n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that's usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.
The lair had been abuzz with activity. Training had ended, leaving Mikey and Raph in need of some gaming to burn off their leftover energy. After a solid hour of Mike constantly defeating Raphael, and the hothead's temper consistently boiling beyond the point of containment, the duo decided that perhaps a skateboard outing through the tunnels would be a better alternative to Mikey's skull being riddled with fist-sized divots.
Faline had come into the laboratory to look over the prophecy for the umpteenth time (Donatello insisted on keeping the delicate paper inside its brass holder – in a locked safe – for caution's sake) before heading back to the dojo, where Leo now spent most of his time (not that he hadn't spent the majority of his day in there before, but it seemed that being Sensei required more hours in meditation than previously). She'd managed to pry him away from his mantras and sandalwood incense, convincing him to accompany her on a leisurely patrol of Houston and Delancey (since the abandonment of her brother, Fae had been especially protective of the neighborhood she'd formerly resided in), despite her still-healing stab wound (but of course, why would anyone listen to the physician of the team? Surely, Donnie's MEDICAL ORDERS FOR RECOVERY could be brushed off as a simple suggestion!)
So the lair was quiet now. Donnie stared out over the deserted living room, listening to the static from the ended tape on the television, the subtle beeps from his mutagen scanner and the quiet bubbling of another test on Faline's genetic makeup in his laboratory (he was trying to study the scientific explanations behind her transformations, but had so far come up with nothing).
The general quiet of the abode gave an opportunity for unwelcoming memories to seep in.
It had been three months. Ninety-two days of that one evening replaying over and over in his head, returning every time April and Casey walked in, smiling at each other, giving each other teasing kisses, awkwardly averting their eyes whenever he came in the room.
His brothers, as usual, thought he was overreacting. Just like when Donnie had fallen for her on the spot. Just like during the months he'd spent mourning her absence when they accidentally mutated Kirby. Just like the four days he'd spent after he'd discovered her betrayal, refusing food, or water, or sleep. They had no idea Casey had gone so far as to approach April in such a... FORWARD way. Donnie had kept that to himself. For some reason, he'd thought to hide that detail. His love life (or lack thereof) was not something to be put on display for everyone's entertainment.
So Leo, Raph, and Mikey weren't at fault for believing it was childish for their intellectual brother to deny missions when Casey and April were accompanying them. But that didn't change the fact that they taunted him every time he distanced himself. They didn't get it. Even Fae, who'd been more sympathetic toward him than the others, couldn't possibly understand the way he felt. She'd never had love ripped from her, torn out of her hands by another. Leo was devoted to her, totally and completely — Donnie could see it in his brother's eyes every time the leader glanced at the blonde.
Unfortunately, that level of devotion wasn't present in his relationship with April.
Donatello moved from the doorway, trudging toward the TV and turning it off. The static faded, leaving him in absolute silence.
Faline had told him not to give up. There was someone else out there, she'd said, someone who wouldn't trade him for anything, because they saw him for all his worth.
Donnie snorted to himself, thinking about her words. As if there was a 'someone else'. It had been a pure miracle April had stumbled into the live of four freaks living underground with a rodent ninja master. A one-in-a-trillion chance. What evidence was there that any other girl would happen upon them ever again, let alone a girl within the 0.000000003% of the female population that would find him pleasant? A romantic relationship? No. Out of the question. All hopes of such serendipity had been tossed to the wind three months ago.
Donnie was forced to surrender to the painful truth — his life was destined to be one lived in lovelessness, to forever be a prison of loneliness.
"Yo, Nerd-o!" an annoyingly gruff voice called.
"Don't call him that," a honey-sweet tone scolded.
How convenient, Donnie thought, My nightmare and fantasy have arrived in one couple-y little package of torment. What joy.
"Hey Donnie," April began lightly, but softly, the same sweetness you'd use to coax a puppy out of hiding, "Where're the others?"
"Yeah, I thought me and Raph were gonna hit the ice rink tonight!" Casey added, much too chipper for his emotion to be genuinely friendly.
Raph and I, Donnie corrected mentally, and he praised himself for the inward comeback. At least he was to Jones as Albert Einstein was to a box of rocks, still. That would never change, he was sure.
"Out." The simple word rang out and fell flat.
"Oh," April commented, her auburn locks falling tantalizingly across her slightly-freckled brow, "Well, we can wait here 'til they get back, I suppose."
And just like that, the air around Donnie turned toxic. They were staying, and their presence seemed to be releasing noxious fumes that were making him dizzy and threatening his sanity. One more minute and he'd cease to exist altogether.
"That's fine," he deadpanned, turning on his heel and propelling himself back toward the lab, "I was just leaving, anyway. You two can keep each other company, I'm sure."
"C'mon, don't be like that, D," April pleaded, setting down her purse and trailing after him.
"Be like what? I'm only going out to dumpster dive for some new equipment. I'd been planning on it all day. Your arrival didn't change the initial outcome of my plans for this evening."
Too robotic. He'd already used that excuse twice in the past two weeks. Side note: make a list of several ways to evade April and Casey.
"I know you're avoiding us," April confronted him.
Well, I wasn't exactly trying to hide that fact from you.
"Really, I have to go," he insisted, grabbing his bo staff.
"Dude, quit being such a stick in the mud." The terrapin hadn't realized Casey's invasion of his lab. "The 'Mopey Donnie Act' is getting old."
"Nice eloquence, Jones," April muttered.
"I can carry out my 'act' as long as I see fit," Donnie stated, his words crisp, with the intention to bite into Casey and tear him apart with each syllable, "I'm leaving."
"Fine, be that way then," Casey threw his hands in the air, "God, will you EVER get over this?"
The purple clad turtle laughed mirthlessly, astonished at his audacity. How could he think he would ever forgive him? How dare he, stealing April and then expecting everything to return to normal! Donnie ought to have socked him right between the eyes then and there. Perhaps that would restart his hippocampus and force Casey to remember why it would be so impossible to forgive him.
His logic won over. April was here. A brawl would certainly deprecate the chivalrous reputation he'd worked three years to establish. So he just shook his head disbelievingly and brushed past, wishing he could return to the silence. In the silence, the things he felt were memories, emotions from the past, dulled with the faultiness of nostalgia. Here, with them, the emotion was too real, too potent, and he had to get out, put distance between himself and the origin of contamination. Wait for the contagion to disperse. Then repeat the process tomorrow.
Behind him, he heard April's sweet voice turn cold with disapproval. "Casey, you can't just—"
"Casey Jones says what needs to be said! Donnie's being a crybaby. It's been three months, and his stupid pouting's making me and you uncomfortable. He needs to move the hell on!"
It was dumb. Casey didn't even see it, wouldn't have understood it if he had. But, seething with anger and disappearing down the subway tunnel, Donnie turned, raised his hand to his moth, and hooked his thumb underneath his front teeth, glaring directly at Jones. Biting his thumb at him. An insult stolen from Shakespeare, but it was his alternative to flipping the bird, seeing as he had no middle finger to extend.
Casey never read Shakespeare. But remembering that he'd helped her with her analytical essay on Romeo and Juliet, and judging from her gaping look of shock, April knew exactly what Donnie had meant by the obscure gesture.
"Donatello!" she cried out indignantly as he ducked out of sight and began sprinting in the direction of the nearest manhole.
Crap. Had she thought that had been meant for her? It was too late now. And why would he care?
Donnie paused, hand on a rung of the ladder leading up to the surface.
Why should he care?
Because you still love her, idiot.
He let out a bemused breath, fingers coming up to rub along the long groove running across his plastron. It had become habit now to pick at the new scar etched into the keratin.
Matches the ones on my heart.
Quit being so poetic about this. Go.
With aloud sigh, Donatello scaled the ladder and journeyed to the world above.
"Nurse, hand me the needle and thread."
"Sir, yes sir!"
"No need to call me sir. Just Doctor will do. Alright, that should do it. Sheers."
"Sheers!"
"Sutures complete. Adhesive, stat."
"Adhesive!"
"Scalpel."
"Scalpel!"
"Thank you, Nurse. That should do the trick. Ma'am, I'm pleased to tell you that Ms. Flutterbucket will make a full recovery. Be sure to give her lots of rest, peanuts, and hugs." Vienna smiled, handing the patched-up-and-slightly-duct-taped blue elephant back to her kid sister.
"Thank you, Vienna," Emelia sang, hugging her stuffed animal close.
"No problem, Meles." Vienna stood up, pushing her big-framed glasses back up on the bridge of her nose, "Now what do you say to Artemis?"
Emelia turned meekly toward the small border collie, patting the dog on her head.
"I'm sorry for hitting you with my Fairy Princess Storybook, Missy."
The canine's tongue rolled out of her mouth happily, giving a little yip as her ears perked up and she ran lazy circles around the toddler.
"Well, I'd say your apology has been accepted," the big sister observed, grinning at her two best friends frolicking on the carpet now. She grabbed her knit sweater and slid her arms into it, the fabric bunching in thick rolls of yarn at her wrists. It was four sizes too big, but it was the only army green one she'd been able to find cheap, and the additional size made up for her scrawny frame. She grabbed her patch-work backpack, decorated with fabrics and threads and beads from anywhere she'd found them.
"Alright, now you behave yourself," she told Emelia, "I need to run by the store and grab something."
"But...but...but Mama said you can't leave me! She says I'm 'un-responstible'," the tot pouted.
"You know what you're not allowed to do, right?"
"Not leave the living room, and only touch my toys and the TV."
"And where can you get food?"
"In the second drawer in your room. Peanuts and fruit snacks."
"And if you behave?"
"I'll get to stay up late the next time you babysit!"
"That's right! Don't worry," Vienna assured, ruffling her sister's already-mussed hair, "I'll be back in a jiffy."
"Why can't Mama know?" Emelia asked, hugging Ms. Flutterbucket tight.
"You know why. She doesn't like it when I buy new paints. You won't tell, right?"
Meles nodded, sticking out her pinky and linking it with her big sister's. "Pinky promise."
"Good. I'll see you later." Vienna kissed the top of her head, then dashed to the door, doing a mental once-over of the apartment and convincing herself it was safe before bolting the door and setting a tiny device atop the handle.
Ten minutes. No more, no less. In and out of the shop, then back to Emelia. If Mom found out about this arrangement, she'd kill her eldest daughter for attempting such a thing. Not to mention the pit of guilt already growing inside her belly at the thought of her little sister in there alone, with only Artemis as company. Vienna knew her dog was more than capable of protecting her, but the danger was still there.
Ensuring the device on the door was secured, she tapped a button on top of the little doo-dad. A ping echoed from the phone in her back pocket, alerting her to the machine's functionality. If any movement was detected, a camera was triggered that would transfer live-feed video to her cellular device.
Quite innovative, she thought to herself as she jogged down the flight of stairs and into the busy crowd of passersby. But she should expect such innovation from a gift of that nature, especially one granted to her by James.
She sighed to herself in giddiness, just thinking about him. Her long-time beau — at least, her beau in her dreams. They'd grown up together, back in Cannon Beach, as neighbors from the age of two. He'd matured into an athletic, blonde, tan, humorous young man, and her devotion to him hadn't ceased. He was precarious, itching for adventure, and had left the first chance he got, straight out of junior year. School had never been his thing. Vienna would wait eagerly for one of his post cards, as the head of her James Miller Fan Club, a dorky, hare-brained girl awaiting his next tale.
James had created the little camera device for her while they were still in school together. He was witty, not necessarily possessing an over-abundance of intellect, but cunning all the same.
She had wanted to follow him in his journeys, to be the Marian to his Indiana, the Sloane to his Ferris, but her mother would've flipped. Ms. Bardi was worrisome of both her daughters' futures, and had already written a script for Vienna's life — one that resolved in financial stability, without the need for a boy's income (or mutual affection — being the victim of divorce, Vienna's mom had taught her girls that love was not an essential).
Still, Vienna couldn't help fantasizing of what love might be like. The loving kisses, the cuddling, the words of affection, the romantic dates. Pipe dreams, she was convinced, since she left her old life and old friends for the strange (yet admittedly thrilling) New York City. She'd always had difficulty making friends, which didn't necessarily bother her (she was always more about the solitary life) until she thought of her dreams to find that one boy to love her to the ends of the earth.
Obviously that boy was James. He was charismatic, and daring, the yin to her yang, the one to balance her mood swings and wistful quietness.
But Vienna's hopes had been dashed every time he referred to her in his letters as his 'good friend'. As were her true ambitions, with every piano audition she tried for. She'd never really excelled at anything but music (or so her mother believed — there was art too, though Ms. Bardi had deemed that an unsupportive career option), and so she was doomed to forever search for the next recital to perform at, to raise her higher on the list of applicants for Juliard.
That was why the art shop was forbidden. Her mom thought it a waste of time, a distraction from practice. But here Vienna stood, staring through the glass at the canvases, easels, and oil paints beckoning to her.
Five minutes. Make it quick.
She dashed inside, relieved to find that the store, usually bustling with colorful folk slowly searching through various charcoal pencils and sizes of brushes, was abandoned except for the cashier at the front.
Vienna hurried to the back, collecting each item efficiently and checking off her mental list as she browsed — oil pastels, Grass Green Copic marker replacement, a second small sketch journal that could be easily thrown into her pack, and new ink for her calligraphy pen. Lavender Twilight, the label read. Fancy.
She sprinted to the register, throwing a wild smile toward the employee and throwing two twenties onto the counter. Thirty seven cents in change, she calculated, but what would she do with a quarter, a dime, and a few pennies?
"Keep the change!" she hollered over her shoulder at the bewildered cashier as she bolted out of the store, checking her phone and making sure she wasn't late. Two minutes and forty three seconds, in and out. A new record.
By the time she reached her apartment, the stitch in her side had Vienna about ready to keel over. She removed the camera from the door handle and pushed her way inside, relieved to find Emelia where she'd left her, now enthralled in a Disney movie and braiding Artemis's fur.
Panting, she threw the house keys onto the hallway table, slouching off to her room and setting down her bag. Looking over her newly accumulated supplies proudly, she called into the living room to her little sis, "Meles, if you need me, I'll be—"
"On the roof, I know Sissy!" Emelia shushed, "Stop talking, Rapunzel's gonna sing!"
Vienna chuckled, and then adjusted the collar on her sweater. Her eyes flicked to the wall clock — 10:30. If her mother was truly going to be pulling a late night, she still had roughly fifteen minutes. Enough to get her things stowed away. Her eyes changed as she made her way to the bay window overlooking China Town, the light from the hallway reflecting off her irises and turning them a muted green. Times Square's brilliant lights blinked faintly in the sliver of space between the buildings, and she watched the changing electronic billboards, images flashing across them, filling the night with sudden bursts of color. A huge grin spread across her face, but as much as she wanted to savor this moment, time would stop for no one.
The latch on the bay window came undone silently, letting in a refreshing whoosh of air as Vienna parted the panes and swung her legs over the sill. Her sleeve snagged on the window frame, and she caught sight of her kanji tattoo flicking in and out of sight for a moment. A representation of the one risk she'd taken — well, the one risk her mom knew about.
Vienna sighed to herself. Perhaps her latest letter to James, enclosing details of her new body art, would convince him she wasn't the same dorky, hare-brained girl from Oregon he knew. Perhaps the tattoo could convince him she was capable of risk-taking and accompanying her on daring adjourns to — where was he currently? — Bangladesh.
And then James will love me forever and charm me every single day and ask me to marry him and we will have a happy life together until the end of time, she told herself.
Realizing she was down to twelve minutes, Vienna reached out and tugged down on a bar of metal above her, pulling down her makeshift ladder that allowed her access to the roof. Swaying in midair, she climbed out and up, hoping for another of James's letters and praying her phone wouldn't slip out of her pocket and plummet to the forboding concrete five stories down.