Disclaimer: I own nothing!
I do not own Hazel McIntyre aka 'Radical' from the TMNT Mirage comics. Go find 'Complete Carnage' and you may discover who this canon character is. Btw I changed some things about her to suit this fic.
CRASH!
Leonardo's head suddenly jerked up from his steaming cup when he heard the sound of various pots and pans raucously clattering to the tiled floor of the modern kitchen. They rippled the calm flow of the stilled, nature-inspired room and contrasted the clean, grey-white walls touched with garden-green accents.
"You okay there?" He asked, suppressing a chuckle as he stood up to rush to the aid of the young woman that was busily trying to scoop up the fallen dishes.
"Yes, yes. I'm fine. There's no need for you to get up." She quickly reassured him, clumsily balancing the pans in her hands as she tried to shove them back into the cupboard. "I'm such a klutz," she fumed, slamming the door shut behind the pans, causing another loud racket to resound from within the wooden confines.
The turtle winced at the sound and gave her a sympathetic smile when she looked utterly exasperated by the entire affair. "I'm so embarrassed," she apologized with a wan smile. "I just don't know why I couldn't be…" she faltered for a word, waving a brilliant blue spatula in the air.
"More organized?" Leonardo offered, walking around the granite island towards her. "More graceful?" He teased, pulling the spatula out from her grasp and gently moving her aside to get to the mixing bowl.
"Ha-ha, very funny." Hazel narrowed her dark eyes at him menacingly and sat on a nearby stool, placing her elbows on the countertop to prop her chin up in her palms. "I'd like to see you try -" She paused when she saw the mutant dragging the bowl away from the electric mixer. "Wait, what are you doing?" she asked. Her eyebrows shot to the sky as she looked on; puzzled by the terrapin's take-over.
"I am helping you," returned his obvious reply. "But I prefer to make cake the old-fashioned way…" He explained, trailing off as he started skimming over the list of items on the pages of the fat, grungy recipe book that lay exposed on the counter.
"The old-fashioned way?" Hazel snorted, raising one eyebrow at the turtle. "So you're a cake expert now?" she asked. "And here I was trying to make a nice, lovely, homemade cake from scratch for you," she pouted, pretending to be offended by his words. "What's wrong with using a mixer? The nerve... And since when do you bake?" The woman with the pixie haircut raised her chin as if to demand an answer from the ninja.
The blue-masked turtle paused to look up at her, "I like to bake the way Master Splinter taught us," he replied, shrugging. "Besides, we never had the luxury of electronic mixers and stuff," he finished lightly.
The humor disappeared from the human's eyes and she looked down at the grey marble bashfully. "Oh right," she duly noted, playing with one of the eggs like an awkwardly reproached child. "So?" she started again with a mischievous spark in her voice.
Leonardo had just begun blending in the softened butter with the sugar and was slowly building his momentum to make the mixture creamy. "So, what?" His face was slightly apprehensive as he tried to avoid Hazel's doe-eyed, prying gaze.
In the seven months he had known her, he quickly learned that she had a way of getting under his skin with her interrogation tactics, and he, being the way he was, always tried to avoid her questions as best he could.
However, her odd facial expressions bore a challenge for the turtle. They amused him severely, and if he allowed it; she could end up baiting him into giving her the answers she wanted to hear. It would mostly happen out of guilt on his part.
He dreaded the haunting question that she was about to ask.
I had this slight romance haunting my computer for a few months now...I felt bad for it and decided to continue working on it and upload it tonight. I may upload the entire thing tonight. It's a small fic. Don't expect too much. It's very light and *yawn* and it definitely doesn't reflect my mood.