April woke from her awkward sprawl on the couch, alarmed at the unfamiliarity of not being in her bed. Squinting at the wan morning sunlight through the blinds, she untangled herself from the wad of blanket that had been tucked over her with care. She scowled when she realized that Raphael had left her after all. Her glare softened when she saw the pillow he had arranged in place of his shoulder. Carefully draping her robe over her pajamas, she uncertainly called Raphael's name.
No answer.
The silence in the apartment was so much louder than before. Worried, she shoved her feet into her slippers and rose to look for him, automatically palming the cell phone. She winced at the torture of last night's aftermath, the tears blurring the room when she thought of Mikey again. It had been only three days since he had stood in her small kitchen. Remnants of their last conversation flickered through her mind like ghosts as she exhaled a shaking breath. She didn't know it was their last time together. None of them could have possibly known that. And yet…
"Hey, April…can we talk?"
April looked up in surprise at the sudden,odd question. Dubiously, she shrugged. "Sure, Mike. What's on your mind?"
"Have you ever seen anybody do this before?"
Mikey asked the question around the slice of pizza he was gnawing on. April cocked an eyebrow to see the turtle strangely poised on the stool he had balanced with only one of its three feet still on the floor. The thin line of disbelief grew sharper between her eyebrows as she gestured towards him.
"How in the world do you balance like that, Mike?" He gave her a wide grin, as he tossed the remains of his pizza slice high, tilted his mouth back, and caught it with one smug gulp. She flinched as the stool twisted beneath him, and toppled. April watched in disbelief as Mikey leapt off the stool as it fell, doing a backflip and landing beside her. Sheepishly, he picked up the stool, and righted it with an apologetic shrug. "Sorry…I hope I didn't damage it."
April gave him a thin, tolerant smile. "That was some trick, Mikey. Has Splinter got you doing flips as part of your routine now?"
He hitched his shoulders again, palms wide. "Naw….I just thought it would be fun to try here."
She pursed her lips. "Next time, take your flips outside, or back to your dojo, okay? I don't want any more broken dishes."
He scowled at that, a minute flicker before he brightened again. "I used the pizza money to replace those, you know. Surely it's even now?" He ducked his head, eyes rising in the unspoken look of a whipped puppy. She sighed, tolerantly. "Yes, Mike. You know it's forgiven."
He gave her that radiating smile. "Thanks!" Coming from anybody else, it would have sounded contrived, or sarcastic.
"Did you have something on your mind, Mike?"
Uneasily, he nodded, as he slid back onto the stool, all frivolity vanishing. The merry mouth thinned out to a grim, uncertain line, as he sighed again, and propped his chin in one hand.
Concerned, April took her perch on the other side of the counter, where they could face each other. She watched as the troubled, serious look flickered over his face, and marred the bright smile with its sudden gravity.
"Actually, April, I was sort of wondering if you could do something for me." Mikey's voice was odd, heavy and measured, and even tense.
April frowned at him, worried now. "Mikey?"
"I know it's gonna sound weird, April, but lately, I've been thinking about things, and well…"
His shoulders hitched as his voice trailed off. April scowled when the long silence left her curiosity unsated.
"What things have you been thinking about, Mikey?"
His eyes met hers, searing as a burn, in their intensity. He lightly touched her hand, as if trying to drive the meaning of his words deeper. "April, I've been thinking about how life is like a pizza."
Her eyebrows shot skyward, and disappeared into her red bangs. "A pizza?" She asked, dubiously.
Mikey nodded, with no laughter at the absurd remark. April halted her chuckles when she realized that in his own odd way, Mikey was being serious with the analogy.
"Yeah….it only lasts a little while, especially around us." Mikey gestured towards himself, his eyes darkening with some unexplained sadness. It was a simple remark, but April felt as if she had been punched in the gut. It hurt that much to hear Mikey even contemplating something so immense.
"Mikey….why are you even thinking like this?"
His features contorted in agony that he managed to squelch with a forced, bright smile, as he attempted to dazzle April's distress away with another antic.
"Actually, I'm just really, really hungry. You got any slices left over?" He pulled his bottom lip into an exaggerated pout when April shook her head. He drew a measured breath, carefully gauging her reaction, and gently easing her back into the more comfortable conversation. He was both saddened and gratified to see that it was working. He was a bit disappointed that he couldn't share some of his troubling thoughts with a friend. So many times, he felt the groundswell of the deeper things just below the surface, writhing like something trapped and clawing to get out. Donny sometimes listened, and when he did, was often shocked at the perception and the empathy that Mikey had towards all of them. Though their baby brother left it unspoken, he had an uncanny knack for understanding them. Whenever one of his brothers was distressed, he would charm out their smiles, however begrudgingly won, regardless of the cost of holding so much in. In a way, his laughter was a much armor and protection as Don's intellect, or Raph's anger. And he poured out all that he had of it to bring a bit of light into the dark sewers, a shaft of hope against the encroaching despair. He was regarded as naïve, and treated as an innocent, protected, and babied, and lavished on. He bore it with unending patience, accepted the shackles and the limits of being the youngest, because he knew they needed him to be. Raph needed somebody to protect so that he could keep the scraps of his morality intact. Donny needed his loving tolerance and listening when he got lost in his intellectual angst. And Leo needed somebody to give him reassurance that somebody trusted him with his life. Mikey was the only one who never quibbled with his oldest brother about orders, though he might fuss about extra training once in a while.
He left those thoughts unspoken, as April just stared at him, narrowed eyed, and wary. "Mikey, are you sure that everything's alright?"
He hitched his shoulders, and carefully sat the envelope on the table between them. "I know that this will be a weird request, April, but could you do me a favor? Please?" He conjured up the wounded puppy look again, as she sighed, relenting.
"It depends on the favor, but what is it?" He threw back his hands in surrender. "No biggie, I promise. Just in case something happens to me…..would you give the guys this?"
He tapped the envelope. She frowned, scared now. "Why? Mikey, are you-"
He stopped the flood of her terrified questions with a quirk of his lips, and a gentle arm over her shoulders in reassurance.
"April, I'm fine. Believe me, Donny would know in a heartbeat if I wasn't. And don't worry, I'm not planning anything stupid. It's just in case something happens to me…not that anything ever would."
She sighed, both touched and a bit frightened at the amount of trust he just placed in her. Nodding, she took the envelope, and saw that it wasn't sealed. Maybe Mikey didn't care, but she would consider it nothing less than a violation to read it now.
"I'll keep it safe, Mikey, but only if you promise me that you'll never, ever do anything that would make this even necessary."
The hand on her shoulder squeezed her in gratitude, as he gave her his brightest smile. "I promise that I won't. Can't really vouch for the rest of the world, though."
She was surprised at the sudden burn of tears that she had to blink away. "I hope so, too, Mikey. I really hope so."
He looked at her, opened his mouth to apologize for making her cry, and shut it when he realized it would just embarrass the hell out of her. It was impulsive. He suddenly leaped skyward, gleefully banged a nunchuck against the ceiling, and rebounded with a flourishing bow, and a smirk. When he heard her laughter, he breathed a sigh of relief in knowing he had done something to make somebody a bit happy. It was always time well-spent, regardless of how frivolous the rest of his brothers viewed it.
It was only in looking back that April really saw how precious that time truly was. She had forgotten about the envelope, thinking that it was another impulsive thing that Mikey did on a whim. She had no idea what was written in the letter. She had never opened it. Now that it was tragically necessary, she decided to give it to the Turtles whenever they made arrangements for whatever they were going to do about their dead brother. She shuddered at the thought, dug through the drawer and left it sitting on the table beside the couch.
She looked, worriedly around the empty apartment, and made her way slowly to the kitchen, hoping to find Raphael there. To her surprise, Raphael was scowling over the rancid pot of coffee he had attempted to make, the foul smell reeking in the small kitchen. He lurched in surprise when she entered, and sheepishly, he poured the burning liquid down the drain with a shrug.
"Thought I'd try to make us a pot before we hit the road. Master Splinter called. He wanted us at the lair in an hour."
He did not meet her eyes as he snarled at the coffee pot and scrubbed it until it was in danger of shattering. April backed away, before hesitantly asking, "Do you want me to come?" Raphael did not answer for a long moment, as he deliberately set the pot down in the sink. Eyes narrowing, he finally faced her.
"Why the hell wouldn't you?" His voice was taunt as a noose, and eerily quiet, as April only breathed.
"Ya lost somebody too, didn't cha?" Raphael ground out, as April bit her lip, eyes flooding.
"Raph…." It was almost pleading, and Raphael had the grace enough to look contrite. After all, she did allow him a night of peace and boo-hooing without censure. His face contorted into the ravaged lines that he could barely force into the angered, grief-ridden snarl.
"Damn it-" He laid a palm against the counter, and April saw his knuckles turn white from the harsh grip. He shut his eyes, shuddering, before he finally forced out the words.
"Sorry…I just…" The apology was negated by April shaking her head, with a sad look.
She met his eyes with soft understanding. "Raph, you're doing the best you can with this, so you don't need to apologize any more. Why don't we get ready to leave?"