April clenched her teeth, feeling sad and angry and stupid at the same time. She gripped the picture frame in her fists and wondered why tonight? She stared at the picture of her missing father often, and was always strong enough not to cry, so why were tears pouring down her face tonight?
She bit her lip and told herself her training was probably the reason. Master Splinter had said that becoming a kunoichi, a female ninja, would be the hardest thing she had ever done, and he was right. She went to bed every night aching from deep bruises and shallow cuts, her brain spent from endless meditating (wasn't it supposed to have the opposite effect?), her body strained and sore from countless insane workouts.
But it wasn't just the training.
On top of all the pain and exhaustion she heaped her recent memories of being hunted by Shredder and the Kraang to the point that it was no longer safe for her above ground, anywhere, so she'd lost her home and her entire way of life along with her father. And all that put together, she told herself, would probably have driven even the crazy-tough Raphael to bawl his eyes out.
She'd finally reached a breaking point; that was all. Tomorrow she knew she would wake up early and train, again, with Master Splinter and her new "brothers", Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo. And Donatello, although she thought of him as something other than a brother—although sometimes she wasn't sure quite what.
Thinking of the guys made her bite her lip again as a wail threatened to escape her throat. Why wake everybody up when they all had to get up equally early and bust just as much butt? Besides, if Donnie heard her crying, he would fuss over her like a cross between a mother hen and an E.R. nurse for hours, and she didn't have the patience for that tonight.
Why? she wanted to scream as she looked back down at the picture. Why were evil, terrifying aliens and blade-wielding psychos after her? Why had the aliens captured her father? Why had she lost everything? In the picture, her dad smiled at her, a reminder of happier times, and April lost the battle with her tears. The picture frame landed softly on her futon as she hugged her knees, sobbing.
The sound of quiet movement at her door didn't surprise her. She didn't turn around, didn't need to. She knew who it was.
"April?" Donatello whispered. "Are you all right?"
She did turn, then. His tone wasn't hysterical like she'd expected, just soft and caring, with an undertone of worry she could tell he was barely keeping in check.
"Donnie, I—I'm not crying," she said, shoving a tear from her cheek with a fist. "I'm fine, okay? You should probably just go back to bed."
"When I'm sure you're okay, I will." He walked in, uninvited, and stood beside her bed. In the dim light she saw his unmasked eyes sweep over her, her quilt, the picture, and back to her face. "You are crying. Please don't cry, April. It's—it's—"
"Annoying you? Keeping you awake?" She knew she shouldn't have said it the instant it flew out of her mouth, but her frustration had pushed it out, and there was no pulling it back in.
Donatello knelt in front of her, on the bed. "No. It's tearing my heart out." He lifted an unwrapped hand toward her face. His hand stopped halfway there, and trembled as if he couldn't decide whether to touch her or not. "We'll get him back, April. I promised you that, and I meant it. We will."
Her tears started to flow again, and this time she didn't try to hide them from him. "I know you will. It's just that—sometimes I cry when I get really angry. That's all."
Donnie moved closer, reached out, and took both her hands in his. "Can I tell you a secret?" His eyes were a gentle, muted scarlet in the near-darkness. "Every now and then, I do too."
April gaped up at him, wondering why he would tell her something like that. In his brothers' hands, the info would have been ammunition. She suddenly realized he trusted her, trusted her completely, and that his feelings for her went further—much further— than that. She realized, at that moment, exactly what he felt for her, as clearly as if he'd opened his adorable, gap-toothed mouth and yelled it.
And before she could stop him, his arms slid around her and his lips touched her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her eyelids, her whole face, kissing every tear away. April threw her arms around him and pressed herself into his warmth and accepted the fact that she didn't want to stop him.
"I love you, April O'Neil," Donatello whispered, and covered her mouth with his own before she could say it back.
April held him and kissed him and marveled at how natural it seemed, how right. Her sadness dissipated like fog in sunlight; she felt her strength and resolve returning and wanted to burst into joyful laughter. Her Donnie was like that. He'd always been like that; his kiss just intensified the feeling. He kissed her as if he never wanted to let go, as if he couldn't, and April returned his sweet embrace, knowing she'd have plenty of opportunity to say the words back to him later, knowing he'd be thrilled to hear them.
As silently as only ninjas could, Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo crept close and stood in a group at April's doorway, staring in.
"Sometimes he gets so angry he cries?" hissed Raph. "Are you serious?"
"Haven't we all done that, sometime?" Leo whispered back, with a glance that told Raph none of them were ever going to mention it again.
"Whatever. Shut up." Squirming a little, Raph shot the floor an angry glare.
"Anyway, you're missing the point here, Raph. At least April's ok now. And, well, look at them." Leo pointed to their brother and April, whose kiss hadn't ended.
"Jeez. Finally." Raphael rolled his eyes.
With a wide grin and sparkling eyes, Mikey pressed his hands to his heart. "Booyakasha," he whispered, appropriately quiet for once.
