Disclaimer: TMNT could become mine some day in the distant future. Hold your breath. Held? Good. You probably have over a minute to read my story before you pass out.
From Line Four
Mikey stared solemnly at his workspace as if it had betrayed him. He needed to do this, and it wasn't like he wasn't getting something back. When he finished, he could do the things he actually wanted to do.
This reasoning should have helped. Unfortunately for Mikey, he was never one motivated by logic. Oh, no, Michelangelo could never be bothered by reality. That would be too convenient. He had to base his world on love and adrenaline.
He wondered if that's what made him lazy about things like this. He was being lazy. He knew it. He was smart. He was self-educated. He'd scored an Arts and Entertainment column based solely on three writing samples and a short phone interview. The pay wasn't much, but that was beside the point. He was hot stuff, damn it.
Menial tasks like this were so beneath his artistic reach.
Mike leaned on his elbows and covered his eyes in disgust. He was pathetic. With agonized effort, he reached for the envelope he'd tacked to the corkboard months ago, and ignored the scatter of small notes that dislodged as he yanked it free. This one hadn't held a paycheck like the others from the company had. Mikey remembered the feeling of chagrin when he'd opened it. "Traitor," he breathed, his tone a deep sneer made of venom and spy film drama. "You will pay--"
"Hey Mikey, you done yet?" Don called from the hall, startling Mikey out of navel-gazing nightmareland. "I'll check your calculations, but you know you have to get it there before midnight. It's past ten already."
A tiny spark of hope blossomed in Mikey's soul-- hope that he could get his brother to do this for him after all! Quickly, he emptied the envelope, gathered his papers, and headed in Donnie's direction.
Don looked up expectantly from the snack he was preparing at the kitchen table. A tiny, sympathetic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Finished?"
Mike stopped short, suddenly feeling guilty that he was so ready to dump this, the only downside to his own hobby, on his brother's lap. "It's confusing," he answered. "And, you know… the government might come snooping around April if I do it wrong...maybe... eventually." Donatello frowned at the subtle plea in his brother's expression. Mikey's pleas were never subtle.
Don put down his jar of peanut butter, grabbed a napkin to wipe his hands, and let out the deep, resigned breath of a beset-upon older brother. "Give it here," he said, and pulled out an adjacent chair for Mikey to sit. There was no way Mikey was getting away quite that easily. "You're giving all the money from this to April," Don stated.
Mike nodded enthusiastically. Don took out a pen and eyed Mikey with mock reproach. "And you're making sushi for dinner tomorrow," Don continued.
Mike nodded again. "Fresh sushi," Don amended.
"I'll catch it myself," Mike promised.
"With inari, and the fancy maki that Splinter likes."
Mikey beamed. Donnie pulled the tax forms closer and hid his smile behind a look of stern concentration.