'I had the strangest feeling
your world's not all it seems
So tired of misconceiving
What else this could've been.

I don't even know if I believe – I don't even know if I believe – I don't even know if I believe
Everything you're trying to say to me

So open up my eyes
Tell me I'm alive -
This is never gonna go our way
If I'm gonna have to guess

what's on your mind.' –Believe, Mumford & Sons

Chapter 21 – Time Heals

The van pulled to a halt in front of the library's circle drive. Mr. O'Neil patted his shirt with both hands, a look of panic flitted across his features.

"Uh," he said, glancing up at his daughter who sat behind the wheel.

"Your tag's on your belt loop," she said. "Remember?"

He relaxed back into his seat with a weak laugh. "Yes." His fingers played with the laminated card identifying him as an employee. He shook his head. "I forgot I put it on before we left."

"Happens to us all," April said, doing her best to mollify her father's fears; his doubt. "Casey will pick you up later, okay?"

He gazed out the side window, watching patrons slush through the ankle-deep snow, clutching books.

"Okay, Dad?"

April's fingertips brushed his shoulder and he started. He nodded rapidly. "Right. Yes. Casey. Ten o'clock. When the library ends. I mean, when-when my shift ends, heh."

April gave a short nod of encouragement. "Your shift's over at eight tonight, remember? It's Christmas Eve so the library closes a little early."

He closed his eyes. "Yes. That's correct. Christmas Eve. My shift ends at eight. And I wait at the front door for Casey, though, just like always."

She gave him a gentle smile. "That's right."

"And he'll drive me around to see the lights?"

"If you'd like that, Dad."

With one last nod, Mr. O'Neil opened the door and climbed out. He spun around and poked his head back inside. "See you at ten."

"No -"

Mr. O'Neil laughed.

The sound of it so natural and so like himself before the mutation and the nightmare that followed, before Splinter's intense therapy and efforts with him had finally made incremental progress, that April found her eyes welling. Her heart swelled. For all the things she had to be grateful for – as well as all the things she'd lost. The feeling was something like falling asleep while crying.

She bit her lip. Forced the raw ache back to somewhere on the horizon of her heart. Somewhere distant, but not entirely vanished. The place where all her old pain moldered; lingering like a faded scar.

An imprint shaped of her enduring hurt.

"Just kidding." Her father's eyes wrinkled at the edges, twinkling with mischievous delight. "Eight. I've got it. Love you, ginger-snap."

Her voice a bit strained, she replied, "You, too, Dad."

He turned to Mikey in the back seat, sitting low to avoid detection. "Bye Mikey. Make a lot of cookies, okay? Ones with candy, too."

"Will do." Mikey gave a thumbs-up.

"Well, time for me to go to work."

"Crush it, Mr. O'Neil!"

He grinned widely and closed the door. April waited until he was inside before pulling away. Once out on the street, Mikey leaned between the front seats.

"He's doing great, isn't he?"

April nodded. She cleared her throat but found she couldn't yet trust herself to speak.

# # #

Leonardo repositioned the present. He sat back on his heels, tipped his head and changed his mind. He removed the stack of gifts and lined them up, largest on the bottom, stacking them in a pyramid shape. Better.

"M-hm," he said, satisfied.

Master Splinter sat on the sofa, staring at the glittering lights adorning the tree. Leonardo looked from his sensei to the tree and then back again.

"Mikey and Raph did a nice job this year," Leo said, "don't you think?"

Splinter smiled. "Indeed." His eyes trained to the four stockings tacked to the wall near the tree. Four. Another year with his family was whole. Another year soon beginning that he would not take for granted. Though the most challenging and terrifying trials were behind them, the shadow of those events remained; darkening the edges of their lives, sharpening the thin silver lining.

It loomed over them all.

Stroking the white whiskers at his chin, Splinter said, "Raphael came home quite late last night."

Stiffening, Leonardo replied, "I'm sorry, Master. I told him to be home with us, as you instructed."

Splinter waved a hand through the air. "I merely bring it up because he has been in the dojo this entire time."

"He has?" he asked haltingly. Leonardo cocked his head, listening. There was no sound of katas being practiced. No sound at all. If Raph had been working out or throwing a temper tantrum, he'd have heard something. "I don't hear anything."

Now that he thought about it, Raph hadn't been around at breakfast or lunch. There'd been no training today as Splinter gave them holidays to relax as they wished. He'd assumed his brother was going to eat later, but hadn't noticed him go into the kitchen. Mikey had set his sandwich in the fridge before leaving to go to April's house to bake with her while her dad was working.

An uneasy feeling weighed inside his stomach.

"No, I image you would not for he is doing naught else but sitting before the weapons' case." Splinter levelled a look at his eldest. "I saw him come home. He would not speak to me, but went straight into the dojo. He appeared unharmed." Splinter and Leonardo simultaneously looked towards the quiet dojo.

"Angry?" The question came more as a statement of resigned fact. Angry was Raphael's default.

Splinter shook his head. "No. However, something is troubling him."

Leonardo jumped up. "I'll see what's wrong."

As Leo crossed the room, Raphael emerged. A look of determination on his scowling face.

Leo stepped back. "Raph," he started.

Raphael ignored him and marched past the bedrooms down the hall to Donatello's lab. Leo followed a few steps behind. The door to the lab slammed against bricks. Leo quickened his pace, noticing that Splinter was close on his heels.

# # #

Donatello whirled around in his chair. "What the –"

Raph stormed into the space, finger raised, pointed at Donatello's face. "You!"

"Me what?" he sputtered.

Raphael's head swung back and forth, noting the papers, drafting pencils and schematics spread across the large table behind his brother. He stopped abruptly, nodded vigorously, and said, "Oh, great. Okay. Good. Working on something, huh? Next big project?"

"Uh, y-yeah," Donatello said. He noticed in the doorway beyond, Splinter and Leo hovered. "Do you, um, need something, Raph?"

Lurching past Donatello, Raph swept all the papers into his arms. He crumpled and crushed them into an enormous bolder against his chest. With a satisfied grunt, he marched past Donatello who'd jumped to his feet with a shout of dismay. Raph dumped the entire thing into the waste bucket. It tipped and fell over. The giant ball bounced to the corner.

"My work! Four hours wasted! What is wrong with you!?"

Raphael spun around. Eyes manic. In a hoarse voice, he shouted, "Enough stallin'!"

Donatello gaped. Before he could speak, Raph closed the distance between them, crowding him so that he fell back a step.

"You're all better now, ain't cha?!" he growled, knocking his knuckles against the metal of Donatello's prosthetic arm. Donatello took another retreating step. "This thing works. Right? You can train, work and fight, right?"

Donnie stood blinking uncomprehendingly.

"Right!?" Raph hollered in his face.

"Y-yes!"

"So why are you doing this, huh?"

"Doing what?!" Donatello's voice rose, exasperated. "I was in the middle of drawing up specs for a modification on the Shellraiser."

"No you weren't."

Donatello straightened. Any patience he had withered. "Oh? Answer me this, then. What the heck is that behind you!?"

"That's my proof."

"Proof of what?!"

"Proof," he said, as a savage grin spread across his face, "that you've been doin' nothing but hiding."

"Hiding!? Hiding from what? What are you talking about?"

Raph didn't answer, just stared at him, fuming.

Donatello fidgeted, noting for the first time his brother's bloodshot eyes and dark circles. He glanced over his shoulder at his older brother and sensei. Neither offered any clue what this was about. Their curious gazes bounced between them. Donatello said, "Why don't we just calm down, okay?"

"No. Calm is not what we need right now." Raph ran both hands over his face. He scrubbed furiously, then dropped his arms. "Listen. I was up all night. Thinking."

"Oh-kay."

"No," he said, "listen. I was thinking about something that Ca-, er, someone told me. About fairness. About getting a shot at something important. It was tearing me up. 'Cuz it wasn't wrong, you know? But it wasn't right, neither. Because it just wasn't fair. You know what I'm saying?"

Donatello shook his head.

Raph went on, rubbing at his temples, agitated. "I got to thinking about how something was going to happen. Before. Even though I never really bought the possibility, but the more I thought, the more I realized it was bound to happen. Like, I dunno, like fate. Destiny. That sort of crap."

Donatello frowned, mouth slightly open, trying to understand his brother's rambling.

"Now I see that I was wrong, before." He raised his hands and made a separating motion with them, moving first from one side to the other. "It was just a matter of time, because she knew. Now I know she knew. All along. See? It was going to happen. It had to happen."

Raphael reached out with his fingertips, pawing at him, urging his brother to understand. Donatello nodded then shook his head, at a loss.

"Only, something else got in the way before things could actually happen. Cause and Effect. One thing and then another thing and everything got screwed. It jacked the flow."

Donatello closed his mouth. He raised his brows and said simply, "I don't follow."

Raph grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him. "That's 'cuz you ain't listenin'!" He spun his brother around and shoved him. Leonardo and Splinter parted as Donatello was roughly escorted from the lab.

"Whoa!"

"Hey, Raph," Leo said, reaching out, "take it easy."

Splinter shook his head and Leo fell back.

Raphael gave Donatello another push. The group bumbled into the common living space.

"You been so busy hiding that you forgot you even ever had a chance!"

Donatello whirled around. His metallic hand outstretched. "Stop! Stop it!"

Something was taking shape. Something firm and real in the center of his constricting chest. It matched the tendrils of thought creeping free from the shadowy corner at the back of his mind – the place where he kept only the most painful realizations locked away.

Raph jerked back. But only for a moment. He knocked the arm away. The metal flashed. Raph's eyes gleamed.

"Face it!"

"What!?"

"The truth!"

A beat of silence expanded around them; encapsulating everyone in the room. No one moved. The air electric. Donatello's heart was thudding in his throat, strangling him. He needed air. He stepped back, one arm raised to ward his family off. To press back the encroaching knowledge. The terrible fact that he'd been trying to ignore. All this time.

Raphael spoke, riveting Donatello in place. His voice low, breathy, as he said, "I didn't want to get involved, bro. I wanted you to take your time, thought you needed to heal. And even when I thought it was taking too long, even though you were doin' every god-damn-thing you could to ruin your chances, I stayed outta it."

Raph dropped his gaze to the floor. "But I can't stand by and say nothing. Do nothing. Not now. Not when I know and you know there's no reason to be down here hiding in your lab like a freakin' scared mouse. Pretending."

Donatello's voice came thin and reedy, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Raph's eyes raised, met his brother's denial, his fear. No more hiding, bro.

"No?"

They stared at one another. Until; slowly, Donatello lowered his arms to hug himself across his torso and dropped his eyes away. "No."

"Don," Raph said. His tone took on an almost pleading note. He was exhausted and it showed in the timbre of his voice. "Are you seriously going to keep hiding until she finally gives up on ya? When whatever is left of her feelings for you just dry up and blow away for good? How can you be that stupid?"

Eyes widening, Donatello said nothing.

Splinter took Leonardo's shoulder as the boy strode forward, meaning to intervene before Raphael said something he'd regret. The old rat gave a sharp shake of his head when Leo looked up at him.

Leo pressed his mouth into a tight line. His body strained against his master's grip.

"But –"

Splinter's look hardened.

Leo snapped his mouth shut, ducked his head and relented.

"I told you a long time ago not to shut her out," Raph said through puffs of shallow breath. "And look what you did."

Donatello began to shake his head. "I didn't," he started. "You don't know what you're talking about. There was nothing there." He looked up, meeting Raph's eyes, face flushing. "Nothing real."

"You stupid jerk!" Raph surged forward, taking his brother by the upper arms. He shook him. "Don't you get it!? You're losing her! You might have already!"

Donatello yanked free, stepping back. "No!"

"Quit denying it!" Raph balled his fists at his sides. "Dammit, Donnie! April loves you!"

Donatello froze.

The proclamation rang in the silence of the lair. It seemed to rebound and ricochet off every wall - shattering the illusion that everything was fine.

"At least she did," Raph amended with a croak. "For a long time."

With a furtive glace at Leo and Splinter, Donatello saw the truth written in their expressions. Raph was right. They knew it. Hell, he'd known it, deep inside – he was just too afraid all this time to face the chance that he'd been wrong. Too fragile after everything that he'd been through. Too shaken.

So he had chosen to believe what was easiest to assume. He chose the lie over the truth. Convinced himself of it. Nearly.

He shifted, trembling slightly. His right hand cupped protectively over his shoulder where the metal connected to flesh. The question remained: Was he strong enough now? Had he ever, really been?

"And now?" Donatello asked, throat working.

Raph shrugged. "Only one way to find out. Right?"

He didn't know when he'd turned from his family, when he'd vaulted over the turnstiles at the entrance of their home, when the icy sludge of the storm drains sloshed against his ankles as he flew through the tunnels, but his legs were pumping, breath gasping, heart storming as he raced towards his last, desperate chance to make things right with the one person he loved more than anything else in the world.

# # #

Casey pulled the metal gate down over the front of the shop's rear exit. It clanged and clattered into place, vibrated against his knuckles as he snapped the padlock closed. Snow had started to fall in hushed puffs, coating every surface in downy white. There was a refreshing snip in the frigid air as it tingled across his stubbled cheeks.

Turning away from the door, he pulled his keys from the front pocket of his flannel shirt and made his way towards the rusted pick-up truck that once belonged to his father. Snow, gray and filthy in the alley, smudged against his boots, sucking at the soles with every step. The newer snow was a brighter icing against the muck.

He felt the cool flakes melting against the top of his head to run in tingling trails down the back of his neck. With a shiver and a smile, he glanced up. He stuck out his tongue, catching a few flakes before chuckling.

Tonight, after he brought Mr. O'Neil home from the library, he planned on asking April if she'd consider going out with him. His heart jumped at the thought. It would be the perfect night to start a relationship that had been a long time in coming.

He felt in his front pocket of his jeans the small hinged box. Inside: a gold locket, shaped in a four-leaf-clover. Maybe it was corny, but it reminded him of her, and also of how lucky he was to have her in his life. He'd bought it with his first paycheck, before he'd even paid the rent on his apartment. Priorities.

What if she says no? He stopped for just a second, then shook his head. Didn't matter. He had to try. At least he'd know that he'd gone for it. And maybe, in time, he could try and get over her, though he knew it wouldn't be easy.

Brushing aside any lingering doubt, he quickened his pace. Best to face his fears sooner rather than later. He was not one to prolong the inevitable. Good or bad.

The truck loomed ahead where he parked it behind the drug store next to the body shop. He jingled the keys, flopping them until the one for the door came up when he stopped. Brows furrowed, he twisted. The snow swirled, falling heavier, muffling sound, making everything have a padded, softened quality. He took a half-step away from his truck.

Head cocked, he listened as the small, distressed sound came again.

"Shit."

Dropping the keys onto the roof, he searched about. Spotting what he needed, he drove between two garbage cans, pulling a metal pipe from the pile of junk. He raced towards the chain-linked fence blocking the far end of the alley, slipping and skidding to a halt just before the L-shaped corner.

He hefted the pipe, strummed his fingers as he wrapped them around the cold shaft, closed his eyes, and said a quick prayer; then sprang into the space.

"Goongala!"

Two men jumped back from the woman they'd been mugging.

Before the shorter of the two men could raise his pistol, Casey pounced. He swung the pipe, hitting the thug's wrist. The gun spiraled away in the snow. The man, cradling his broken wrist to his torso, swung at Casey.

He dipped, ducking the fist. Staying low, Casey snapped the end of the pipe forward, cracked the guy's left knee. There was a pop and a crunch. The man jerked like a spastic puppet and crumpled with a screech. He rolled to one side, keening with pain.

Casey turned. He braced for the other man's attack, flicking the damp hair from his eyes, in time to see the criminal drop, then fall flat on his face into the snow.

Gabrielle wobbled where she stood, hair a riot of dark curls covering most of her face. A brick held in one hand.

Shaking off his shock, he strode forward. He tossed the pipe aside. "Gabby," he said. "Are you alright?"

She straightened and knocked her hair back from her face, revealing a swollen lip trickling blood.

Casey hissed trough his teeth. "Bastards."

She dropped the brick into the snow with a loud plop. Casey shrugged out of his flannel and moved to drape it around her shoulders. He noticed one sleeve of her sweater was stretched and torn, baring her shoulder.

"Here," he said and wrapped the shirt around her. "I thought you left earlier, otherwise I'd have walked you to your car." He felt her tremble and moved to hug her, meaning to comfort, but unsure and awkward since he hardly knew her. Not to mention, she was the boss' daughter.

To his surprise, she returned the embrace, pulling him close to her curvy body; gripping him tightly.

Too stunned to breathe, feeling things fire off inside of him that made his mind blank and his conscience stab him with guilt, Casey stared wide-eyed into the graffiti-sprayed bricks behind her, arms outstretched. After a beat, he slowly patted her back.

She held him another moment, then released him. She pulled away and sniffed.

Casey stepped back, immediately missing the soft curves of her body, the warm scent of cinnamon in her hair. He ducked his head, feeling that same stab of guilt mixed with defiant desire.

She grimaced as she padded her swollen lip with one finger-tip. She twisted and suddenly kicked the unconscious man in the stomach with the tip of her boot. The body rocked, but no sound came from the man.

"Fucker!"

"Whoa," Casey said, running his hand through his damp locks. "Remind me not to piss you off, like ever."

Gabby looked up, her fiery brown eyes softening. He swallowed, feeling his stomach dip and roll.

"You better not," she chuckled, then hugged herself. She took in a shuddering breath, blew it out and gave him a wavering smile.

Casey stared, feeling a bit dizzy.

"Thanks for the help."

"Uh, don't mention it." He dropped his chin and internally chastised himself for being so damn awkward. He was acting like some dumb-ass kid. "So," he said and coughed. "I'd rather not stick around for the cops, if that's alright with you."

She looked surprised.

Casey held up his hands. "Not that I'm in any trouble," he clarified, then under his breath, "at least, not that I'm aware of, yet, but there might be a warrant . . . or two."

Gabby was smiling at him again and he found his train of thought slipping off the tracks.

"Uh," he said, squinting in the snow. "What was I saying?"

Her brow cocked. She crouched and picked up her purse, dusting the snow from it. She pulled out her cell. "Okay, bad-boy," she said and Casey felt his stomach flip again, "if you need to make yourself scarce, I won't ask you any questions."

Casey blew out a breath of relief.

She dialed the police. "On one condition."

Casey tipped his head to one side, "And that would be?"

"You have to take me out this Friday."

Casey's mouth dropped open. "S-Sure. That, uh . . ." He ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck, ruffling his hair before shrugging. "Fair enough," he said finally, with a widening grin.

Gabby dabbed at her lip, wincing, but still she smiled. "Okay."

Casey stood for a moment, taking in just how gorgeous she was: standing in the alley, bruised but glowing, snow piling in tiny mounds in her dark curls, two thugs out cold thanks in part to her kicking ass. She was pretty amazing.

He swallowed roughly. He moved to go when she started to talk on the cell to the emergency operator. She looked up and mouthed, 'Friday.'

Casey nodded and pointed at her, then hoofed it back to his truck, heart galloping and giddy with adrenaline and something else. Something light and ethereal, but solid in his stomach, making his knees weak, but feeling strong enough to take on the entire underworld.

# # #

Mikey slid the last cookie from the spatula onto the cooling rack. He stood back and counted. "Five dozen!" he said when finished, turning to grin at April. "That and with the other cookies, we should have enough to last at least until . . ."

"New Year's Eve?" April asked.

"I was going to say tomorrow," Mikey said.

April pulled the apron from over her head. "I'd say we have a decent amount."

"I guess so."

They looked at one another, tired, but triumphant. She stepped to the stove, turned off the heat and poured the warmed cocoa into two mugs. She plopped several marshmallows into the steaming liquid. Carefully, she handed one mug to Mikey.

"Thanks again for coming over to help bake."

Mikey sipped at the foam surrounding the melting marshmallows and shrugged. "Are you for real? Nothing I love more than some lovin' from the oven."

He followed her into the living room and perched upon the arm of the sofa. April sat across from him. She sunk into the loveseat's cushion.

"Tired?" Mikey asked.

April rolled her head to look at him. "Exhausted."

"I'll bounce."

"There's no rush. You can stick around. Unless you have presents to wrap."

Mikey rolled his eyes. "I did Raph's yesterday. Boy, I called that. He's such a popcrastinator."

"Pro-crastinator," April corrected with a giggle.

"Oops, heh. Reminds me of Donnie. Always correcting my wrong words," Mikey said and sipped at his cocoa. He licked his lips and went to say something else when he stopped. "April," he set his mug down on the coffee table. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said as if wakening from a daze. But the skin around her eyes grew tight, like someone fending off a persistent, but untreatable pain. "I'm just tired."

Mikey nodded, keeping his eyes trained on her. He held his tongue, knowing she wasn't finished. The silence stretched. She shifted, sat forward and finally placed her mug opposite of Michelangelo's.

"I'm just . . . really, really tired," she said with some irritation.

Mikey was suddenly unsure of his friend's feelings. She seemed angry out of the blue. He glanced around. It was almost nine. Casey would be finishing up driving her father around to look at Christmas lights. They were due home any minute.

"Well, it has been a long day. I'll give you some space to chill." He moved to stand, but hesitated. Unsure. "Unless," he said cautiously, "you feel like talking about something. Or maybe I should say, someone."

Their eyes locked until she broke the connection. She turned her face away from him, resting her elbows on her knees. She huffed.

Mikey fidgeted. "Maybe," he suggested softly, "if you just tried to talk to him."

Her face snapped up, glaring at him. "Don't."

Flinching, Mikey pressed his mouth closed. He picked at one fingernail and glued his eyes to his cooling cocoa; shoulders hunched. From the corner of his eye, he saw her slump back.

"I've-I've tried," she breathed. "A long time ago. I really tried, Mikey." She sighed.

He didn't know what to say. His brother was a mystery to him. For a long time he'd seemed just about like himself again. The prosthetic was working great. He was going on training runs with them. Had even taken out Foot bots on a few occasions with no sweat. Things were great. On the surface.

But that's not where things mattered. And Mikey had no clue how to make this right for his brother and his friend.

Softly, she said, "What am I doing?"

He peered at her. Their eyes met. Mikey felt his throat tighten at the pain he saw in his friend's eyes. Helplessness made his stomach knot.

"I'll tell you what I'm doing. I'm wasting my life." April dropped her head into her hands. She framed her face, and spoke to the carpeting between her feet. "Waiting around for something that's never going to happen." She flopped back.

Tears welled and one spilled over, cutting a line through the thin film of flour which dusted her cheek.

"This," she croaked and shook her head, hard. "My life isn't a fairy tale. There's no happy ending," she sniffed. "Not for this. Not for . . . Not for us."

"April, please," Mikey's voice came out a whisper, straining to get through his constricting throat. "You can't give up."

She looked at him, face pale and drawn. She pressed one fist to the center of her chest. "As hard as this is, as much as this hurts, I have to be realistic."

Mikey stared, shaking his head slightly, trying to deny her words.

"I need to get on with my life. I-I think it's time for me to grow up."

The door rattled as someone knocked.

She wiped her face with the heels of her hands, stood up and straightened her shirt. She hurried to the door, calling with a voice thick with emotion, "Hang on, Dad."

She unlocked the bolt and pulled the door open. Words of greeting were on her tongue, but her mouth dropped open in surprise. She stood frozen as the world came to a halt.

Donatello stood in the doorway, panting lightly, head lowered. A fine sheen of sweat glittered along the lines of his shoulders, head and neck. His mechanical arm, adorned with shimmering snowflakes, braced against the doorjamb, holding him up.

His searching eyes bore into hers as they stared at one another.

"April," he breathed. "Can . . . Can I come in?"

A/N: Not going to lie - I had Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy' thundering through my mind as I posted this. XD I'm just so darned happy to have finally had a chance to write and UPDATE!

On that note: Thank you so much for being so patient. Life has been up and down the past few weeks, but I'm just so grateful to you all for the support and reminders that you care and still are interested in my stories. And the little pushes to update - I appreciate it! And I'll do my best to keep the updates coming in a timely manner!

One last chapter of this baby! How could I not dedicate an entire chapter to April and Donatello!? After all they've been through - they're not out of the woods yet!? Stay tuned!