Donatello pushed his glasses back up his snout. "Perfect," he said, a smile hesitantly spreading across his face as he admired his work.

The telescope was ready. He had spent weeks tinkering with it, between experiments, tech support calls and his own online class work, and now the hunk of junk Michelangelo had scraped out of a dumpster was a veritable gateway to the stars.

And April's heart.

Donatello swallowed against a lump traveling up his throat. He pushed his glasses back up his snout again. He didn't have much time. April was almost done with her journalism degree. She would be going to graduate school soon; the acceptance letters were already rolling in. All she needed to do was say yes.

And April had sounded very interested in the Masters in Communication program at UC Berkeley lately. Whenever she mentioned it, Donatello always smiled, and nodded, made sure to spout off some stats on the university's ranking (which were excellent, unfortunately), all while silently hoping, pleading, even praying that April wouldn't choose a program on the other side of the country. Hoping that she would not go where he could not follow.

He turned the telescope over in his hands, trying to focus on the cool metal cylinder. He had never had a telescope before. He had never needed one. There were no stars in the sewers. Donatello had been puzzled that Michelangelo had brought such a thing back at all, but then he remembered how he had told Michelangelo about those those hot Northampton nights he and April had shared. Nights too hot to do anything other than sit on the porch swing and sweat, and talk, though Donatello had mostly just listened. More than once April had mentioned climbing up on the farmhouse roof with her father with her telescope as a child. Donatello had few fond memories of his childhood. It was a dark, dank lonely place, spent confined below the ground. But he could understand why April felt such nostalgia for hers. Things were simpler, then. Safer. And then the Hamato clan and the Kraang had broken over her life like Hokusai's Great Wave, and nothing would ever be the same.

But maybe, just maybe, he could give her a glimpse back into that simpler, safe life, even without Northampton. Tonight.

New York City hardly offered the same views as the Northampton farmhouse, sequestered away upstate, away from the traffic, and the people, and the light pollution, but still - it was an excuse to spend a night alone, with April, on top of a roof, under the stars. Donatello forced himself to take a deep breath as his pebbly skin prickled.

Now or never, he repeated silently to himself.

He was running out of time. Graduation was only months away, and April would have to make a decision before that; she would have to make her decision within weeks. His stomach lurched at the thought. A west coast school. He swallowed reflexively, trying to rid his mouth of a sudden bad taste creeping over his tongue. But it was April's choice. It had always been her choice, hadn't it?

"It's now or never," the turtle mumbled. He meant it to be more of a declaration, but the words just fell out of his mouth, like tools falling out of a drawer that was packed too tightly.

"What wazzat?" came a cheery voice from the hall.

"Nothing, Michelangelo!" Donatello barked reflexively.

A smiling face peered around the doorway. "You talking to that telescope again?"

Donatello's shoulders hunched. "Maybe."

"Oh come on, dude." Michelangelo swung into the lab.

Donatello sighed. He knew he should have kept the door closed, but he had needed the extra light from the hall to complete the last adjustments to the telescope. He made a mental note to put in an order for more LEDs for his lab and be done with it. Michelangelo leaned on the worktable beside him. The youngest turtle cocked his head to the side, as if examining his brother. Donatello felt Michelangelo's blue eyes on him. He shifted his weight. Trained his eyes on his work table.

Michelangelo leaned in and whispered, "She already knows you like her."

"Michelangelo!" Donatello wheezed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks as he swatted his youngest brother away.

"What?" The youngest turtle shrugged, as if April O'Neil, April "Love of Donatello's Life" O'Neil, was no big deal.

"It's true! All you have to do is tell her."

"I - "There were so many reasons not to tell her, to let everything continue business as usual. In the years since they had first met April, their friendship had grown into something he never thought he would share with anyone, much less a human. Much less a human woman. His thoughts drifted to her, then. Her long, fiery red hair and how it swung from side to side across her shoulders as she walked. Her fierce blue eyes. The constellation of freckles illuminating her cheeks. How smart she was. How tenacious. How beautiful.

"She's not gonna be around forever, you know," Michelangelo said. Though he was smiling, there was a heaviness to his voice that had not been present in his earlier cajoling.

"She might end up at a grad program here in New York, or maybe even DC," Donatello replied, hoping - even though he knew better - that what he was positing could be true. He hefted the telescope up, bringing the eyepiece to his spectacles. He peered into the telescope with one eye, squinting the other. Distractions aside, there was no denying it - Michelangelo was obviously, painfully right. "It's only a train ride away…"

As if any of them could just get on a train.

"You're missin' the point, dude," Michelangelo said, a smile crinkling the edges of his bright blue eyes. "You gotta tell her."

"I will," Donatello said, setting the telescope down on his work table. "Tonight."

Michelangelo raised a single brow ridge in doubt.

"I will!" Donatello insisted. "I found the perfect rooftop. The telescope is finally ready. And Jupiter is going to be so bright tonight." The turtle rested his head in one hand while he idly caressed the track pad of his laptop with the other. "We might even be able to see it through the smog."

It's going to be perfect, he thought. Donatello had it all planned. He would pack a thermos of coffee, and a blanket, and strap the telescope to his shell. They would have a picnic under the stars, and he would tell her he loved her. And there was some small part of him that hoped that it would give her a reason to stay. With a tap, he refreshed the weather page he had up in his browser. A small smile tugged at the corner of Donatello's mouth. Clear skies all night. Perfect.

"How romantic!" Michelangelo sighed beside him. "Geez, Don, I didn't know you had it in ya."

Donatello rolled his eyes at his brother. "Don't be patronizing."

"You think I don't know what that means, but I totally do," Michelangelo gave Donatello gentle pat on Donatello's shell before he drifted away from the workbench.

Donatello felt his shoulders slump, but he forced himself to hold in the sigh burning in his lungs as much as his heart. The youngest turtle paused at the doorway. Donatello shot a glance back at Michelangelo over his shoulder, brow still furrowed.

"Open or shut?" Michelangelo asked with a smile.

"Shut," Donatello grumbled as he turned back to his work. "Please!" he added hastily.

The door shut quietly behind him, and Donatello's shoulders sagged in relief. Michelangelo was right. Everybody knew. Including April. She had to know. She was too smart not to. Donatello pinched the bridge of his nose. She knows, he told himself. They had just never actually talked about it. In all the years, through all the battles, every insane adventure, and all the hardship, they had never talked about it. Not once. There had been so many times that the words were there, at the tip of his tongue, crowding at the edge of his mouth, screaming to be said, to be heard; but he had never actually said them aloud. Not to her.

Donatello stood, gathering a handful of tools that lay splayed across his work table. It wasn't as if he hadn't wanted to tell her. He had. He had wanted to tell her a thousand times. But when she and Casey had gotten together, it had just seemed pointless. He yanked open one of the drawers in his tool chest and started dumping things in. A frown settled over his face. But that was over now. April had moved on.

Hadn't she? Donatello nervously chewed his lip.

She no longer came to the lair with Casey. Or left with him. Michelangelo had been the only one brazen enough to actually ask one night, after Casey left alone - So are you two still, like, a thing? He remembered her face, the sad smile that blossomed on her rosebud lips, and how he couldn't hear anything but his heart in his ears until she said it - No. But it's for the best. Really. The words were right there that night, burning his tongue like a slice of Michelangelo's ghost pepper pizza, but he just choked them back with a glass of milk.

Donatello did not count this with the many times he had wanted to tell her, but the words were still there, clamoring at the back of his throat. The shadow passenger that was with him, always, in every battle, and late night chat session, and over every dinner. Those four unspoken words, burned into his heart, burning brighter with every laugh, every smile, every sideways glance across the workbench.

I love you, April.

Donatello shut the toolbox drawer. It clattered loudly in the quiet of his lab. This was it. It was time. He was going to tell her.

Tonight.

The turtle sat down at his bench again and paused. He gently slid his hand down his finished work. The telescope hadn't been in all that bad of shape when Michelangelo brought it to him. The optical tube was undamaged, and the aperture seemed to adjust just fine. He had only needed to repair the focuser and the eyepiece, and replace the mounting hardware. It was a perfectly fine piece of equipment; it just needed a few minor repairs. Donatello's face scrunched into a frown. He had never understood why humans were always so eager to just throw things away. But their loss was his gain.

One man's trash is a turtle's treasure, I guess, he thought, setting the telescope back down on his work table.

A knock came at the door, and Donatello turned to face the sound. His brothers rarely bothered him when the door to his lab was closed.

"Come in!" he called.

The door opened slowly to reveal Leonardo's lean silhouette.

"Leo!" Donatello said, a little too quickly and much too loudly. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh." A smile cracked Leonardo's face, making his eyes shine. "Of course. I'm sorry to interrupt," he shrugged apologetically. "I just heard tonight's the big night."

Michelangelo, Donatello seethed silently. And then he sighed. "Yep," he said, forcing a smile. "Big night."

"Is April coming by…?"

Donatello almost chuckled at his brother's question. He felt like a teen on prom night in one of Michelangelo's rom coms. Unfortunately the VHS collection was full of them, and Michelangelo would not allow anyone throw them away. Was this the part where his date came to the house and got a talking to from Dad? The part where April O'Neil got the Hurt My Precious Baby And I'll Kill You talk? He smiled wryly, thinking about it. He knew April would never hurt him. Not intentionally.

She had chosen Casey. After years of both of them vying for her, she had chosen him. April and Casey had been a thing. It was the most sensible decision, and Donatello had understood, even though it had hurt. He remembered the first time he had witnessed them kissing with painful clarity. It was Halloween, and they were all up topside for the parade. The one night he and his brothers could be above without fear of any major repercussions (though Michelangelo and Raphael always seemed to find themselves in some sort of trouble). April had been dressed as a witch, and Casey - Casey was the hockey mask wearing monster from Friday the 13th. Of course. Donatello and Michelangelo had been walking in tandem, Michelangelo going on about which flavors of Jolly Ranchers he liked best, when Donatello had seen them. Casey's fingers had entwined April's, and her neck craned up towards his. And her eyes. Her blue eyes had shone so brightly looking at Casey that night. She had kissed him a hundred times, before. But she had never looked at him like that. Casey's mask was off in a second, and when their lips had met, Donatello felt a pit in his stomach swelling up like a black hole, ready to consume everything within reach.

It had hurt less each time, after that.

"Don?"

"Oh," Donatello blinked behind his glasses. "I'm meeting her topside."

"Well, I won't keep you," Leonardo said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just wanted to say that I'm proud of you. It's been a long time coming."

There was a sadness in Leonardo's voice that Donatello knew all too well. It crept in now and again, when he thought about her. And they all danced around it, this sadness, felt, and heard, but never said. And they kept going. Leonardo had made his choice.

"Yeah," Donatello nodded. "It has."

"Right," Leo said, smiling lopsidedly. "But I'm sure we can manage patrol without you tonight."

Donatello paused. He had completely forgotten. He had been so engrossed in making sure the telescope was functional, in checking the weather report, in planning that he had forgotten.

Then the eldest turtle winked. "I won't tell Sensei."

"Thanks, Leo," Donatello said quietly, smiling for real this time.

"Open or closed?"

"Ah," Don began with a quick glance back to the telescope. If he stayed in his lab he would only continue to fuss with it. He could adjust the finderscope. Tighten the mount. He shook his head. "Open's fine. I've got, stuff," he gestured with a floppy hand at the door, thinking about the thermos of coffee he still needed to make for his rendezvous with April that evening. "You know. Stuff. And things."

Leonardo nodded, and just like that, he was gone. Donatello did not even hear his brother's footsteps as he walked away. Donatello stood, awkwardly brushing off his thighs off before adjusting his knee pads. The telescope was ready. He had an extra blanket under his bed. But there was still coffee to be made. He tapped his smart watch with a single finger and the time blinked back at him. He could still make it on time. As long as he wasn't waylaid by any more chit chat.

Donatello zipped down the hall to the kitchen, where Raphael was seated at the table eating breakfast cereal for dinner. He did not look up from reading the back of the cereal box when Donatello entered, and as far as Donatello was concerned, it was just as well. He had work to do.

As Raphael crunched on his cereal, loudly grinding his teeth over each bite, Donatello bent to root around for his good (expensive) coffee out of the back of the fridge. He silently hoped that Michelangelo hadn't used what was left of it the last time he decided to watch every Star Wars movie in one sitting. When he saw a crinkled brown bag wedged between the milk and Leonardo's tub of Greek yogurt, his shoulders sagged in relief. As he emerged from the depths of the refrigerator, crumpled up bag of coffee beans in hand, Raphael was staring at him over his cereal bowl, green eyes flat and mirthless.

"You know she already knows, right?"

"Yes, Raphael," Donatello exhaled a sigh of exasperation and dragged his free hand over his face, leaving his glasses askew. "I know."

Postscript: Thank you for reading! I needed to write something a little more...lighthearted after wrapping up PFT. Putting this one out here has been a long time coming, but thank you to theherocomplex for beta reading this chapter and bouncing off ideas for this fic!