Author's Note: I don't own even a single turtle, much less four mutated ones... You get the idea.

Please enjoy!

Bound
By KameTerra

Chapter 4
Moths to the Light

Don was just gathering the materials to make agarose gel for Leatherhead when his shell cell began ringing. He was tempted to ignore it, but thought better of it when he remembered Leo's words to him as he departed the lair. The last thing he needed right now was another reason to be reprimanded. He walked across the room to where the phone was, and relaxed when he saw the name on the display.

"Hey Mikey," he said by way of greeting.

"Well if it isn't Donatello, my new personal hero!" came Michelangelo's enthusiastic voice. "Just had to call and say 'thank you' from the bottom of my heart, dude! Been meaning to give Raph a good licking myself, but you managed it way better than I could have—he never even saw it coming! You gotta teach me some of those moves," Mikey laughed. "I was almost tempted to relinquish my Battle Nexus title to you…"

Don shook his head silently. Anyone else would have tried to tiptoe around such a potentially sensitive topic, but leave it to Mikey to dig right in.

"Yeah, well I think you were the only one who was impressed." Don said soberly. They both fell silent then, and in his mind Don pictured Raphael's face as he had last seen it—blood streaming down, not a trace of his usual cockiness in evidence. And even angry as he still was at his brother, his heart sank a little.

Mike continued on again in his usual, easy tone. "Raph's fine, you know—luckily he has an especially hard head. You did a number on his face, for sure, but all that blood was just from a small cut on his forehead—you know how head wounds are. Looked like it just split from the impact. He didn't even need stitches, which was fortunate for him cuz none of us have your talent for doin' 'em anyway."

Don exhaled slowly, more relieved than he wanted to admit. He hadn't been able to bring himself to ask about Raph, but it was just like his younger brother to know exactly what Don wanted to hear without even being told—Mikey could be extraordinarily sensing at times.

"Anyway, Leo wanted me to ask if you're gonna to be home for training in the morning."

Translation: Leo was worried and had asked Mikey to check up on him. Ever since returning from Central America, Don knew their older brother had been trying very hard not to be so overprotective of them—but he couldn't stop himself from worrying. Besides, Leo knew perfectly well that Splinter would not look kindly upon Don skipping practice for something like this, so phrasing it as a question was just a sham. He scowled a little, though Mikey couldn't see it. If this had happened tomorrow night, he would be off the hook since the day after tomorrow was their one morning off from group training this week. But as it was, he would be expected to attend.

"Raph gonna be there?" he asked, hoping against hope that Raph would be given the day off because of his injuries.

"Uh, dunno bro. He kinda… skipped off soon as I doctored him up a bit."

Don winced and closed his eyes. It wasn't hard to guess where he'd gone.

"Donny," Mike began, hesitation in his voice for the first time. "Raph told us what he told you…guess he figured he might as well get it over with since he was already bloodied up, in case we decided to kick his ass, too," he said, obviously trying to keep it light. "Anyway…"

Don't say it, Mikey… please, just don't say it, Don pleaded silently. He had only recently regained some semblance of control over his emotions, and it was still a fragile balance.

"…I'm real sorry buddy," Mikey said with genuine sympathy. "I know you and April-,"

"I don't want to talk about it," Donatello cut across quickly, angry that he couldn't seem to keep tears from springing to his eyes. Then he realized how harsh his voice had sounded, and reminded himself that his brother was just trying to be nice. "But thanks," he said quietly.

"Sure…" Mike said gently. Then he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Also, just thought I'd give you a heads up—Leo had to tell Splinter what happened. I told him Sensei might not notice Raph's new look since he's so ugly in the first place, but Leo seemed to feel otherwise so… he filled Master Splinter in on everything, including the, uh, circumstances behind it."

There was a moment of silence, then Don responded, "It's okay, I figured as much."

It was no great revelation to him. He had assumed Master Splinter would be told, one way or another, and he knew he would have to face the music when he returned. It was ironic that they spent countless hours every week learning how to fight, and yet breaking the 'no fighting' rule was one of the most heavily penalized transgressions of the household. Of course, fighting in that sense was referring to violence directed at a family member with actual malignant intent, so getting carried away during practice and accidentally using too much force didn't count. Minor scuffles resulting from arguments occurred frequently as well, and in an environment so saturated with testosterone, it was no small wonder… but these incidents were often overlooked as long as nothing got out of hand and no real harm was intended. And of course, there were the inevitable fights that slipped under Master Splinter's radar, though granted that was only possible if there were no physical signs of it.

Donatello had no illusions about what he had done, however. He'd had malignant intent, all right; he'd flat out attacked his brother—something he'd never thought himself capable of doing. The fact that he'd done it in a blind rage only made it worse as far as he was concerned, and he dreaded confessing to Splinter that he'd so completely lost control. He felt a flutter of panic at the thought of seeing Raphael the next day, because not only would his brother's mere physical presence force Don to recall the recent and repulsive twist to his personal world, but his injuries would provide incontrovertible evidence of his own appalling reaction.

As he thought about what the next morning would bring, he started to get that feeling again—the sensation of being trapped, forced in to a corner by the inevitability of an undesired confrontation. He just needed some more time, that was all—then he'd be able to face things a bit easier… he wasn't ready… But he knew Master Splinter didn't believe in putting off such things.

Then a thought came to him, spoken in his mind as if by someone else: Why should you go to training, then? Aren't you an adult? Can't you decide on your own what's best for you? And Donatello realized that should he decide not to go, any number of arguments or punishments may result, but no one would physically force him to attend. The decision was his—and he felt the same surging sense of power he'd had when he had refused to answer Leo's questions. At once, instead of just a dead end, he saw two different pathways… and the choice was his alone.

Suddenly, it didn't seem so scary anymore.

"Donny?" said Michelangelo tentatively.

"Uh, sorry, I was thinking. Just… tell Master Splinter and Leo I'll be there tomorrow for group, but I'll just jog over from LH's instead of warming up with you guys."

"No prob, bro. See you tomorrow then, and have fun… uh, what did you say you were doing?"

"I didn't."

"Anything I'd care about?"

"Fraid not, Mikey—I'm just making some fresh gel treys for electrophoresis."

Don heard a sigh on the other end. "Just once, couldn't the answer be, 'yeah, I'm making a freakin' awesome present for my dashing, charming, favorite brother Michelangelo'?"

"Sorry, I don't know a Michelangelo meeting that description…"

"Hey!" exclaimed the younger turtle in indignation. Then he snickered and said, "Well, at least I know I'll get a present before Raph does."

Don smiled in spite of himself. At least he could always count on Mikey for that.

"See you tomorrow, little brother," he said, and ended the call. Setting his phone back down on the only chair in the lab, he returned to the workstation and looked back at the "recipe" to refocus his mind on what he had to do.

When he had arrived here, out of breath and still daubed with his brother's blood, Leatherhead had looked puzzled and slightly alarmed, but he had put off any questions and unhesitatingly invited Don in, offering to prepare food and tea. Although he hadn't yet eaten dinner, Don had declined the offer of food but had taken him up on the tea. Washing up before joining the giant crocodilian at the table, he had simply sipped the hot beverage, feeling the soothing blend take effect as they talked about inconsequential things. At first, he hadn't been sure he was even going to say anything to his friend about what had happened, but then he'd reasoned that if anyone would understand it would be Leatherhead. LH knew what it felt like to lose control, having once attacked Michelangelo while staying with them at their old lair. So after a time, Donatello had relayed the events that had brought him here.

The kind reptile had merely sighed sympathetically, and asked Don if there was anything he could do. Don had asked if he could stay over, and had also requested something to do—anything at all, as long is it didn't require too much thought and would keep him busy for a time. LH had complied, saying he could always use fresh gels for his current genetic research, and Don had gratefully gone to work.

As he finished gathering the necessary glassware and utensils, Donatello tried to put everything else from his mind but the task at hand. He felt unusually exhausted considering it wasn't even very late, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep for a good long while. Some time later, just as he was preparing to put the finished solution in the lab microwave, his cell started ringing again. Don made a noise of frustration at the interruption, but he walked over and answered the phone—Mikey again.

"Hey," he answered.

"Hey Don, sorry to bug you again, but uh…April came to the lair looking for you…" Mike's voice sounded a bit distant and seemed to echo somewhat.

"Oh yeah?" said Don, and before he could stop himself, "Are you sleeping with her now, too?" Immediately upon saying it he regretted the words, and he was repulsed by the ugliness in his voice.

There was a sudden scrambling on Michelangelo's end, and when he next spoke his voice sounded closer, clearer. "Uh, guess I shoulda warned ya you were on speaker phone," he said uncomfortably.

Don immediately sank down onto the chair, and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. "April's there with you." I am such an asshole.

"Yeah, well, she was afraid you wouldn't answer if she called, so um, yeah," Mike said, trying to recover.

"Very astute," was all Don said.

Mike paused. "So, like, are you gonna talk to her now?"

"Can't. I'm pretty busy, and I need two hands to do this."

"Oh. Welll then, it's a good thing you won't need your phone…we're right outside."

Don's heart immediately accelerated, thumping painfully in his chest. "You're here?? Right NOW? How'd you get here without Leatherhead picking you up on security?"

"Yeah, thing is, we kinda called ahead..."

Donatello swore under his breath. "Well, you wasted a trip. I don't have anything to say."

"Whaddya mean? LH already invited us in, and he said he'd watch a movie with me if I share some of the snacks I brought…"

Donatello's palms began to sweat. Trapped, I'm trapped... Then he heard a faint voice in the background followed by some fumbling noises, and April's voice came to him over the line.

"Don, it's me," she said.

Trying to ignore the way his insides were twisting, Don remained silent.

"Listen, since we're here anyway, can't we just talk?"

"I don't have anything to say," he said in a monotone that belied the astounding contortions his emotions were currently undergoing.

There was a pause, then, "That's fine, you don't have to say anything. But can I come in anyway?"

He began to panic—she really was determined to come in, and he didn't have any idea how he would react. None of the realistic possibilities were at all appealing… like vomiting (which seemed the most likely at this point), or bursting in to hysterical tears, or attacking her as he had his brother… But then he calmed himself by saying, I don't have to stay. If she comes in, and I want to leave, I can just go.

Finally he said, "It's not my place, I can't stop you."

"Okay," she said faintly, and a moment later Mike's voice came back on.

"K, bro, we'll see you in a min-,"

"Hold on, Mikey, not so fast!" Don interjected. "What the hell possessed you to bring her here? You couldn't possibly have thought it was a good idea! And here I thought you had my shell…"

"I do, dude! I mean, I usually mostly always do, but see, there were extenuating circumstances…"

"Mikey!"

"It wasn't my fault! She, she used her… uh, feminine wiles on me, man, real tricksy, Jedi-worthy mind tricks, I think she must've jinxed me or something, probably has a Ring of Power for all I know, or maybe kryptonite…"

Don knew when his little brother started mixing so many movie references together like that, he was really flustered. "MIKEY!"

There was a sigh, and then Mike said sheepishly, "She gave me cookies."

Don could only smack his head.

"But they weren't just any cookies!" he added hurriedly. "I wouldn't have sold you out for anything but the best—homemade oatmeal butterscotch." That last was stated in a reverent tone reserved for only the most choice food items.

Don sighed. Guess the rate has gone down, he thought. Used to be thirty pieces of silver. "Well, I'm glad you have standards when it comes to matters of defection," he muttered, and he swore he could actually hear his brother's brain trying to work out what 'defection' was. "Oh, just come in before you hurt yourself," he said in surrender, and he tried to quell the whirlwind of butterflies that had taken flight in his abdomen.

"All righty, Mikey out."

Don ended the call and set the phone down again, taking a moment to prepare himself for the next episode of "Unbelievably Awkward Conversations with Family Members and Close Friends Who Now Happen to be Lovers." He had serious doubts as to his ability to endure the entire thing—he would just have to do his best to make sure it was over with quickly. Let her say whatever it is she feels she has to say, and then think up some excuse to get them to leave, he told himself.

He walked back over to the work station and read the instructions yet again. Then he put the solution to heat in the microwave. He tried to appear casual, but his ears were straining for the sound of footsteps. Finally he heard someone approaching, and he turned towards the counter so he wouldn't be facing her when she came in, his stomach now performing a series of back flips worthy of the Olympic Games. Footsteps, light and slow, sounded behind him and stopped roughly in the center of the lab area.

"Hey, Don…" came April's tentative voice.

"Hey," he mumbled without turning around as he scrutinized an empty graduated cylinder. She was quiet, and he wished he had something real to do instead of just waiting for the microwave to beep. It was strange—feeling so nervous about seeing someone he'd known for years. Then again, he reflected, so much had changed it may as well have been eons since he'd last seen her.

After a couple of minutes that felt like hours, she must have realized he wasn't going to turn around, and she finally spoke. "I hope you're not too mad at Mikey for bringing me here—I kind of bullied him into doing it. Told him I'd wander the sewers until I stumbled across this place if I had to, so he gave me a lift on one of the shell sleds."

He merely grunted in reply, tapping the counter impatiently.

After another few minutes of silence, he heard her give a barely audible sigh. "I understand if you don't want to talk to me right now—I don't blame you. Really. I just… wanted you to hear it from me in person that I'm sorry—I know we should have told you sooner…"

Under his breath he said, "You think?" But he didn't think she heard him.

"…especially since you're one of my best friends-,"

"Friends??" he said, whipping around. "April, you've been essentially lying to me for over a MONTH!! A MONTH!" he repeated, as if she had tried to contradict him. "Is that how you treat everyone you call your friend?!" He hadn't even meant to speak—the words had just burrowed free of his throat like cicadas emerging from the ground. But once he had started, he was unable to stop.

"I mean, all this time, I've been trying to be understanding, give you space, make myself available because I thought you were going through a tough time because of your breakup with Casey!" he raged, "and you, you just let me go on believing… for a month… god, I feel like such a fool!!"

He ran out of steam then, and stood facing her as he gulped air and tried to force himself to get a grip. He couldn't lose control, not again… what if he ended up attacking her like he had Raph? That thought caused him to look at her, really look at her for the first time since she had arrived, and he couldn't help but notice how drawn and pale she was. And how beautiful even so.

Never. I could never hurt her.

Just then the microwave beeped and he jumped a little, hurriedly turning around and seizing a hot pad before removing the large beaker from the oven. At least now he had something to do—the solution had to be stirred constantly until it cooled to the right temperature. He could feel her eyes on him, but he didn't turn around.

"Tell me what you want me to do," she said pleadingly, her voice pained. "What can I do?"

"Well you can start by being honest with me!" he spat, looking back over his shoulder at her. Then he looked away again, savagely stirring the liquid, part of him hoping his outburst would make her leave—and yet praying she would stay. He was angry, sure. And hurt. But he couldn't quite silence the part of himself that always seemed to hunger for answers.

He heard her steps moving away, and for a moment he thought she really was leaving. But then she merely dragged the chair nearer to him, and sat down. Without preamble, she said slowly, "About two months ago, Casey and I came very close to breaking up."

The words were uttered so softly that Don could barely hear them over the glass stirring rod clinking against the sides of the beaker. On second thought, maybe I don't want to hear this after all, he thought. But then he figured the facts couldn't be worse than some of the possibilities that had been playing across his imagination all evening.

April took a breath, and went on calmly. "Things hadn't been going well between us for some time, and we both knew it—but it wasn't like there was any big fight, or some event that had occurred to set things off… it was just that things weren't… working right. We were both unhappy, and we didn't know why. So we kept pushing on, thinking maybe it was just a rut, just one of those things you have to work through—I mean, it happens sometimes. We talked about some stuff that was bothering us, and we both made some changes, but after a while it became clear that it wasn't helping. Even so, we decided to give it a little more time—but if things didn't improve between us soon, we agreed that, even though it would be really hard, the best thing to do would probably be to split up—or at least take a break." She took a deep breath before resuming.

"One night, a couple weeks later, Raphael stopped by our apartment looking for Casey. He knew Casey was usually home from work by then, but I told him he'd been trying to pick up extra shifts lately so he was working late. Since Raph had already made the trip, though, I invited him in to hang out, and he did. Raph and I, it's not like we ever really spent much time alone together… I mean, you know that," she stumbled, sounding slightly flustered. "Anyway, we didn't do much, just watched some TV, flipping channels and making fun of the idiotic shows that came on, and it actually turned out to be fun. I think maybe Raph could tell I was feeling… down, because even though he acted completely normal he seemed… gentler, somehow. And he made me laugh—something I realized I hadn't felt like doing for a while."

"As he was leaving, I suggested that maybe we could do it again sometime, and it became kind of a pattern—when Casey knew he was going to work late, Raph and I would watch TV or just hang out. It was completely innocent, Casey knew about it and everything—but after a while, I started to realize that I looked forward to the nights Casey was working late more than I looked forward to the nights when he would be home." Here she paused for a moment, as if considering what to say next. "Then one night when Raph was over, something … happened, and we kissed."

Don had a pretty good idea what the 'something' was—his brother's hormones. But he didn't interrupt. He could tell this was hard for April, and he had to grudgingly admit that she was doing better than he could have done under the circumstances. She wasn't getting emotional or trying to defend her actions; she was just giving the facts—and he appreciated that.

April drew another long breath. "That night when Casey came home, I told him what had happened and, to make a long story short, we broke up. That Raph and I had kissed was difficult enough for him to hear, but I also told him that I thought that maybe… I mean, I wasn't sure, but it was possible that there was something more between us."

In the silence following this statement, Don became aware that he was no longer stirring but hanging on her every word, and he immediately resumed his activity. He also realized that, as badly as he felt right now, it must have been absolute hell on Casey. In that moment, he felt more of a kinship with the man than he ever had before.

"So it was that easy, huh?" Don said harshly. "Just to forget about Casey and move on to his best friend?" It seemed like every word out of his mouth tonight was sour and biting—lemon on a paper cut.

"No," she said quietly, and for the first time he detected a hint of steel in her voice. "No, it wasn't 'that easy' for either of us—it still isn't. We both felt horribly guilty, and, and so confused… Raphael went around looking like a zombie, not getting any sleep and beating his knuckles raw because Casey refused to talk to him, and some days it seemed like all I could do was cry. Every little thing reminded me of Casey—even Raph. Especially Raph, which just confused me even more. But I just…" Her voice broke a little, and although Don didn't look back at her, he knew she was trying to keep from crying. "… I just couldn't help the way I felt. Sometimes I wish I could, but I, I can't."

Don closed his eyes and leaned his weight on the counter, clutching the edge of it with his free hand. He had understood what she told him, but he still didn't quite comprehend… why Raph? He had trouble imagining anyone less suitable for April! Raph was just so… well, he was kind of an asshole, to put it bluntly. And Donatello couldn't help wondering… if he had been the one to stop by her apartment to hang out, if he had made her laugh when she was sad… could he have been the one instead of Raphael? Was it all just about being in the right place at the right time? He grew slightly light-headed at the thought, that his chance with her may have been cruelly thwarted by something as arbitrary as bad timing or a shortage of good jokes. He opened his eyes again when April resuming speaking, but he still felt somewhat dizzy.

"I know we should have told you, all of you, right away… I think we both knew that. And I'm not trying to make excuses here, really—but the truth is, we were afraid. I mean, you and I have always been really close… and after how Casey reacted—I mean, I don't blame him," she added hurriedly, "it's just, we knew it wouldn't be easy to tell you, either, so we decided we'd just… let things settle for a while. We really didn't mean for it to go that long but…" she groped for the words to explain, but evidently came up with nothing because she finally just said, "we screwed up. I felt awful the whole time, and I'm so, so sorry, Donny."

Don still didn't turn around, but he didn't need to—he could tell her words were genuine. He also knew that April wouldn't intentionally hurt him, and that it was a mark of her high regard for him that she was even here in the first place—he hadn't exactly made it easy for her, after all. But before he could even verbalize one of the many questions bombarding his brain, she went on.

"And… there's something else I have to explain… or at least I have to try," she said, taking a steadying breath before speaking again. "Even in the beginning of our relationship, Casey and I had our ups and downs—I mean, I guess everybody does sometimes… Only, with us it seemed like more than sometimes—but then tucked in between the tough stretches were these little patches of such happiness that they kept us going forward long after we would otherwise have given up. We stayed together because we really loved each other, and even when everything seemed like a struggle we kept plowing ahead because we saw how much potential there was in our relationship. In the end, though, it just… it just seemed like everything was so hard, you know? Like all the potential happiness in the world isn't enough if you don't have it in the here and now, in just being together."

Then her voice grew even softer when she said, "From the first with Raph, things just… felt different. Easier. I know it hasn't been that long, and I know it might not always be this way, but even though I never thought we had much in common, somehow we just… seem to make sense when we're together. And… the reason I'm telling you this is because I want you to know that I'd never risk jeopardizing our friendship over something I thought was… casual."

To that, Don didn't respond—couldn't respond. Before, he had almost been feeling a little better. Definitely calmer at any rate, once he knew most of the facts. But now, suddenly, it was as if he had been thrust in one of those vacuum seal storage bags and someone was sucking all of the air out of it—the more he struggled to breathe, the tighter the suffocating prison clung.

He had long ago come to accept that in all likelihood he and April would never be anything more than friends—she loved Casey, plain and simple. And he respected that. Even so, he couldn't help but be drawn to her—she was just so… vibrant. Alive. A spangle of sunlight in the otherwise murky darkness of the sewers they called home. He spent time with her, tried to please her because he simply couldn't help himself, couldn't stop any more than a moth could stop throwing itself against a light bulb. But he should have known… the moth rarely came to a good end.

Don's mind flew back over all the years he and April had known each other, remembering the countless hours they had spent together, just the two of them—collaborating on projects, playing board games, staying up late watching documentaries long after everyone else had lost interest and gone to bed… One such night, April had actually fallen asleep nestled up next to him on the couch as they watched, her soft breath caressing his shoulder and leaving a warmth that lingered for days afterward. Don had been afraid to move for fear that she would wake up, and even after the documentary was over and the credits were through he hadn't so much as lifted a finger—just watched her sleep.

He thought, too, of all the times they had lost track of hours discussing topics of mutual interest—conversations that no one else would have understood three words of. With April, he had never had to worry about toning down the technical jargon, never had to swallow his excitement as he often did with his brothers when they got that glazed over look that meant he'd lost them.

Then when Leo had gone away and Don was left in charge, April had been the one he had vented his frustrations to, confessed his deepest insecurities to—things he couldn't even bear to tell his father or his brothers. At times he'd felt like it was just him against the world, and that the pressure was going to crush him…but always when he had been afraid he was going to let everyone down, the knowledge that April was there for him had given him the strength to push on. Somehow, she'd always known exactly what to say to make him feel better—and even more importantly, when not to say anything at all.

And now, here she was—telling him that she'd fallen for Raph after a few evenings of watching TV and a single kiss … that they just made sense…

He didn't even know when he was finally able to take a breath, because all he could feel was his heart crumpling like a ball of tin foil, sharp and cold—until all that remained of the once warm, pulsing center of him was just a lump so dense he didn't know how it still remained suspended in his chest. And the pain of it was greater than anything he'd ever known.

It had nothing to do with being in the right place at the right time—it wasn't even only because of Casey, or because I'm not human—she just didn't want me. All that time… Why, why didn't she feel that way with me??

Before he knew it he was sinking to his knees beside the counter, breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. His head was swirling, and the lump of frigid metal residing his chest grew increasingly heavier until it felt like it had sunken down to the pit of his stomach. She had known all of the best and worst things about him—he had held nothing back… and somehow it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. Donatello thought he might hyperventilate, or pass out, or throw up, but something worse happened instead—he began to cry again. Not with the convulsive, cleansing sobs that might have eased some of his suffering, but quietly. Painfully. Scorching tears erupting by the sheer force of the great pressure building inside of him—molten rivers of agony squeezed from his very soul.

Then, through the thick magma of his suffering, he felt a cool hand lightly touch his shoulder, and he flinched, shrugging it off.

"Don't. Just… don't," he choked out. He couldn't bear for her to touch him, to comfort him—not now. It hurt too much.

"Donny, I… I never meant to h-hurt you."

He could hear that she was crying now, too. And he hated himself, how weak he was—because even knowing that she was the source of his agony, even though he supposed he should feel at least a little glad that she was hurting too, the sound of her weeping just made him want to turn and gather her up in his arms, tell her it would be all right…

Until he remembered that the job of comforting her belonged to his brother now.

At that thought, something finally unclenched inside of him, and he tucked his head into shaking arms and cried bitterly, desolately, pressing himself against the side of the counter as if he could just melt in to it and disappear.

"Donny, please…" sobbed April, crying almost as hard as he. "Please, talk to me, let me help you…"

"You can't," he gasped out through his tears. "You can't h-help me… please, I just… need to be alone."

He was aware of April still sitting behind him for a time, obviously trying to regain some composure, but she did not speak or attempt to touch him again. Then he heard her stand up slowly, and her footsteps began to move away as she honored his request. Before she had gone too far, though, she paused. When she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. "I'll call you, Don. You…you don't have to answer or anything, unless you want to, and I won't try and push you—but I just want you to know that I'll keep calling until you're ready to answer."

Still crying, he just listened to her footsteps as they faded away. It was over. He wished he could just curl up on the floor forever, curl up and die there—every shuddering breath he drew hurt so much that if he could have voluntarily stopped breathing, he would have done it just to stop the pain.

And although April's last words had made it clear that she wasn't giving up on him, he honestly didn't know what he was going to do. If seeing her, talking to her, brought even a small measure of the agony he was enduring now, there was no way he'd be able to handle it—and yet, the thought of not talking to her made him gasp as if he'd been plunged into an ice bath. Two different choices. Two separate pathways—but just then both looked like dead ends.

Several minutes later, when his sobs had begun to subside somewhat, he heard the soft padding of bare feet entering the room, and he knew it was Michelangelo. His brother approached and slowly settled himself on the floor near Don, shell against the counter. Don didn't look up, and Mikey just sat there quietly—making no move to touch him, just lending what comfort he could with his mere presence. And even in his misery, Don couldn't help but be amazed that someone like Mikey, who normally tried to fill every silence with talking, could still know instinctively when words just wouldn't help.

Minutes stretched on, and Don began to grow calmer, his breathing becoming almost normal aside from the occasional shuddering breath. Wiping his eyes, he finally turned around and sat with his shell up against the counter, mimicking his brother's posture and wrapping his arms around his knees. He felt completely hollow—emptied—like someone had scooped out his insides; but at least exhaustion seemed to be blunting the edges of his emotions somewhat. Already the events of the day were beginning to seem surreal, like he had watched them happening to someone else from far away.

Finally Michelangelo turned to look at him, and Don turned to gaze right back. Mike looked as if he wanted to say a million things, but when he finally opened his mouth all he said was, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Don looked straight ahead again, and merely shook his head.

"Okay," Mikey said understandingly. "Well then, I guess we should be heading back. It's getting late."

"Yeah…" Donatello said, still staring blearily at nothing. He thought Mike would get up to leave then, but when his brother didn't move, Don turned his head back towards him. He searched Mikey's eyes, which were glossy with empathy… and something else.

"It's not your fault, bro," said Donny softly.

Mike's brow crinkled a little then, and he looked down, blinking rapidly and nodding.

Finally the orange-clad turtle drew a deep breath and sat forward. "So… I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," he said. But as he stood up, Mikey seized Don's hand gently and pressed a small parcel into his palm. "I saved you some cookies," he said by way of explanation, and he gave Don's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as he left.

When he was gone, Don opened his hand and stared down at the cookies wrapped loosely in a napkin, and he would've given anything to live in his brother's world for a day—where cookies apparently mended everything.

April held loosely onto Michelangelo's shell as they whipped through the sewer tunnels, his mask tails lashing her face while the shell sled sent arcs of mucky water up behind them. They were cruising along at an extremely fast pace—after all, Mikey never drove any other speed—but at least he wasn't making whooping noises every time they took a turn as he had on their way there. He was definitely more subdued this time.

As they rode, jagged pieces of her talk with Don kept scratching across April's mind. She had known it wouldn't be easy, had told herself not to expect too much, but still she hadn't been prepared for the reality. Somehow, in spite of everything, she had pictured them being able to talk things out, calm and easy, just like they always had. April kept seeing his usually kind brown eyes flash at her, so full of anger, and worse—pain… kept seeing his hunched form as he knelt on the floor, crying, recoiling at her touch… She closed her eyes and clutched Mikey's shell a little tighter, fighting back tears yet again. There had been so much more she wanted to say to him—how much she valued his friendship, how much she appreciated how kind and witty and gentle he was, how damned brilliant he was, how he was like a brother to her…

Now she knew those were the last words he would have wanted to hear. As close as they had become over the years, there was no way she could have remained completely oblivious to the way Donatello felt about her—as hard as he had tried to hide it, his eyes had given him away at times. But she had hoped it was just a crush, that some of those feelings would have faded over time. She had even debated bringing it up, talking to him about it, but she hadn't wanted to seem presumptuous or embarrass him. And of course, there was always Casey… Now, looking back on it, she knew she just been deceiving herself. God, how could she have been so blind and, and stupid!

Finally the sled began to slow, and she knew they were drawing closer to the lair. As they approached, Raph materialized out of the shadows to one side, and Mike brought the sled to a halt.

"Hey Raph," Mike said simply, and there was no animosity in his voice.

"Hey," said Raph shortly with a curt nod to his brother, and then directed his attention to April. He was wearing his street clothes already—he'd had her fetch them from the lair when they'd learned Donatello wasn't there. "We'll just head topside from here," he said to her, and he stepped forward to give her a hand dismounting the sled.

When she was on dry land, April turned and gave Mikey a small smile. "Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime," he replied, and with a final nod to them he continued on his way to the lair.

They watched Michelangelo drive off, and after he was gone April just stood there, staring in the direction he'd gone and feeling the darkness settle on her body like a flurry of ravens on a roost. She could hear dripping from somewhere nearby, an uneven plink-plunk, and the lapping of water from the wake of the shell sled while the smell of mildew and stale garbage assailed her nostrils. And although they weren't touching, she could feel Raph—his stalwart presence just behind her.

"You okay?" he said gruffly.

She didn't trust herself to speak, and bit her lip in a vain attempt to stop more tears. They couldn't see one another—even ninjas need some ambient light to be able to see, and the sewer was devoid of anything but gravid darkness.

"Well, I didn't see any bruises or blood... you got off easier'n me, anyway," he said with attempted lightness.

When she still didn't respond he reached out, found her forearm, and grasped it gently to encourage her to turn around. Then his hand ghosted up her arm, following the pathway of it in the dark to trace his way up her shoulder, over the curve of her neck and finally to her face. There his fingers encountered the moisture accumulating on her cheek, and he gently brushed some of the tears away.

Then, in a choked voice, April finally said, "I'd rather have the bruises."

She heard him sigh sadly, and he traced back down until he found her hand. With all the tears she'd shed lately, he knew just what to do. Encasing her slender digits in his oversized ones, he held her hand firmly, giving a gentle squeeze. If he had done anything more than that, she would have broken down; anything less, and she would have done the same. Raphael knew… the grip of his hand, the strength of his presence was enough to get her to the apartment, to her room—where she could be alone. She couldn't… wouldn't allow herself the luxury of Raph's comfort and reassurance while she cried—not after what she had done to Casey, to Donatello… knowing that no one was comforting them. Instead she would shut herself away, as she always did, and collapse… let go… pouring her guilt and confusion and helplessness into her unresponsive pillow.

Only when the tempest of emotion had spent itself would she turn to Raphael, but he had never asked her for an explanation. He seemed to know, to understand the twisted logic behind her self-denial. After all, he had his own methods of punishing himself.

"C'mon, let's get you home," Raph said.

Clicking on a small light, he lead her along by a firm grip on her hand—and any further communication that night did not take place in words.

A/N: Thanks for following along, those of you who've made it this far. ;) You're the best! I know this may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I'm having such an excruciatingly good time playing with this... and you must know by now that it can't be a quick-fix. So I can only hope that some of you will stick with it to the end. :) And I swear I don't intend to always make Donny miserable...

Cheers,
KameTerra