"No, no, no! NOT AGAIN!"
The computer let out a shrill buzz, like a nest of angry hornets, and the multiple monitors crackled with static. Donatello wailed gutturally and barely refrained from snapping his tiny clip tool in half, settling for banging his fists on the stone floor in a miniature tantrum.
He hate, hate, hated it when his tech bugged out. It meant having to spend hours upon hours on his knees or stomach, dismantling the hardware he worked so hard to perfect (his extra-large hands were a curse that he often reviled for getting in the way of his tinkering) just to get a massive headache straining his eyes, even with his magnifying goggles, to seek and zero-in on where the problem lay. This was usually followed up by another two or three hours un-wiring, re-wiring, re-searing and rebooting the chip or drive at fault (sometimes several times) until the problem was truly taken care of. Being subjected to putting all the pieces back together after he was done was the final kick into his teeth when he was already bruised and beaten.
All this, understandably, would leave the normally calm turtle in a foul temperament for the remainder of the day, sometimes even dwindling into the next. So today, when his entire system revolted against him like he was the French monarchy, his wrath threatened to burst forth in a sea of loathing, driving his family members as far away from anywhere near the supercomputer as the lair walls could physically allow. It didn't help that there were no doors in their humble abode.
Michelangelo could be seen shuffling flat alongside the walls of the living room like he was in Mission: Impossible on his ways to and from the kitchen between videogame rounds. Raphael kept to his bed, where he blasted loud music through his headphones and did 20 rounds of bicep curls every half hour. Leonardo had given up trying to offer assistance just around the third time the computer crashed and died, and Donatello had sent a tiny screwdriver at his eyes. Now, he cleaned. Every weapon on every rack was sharpened and polished, the kitchen was as spotless as a clean sheet of snow, and his bed was made so well it looked pressed (as well as everyone else's). It showed no sign of stopping. The rat Sensei was nowhere in sight.
This, Hope thought, had gone on long enough.
A part of her worried about being imperilled by bodily injury if she interfered. If the behaviour of the other turtles were anything to go about, there was a definite risk. But please, she told herself, she was his girlfriend.
Or, flame.
Or… interest?
Whatever she was, Don wouldn't ever hurt her. That, she knew above everything else about their dynamic, was a hard fact.
She loved that about him, she wasn't afraid to admit.
Ignoring the taut gestures of warning Michelangelo sent her way, she strode towards the computer. With a sharp tap of her heel on her last step, she set her hands on her hips in blind sight of the manic turtle's thick shell and cleared her throat.
"Donatello." She said, voice stentorian.
Dons shoulders actually clicked when his flinch snapped them up to either side of his head.
"I'm." He said, tone as tight as his teeth. "Busy. Right. Now."
Ooh, normally Hope would've had none of that attitude. But she resigned herself to it this time. After all, as a scientist and technician herself, she was empathetic to his predicament. She reset her stance and tried again, more gently. "Donnie, can I talk to you for a bit please?" She got no response this time.
Haughtily, Hope walked around to one end of the table bolstering the monitors and leaned down and under, where he could see her in his peripheral vision. A splash of silvery blonde at the corner of Dons eye abstracted the dull slate and black shades of half a day spent digging around in computer parts. A fraction of his mind felt instantly less overwrought upon registering the familiar colour. And with it, there came an accustomed flutter in his chest that was an inevitability when he was in the same room as the smart, pretty woman crouching just a few feet from him.
Before he could reassign his attention back to his gruelling task, his eyes flickered up and caught a glimpse of Hope's baby blue eyes, glinting with aggravation, under the messy strands of her hair from her untidy bun. He let out a huge sigh, feeling a fragment of guilt prickle in his chest at blowing off his girl. If that was what she was, Don thought to himself. His heart warmed at the sentiment. He tried to push his anger to the back of his mind for her sake.
"Yes of course, Hope." He breathed, trying to sound not at all bitter. He leaned back, and felt the crackle and pop of his cartilage as he moved to sit more comfortably. His eyes burned with dryness, and he took off his glasses to rub at them. "Did you need something?"
She shuffled over and sat on her knees in front of him. The vision-impaired turtle could hardly make out her face without his extra pair of eyes, but could tell that she was frowning from the thickness of her words. "I 'need' you to take a break. You know that you're driving everyone up the wall, right?" She caught her blunder and quickly inverted it, not wanting to vex him.
"Not that it's your fault, of course. But… I don't know, you just aren't acting like yourself." In the next pause, Hope reached up and stopped his hands from irritating his eyes further.
"I know I'm being a little insufferable. But…" Don slid his glasses back up his nose. "I just-" He made throttling hand-gestures at the computer modules, beginning to scowl. "It's so-!"
"I know!" Hope grabbed his hands again and let them rest in her lap. "But you've just got to take some time to calm down. Don't give me that look!" She quipped as his lips thinned and his one brow rose, creasing his mask. "I know I'm not exactly one to talk. But if I were in your shoes I know I'd want someone to tear me away long enough to get my senses back. And trust me." Her blue eyes rolled. "I've been there before."
Donatello took a couple of deep breaths. Feeling Hope's thumbs lightly graze the scaly back of his hands helped ease his mind as much as her logic. "Okay." He breathed some more, closing his eyes. "Okay. If it's time for a break, it's time for a break."
Hope smiled and pat his hands. "Good. Now try and think of a way to take your mind off of things. I'll help you relax."
He took a few minutes to focus on anything other than the demonic pile of debris and electronic parts still scattered around him. It was proving to be difficult. But with Hope absently tracing the pebbly scales on his hands and forearms, it steadily became easier. He opened his eyes and watched her fingers move. The skin there looked raw, pink and dry and he knew it was because she spent just as much time tinkering and working as he did, without a thick hide like his to prevent cell damage.
Still, her touch was soft, and her little appendages moved with a deftness that drew his gaze. So it was inescapable that when her one hand lifted to brush a stray strand of light straw hair from her face that Don couldn't help but follow it.
Hopes face really was quite pretty, he mused. Heart-shaped, with cute lips and nose. (Though she'd probably kill him if he said so out loud.) His favourite part was her eyes, however. They were the kind of blue that he just never saw anywhere else, and he doubted that any artist could replicate it with however copious amounts of paint or pigment. He could explore her bright blue soul-windows for hours.
"Hope." He said suddenly. Her eyes came up from their intertwined hands to look at him. "I know exactly what will take my mind off of this stupid computer."
"What?" Her head tilted to the side. She frowned at his momentary quiet. "Whatever it is, I said I'd help you relax and I will."
"…"
"Are you going to tell me or-?" She was startled into silence by the gentle tilt of her chin by his calloused forefinger. Without missing a beat, Donnie touched his mouth to hers. Softly pressing and massaging her lips in a slow and sensitive kiss. Within the current of being kissed so tenderly, Hope noticed that even while Donatello rubbed circles into her temple and lovingly stroked her chin and jaw, he didn't close his eyes. He stared into her irises from so close that she could study every thread of colour in his own. She could definitely see the appeal.
After a minute, he broke the connection. Hope fought back a giggle at the sight of his blushing face.
"That's… not exactly what I meant." She smirked and pet his scaly shoulders, lightly pulling to encourage him closer. "But I can work with that."
Donnie smiled. Casting the last thoughts of his supercomputer from the recesses of his mind, he gladly forgot about everything but his girl.