Plumbing Issues
He thought he knew everything about his brothers. Was sure of it; never a betting turtle, still, Leonardo would have wagered his priceless katana on the fact that he did. That he could recognize by the slightest shift in the air when any one of them might be disappointed, angry, or sad.
Over the years, he'd mastered the art of reading and understanding their body language. Through quiet observation and careful study, he memorized his family's unspoken communication. The tip of a chin, a quirk of the lip, the dip of a forehead, the crease of a brow, the flick of a tail, told him what words couldn't convey.
The flash in Raph's eye: a challenge.
The storm cloud in Donnie's: some unfathomable frustration.
The bright, manic gleam in Mikey's: mischief was in the making.
The near-imperceptible stiffening of whiskers: he'd disappointed his father no matter how much the old rat denied it.
All of these things he knew. Had to. His energies were tuned sharply to his brothers'. In this way, among others, he kept them safe.
Even the sounds they made, he knew. He could tell by the inhalation and exhalation patterns if one of them were deep in sleep, or just faking it to get out of some chore or training. The sound of water going down the wrong tube was easily discernable from the more critical choking on one of Mikey's more adventurous attempts at cooking. Distress, irritation, exhaustion were all found in the nuanced noises emitted from the back of his brothers' throats.
He could recognize them all.
Which was why, now, Leonardo stood, rigid and vacillating between being perplexed and indignant, near the entranceway to the rear corridor's farthest doorway; furiously listening, head cocked, brow wrinkled in fierce concentration, to the muffled exchanges and sounds that erupted from behind the thick wooden door that could only be described as erotic.
"Almost."
"C'mon. Get it in there."
A rhythmic huff and grunt. A groan. A meaty slap. The slippery sliding of something organic and thick. Another groan, prolonged and surrendering. This time, distinctly female in pitch and tone.
Leonardo felt his cheeks redden and the back of his neck burn, even as his knees went weak at that primal sound. He placed a sweating palm flat against the door, meaning to shove it open, but found himself too weak to move; hesitating. Listening, whether he wanted to or not, to the measured sounds beyond; part of him hoping she'd make that sound again; the other part feeling deeply ashamed at himself.
It was the plumbing room, so named because it was a place in the lair no one used, filled with a maze of broken, leaking pipes; unusable bits and pieces of machinery that Donatello insisted on storing; extra tools; forgotten or discarded household items.
Now, apparently, it was the den of shameful, secret rendezvous.
I have to do something.
Heart pounding, he ran a dry tongue across his lower lip. He lowered his arm and considered his options in the matter. What would he say? He frowned. Oh, he'd have a few choice words to share. His chest puffed up in indignation, only to instantly deflate. He paused.
But to April? Their Hogosha? For who else could be in there with his brother? He stood by, baffled at the thought. Undone by it.
April and Donatello. Together? Is it possible? It couldn't be. But there's no doubt. That was her. Oh. Oh god. What the hell am I going to say to Master Splinter about this?
"You're so close," came her panting cry. "Don't you dare stop now."
A scuffling, desperate noise and then something wet sloshing.
His eyes widened to circles. Something like fear speared him. The feeling was so unfamiliar he started with a small jerk and an unmanly squeak. He suddenly had no desire to see what was going on behind that door.
"No. No. No," he chanted under his breath unwittingly.
He spun on his heel and made a hasty retreat down the hall, into the main space; past Mikey and Raph elbowing each other on the couch, thoroughly captivated by the video game they were playing, oblivious to the horrified expression on their eldest brother's face, innocent to the pornographic exchange that was happening merely yards – yards – from the most sacred of places in the lair: their father's bedroom.
Leo dashed into his room and slammed the door.
Ten minutes later, April hurried into the room, skipping on the balls of her feet. She ran around the perimeter of the shared space to the kitchen. She stopped at the edge of the sink, only to jump up onto the side of it, kicking her legs. She threw on the tap. It sputtered, then gurgled, finally erupting in a spray of – she held her fingers underneath the gushing cascade – YES! – hot water! Very hot!
She yanked her hand away and shook it, laughing. She jumped down and bounced up and down. Spinning in a gleeful circle, she called out, "Donatello! Donnie! We got it!"
Raphael looped one thick arm over the back of the couch. "What's all the ruckus about?"
She shot him a triumphant smile, cheeks patchy with grease to match the stains on her t-shirt and jean-shorts. "Oh nothing," she said with a shrug, then pointed with both hands at their sink, "only hot water on demand!"
"AW right! 'Bout time!" Mikey hollered from next to Raph who winced.
Donatello appeared, glancing around, face, shoulders and hands coated in a grimy layer of dark grease. He asked, "It's working?"
April nodded enthusiastically. "More than working. It's hot as hell."
"Well."
April tossed him a towel. He set to wiping his hands off with a sheepish grin. April closed in on him, reached up and adjusted his glasses, then on closer examination, removed them in order to polish the smudges from the lenses. She replaced them and he squinted through the mess she made.
"Well?" she asked in a long, drawn out way.
He said noting, but kept his head down, wiping his hands and doing his best to hide the grin on his face. "You're terrible at cleaning lenses."
She ignored the teasing and prodded, "Remember? When I told you about the venting. Just like my uncle taught me. C'mon, Mr. Fix-it. You know what you have to say: 'April was . . .'"
Leonardo appeared. "Splinter is trying to meditate. What's all this yelling about?" He stopped short and went several shades of pinkish green before settling on a mottled camouflage of tones when he saw April and Donatello in the room. The tops of his feet were extremely interesting all of a sudden as he folded his arms and stared downwards.
Donatello, removing his glasses between his finger and thumb, huffed on them and explained simply, "April got the hot water working."
"What? Sh-She did?" Leonardo looked up, eyes darting between them, face breaking out into a wide grin, shoulders lowering in relief by inches. "So . . . that's what you two were . . . in the back room?"
"April was right." Donatello twisted and shot April a look that had her absolutely beaming in pride. Her complexion pinked beneath the smudges.
Doantello turned back to Leonardo, and grinning, added, "I just needed a solid blowdown."
The sound of Leonardo hitting the floor filled the lair.
Mikey and Raph leaped to their feet. They crowded around a stunned April, hovering over Donatello who crouched besides their fallen leader, patting him gently, leaving large fingerprints of grease all over Leonardo's pale face. His eyes rolled.
"Holy cow, did he just do what I think he did?" Mikey asked a thoroughly confused April who shook her head.
"What just happened?" Raph demanded.
Donatello dropped Leo's head to the floor with a thud, sat back and declared, "Syncope."
Raphael glared at him. "English, Brainiac."
Shrugging, Donatello clarified.
"He fainted."
A/N: heehee
Plumbing Definition: Blowdown: Partial venting or draining, under pressure, of the water side of a boiler to reduce or remove unwanted contaminants. Also the pressure drops after releasing a pressure-relief valve.