Disclaimer: I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I own only whatever little insanities they happen to perform under my direction. Theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.
Because, you know, stealing is wrong.
Title: Getting to Know You
Summary: Oneshots. It takes some getting used to, hanging around mutant ninja turtles. "As she opened the door, the faintest trace of smoke hit her like a slap to the face."
Rating: T
Warnings: none
Author Notes: April/Donnie centric. No romance. Friendship.
Security
Good friends offer to help in a crisis. Great friends don't take no for an answer.
– Bree, Desperate Housewives
April awoke to the shrilling of her bedside phone and fumbled gracelessly for the receiver. The numbers 03:21 blazed at her from her alarm clock, prompting a put-upon moan as she raised the phone to her ear.
"'Lo?"
"April? I need you to go downstairs for a minute."
It took a solid minute for her brain to process both the identity of the voice and the strange request, during which said voice had prompted 'April?' a second time.
"Donnie?" she slurred. "D'you know what time it is?"
"Three-twenty-four ante meridian. Are you up?" His voice sounded a tad breathless and halting, as though he were speaking and performing his daily exercises at the same time.
"What's downstairs?"
"Humor me, April. Just go downstairs and have a look around."
The thought of 'Stuff like this never happened before I knew ninjas' drifted through her sleep-blurred mind, but she sighed and murmured a put-upon, "Fine, fine. I'll have to leave the phone, though."
"That's fine."
"Okay."
She set the receiver down and wriggled out of her (nice, warm, comfortable) bed. Clad only in a tank top and a pair of soft cotton shorts, her hair a wild mess, she padded out of her bedroom and through the living room. She had to undo the lock on the door to the stairwell – her 'last line of defense,' to keep the living area upstairs separate from the store proper, – and as she opened the door, the faintest trace of smoke upon the air hit her like a slap to the face.
"Oh, no."
She hit the hall lightswitch. Her heart double-timed as she saw the faint haze hanging in the air, and she clattered down the stairs with such haste that she stumbled and nearly fell on the last step. The smell was stronger downstairs, thick enough to make her cough when she opened the door to the store. Turning on the light, she could easily see the pale whisps of smoke veiling the room.
Barely aware of her own voice chanting no, no, no, please, no, she tried to find the source. The smoke hung in the air evenly, and there was no sign of flames – nothing to lead her to the cause, and it was only getting worse.
Visions of flames and the burnt-out husks of buildings filled her mind. Her entire home gone in a blaze of fire, leaving nothing but ash and charred brick behind.
As her panic was about to build beyond where she could clearly think, the faint wail of sirens sounded, drawing nearer and louder, and she ran to the door just as the fire-department arrived outside.
The sidewalk was freezing beneath her feet as she ran outside. The sirens were deafening so close, but as the truck pulled to a halt, gleaming chrome and shining scarlet, the hideous noise ceased, and men in fire-fighting garb began to disembark.
"Ma'am?" One of them caught her by the shoulders as his fellows disembarked from the massive red engine, peering into her face. "Are you okay? Is this your building?"
"Yes! There's smoke in the front area – there, the store area. I can't find where it's coming from!"
"Okay. We'll take care of it. Johnson!" He repeated what she had said to another fireman, and the other started calling out orders to the others. Soon there was a team of men within the store, examining it inch-by-inch.
The man led her to the back of the fire-engine and wrapped her in a blanket that smelled of metal and soot and pressed her to sit on the back of the truck. He stood beside her, sometimes speaking over a radio.
April was aware of several things, disjointed – there were people on the sidewalks and in the windows of the surrounding buildings, staring; the moon was full, high overhead, but any stars were lost in the yellow-orange haze of light pollution from the city; the fireman had blue eyes, almost aquamarine.
Moments later, or perhaps hours, one of the fireman approached, a tall, thin floorlamp in his grasp. He set it down in front of her.
"Here you go," he said. "Bad wiring. Found it plugged in beside the desk."
"That?" April stared. "That's not supposed to be on the floor! I had it behind the desk so no one would mess with it. I needed to redo the wiring. It wouldn't light."
The man shrugged. "Someone plugged it in, left it switched on."
April could picture it. A curious customer, poking around where they shouldn't. Examining the lamp, plugging it in. Switch on, switch off, switch on – no results. Leave it plugged in, leave the store. There was no way she could watch the store every moment. She had to use the bathroom, answer the phone, look for something in the back room… A few minutes of inattention.
Dear god.
The blue-eyed fireman spoke. "Your security company called it in. Good thing you had them monitoring your place, huh?"
"My security company?" she echoed, but the fireman had turned and was talking over the radio again.
Things settled quickly after that. The firemen did another walk-through, to be certain that there were no other hazards present. They gathered up their equipment, and at her asking, they threw the guilty lamp in the dumpster behind the building. April returned the blanket, and the blue-eyed man bade her a good night, advising her to 'stay safe.' She wondered if that was something they were trained to say in firefighter school, but then the fire-engine was pulling away, and she was able to retreat back into her shop and lock the door, pulling the blinds to block out the crowds of prying eyes still lurking outside.
The smell of smoke remained but now only a reminder rather than a warning. She leaned against the counter and waited for her heartbeat to slow.
"April?"
She jerked in surprise, looking up to find a familiar figure lurking in the door to the stairwell. Donatello peered around the room curiously, his battered duffelbag secure over one shoulder.
"Donnie?" Her voice quavered traitorously.
"Hey." He eased nearer to her, expression concerned. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Uh, busy night. How did you…? You knew what was going on. How?"
"Well, you have a really good security system in place, you know?"
She shook her head. "Donnie, I haven't had an active security system in here since I met you guys. I couldn't afford the payments, not on what the shop brings in."
Fidget, fidget. "We, uh… changed your provider?"
"What?"
He grinned at her, a little uneasily, and proclaimed, "Turtle Home Security, at your service!"
She merely stared at him, and he started to explain in that rapid, animated manner that meant he was speaking of a topic close to his tech-loving heart.
"Well, the equipment was mostly here – the sensors on the doors and windows and whatnot, even some cameras in the front room and out back. Not great stuff, but definitely workable with some upgrades, and they were already hooked up for long-distance monitoring. It was simply a matter of creating a link between them and the lair computers. For added security, I added some atmospheric and temperature monitors in the ventilation system and at the corners of the room like what we have in the lair in case something goes wrong in the lab. Pretty sensitive little guys, really."
"… sensitive?"
"Let's just say that before I had them calibrated correctly, Master Splinter's meditation candles caused a bit of a stir."
She giggled, and the turtle's half-tense posture relaxed. He reached out and grasped her hand, tugging her toward the stairs.
"Come on. You're freezing... and when a reptile tells you that, you know it's bad!"
He herded her upstairs, checking the locks, turning out the lights. Her feet were almost numb. She held onto the banister like a lifeline all the way up the stairs.
"Donnie… I-I can't thank you enough. I always have this fear that this place would catch fire – there's a lot of old wiring in here, old lights, stuff like that. I don't know how I can repay you."
"Don't even worry about it."
He held the apartment door open for her, and she marveled that a bunch of turtles, raised by a rat in the sewers, could be more chivalrous than men raised with all the education and benefits of modern society. Splinter was a marvel of a father, that was for sure.
Donatello redid all the locks for her while April went to the couch to grab the throw off the back, wrapping it around her shoulders. The soft fabric soothed her.
"Where are the others?"
Donatello laughed softly. "Raph and Mikey? In bed, trying out out-snore each other. Leo, in the kitchen, drinking tea with Master Splinter. It's impossible to leave the lair without them knowing, and Master Splinter always wants to know where we're going."
April glanced at the kitchen clock. Four-fifteen. Not even an hour since she had woken. It seemed like it had been much longer.
"Hey, why don't you go back to bed?" Donatello was peering at her with that intent little frown that Michelangelo called his 'Dr. Donnie' face. "You're pale."
April laughed. "Well, you're a little green yourself. I've got some Dramamine in the medicine cabinet…"
"Funny." Donatello rolled his eyes. "Seriously, April, you should sleep."
"I won't be able to. Might as well greet the day." She headed for the kitchen, wondering if she had any eggs left for an omelet. "Feel like breakfast?"
"Well…"
"I've got coffee. Besides, I want to hear more about these 'atmospheric monitors' of yours. Do you have the schematics with you?"
The turtle smiled broadly and set his duffel down on the dining table. "You had me at 'coffee.'"
End Security