A/N: How did a one shot become a sprawling novel? It's magic, I say! This chapter involves more of the family and their thoughts. As ever, reviews are always appreciated!


3. FAMILY DYNAMICS

April finally relaxed her grip, and pulled back from him. She glanced around trying to calm her mind with the familiar surroundings of Donatello's lab, and the times here that had brought her so much happiness. The room, which comprised of the lab towards the front and his bunk towards a smaller section in the back, seemed so vast , so full of things that captured his imagination – books, manuals, robotics, machinery, medical equipment, electrical equipment, the list went on, and yet without him here it would seem so …empty.

"I'm okay, really." She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "God, this is bullshit. Okay, enough. Enough crying."

She sniffled, her eyes sparkling with a new found resolution. Never had she been more beautiful. He said nothing, watching her intently.

"I'm sorry Don, I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright." He said, cutting her short.

She looked up at him, the person that stood before her that always was there for her, and nodded gratefully.

She inhaled sharply.

"Thank-you." She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, bracing the turbulent range of emotions running through her, hot and cold. She couldn't make sense of it.

"Anytime." he replied, and she knew he meant it.

Concentrating on the floor, she let the tension inside of her dissipate, and her brain began ticking back to their earlier conversation. She looked over his shoulder, suddenly capturing sight of the monitors containing the security camera feed of the tunnels. Casually taking a back step, she gave Donatello a look of pure innocence, before sprinting towards the console.

Donatello, immediately detecting her ploy, took off after her.

"Oh no you don't!" he cried.

She laughed as she ran, determined to reach it first, but somehow he got in front of her, a green streak passing her to the right, sailing through the air. Donatello landed in front of the console, facing her. He looked at her defiantly, daring her to cross him to get to the panel. She waited a second, deciding her next move.

"I'll never live it down." He pleaded before her.

April took a slow step forward, standing between his spread feet, her face inches from his. Her heat electrified him, and a strange sense of familiarity prickled his skin. They looked challengingly into each others eyes, both still breathing hard, each captivated by the fire inside the other. His breathing slowed as he scanned her face; the dusting of freckles, the deep green of her eyes, the blush rising to her cheeks as her warm breath still labored. His heart pounded.

He held his breath as slowly and deliberately she slipped her hand between his waist and his arm.

Bleep

He half turned his head, a look of alarm on his face.

"Don't worry." She said, standing back. "I turned it off." Her eyes danced with merciful victory.

He dropped his head, relaxing his body.

"You're going to be the death of me."

As if to demonstrate the point, his stomach began to growl. Her look of victory became one of guilty concern.

"My god, you must be famished." She said with dawning realization, covering her face with her slender fingers. It was already the late afternoon and he hadn't left his lab yet. No thanks to her. Or Michelangelo.

He raised his brow knowingly; his eyes fixed on hers and his mouth a straight smile.

"I could eat."

"Come on." She tilted her head towards the kitchen and pulled him off the control panel. "Let's get you some food."

"Where did I go wrong with that child?" Splinter muttered under his breath, on being recounted Michelangelo's prank.

Donatello and April had just finished their late lunch when he had returned from his small court garden, a luscious green enclave nestled a little farther away from the lair. It was secluded and expertly tended to by his hands, receiving enough natural light for his favorite plants to flourish. Donatello had added a water feature on his last birthday, and it had become Splinter's preferred meditation retreat, away from the ruckus of his four youthful sons. He spoke his thoughts aloud:

"I heard a commotion and then I didn't hear anything. Of course, I assumed that it had worked itself out as it normally does in here; loudly and brutally." He sipped at his jasmine tea, enjoying its bitter warmth. "Where are the others? Still out?" he asked, his tone momentarily slipping back into fatherly concern.

"Yes, sensei." Donatello answered. He stood and grabbed the aging teapot, refilling their cups. He suspected his brothers were all hanging out at the Chi-town tunnels now. The high ceilings and the strong pressure winds passing through them were perfect for kite skating along the channels.

"Those boys are up to mischief, I know it." Splinter said, continuing the conversation with himself. "I have warned them that the foot are increasing in their numbers in this area, but will they listen?"

Donatello exchanged a humored look with April. She hid her grin behind her cup. Splinter was in a particularly bristly mood today.

Donatello automatically came to his brothers' defense.

"Well, I owe Leo and Raph a debt of gratitude at the moment."

Splinter took another sip of his tea, wrapping his fingers easily around the cup's girth, staring into it's depths.

"Yes. Michelangelo's jokes go out of control far too often for my liking." He agreed. "I will speak to him when he returns."

"He's in trouble." Donatello re-interpreted.

"I guess it's lucky he's so adorable, then." April mused. She leaned on her elbow, and jokingly stared off into the distance.

Splinter, prone to disagree with this sentiment, grunted.

"Hmph. Lucky he is not within reach of my walking stick."

Donatello had to quickly turn and hide his amused face from raising the ire of his master. He reached for some fruit sitting on the bench.

"Anyway," April began, covering expertly for her friend, "I have an idea on how to get him back." Donatello leaned back on the kitchen counter, looking at her with a curious expression, chewing on a grape.

"Please. Wait." Splinter raised his hand, and stood briskly, "I do not wish to know." He shuffled off towards his room taking his tea with him. April waited until she heard the hiss of his paper door sliding open and shut before continuing. She narrowed her eyes at Donatello.

"So. Are you in?"

His furrowed his brow, eyes flashing with interest, "Tell me more, Miss O'Neil."

She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "It involves a trophy… and a treasure map."

He dipped his head to laugh, gripping the bench behind him.

"I am so in."

After 'requisitioning' Michelangelo's skateboard, and exhausting themselves into starvation, the brothers decided to make for home. They left the Chi-town tunnels with aching arms and legs, having skated the last two hours along its massive length. Leonardo took a moment to enjoy the freedom of the day- the exhilarating feeling of untethered speed, and the air as fresh as on the surface. Michelangelo, still tapping into his limitless energy, was going back in little loops on his skateboard, trying to get some height along the curved walls. Eventually he kicked the board up with a flip of his foot and slung it over his shoulder to catch up behind them.

"Was Donnie really mad?" he asked them, scampering to keep up with their brisk pace.

Leonardo shook his head, smiling. His brother had more than paid the price for his practical joke, and thought it fair if he now got to hear some of the result.

"He didn't even know he was stuck until April knocked on the door." He told him.

Michelangelo snorted,

"April was there? Oh, well. He'd be fine then."

The whole notion of Donatello and April blossoming friendship was setting Raphael's teeth on edge. He had been lambasted by Casey over the last few days after he had revealed she had returned his ring. Casey had seen red, blaming and cursing his brother for interfering, and his rising rage had soon spilled over to Raphael.

The whole dynamics of their family was now jumbled, and Raphael, for one, didn't like it. He had dodged enough of Casey's blind drunk punches to account for it.

"Those two need to be unpicked before they start causing trouble." He growled.

Leonardo turned to face him,

"What are you talking about?"

Raphael laughed bitterly,

"Oh, haven't you heard. April broke up with Casey."

Michelangelo tentatively questioned the news.

"Again?"

Raphael's face darkened. "Oh no, this time it's the real deal."

Leonardo chewed on his lip, thinking back to when he saw her.

"That explains why her ring was missing." He said to himself.

"She took her ring off?" Michelangelo repeated in alarm. "Ohhoho...shiiit."

"Well the whole thing's bullshit." Raphael snarled. "And it needs to be fixed."

Although Leonardo had noticed the closeness between Donatello and April, he had never thought of it anymore than that. With Casey no longer her suitor, things had a possibility of changing.

"It will be what it is. There's no point in interfering." He told his brother.

Raphael flinched at the attempt to placate him. "Like fuck I'll just stand back and do nothin'"

It was too late. The topic of April and Donatello had set him off. Leonardo weighted his words, and tried to contain his brother's explosive fury.

"So which is it: are you upset because it's Don, or are you upset because April's not with Casey?"

Raphael shot his know-it-all brother a furious glare.

"I'm pissed because Donatello stole her from Casey, like some kinda… thief! How can you not get that?"

Leonardo bristled.

"Last I checked April was not some piece of property that could be stolen. If she wanted to be with Casey, she'd be with him."

Raphael swept his hand away in annoyance,

"You just don't get it." he snarled dismissively.

Leonardo's eyes flashed.

"No, you don't get it. This is Don we're talking about here. He has a real chance of love with someone that is like a sister to us. How could you deny him that?"

Raphael's simmering silence gave nothing away. He stomped a little louder in the silty streams beneath his feet.

"Besides," Leonardo continued, "he assures me they are only friends."

Raphael snorted derisively.

"Oh-ho, is that what you want to believe? Hey, 'cause, I got some top shelf snake oil I need to offload."

"Uh, guys?" A voice came from behind them, "Are you still talking about April and Donnie? 'Cause I so want in on this conversation."

"And what's he gonna do, anyway?" Raphael continued angrily, ignoring his youngest brother, "Bring her down HERE!" He shouted the last word out, arms outspread, as if to make a point. His voice bounced through the many chambers and tunnels of the sewers. They remained motionless as the last echo died out; it was followed by a flurry of steps far in the distance. Their ears pricked, as the steps disappeared.

"Good one, Raph." Leonardo hissed in annoyance.

"Ya bonehead." Michelangelo chastised. The insult landed. Raphael turned on his youngest brother, whispering in a raised voice.

"Shut it, you." He said, jabbing the air in his direction, "No-one asked for your opinion."

Michelangelo sighed, "Well, I'm used to that."

Leonardo motioned for his brothers to move down a side tunnel that would connect them to a route they could use to backtrack. They quietly jumped up into an outflow pipe, half a story up.

Raphael turned back to Leonardo waspishly.

"He's gonna fuck things up." Raphael spat out in a barely constrained whisper. "Things are fucked up. We can't all even be in the same room anymore. "

Leonardo remained unconvinced.

"We have no control over that. Casey and April don't owe us some kind of union to stabilize the group."

Raphael gritted his teeth. "Well maybe Don could fuckin' control himself so he doesn't blow the whole thing up."

Leonardo immediately came to his brother's defense.

"Donatello is not the one I'm worried about controlling themselves." He said pointedly. Despite yet another exhausting argument with his brother, he was still scanning the sewer tunnels, straining to see anything amiss.

Michelangelo nodded,

"Yeah, what's the problem, Raphie-boy, jealous?"

Raphael spun around, pushing his youngest brother against the tunnel wall. Caught off guard, the sound of his shell made a dull crack against the concrete. Case in point, Michelangelo thought in the back of his mind.

"What would you know, ya little freak?" he hissed.

Michelangelo blinked hard in the semi-light, confused by his reaction. Then it occurred to him- Raphael didn't know; he didn't know what Michelangelo could so easily see.

"He's not gonna do anything, Raph." He explained to him simply. "He loves her too much."

Raphael snorted, and continued his way down the tunnel, seething. But even some small part of him could admit - Michelangelo had a point.

The lair was only marginally untidy, the soft and ever present hum of electrical implements only serving to remind of the quiet without the other brothers in tow. The soft glow of the muted television flickered onto their bodies as they reclined on the lounges, a nearby lamp providing only a nominal amount of illumination, casting a pool of moody light in their area.

April was stretched out on the couch with a pen, scratching hesitant answers into the paper's crossword puzzle. She wriggled her toes, as if their movement would divine some kind of inspiration. So far it was not working - it was the difficult edition and she was less than pleased at her lack of answers.

Who are the braniacs that can actually answer these? she pondered abstractly. She looked up. Oh yeah.

"Okay," she queried Donatello with an air of formality, "what about this 'My pain seems beautiful' is a line by this famous 12th century poet, Bernart de…something."

Donatello blinked, basking in a sea of contentness.

"Ahh, I'm not sure. I'm not up to scratch with twelfth century poets."

"That's a lot of words with no answer, Don." She peered at him over the top of her reading glasses and bit her pen with a flirtatious grin.

"Hey, I got the last three - those were not easy." He fired back lazily. He was sitting back on the singular sofa, his feet resting on a small table in front of him.

"It's okay, I understand. I'll just…google that shit later." She replied cheekily.

He chuckled. He was enjoying this, their ability to just relax and do nothing. Just him and April.

Inspiration struck.

"No, wait…" he covered his eyes with one hand as his other reached out to grab the answer from the ether of his memory, " 'My pain seems beautiful, my pain is worth more than any pleasure'. Ventadorn. Bernart de Ventadorn."

She wrote it down. It fit perfectly.

"Hmm, 'My pain seems beautiful'. I like that." She lowered the pen and looked over at him, "You are really smart. How do you even know that?"

He shrugged, "I just…know." He answered nonchalantly, not wanting to confess that he had read it inside a discarded teen magazine a few years back. My pain is worth more than any pleasure - now he was just living it, he supposed. And he knew it more than he cared to admit.

Their solitude was broken by the unmistakable approach of Michelangelo at entrance to the lair. He virtually rocketed in, his extra reserves of energy saved for his grand entrance. Raphael and Leonardo trailed behind him, slightly more subdued.

"We're back!" he yelled out happily. "Splinter! Don! April! Helllooo?"

"We're over here!" April called back, "There's dinner in the fridge, we've already had ours…and cleaned up. So if you make a mess, you'll suffer my wrath," She placed the magazine on her lap and looked back behind her.

Michelangelo had already begun to invade the refrigerator, bringing out bowls of spaghetti, garlic bread, salad and pasta sauce.

"And dessert?" he squealed in pleasure on spotting a dish of peach cobbler. It found a place resting on his knee and April couldn't help but avoid looking for fear that her very observation would destabilize his balance. Leonardo walked in behind his brother, grabbing the superfluous bits of crockery stacking up in Michelangelo's arms and placing them on the kitchen counter in a calm manner.

"Thanks for dinner, guys." He sang out.

"April, I love it when you're over here, did I ever tell you that?" Michelangelo said gleefully. He was now balancing an assortment of clashing condiments in his arms, and still reaching in for more.

"Multiple times." April replied, a grin on her face. She was still engrossed in solving her crossword, pen tapping absently on her lips. Donatello sat watching her from the corner of his eye, enraptured.

"Mm, so hungry." Michelangelo said between mouthfuls of garlic bread, shoveling in bites like he needed the sustenance just to survive the next few minutes. Raphael walked around the room, approaching the lounge in a tactical way, glancing at Donatello and April until he arrived at his punching post.

"Don't mind me." He said abruptly, intentionally trying to invade their secluded nook.

"Grr." He landed the first punch severely, almost injuring his hand, and then continued to punch the post like he was punishing it for hurting him. He grunted again, his powerful blows all but splitting the wood beneath the padding. He followed it up with a quick combination, ducking to avoid phantom strikes.

"Take that." He yelled, still working out a few of his aggressive kinks from his earlier conversation.

April looked up at Donatello, struck by a new thought.

"You know," she said, eyebrows raised, "maybe I should just take this home with me."

Donatello nodded sympathetically.

"Let me walk you." He didn't even need to say it. He always did. Raphael caught this exchange and interrupted with his usual lack of subtlety.

"Lemme tag along. I need to stretch my legs more, anyway. I insist."

April swiveled from her position to face him.

"Sure, I'd love the company." She was genuinely surprised, but pleasantly surprised.

Donatello shot Raphael an indecipherable look, which only seemed to cement Raphael's resolve. He stood, picking his bo from the table beside him and slotted it into his strap brackets. From the kitchen Leonardo observed this fresh turn of events. He turned his attention back to Michelangelo who seemed lost in mouthfuls of food. Michelangelo shrugged, almost imperceptibly. So, he had noticed.

Great. Leonardo thought cynically. He knew Raphael still had a bee in his bonnet about from their argument on the way home. This would not end well. Although Leonardo was inclined to go with them, he knew Donatello was more than capable of handling his irritable brother - and besides that, it was something he'd eventually have to take on alone.

April rolled onto her feet, and stretched before she gathered her few belongings – a bag, a water canister, her paper. She slipped her shoes back on, resting her arm on Donatello for balance.

"Okay then. Ready?"

Donatello and Raphael had walked April to her front door, at her insistence.

"Please," she said, "Come in, have a coffee before you head out, it's chilly tonight."

Raphael motioned his brother inside, and they sat on her lounge, clean and unblemished compared to theirs, waiting. She turned the radio on, filling in the awkward silence between the brothers.

"Thanks for walking me back." She held some mail between her teeth, and threw her belongings on the table, briefly pilfering through the addressees before throwing them down to join party. In a state of constant movement, she began walking to and fro about the kitchen to gather cups, coffee and sugar.

"You still take it black, right Raph?" she sang out from behind the counter.

Raphael cleared his throat, a coffee would be more than nice right now.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." Raphael felt a deep affection for this woman, Casey was an utter tool to lose her. He watched her womanly fussing, the constant flittering movements to ensure others were happy.

A bright, contagious pop song started playing, and April clapped her hands together.

"Ah, I love this song!" she cried out in delight. Donatello breath took a sharp intake, as the words echoed through his mind.

C'mon, dance with me…

"Let me help you." He said, springing from his seat, trying anything to distract himself. Raphael tapped the armchair thoughtfully, watching as his brother ran around like a goose, assisting her with the unspoken connection of a sous chef. Ridiculous, he thought bitterly, what did he think was going to happen, anyway?

They returned with the drinks, and sat around the small coffee table. April's house seemed so cramped compared to theirs, Raphael thought to himself, he knew that the apartments above were smaller, but this was like a closet. Any length of time inside and he was usually itching to get out again.

"So, did I tell you I started a new job on Tuesday." She sipped, looking at them expectantly over the rim.

Donatello raised his brows at the news, "No."

"Well, I guess it's been a little quiet because I was head-hunted. Look." She picked up her work place pass, attached to a lanyard, and flicked it over to him.

'Falcon Pharmaceuticals.' He read aloud.

"Hey hey, nice photo." Raphael commented with a throaty chuckle.

April rolled her eyes.

"Don't get me started."

"Where is this place?" Donatello asked her, handing it back.

"It's a new company over on the east side." She explained. "Nice set-up. You'd like it."

"Well then, congratulations, Miss O'Neil." He tipped his cup against her mug. She flushed at the compliment, and drank deeply. She began animatedly to explain the inner workings of her new employer to Donatello over the next twenty minutes, and Raphael, unable to understand three words in five, dared not interrupt their technical babble.

Good god, he thought bemusedly, this is torture. Not only was he trapped in here, he had to listen to the two of them talk in something that may as well have been Chinese.

"Well," Donatello said at length, looking over at his brother sitting somberly with his empty mug. "We should go."

They exchanged their farewells briefly as she hugged them goodbye, lingering on Donatello.

"See you soon?" she asked. She gazed into his kind eyes, so dark they were almost black.

"Whenever you want." He replied to her quietly. Raphael stood nearby, arms folded. He looked out the window in irritation.

"C'mon, Donnie. Let's get this show on the road."

They left via the fire escape into the night, so quickly that April could barely believe they had just been standing in front of her. With the silence of their expert training, they scrambled down the ladder to drop quietly on the footpath below. An evening breeze picked up their mask tails, idling them in the wind. Raphael spotted their manhole further down the alleyway and motioned his brother. They ran nimbly to the grate, lifting its weight with practiced ease, and descended into the tunnels below.

...

"So what is it?" Donatello said flatly, as soon as their feet touched the dank sewer floor.

Raphael had just let go of the ladder's metal handle and was caught off guard by his brother's preemptive strike, although he realized he probably shouldn't have been.

"Huh?"

Donatello continued to beat him to the punch: "I assume you came along to tell me something."

They began to walk in the dim light along a straight channel, the street lights from above filtering below, reflecting off the sluggish streams of water. Donatello could not have been more correct; Raphael rarely offered to take April topside, not out of lack of concern, but usually because she was being accompanied by Donatello. The very thought irked Raphael.

He shook his head, giving his brother an intense stare. With Leonardo he would be screaming already, but with Donatello it was different - he was extremely calculated in his answers, his frightening intelligence able to shrivel even the most hostile of arguments under its lens. And Raphael had been on the receiving end more times than he cared to remember.

"I just hope you know what you're doing, Don." They both jumped over something large and rancid as it floated downstream. Probably a dead rat, he thought distantly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Donatello asked in a tight voice. He already knew what Raphael was alluding to, but wanted to hear it aloud. He was ready to get this out in the open and be done with it.

"Don't play dumb, Donnie. You're playing with fire." he growled.

Donatello shook his head, dismissively.

"I don't see how this is any of your business." he answered evenly, his blank eyes fixed ahead.

Raphael bristled.

"Not my business? Not my business?! I've had Casey telling me he wants to fuckin' punch yer lights out for the last two days. He knows there's something between you two. You've been sniffin' around his girl, Donnie, even a blind man could see."

A slight snarl appeared on Donatello's lips. The vulgarity of the expression inflamed in him a deep seated fury.

"Then maybe your blind man should get his facts straight." Donatello said icily, "And if Casey even tries to touch me, I'll break his arms."

Raphael believed him; he'd almost had it happen to him in the dojo with a viscous swing of Donatello's bo. And coming from Donatello, the turtle less interested in getting violent than any of the others, it wasn't just a threat. Fun times. He tried switching tact.

"I just don't want this whole thing to become an issue." By which he meant what exactly, he wondered. Maybe Leonardo was right, they had no control over this mess, it was too late to fix anyway.

Ah, Raph, such the peacekeeper, Raphael thought to himself bitterly.

Donatello answered him straight: "Then tell him he has nothing to worry about with me."

Raphael snorted in disgust, this was not going well.

"And why would he believe that?"

"Because I said so." His calm was unnerving, the tone factual and emotionless, "Because she will find someone better than him. And me."

Michelangelo was right, Raphael thought in vague shock. Who would have thought that his itty-bitty brother had such insight? Donatello had no intention of acting on any feelings he had towards April. Not because he was bound to some 'bull-shito' code like Leonardo, but because he genuinely wanted what was best for her. And life in the sewers weren't it.

"Well, yeah." He agreed, taken aback, although he probably wouldn't mention that last part to his friend. "That won't be hard. Casey's a knuckle-head. There'd be rocks she'd be better off marrying."

"Exactly." Donatello said with a cold and collected finality.

The conversation was over.

Leonardo watched with gauged interest as Donatello and Raphael re-entered the lair. He sat at the kitchen table, tending to the care of the wooden weaponry from the dojo as Donatello, his face blank with fury, sauntered off stiffly towards his room. Donatello clicked the door shut behind him, and before long his brothers could hear him start up a grinder, the metal screaming as the spinning teeth bit into it.

"Well someone's a little ticked off, and this time it's not Raph." Michelangelo said without taking his eyes of his video game. Punch, punch, block, rinse and repeat - his button mashing was proving to be wonderfully relaxing. And these punches didn't hurt.

Leonardo, who had been waiting for them to return, walked over to his brother.

"What did you say to him?" He demanded calmly, the oiled cloth still wound around his hand.

Raphael lifted his hands and dropped them in surrender, still pleased with himself.

"Mikey! My little brother…" Raphael drawled in a scarily happy demeanor. He grabbed his younger brother in the crook of his arm and rubbed his head with his knuckles. "A noogie for you, ya little sewer bunny!"

"Gah, my game! At least let me pause it!"

"Lemme do it for ya." Raphael reached over and pressed a button on the controller. Michelangelo looked up at him suspiciously. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so accommodating. Thrown his controller across the room, maybe, but pause his game?

"You did say something!" he quickly deduced, eyes wide with shock.

"We just had a little conversation, is all." Raphael said. "It's sorted." He collapsed onto the sofa, propping his feet up.

Michelangelo tsk'ed.

Leonardo could barely contain his annoyance. Finally he gave a small sigh. It was never enough for Raphael to just let things be.

"I thought we had discussed this. Why did you have to go and poke the hive?"

Raphael shook his head knowingly.

"Ah Leo, such a wise leader... ya couldn't find yer ass with two hands and a flashlight. Turns out Mikey here was right all along."

"Say what?" Michelangelo cut in. He had wrangled free from Raphael and had perched himself on the arm of an adjacent sofa, ready to spring like a frog at a moments notice. And with Raphael like this, it was only a matter of time.

"That's right, turns out our brother only wants what best for her, and knows he ain't it. So now all this bullshit can finally blow over… Case can get off my back, those two chumps can get along, Casey and April can hook up again, maybe get married, have kids, blah, blah, blah. The whole nine."

Raphael, who had only wanted to restore the balance between his friends and family, thought he had it all figured out. Michelangelo shook his head,

"You are such a bonehead, Raph."

Raphael kicked his leg out intending to topple his brother over, but Michelangelo sprang. He landed neatly on the floor behind the sofa… until Raphael kicked the whole singular module he had been squatting on towards him. It knocked him front on and he fell backwards onto his rear.

"Ow!" Michelangelo yelped.

"Yer welcome." He said with a large measure of satisfaction.

"Mikey's right, alright." Leonardo said softly, the fury unmistakable, "You're a selfish ass."

"Yer welcome." Raphael repeated, waving his hands in the air as his grin morphed into an angry glare.

Leonardo looked back over his shoulder at the laboratory door. It was hard to believe that only hours ago Donatello had been locked in there; and that now he had voluntarily confined himself in. Restricted to his quarters only to be surrounded by his machinery, he would be more alone than ever. If what Raphael had said was true, then he knew the burden his brother would have to bear would be impossibly heavy, but with Raphael pressing down on it, so much worse. He didn't know if he should admire him, or weep for him. He breathed out slowly and made his way back to the steady work of polishing and sanding, hoping that some kind of answer to this predicament would come to him in the steady rhythm of the task.

"Leo...Raph.." Michelangelo suddenly called out, his voice frantic. He looked around wildly between the two. "Where's my trophy?"

Donatello flipped up his goggles.

"This should work fine." He thought.

He twisted the hovercraft model around, observing it from other angles. Maybe he would need to slightly adjust the weight distribution, but it was otherwise proficient.

Donatello put the scaled model down, exhausted. He had not had proper sleep since the night before his unfortunate sojourn into the warehouse district, something that already seemed forever ago. He had bathed earlier, having quickly ducked in before dinner to rinse off the cold sweat that seemed to break out whenever his mind wandered too far into his dreams, and finally felt sleep beckoning his body. The problem of his of sleep-walking bothered him. He wouldn't be so foolish as to lock himself in again, but maybe, he thought, he could tether himself to his bed. He searched for a rope amongst his piles of tools, knowing he had recently used one when out exploring the sewers. He eventually spotted it, coiled up beside the metal detritus, and wound a dead knot over one of his hands. Sitting at the edge of his bed, he leaned over and tied the ropes free end to the foot of the frame.

He briefly stopped, recalling something he had been given by April. From his belt he produced the little drawing, drawn onto a scrap of notebook paper. The key. He unfolded it, holding it gently, his eyes tracing the free spirited lines by her hand. He sighed quietly, tacking it to the desk beside his bed, a precious memento of their time together. He could only dream what it would open. He closed his eyes tightly as the words of Raphael invaded his reverie like a strangling weed.

I just hope you know what you're doing, Don, his voice seemed to mock. He lay back, relaxing his body into the soft foam.

When it came to April, he never knew what he was doing. He was lost at sea, and she a star in the sky that could lead him home; the guiding light he could not follow. But the more he pushed away, the closer he became. Their dance was like an exponential formula, he realized, always approaching zero, but never touching it. The pain of that truth rendered him immobile. The pain did not seem beautiful at all. He just wanted to close his eyes, and never wake again.