occasional longing to take up writing again and the various unfinished stories cluttering my hard drive. But this fluffy plot bunny here just wouldn't go away. So I'm trying to get back in the game.
I've only seen Season 1 of TMNT so far but have been spoiled on later developments, and this is definitely set later (at an indefinite point in the future), but for the sake of this story, consider it A/U. Casey Jones doesn't figure here, neither does Kirby Bat. April's own genetic status does, though, so this is still a spoiler for S2.
This is a longish one-shot that sprang from a surprisingly strong reaction by yours truly to the Donatello/April situation. I thought I was past shipping cartoon characters, but I was, quite obviously, wrong. It is also based on me imagining what the Turtles would look like as humans. Throw the fluffy plot bunny in the mix, and you have a very (VERY) 'shippy story featuring (mainly) April and Donnie. It's hopelessly romantic and soppy and cheesy and not intended for anyone but a true 'shipper.
Anyway, I'm grateful for any kind of feedback, so if reading this story makes you want to say something (anything) about it, please make sure you leave a review. And the non-native speaker warning still applies.
Classification: Apriltello one-shot with strong friendshipping for the rest of them. Mostly A/U. And I don't really bother with the wider implications of the elixir, so please don't expect it to be anything more than a MacGuffin. April's POV except for the prologue and epilogue.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, not making money, know that this disclaimer is legally totally irrelevant but am still adding it for courtesy's sake. Thank you, creators of TMNT, for making a show that's so inspiring that it made me take up writing again! Please don't sue me.
Acknowledgement: Part of the fact that this story actually got finished is owed to DeviantArtist JasmineAlexandra's gallery, where I used to go for inspiration.
The Lair. Afternoon.
Are you sure you it's safe, Donnie?
Yes, yes, and yes, Leo! I'm a hundred percent sure it's safe.
I'm ready.
Oh yes. SO ready. SO excited!
OK then, guys. Remember: twelve hours. You'd better set an alarm on your T-Phones so you can get away from crowded places in time for the change.
Yes, Daddy…
Who wants to go first?
I do, I do, I do!
Alright, Mikey. Come over here and take a…. whoah, whoah, whoah, stop, that's enough!
Ouch. Aaaaaaaah. AAAAAAAAARGH, IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS!
Are you alright, Mikey?
What have you done?!
I'm OK, guys. I'm good. Real… oh. Oh, wow. Oh.
Give it here, Mikey, I'm next!
April's school. Evening.
When you lead such an exciting life as I do, you sometimes forget about the things that other people—especially girls my age—find exciting. Things such as shopping for clothes and cosmetics, the latest gossip on movie stars, and, of course, the prom. To be honest, I don't really care for the prom. But on the other hand, I thought it was a good idea to just do something girly and utterly normal between all the ninja training and worrying about my dad and hanging out with mutated turtles.
Going to the prom on my own, without a date, wasn't the hard thing. The hard thing is staying here and actually having fun. Sure, there's people around to talk to and to dance with (I'm not an outsider; I may be a bit of a freak in private, but I've managed to keep up appearances pretty well in public), but I still feel oddly out of place in my green dress and my done-up hair and the, albeit discreet, make-up that my friend Doreah put on my face two hours ago. I've spent so much time in the middle of danger and outright craziness that I find it hard to reconnect to everyday stuff, and so one conversation after the next simply peters out because I have nothing to say, and I can't tell any stories of my own.
I throw a furtive glance at the big clock on the wall. I arrived here at seven, and now, at least five hours later, I realize that only one hour and a half have passed since then. I promised my friends I'd stay at least until prom king and queen have been elected, and that's not supposed to happen until ten. There's only so much fruit punch you can drink, but I still go and get another glass. And then I withdraw into a corner in the shade of a big pillar, lean against it, and amuse myself by watching the new arrivals.
Twenty dolled-up girls and squirming tux-wearing boys later, I'm almost about to give up, but then the door opens again and a group of boys enter. I'm hoping they're not troublemakers (boys attending the prom on their own tend to be either the hardcore nerds or the troublemakers), but these four don't look like they're looking for trouble. And since I don't have anything better to do, I study them each in turn.
The boy on the left, in a black tux with a blue tie, seems to be the oldest in the group. There is something vaguely protective, big-brotherly in the way he looks at the other three. He has a pleasant face with deep blue eyes, but his look is earnest and unsmiling, not in an unfriendly way but more in a I'm-not-big-on-big-smiles kind of way. His hair is dark blond, or perhaps light brown, hard to tell. And I feel a tang of familiarity when I look at him, but at the same time I'm very sure I've never seen this guy before, so I look at the next one.
The second one from the left looks wildly different from Blue Tie Boy. He is roughly the same height but he moves with more tension, like a tightly coiled spring that may explode in an outburst of kinetic energy any second. His skin tone is a shade darker than the other's and his face with the piercing green eyes is devilishly handsome. His unruly hair is almost black and one rebellious cowlick keeps falling across his eyes. The red tie is a blaring splotch of color on his otherwise darkly handsome figure. I glance around out of the corner of my eye and I see that he has attracted a number of looks from various girls already. He does not seem to notice or care, however, as he does not spare a glance for anyone in the ballroom. Instead, he turns to the boy on his other side, says something, and flashes a mischievous grin. And again, there it is, this weird feeling that I should know him, too.
I shake my head and suspiciously sniff my drink: has anyone slipped something inside it? Why am I seeing things that aren't there, feeling things that have no justification? But my drink seems OK, and I'm intrigued now, so I look at boy number three.
My first thought is that he is super cute, but not as in hot but as in cuddly, like a kid. He is the shortest of the four and quite obviously the youngest; fourteen if he's a day. Everything about him is adorable, from the funny orange tie and the round, freckled face with the baby blue eyes that sparkle and dart around the room without ever stopping to the massive shock of unruly, strawberry-blond curls atop his head, hair sticking out at all possible—and quite a few impossible—angles. His foot is actually bobbing while he's waiting to have his ticket examined, and he seems full of cheer and excitement and sheer glee at being here tonight. God, I wish there were more people like him around. At the same time I wonder what he is doing here, and what these four actually have in common. I still don't think I've ever seen them in school before, but if they don't go here, then what are they doing at the prom?
Blue Tie has finally finished discussing with the admission team, the four get handed their tickets back and proceed down the stairs. The little one (I just can't help referring to him as that, even though he is not that little) is pulling on the dark-haired one's sleeve, pointing at the photo booth to the right. The dark-haired one (Red Tie) shakes him off, impatiently but with a certain amount of affection, and for the first time I think that they may actually be brothers.
The little one really seems to want a picture and makes as to wander off on his own, but Blue Tie laughs and gestures at the fourth one, the one I haven't gotten a good look at yet. I only catch him out of the corner of my eye while he is already turning in the other direction, so all I can see for now is that he is tall, the tallest actually, and his hair is reddish brown. He is slim, a bit on the lanky side even, and from the way he puts an arm around the little one's shoulder while letting himself be steered towards the photo booth, there is the same kind of brotherly affection that I observed just a minute ago in the others.
Blue Tie and Red Tie put their heads together while the other two are having their photo taken. They seem deep in conversation, looking around the room while they talk, their gaze lingering on a few girls: Orla Kennedy, Maria Mahoney, Bridgette Alastair. They all are red-haired, like me, I notice with some amusement. Maybe they both fancy redheads. I'm not sure if I should be glad or disappointed that I'm currently hidden out of sight half behind my pillar. Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad to be checked out by one of these two? Red Tie is certainly a looker, and Blue Tie is handsome enough, too, albeit in a completely different way. But I stay hidden behind my pillar, realizing that this is yet another thing I seem to have lost touch with: the desire to go out with boys, to flirt, to date. Looking at these two fine young men does not make me feel anything other than neutral appreciation of the fact they're nice to look at. And there is still this overwhelming sense of familiarity that I can't seem to shake. If that mystery isn't solved any time soon, I may just have to leave my hideout after all and introduce myself, see whether they can clear it up.
The little one and the other one emerge from the photo booth, the little one triumphantly waving a Polaroid. The other one follows a step behind, smiling indulgently, hands shoved in the pockets of his tux. He also wears a tie of a different color, this one purple. And something in the way he moves strikes a chord within me, deepening this sense of familiarity even further, like my body and my heart recognize him but my mind, for some reason, does not. Even my pulse quickens. I inadvertently take a step forward, half out of the pillar's shade and into their line of vision, to get a better look.
Tall, lean, brown hair with a tinge of red, but not red enough to clash with his purple tie. A narrow face, almost delicate for a boy, dominated by a pair of…
My heart gives a thump that resonates in my ears and then continues to beat at speed. Those eyes! Round, warm, intelligent, the color of dark caramel. I know those eyes, looked into them a thousand times before. They're Donnie's eyes.
Even in this human face, framed by a pair of inconspicuous glasses, there is no mistaking. And a second later, the rest of the realization washes over me like an avalanche: four guys, acting like brothers; the colors of their ties; their eyes; their personalities translated into human looks and character traits; even the fact that they seem to be looking for someone and stopped for three girls with red hair: they're the Turtles. The Turtles in human form.
At my prom.
My knees give out and I grasp for the pillar for support. I manage to stay upright, though bent at the waist, taking deep breaths. Then I look up again, just to make sure I haven't been hallucinating, but they are still standing there: Leo in his blue tie, ever the calm, circumspect leader; Raph, the rebel; Mikey, immature and as ADHS as they come but simply adorable; and Donnie, the brains of the group and also the kindest. How could I not spot it right away? It is actually blaringly obvious. Like reading a Superman comic and wondering all the time why nobody ever recognizes Clark Kent the moment he shows his face in public. But people only see what they expect to see, and the last thing I expected, ever, was my Turtle friends somehow becoming human and showing up at my prom.
In the early days, when I had just met them, and before they told me all of their story, I used to think that they, like Splinter, were mutated humans, not anthropomorphic animals. And of course I did wonder what they may have looked like as humans, but I'd always imagined them to look vaguely Japanese, at least to a degree, seeing as Sensei is Japanese as well. But now that I know that they never started out as humans, it makes more sense that they would blend in here.
I must have moved forward again during all this thinking, for Mikey has spotted me. A delighted grin splits his face from ear to ear and he waves enthusiastically at me. I take a deep breath and pick my way towards them.
Leo and Raph both look at me, raising their eyebrows in perfect unison in what I suppose is surprise at seeing me in anything other than jeans and a top. Raph gives me an appreciative nod and a curious half-smile, quirking one corner of his mouth. Leo just nods and smiles. Mikey elbows Donnie, who has been looking the other way until now. Donnie turns his head towards me slowly, as if he is mentally preparing for it. When his gaze finally alights on me, different emotions register on his face and flicker in his eyes in rapid succession. There is surprise, wonder, then something like awe, and finally something I can't quite define. It makes me feel curiously self-conscious, and I tug on the waist and sleeves of my dress, making sure everything is still in place.
Two girls who have been checking out Leo and Raph have obviously seen our long-distance exchange, for one of them—I don't even know her name—grabs my arm. "Hey, April, who's that hottie over there?" she asks in a dramatic whisper, pointing quite openly at Raph. "Why have I never seen him here before?"
"Because he's never been here before," I reply smoothly. "I know the guys, they're, uh, friends from out of town. I didn't know they were coming, either."
"What's the hot one called?" the other girl wants to know.
"If you mean the one in the red tie, that's Raph. And the one in the blue tie next to him is Leo. And now excuse me, I really have to say hi. I haven't seen them in forever." Which is actually meant in a more literal sense than any of the girls will ever know.
I barge on, deliberately blending out the excited whispers behind me.
Mikey pushes past his brothers, giddy with excitement. Before I know what's happening, he has thrown both arms around my waist and hugs me, his head tucked just below my chin, like a little kid. Some of his enthusiasm rubs off on me, and I feel a grin spreading across my own face. I hug Mikey back and have to fight the sudden and irrational urge to plant a sisterly kiss on top of his unruly hair. Instead, I look left and right, still trying to find the right question to ask. "What are you doing here?" just doesn't seem to cut it. But Mikey's hug has hammered it home once again: they're actually human.
"When I told you to get changed when you go out, I didn't realize you took it so literally," I finally quip, trying to mask my utter amazement. I lift one arm and reach across to touch first Leo, then Raph. They both let me explore their shoulders and arms with an amused smile.
"Donnie made an elixir," Mikey gushes, finally loosening his hold on me. "He's been experimenting on something like that for a while now, because he thought he could perhaps change Splinter back to human, so he could go and convince Karai that she's actually his daughter and not Shredder's, and Donnie, you know, he just cares so much, so he just sat down and did that nerdy stuff he likes to do, and this afternoon he basically just was like, hey guys, you wanna try it with me, we could go surprise April at her prom…"
"Mikey!" Donnie has blushed a deep red, which oddly harmonizes with the reddish tinge in his brown hair.
"What?" Mikey protests. "You said that! And you had that look…"
"Mikey!" Donnie looks mortified by now, and I'm pretty sure I know why. I know that Donnie has a crush on me. It would have been impossible to miss, to be honest. But I also suspect that the others know, too, and are probably giving him a hard time about it. Me, I've been trying not to think about it too much. At first I didn't take it too seriously. I was probably the first girl he ever met, so excuse me for being naturally fascinating, not just for him. Lately, though, I feel like it's developed into something deeper. The risks he took single-handedly to save me…
Leo lets Donnie off the hook by simply grabbing Mikey by the scruff of his neck and pulling him away from me and towards him, where he wedges him unceremoniously between Raph and himself, like two parents may do with a child who just won't sit still. Mikey's protests are drowned out by the screech of microphone feedback from the stage at the other end of the room. The band is setting up.
I turn to Donnie. His blush is fading but still visible, and the way he stands there, looking at the tips of his shoes, triggers a surge of affection for him in me. He is such a sweet guy, and for some reason I feel that his human look captures his true personality just perfectly. Even the glasses, which I'm pretty sure he doesn't really need but rather just took with him to hide behind.
"Let me look at you, Donnie," I say gently. I stretch out an arm, touching his shoulder, letting my touch slide down his arm until I can grab his elbow and tug softly on him.
He looks up. "I wanted to surprise you," he says, and his voice is a little hoarse. A quick glance at his brothers, who have wandered into the opposite direction, Leo and Raph still keeping Mikey between them. "I wanted to be part of this, at least for a moment," he continues when he has reassured himself his brothers aren't listening. "Your big night. You look so beautiful, April."
I want to shrug the compliment off, pretend it's just something friends tell each other, but then this strange feeling is rippling through me. It is a familiar feeling, I've had it before with Donnie, but in a much weaker form. I always thought it was just normal affection, the kind of affection you have for people you care about. But what I'm feeling right now is stronger. It turns my knees to rubber and makes my belly flip. I see that my hand, which just a moment ago was on Donnie's elbow, has somehow traveled down his forearm and is now grabbing his wrist.
"Thank you," I say, belatedly, and I catch myself doing something absolutely girlish: I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and then run my hand over the back of my neck, looking down while I do so, deliberately breaking our eye contact.
I am so confused. This is still Donnie we're talking about. Probably my best friend, certainly someone I would trust with my life (and already have on numerous occasions, come to think of it), but not someone I've really felt about that way before… or so I always thought. And this doesn't even include the fact that we're different species, although that hardly seems to matter. It stopped mattering a long while ago. These days, when I think of the Turtles, I don't think of them as turtles. I only think of what they are, not what they are.
But now Donnie stands in front of me, at my prom, and there is nothing even remotely turtle-y about him. He is a boy my age who looks at me with so much warmth and affection that it makes me feel warm all over. This is so surreal. And even though I see a human face in front of me, in my mind I only see the Donnie I know. Like all he did for tonight was put on a costume. The human form may have thrown me, but it was the real Donnie that pulled me in towards him, calling to me on a subconscious, instinctive level so that my heart was leading me in his direction before my conscious mind even recognized him.
I decide that tonight is my big night, after all, and that I'm going to do whatever my heart tells me to do. And right now it's telling me to slide my hand down that little distance so that it ends up in Donnie's hand. His fingers curl around mine reflexively even before he realizes what I've just done. When he does, he looks at me, an unspoken question in his eyes.
I smile and grab his hand a bit tighter. The band is playing a slow song now, and I point my head towards the dance floor.
"Come with me, Donnie," I say, and hand in hand we head towards the middle of the room, back past the two girls who asked me about Raph before. I hear one of them whisper to the other, "Why on earth did she pick that one? He looks like a total nerd!" It makes me angry, this shallowness.
"I picked him because he is the best person in the world," I snap back at the surprised girl. She clearly thought I hadn't heard her, but months of training with Master Splinter have sharpened my hearing considerably. I pull Donnie closer to me.
"Thanks," he says when we are out of earshot of the girls. "You didn't have to do that, you know. I'm not interested in anything these girls say or do."
"It would serve them right to actually manage to chat up Raph," I growl. "He wouldn't have an ounce of patience for them, and he'd tell them in no uncertain terms."
Donnie chuckles. I'm glad he seems more relaxed now. I didn't enjoy the awkwardness of the moment before. I don't want things between us to be awkward, ever. Friends shouldn't have to be awkward around each other.
"I think this is as good a spot as any for dancing," he says, stopping me by gently pulling on my hand and then surprising me by twirling me around, as if were in the middle of a dance already, and catching me deftly in his arms when I face him. My own arms lift to his shoulders and my hands lock together at the back of his neck in one swift move which I don't remember making consciously. It's like my body is gravitating towards him.
I said I would do what my heart told me to do. If this isn't my heart telling me, then I don't know what is.
His hair brushes my fingers and I lift one finger to catch a strand of it. It is soft and shiny. I curl the strand around my finger—it is just about long enough to go round it once—and only then do I realize that to Donnie that movement probably felt as if I was stroking his neck. But I like the idea, so I begin doing just that: running my fingers up into his hair a little and letting them slide down again: light, deliberate little caresses. By now my heart is pounding away in my chest like a racehorse.
Donnie bows his head to mine so that our foreheads are almost touching. "It's only temporary, you know," he says, and his voice is thick with emotion. "Only twelve hours. Then I'll change back, We all will. I thought you should know that before…" He trails off, pauses for a moment. "Before you get too used to it," he ends then.
I can't say I'm surprised. But it makes me remember that once you stop wishing for time to speed up, it usually does just that. Twelve hours are nothing.
I close the distance between us, leaning my forehead against his. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to catch his scent. He smells the same as usual, a strange mixture of moss and the ocean and wood. As long as my eyes are closed, he could be his usual self and I would not know him from this human form. And then it surges again, this overwhelming wave of affection, and is rolls over me from the bottom of my stomach up right into my head and my arms, which start prickling. And it's this surge that carries me away. I throw my arms around Donnie's neck and myself at him, hugging him hard, burying my face in the crook where his neck meets his shoulder, and to hell with the make-up. "I don't care," I say into his neck. "I don't care that you'll change back. The Donnie I care about will be there, and that's what matters."
I feel his arms tighten around me, and our bodies are pressed close enough together that I can feel his heartbeat quickening in time to my own pulse. He lifts me off the ground for the sole purpose to wrap his arms even tighter around me, and we stay locked in this embrace for a moment.
Then I look up again, lean my head back so I can bring my face back in front of his. We look at each other for a moment, and then time first stand still and then makes a leap forward, a chunk of it just missing, and suddenly we're kissing.
I don't know who started it. I don't know whose lips crashed down on the other's, or perhaps we both started it at the same time, but I do know that Donnie's lips are soft and warm and taste of oranges, of all things. The fuzzy feeling returns, and this time it's making me weak in earnest. If Donnie weren't still holding me up with my feet off the ground, I would probably just collapse in a heap on the floor. I can't feel my knees or my feet. All I can feel is this kiss, this incredible, breathtaking, mind-boggling kiss that makes everything in the world right and Donnie and myself the only people for miles. I can't stop kissing him. Every time I draw back a little to draw breath I bear down on those lips again a split second later, nibbling on them softly, teasing with my tongue. It is perfect. Donnie is perfect. I love him in that moment, love him completely and helplessly and irrevocably, and the intensity of my feelings almost frightens me.
But only almost, because the feelings are about Donnie, and whenever Donnie is involved, I'm safe.
At some point, we both have to come up for a proper breath. Our lips part reluctantly, and we stand with our foreheads touching. His arms are still wrapped tightly around me, and I am cupping his face in my hands, stroking his cheeks with my thumbs.
"What's with the glasses?" I ask into the silence.
Donnie smirks. "I thought they were fitting, seeing as I am the token nerd." His eyes sparkle. "They're just ordinary glass, though."
My heart swells. This quirky thought is pure Donatello, just a little extra detail he adds to the already confusing mix of events tonight. No one else would have thought of that.
"I love you!" I blurt out. It comes a bit out of the blue, but I know I have to say it or I'll simply burst. "I love you so much, Donnie!"
He becomes very still and the shine is suddenly gone from his eyes. He looks down. I shrink back, surprised. He looks as if I said something bad. I don't understand; I'm even a little hurt. I put my heart and my soul and all my courage into it, and I expected all kinds of reactions—from shell-shock, excuse the pun, to disbelief and eventually, hopefully, joy. And reciprocation. But it seems that my words made him sad.
"Donnie?" I put my hand under his chin and lift it up so he looks me in the eyes. "What is it?" I'm actually feeling scared. Did I really misinterpret all those signs? Is Donnie not in love with me, after all? Was the kissing about something else? That's impossible.
There is an unshed tear in his eye. I can see it rolling around behind that soulful gaze, and I know we have to talk. Now.
"Let's go somewhere more quiet," I tell him and pull on his hand. He lets me guide him out of the ballroom, into the school grounds and round the side of the building to a patch of green next to the parking lot. There is no one around.
I sit down on one of the rocks that separate the grass from the parking lot and gesture for Donnie to sit beside me. He does. I reach for his hand again, lacing my fingers through his, and he holds it tight in his lap. His eyes are downcast, looking at our intertwined fingers.
"What is it?" I ask again, impatience almost getting the better of me. "I don't understand, Donnie. I thought… I thought you…" A lump rises in my throat.
"I do," he says, his voice very soft. "You have no idea how much, April. I've loved you since the first day I saw you. At first I tried to hide it, and then we became friends and you started trusting me, and I didn't want to put our friendship in danger, so I struggled to just come to terms with it and move on. But it goes too deep, you know. And it will probably be the only shot at love that I'll ever have."
My heart breaks for him as I imagine what it must have been like for him. But that still doesn't explain why he isn't over the moon with happiness right now.
"Donnie," I say carefully, wrapping my other arm around his shoulder and leaning over so my forehead touches his temple. "Why aren't you happy, then? Didn't I just tell you exactly what you've been hoping to hear? Why is it making you sad all of a sudden?"
He finally looks at me, and that unshed tear breaks loose and rolls down his cheek. "Because you said it tonight," he says. "And tonight, all bets are off. I'm not really myself tonight. How can I possibly believe anything that happens tonight will still be valid tomorrow, when I'm…" He makes a vague gesture with his hand, and I finally understand. He is worried I'm only attracted to his human form tonight.
He has it all so wrong. I stay silent for a moment, wondering how to explain it to him.
"Don't you dare believe for just one second that I will no longer love you tomorrow," I say. It comes out angrier than I meant, but I realize that I actually am a little bit angry. "Do you think I'm that shallow?"
"No, of course not, but you're human and I'm a turtle!" Another tear falls. "Doesn't that weird you out?"
"I'm not human, and you're not a turtle," I snap back. "At least not entirely. We're both mutants. We're probably more alike, genetically speaking, than an ordinary human and I would be. Just because I happen to look more like an ordinary human and you happen to look more, well, like a turtle doesn't mean it's weird. I'm not a human in love with a turtle. I'm a mutant in love with another mutant. X-Men isn't weird, either!"
I may imagine things, but I do believe that some hope is returning to Donnie's eyes. But he's not convinced, not yet. The scientifically minded need proof.
"So why did you realize you loved me tonight, of all nights?" he asks. "Why did you kiss me tonight? I can't help thinking that kissing a human mouth was what did it for you…"
"No, Donnie," I say. I take his face in my hands again, turn him towards me, and kiss him deeply before I continue. Just as I'm about to pull away, I can feel his shy reaction, his hand floating up to caress my cheek. He is kissing me back, still wary.
I pull back gently, letting him keep his hand on my cheek. "I realized it tonight because when the four of you first entered the room as humans, I didn't recognize any of your brothers. But as soon as I saw you, it was like some force was pulling me towards you, it was really weird… and then I recognized you. I knew it was you, even though I had no way of knowing, and all the rest of me except my mind recognized you even before that. That's how I knew. Not because you looked human. But because you looked different and I still knew you. Only you, not the others. So if that doesn't prove that there's something really special going on between the two of us, I don't know what does."
"April…" My name drips from his lips like honey.
My arms go back around him and I hold him tight. "I love you, Donatello, you stupid, stubborn, brilliant, sweet, brave…"
"… mutant," he finishes for me. And then he pulls me over so I sit on his lap, and he holds me tight while he kisses me again like there is no tomorrow, and I just want to melt into him. And so I do.
Early Morning. The Lair.
"It's time," Leo says, glancing nervously at the clock on the wall.
The guys and myself are standing in a circle in their room, huddled together. Donnie and I are clutching each other's hands. The others have, for some reason, not commented at all about the fact that Donnie and I simply disappeared from the prom and never came back. Miraculously, Mikey doesn't even seem to have noticed anything at all. He is still in hyper mode, buzzing about, until Leo catches him by the arms and pulls him back into our circle.
Raph is looking disheveled, and is that lipstick on his cheek?! Looks like he went off on an adventure of his own. Easy enough, there were many girls checking him out.
Leo catches my eye across the circle and gives me a warm smile and a small nod, and I just know that he knows. I clasp Donnie's hand tighter in reaction and I know Leo sees that, too, and he approves.
"Will it hurt?" Mikey asks in a small voice. "The change yesterday hurt."
I look at Donnie. "You didn't mention that," I say. "Was it bad, Mikey?"
Mikey nods. Right now he really looks like a little kid.
Donnie leaves my side, brushing my hand with his in passing, and hugs Mikey. "I don't know if it's gonna be just as bad," he says. "Maybe it'll be easier."
"I didn't think it hurt too bad," says Raph.
"Yeah, because you're the badass," Mikey retorts reproachfully.
Leo chuckles. "Three minutes," he says. "I don't know about you guys, but I would actually prefer some privacy for the change. So I'm just gonna…" He points back to where their bunks are and leaves. Mikey runs off as well, Raph just walks over to Spike.
"I'll go to my lab," says Donnie.
"I'm coming with you," I announce.
Donnie frowns, but he doesn't speak until we're in the lab and the door is locked.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
I put my arms around him and kiss him. "Very," I whisper. "It's funny, but I can't wait for you to be back to normal. Everything that's happened at the prom, it's all a bit like a dream, so surreal…"
"I love how you said I'll be back to normal," Donnie says quietly. "You have no idea what that means to me."
I do, in fact, but before I can tell him so, his face contorts into a mask of agony and when he opens his mouth, a horrible sound comes out, half groan, half scream. I can hear similar distant sounds down the hall. The change is starting.
"What can I do?" I ask frantically, not sure if I can touch him or not. "What do you want me to do?"
His knees give out under him and he tumbles to the floor, panting, head bent down, palms pressed to the ground. Sweat breaks out all over him and all the color has vanished from his face. He looks like he has a high fever.
I drop to my knees in front of him. "Donnie, what can I do?" I repeat desperately.
He lifts his head with great effort and looks at me. "Just… just hold me…" he manages before a violent seizure takes hold of him and his whole body becomes rigid and starts shaking.
I throw my arms around him, pulling him in, holding him tight, stroking soothing circles on any part of him that I can get my hands on, murmuring in his ear, raining kisses on his hair. He curls into me, trying to get into fetal position, but the seizures come faster now, ripping apart any posture he tries to take.
"I'm here," I keep whispering, "I'm not going anywhere."
Something is happening under my hands. His back arches out, ripping through the tux. It's his shell growing back. Shoot, I think, he should have undressed first. But it's too late for that. The nice tux and the shirt are ripped apart as his mutant form violently forces its way out of him. He must be in unbearable pain, judging by the tortured cries that escape him. He tries to hold them back, but the last transformation wave literally sends him crashing into me, and he knocks me over accidentally. We careen across the floor in a tangle of limbs and he screams at the top of his lungs this time, his face pressed into me to muffle it at least a bit. I end up on my back with Donnie half on top of me, and without thinking I enfold him in myself, wrapping both my arms and my legs around him, trying to hold him as close as I possibly can, the grown-back shell arching underneath my arms, muscles suddenly bulging out on his arms and legs. It is creepy and terrible, but I hold on to him through the entire process. I'm not letting go. I don't allow him to feel alone for even a split second.
And then it's over. Donnie slides off of me, exhausted and panting, but back in his usual body. I roll over to follow his movement, then I sit up, grab him under the arms and hoist him up a bit so he half sits, half slumps sideways against me.
His eyelids flutter and he groans. I take him in my arms, hold him tight against me and press my lips to his face. The skin is smooth, not gnarled like one may expect but smooth, almost like a human's. I rain small kisses on his forehead, his eyelids, the edge of his jaw, everywhere I can reach, and I'm glad, so glad, that he's back to normal. Whatever normal means.
Donnie tries to sit up, still groggy, but his mind is clearing up fast, and he looks down the length of his body, examining his hands, his legs, his shell. His purple bandana is on the floor and he reaches for it, but I stop him.
"Let me look at you, Donnie," I say gently, deliberately repeating the same words I said to him at the prom. And when he lifts his head to face me, I repeat yet another thing I told him last night: "I love you. I love you so much."
I look at him thoroughly, taking in every little detail of his familiar face. Without the bandana, he looks more vulnerable. My hands travel along his smooth cheeks, and I bend down to kiss him. With my eyes closed, I wait for our lips to touch, and when they do, there is absolutely no difference to last night. Kissing Donnie is kissing Donnie, be it in human or in mutant form. No reason to be weirded out. It's like touching his essence.
I murmur against his lips, "I'm still here, Donnie. Just as I promised. I'm still here."
The Lab. Morning.
Can I ask you something, April?
Sure.
What you said about falling in love with me because I was being me… I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around that. I thought love was always based on physical attraction. Hormones reacting, that kind of thing. So are you sure that it wasn't just attraction to my human…
It wasn't. And you are mixing things up. Love comes in so many shapes, attraction is only a trigger that can start it in some cases.
It did for me. I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you. That must have been physical attraction, right? Because back then I knew nothing about you…
But you got to know me better and your love for me deepened. And that's not the only way it can start. I fell in love with the whole package that is you, Donatello. Everything about you.
So it's kinda like the Beauty and the Beast then, is that what you're saying? You fell in love with me once you knew me, even though I look hideous?
You're not hideous, Donnie. I never thought you were. At first I was scared, sure, but all you were was different. With a heart such as yours, there is no way you could ever be hideous even if you tried. I was the hideous one for not realizing for so long that you really, truly loved me and I could love you back. If you're asking me, I'm the beast of the two of us, and it's you who is the beauty.
xxxTHE ENDxxx