Full Summary: Pain and trials are inevitable, but eventually they pass. They aren't like family, which is aeonian, ever-lasting, so long as you work for it. None work harder than the Hamto clan, and this Valentine's, they celebrate more than romance: they celebrate their strong bonds.
Genre: Family, Romance
Rating: Teen for safety (though I don't think anyone slips to bad)
Universe: Set between the mini-books "Sunrise" and "Cause Worth Celebrating".
Author's Notes: I know I promised this on the 8th. I'm SO SORRY! However, real life kicked me square in the face with sickness and the sickness of my family, so I had no time to write. It's here now. That's all that matters. Right? Instead of ending on V-Day (my plan), it starts then. Kinda ruins my intent, honestly, but what's done is done. I'll be posting a chapter a day for a week. :)
Look forward to fluff. Brother fluff. Sister fluff. Parent/child fluff. Whatnot. Duckiepray is my BETA, and quite amazing. Thanks, girl! Now...Enjoy!
Disclaimer: TMNT belongs to Nick/Eastman/Laird. Nia Anders and Melody Gray belong to me. I'm in no way making any money. Thanks.
Chapter 01 - Tradition
Hamato Splinter could not hide any amusement. His daughter Nia looked utterly dumbfounded, and he chuckled when she surveyed the group seated at the Lair's dining table.
"R—really?" she asked in a gentle voice, her fork lowering to her half-eaten meal. "Not even once?"
"Well," Michelangelo contributed while rubbing his wide chin, "there was this one time Donny sent flowers to April at Second Time Around."
Instantly, a slap erupted—not from the usual suspect, either. "I—I had that sent from all of us, Gumbo!" Donatello snapped beside his baby brother. His mate's looming stare could be felt on his other side; however, the cyborg remained silent, eating casually from the jar of pepperoncinis she favored over Michelangelo's chicken and rice.
"Wasn't there also the time ya sent her—"
Donatello silenced Raphael with a pointed glare across the full table. "How about the year you helped Casey pick out a present? Nothing says 'Happy Valentine's' like booze and a thong."
The red-masked mutant shrugged his broad shoulders, leaning further back against his wooden seat on Nia's right. Splinter caught his soft-spoken daughter facepalm, her cheeks colored by either embarrassment or dread. He chuckled at that too, despite how the motion sent pains through his cancerous joints.
"S—so you guys really don't do anything for Valentine's?"
"Not much reason to, ya know?" Michelangelo replied. He flashed the black-haired artist a wry grin then stretched his arms behind his head. "Until you came along, we were just a group of bachelors seeing who can burp the loudest."
"Which is totally my title," Raphael added under his breath.
He received a challenging look from the nunchaku master beyond the salt and pepper shakers between them, though Donatello spoke up before the youngest Hamato spat out a dare. "What about you, Nia? You seem pretty surprised by it."
The teal-eyed human blinked. "Wh—what? Oh. Not really. Well, kinda. It's just that…"
"Just what?" Michelangelo offered.
"Well." Shuffling while seated, Nia pushed her arms into the hem of her purple sweater, glancing at everyone. "In my family Valentine's is a big tradition. F—for as long as I can remember, Daddy would take me and Mama out. We knew in the morning to get ready, dress up fancy. Then when Daddy came home, he'd already be prepared in a suit. He, uh,"—with a pause, the human bit her inner cheek and smiled in spite of the gloss over her eyes—"he treated us like we were princesses. We'd go out to a big dinner, where he always ensured we got the best of everything. Those are some of my happiest memories with him, actually."
"I would love to see you dressed up fancy," Michelangelo noted playfully.
Raphael kicked the younger Hamato's foot below the table, his glare half-meant. "Not before I do, Shell-For-Brains."
"Fond memories should be reminisced without pain, Nia-chan," Splinter said when she sighed.
"I know," Nia grumbled, tugging at her large sweater.
"Are you sad because your father hasn't planned anything for this year?" Michelangelo's question cut through his sister with its honesty, and the young woman licked her lips, shifting more.
"I—I don't want the tradition to die," she said morosely. "It means a lot to me, and I would like to share it with—with you guys…"
"Uh," Michelangelo raised a hand, "sorry; I don't own a tux."
"I—it doesn't have to be the same thing," Nia countered with a light laugh. "We could start our own tradition."
"Like what?"
The human shrugged, yet froze once she caught her boyfriend's stare. Raphael's smirk had fallen over the course of her story, and he remained stoic, even when her brows knit together in confusion.
"If it means so much ta ya," the Chūnin started, stiff, "shouldn't ya keep the tradition alive?"
"With Daddy?"
Raphael nodded.
"H—he wouldn't go for it with everyone."
"So do it like ya've always done it: with the three 'a ya."
"But—"
"Fine by me," Michelangelo added, his smile honest yet grim.
"Yeah," Donatello agreed. "Like we said, Valentine's isn't that big of a deal for us."
"You don't get it!" Surprisingly, Nia's voice rose and she slammed her fork down before its clang killed her pointed stare. In the new silence, she spared an apologetic look, though it was far from necessary in Splinter's eyes. "Guess I'm silly because I—I'm sucker for tradition. I really wanna do something with you guys, but I also…"
"Well," Michelangelo spoke carefully when he pushed around a single piece of cut chicken on his otherwise empty plate, "until Gavin's ready to, uh—ya know—then a family dinner's out of the question."
Raphael barely stifled his scoff, yet nodded once he crossed his arms. "Solution's simple. Until then, delay our tradition."
"I get it," Donatello said, calm. "If you put our tradition on the backburner and keep true to your father's, everyone wins."
"Ooh, we'll even name ours!" interjected Michelangelo excitedly. He lifted his three-finger hands as if laying out an invisible a sign, which 'formed' while he spoke towards it like an award's announcer. "The Day After Valentine's Hamato Tradition. DAVHT!"
"Someone in this clan's 'daft' alright," grumbled Raphael.
Michelangelo sent him a look that clearly spoke volumes of displeasure, although he reined in any comeback to give Nia a warm grin. "It may not be shared by everyone, but it's something, right?"
Nia opened her mouth—undoubtedly for protest. It remained slack for a good half minute. Then, she finally closed it, a decision prompted perhaps by Raphael's encouraging smirk or her own desire to continue what her father had started years ago.
"Is it really okay?" she asked.
"Seriously, Dudette," Michelangelo insisted. "Valentine's is a good thing you have with your dad, right? Considering everything that's happened…you should honor it."
"Honestly?" Donatello broke into the conversation somewhat bashfully. "I—it's refreshing to hear something positive about him. D—don't take it the wrong way, Imotou-chan. He hasn't betrayed us or anything, at least, but it—it…"
"It's nice hearin' yer good memories instead all the bad ones," Raphael finished, low.
"He did a lot with me," Nia said in an undertone. While it cracked, she managed a wholehearted smile. "Field trips. Camping. Ice Skating."
"Ice Skating?"
Michelangelo sniggered, and Nia flashed him a pout, saying, "Yes. Ice Skating. I can also pitch a tent, start a campfire, draft sculptures, identify itchy plants, and down an entire foot-long hotdog. Though the end of the day always left me with several bruises or rashes or cuts or stomach aches, it was all worth it. Because I did them with Daddy…"
"You spent much time with your father before the fire, did you not, Nia-chan?" Splinter spoke softly and even, although he was aware the tenderness could break the resolve Nia fought to keep. She spared him a small smile that died when their eyes connected. Then, she sighed.
"I—I did up until two or three years ago."
"Why?" questioned Michelangelo fearlessly.
"I—it was when my headaches were the worst."
"For three years?"
"Can we not talk about it?" As if a wrong string had been plucked, Nia's grin grew tense, somewhat bitter, and her body stiffened as she balled her hands in her lap. Those in the row opposing the artist were blind to their shake, but Raphael noticed. So he subtly placed one of his larger hands over them. Splinter frowned when Raphael squeezed gently, finding the prickling Chi of Nia to be a sour flashback of their early meditation lessons.
"A—alright," Michelangelo conceded. "S—sorry, Dudette."
Nia did not answer when the orange-masked Chūnin sunk back in his seat; she only lowered her gaze like she did not trust herself to answer appropriately.
"So,"—Donatello's awkward voice garnered attention—"now that, uh, DAVHT is set and dinner's about done, how about we watch a movie before bed?"
"Oh! Oh! I call dibs!" In a flash, Michelangelo curled his legs, pushed his bare feet against the table's lip, then flipped backwards out of his seat.
The furniture fell with a harsh clap against the concrete, and it caused Nia to yelp softly. With both hands over her Yin-Yang necklace, she watched Donatello set the chair up-right again, except he never faced her. Once the youngest Hamato dashed for the entertainment center, the genius sent his father a look of mild exasperation. Splinter simply chuckled at their antics before gathering his eating utensils on his partly-clear plate as Raphael stood and cried out.
"Forget it, Dorkus! Ya picked last time; it's my turn!"
Donatello followed his hot-blooded brother to their DVD collection until the three of them broke out in a trivial argument only siblings could find important. Their voices melded into background noise in seconds, so Splinter struggled out of his seat to help clear the table alongside Nia and Melody.
The pressure placed on his ankles was startlingly painful once he stood straight and an expected weakness forced him to catch himself on the table before daring to pick up his dish. Unfortunately—no matter how well he hid the discomfort in his legs—a sharp hiss from his throat cemented what he feared: he would be forbidden to clean up after himself.
Melody's robotic arm crossed his downcast vision and when the plate was whisked away, the old master frowned. 'I cannot do something as simple as wash a dish? Ridiculous. I cannot let this cancer subdue me in such a manner. If Leonardo returns and I am…No. I must remain strong. Exercising the joints is best for them anyhow.'
So, taking a deep breath that burned, Splinter used his cane to enter the kitchen. The young women were already compiling the dishes from the table, dinner and serving alike, and Splinter gently placed a damp washcloth in Nia's hand after she rolled up the sleeves of her sweater.
"S—Splinter-san—"
Splinter cut off Nia by shooing her close to Melody, who stared impassively at the short mutant. "I can handle this," he insisted. "You worked with Michelangelo to make the meal, while Melody-san—"
"I take proper care of myself," the semi-tan cyborg interjected. "I would not rust."
"She does shower," Nia added, smile cheesy.
But Splinter had already made up his mind, and shook his head. "I can do this. You wipe down the table then ensure the boys do not break another movie."
A crisp click rang out as if in support of the father's insistence. Melody drew her vision to the living room once Raphael cursed—though she hesitated before sending Splinter a wiry look and heading for the chaos Donatello tried to mediate.
"Y—you sure you're fine?" Nia asked gently.
Splinter ran a paw across her cheek, lowering it onto the dishes in the sink so its fierce tremble remained hidden. Such seemed sufficient an answer for the artist; she nodded then approached the table with the cloth ready for duty. From the kitchen, the master could see his entire clan at ease, the familiar picture of his domestic life.
It was one daily tradition he hoped would last forever.
Imotou-chan = Little Sister