They were both breathless as they broke from the kiss, clinging to one another with desperate hands. The futon creaked under them as Don sank back against it, with April pressed against his plastron. Looking down at his eyes, April could suddenly remember the way he had looked in the cell — helpless, desperate, his hands clinging to her with all his strength.

Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly as she tried not to think about how close she had come to losing him. If the others hadn't come when they had, she thought, then he would have been at Racer's mercy again — and she didn't want to think about what Racer would have done to him next, once the burden of keeping him alive and more-or-less whole had been lifted. He had been a sadist — a monster — and April was glad he was dead. Glad Raph had told him, and given Don that little bit of peace.

Don's hands slipped around her waist, holding her close as he started to kiss her again. And for a moment April melted against him, fiercely grateful that Don was here with her — that he was alive, and his spirit could be fixed, and Racer hadn't taken him from her. But suddenly a flood of thoughts from her talk with Raph came cascading back into her mind, and she lurched back away from him.

"We can't — I don't know if I can do this," she gasped.

Don's dark eyes slowly rose to meet hers, confusion rising in their depths. She felt one of his hands rising to touch her face, as if he was afraid she was going to slip away, and she quickly interwove her fingers with his, trying to reassure him. He had been through so much — he didn't deserve to worry about her now.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I just — I don't know if this is right," she said hesitantly.

The confusion grew more intense. "I don't understand," he said, his fingers squeezing hers gently.

April sighed. "You know, morally right," she said hesitantly.

"I still don't understand."

"Donnie — you're only seventeen," April said. "If you were a human, you would have a whole life that had nothing to do with me — high school, getting ready for college, girls, friends." She bit her lip, trying to find the right words to convey what she was thinking. "And, Don, you have even less experience than boys that age do, because you never spent time with girls growing up. I was the first woman you ever met, the first woman you ever — ever felt anything for. If you knew more women, perhaps you'd — feel differently —"

"I've met enough women to know it's not just that, April," Don said earnestly.

April's eyes dropped to her knees. "And I'm twenty-four," she said in a small voice. "You're too young for me, Don… or, actually, I'm too old for you."

"You're not!" Don said quickly, distress seeping into his voice. "April, I don't care about our ages. I never cared."

"I know, Don. I know you don't," April said, pressing her lips to his knuckles. "But… it doesn't feel right to me right now. I know what I would think of any other person my age having a relationship with someone who was only seventeen."

"Even if that relationship was with a mutant turtle?"

She tried not to smile. "Yes, Donnie, even then."

He bowed his head slightly. "Seventeen is the age of consent in New York," he said in a low voice. "It's not wrong, April. "

"Did you look that up?" she said incredulously.

He smiled crookedly at her. "I may have. Just out of curiosity." But the smile faded away as he watched her face, the shifting shades in her green eyes as she thought. "If — if that's all that bothers you, April, I'll be eighteen in another nine months. If we waited that long—"

His voice caught as something else flickered across her face, and his voice died away. He pressed his other hand to their entwined ones, drawing it closer to his chest, as if the feel of his heart would convince her of what he kept inside it. April leaned closer, resting her forehead against his, almost able to feel how fragile he was right now, how easily a wrong word would tear him. Splinter had been right. She had to be careful, so very careful with his heart, in case she crushed it by accident. No wonder Raphael had been so paranoid about her hurting him.

"It's — not the only reason you don't want this, isn't it?" he said quietly, dread creeping into his voice.

"I don't — I don't know," April said faintly. Guilt and confusion were churning up inside her, as she remembered her conversation with Splinter. But she knew that she had to speak quickly — Don was looking up at her with pleading, uncertain eyes, waiting to know why she was holding herself apart from him.

"It's not about wanting, Don," she said, resting her other hand against his face. "I honestly don't know what I want right now, and… and even if I weren't confused, it's about what's the right thing to do. You're so fragile right now, Don. The reason I'm here is because your brothers are so worried about you falling apart on them. What happened — what I did —what Racer did to you — "

April saw a clouded shadow pass behind his eyes at the reminder of the man who had raped him. Her heart clenched from the guilt inside it, as she remembered the part she had played, how much he had suffered for her sake — but she pushed those feelings away to the corner of her mind. She had to focus on him right now, and not her own guilt.

"You're hurt, Don," she said softly, cradling his face in her hand. "I've never seen you like this before, and neither has anyone in your family. You're hurt on the inside, and it's going to take some time for you to heal as much as you can."

He closed his eyes, swaying toward her with their joined hands pressed against his chest. "I know," he said quietly. "It hurts… every time I try to talk to them, I feel like I'm looking across an abyss, and they can't really hear me. It's different with you — because you were there, and you saw it." His face twisted. "Even though I wish you hadn't. I felt so… weak."

"You're not weak," April said fiercely. "Never say that, Don! Someone who was weak wouldn't have protected me the way you did. Someone who was weak would have given up already." She pulled her hands loose and threw her arms around him, resting her cheek against his. "But at the same time, I can't give you what you want, Don. Not right now. You said you wanted this — wanted me — partly because you needed something that made you feel good and loved, during a time when you were feeling only pain." Her fingers dug into his shell, as she drew back so she could look in his eyes. "If I did what you wanted now, I would always feel like I took advantage of you when you were hurt. And it wouldn't help you heal. Not really."

"I — I think I understand," he said faintly.

"You don't need me right now, Don. You need healing — you need time — you need the care of everyone around you. And I'll be there for you, right along with your brothers." She squeezed him again, his earthy, musky scent filling her senses. "You're not alone. You don't need to hide in here."

His head rested against her shoulder, and she could feel his warm breath washing over her skin. She raised a hand to gently stroke over the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in the tails of his mask.

April pressed her lips to his forehead, lingering long enough to hold him close against her body. "This isn't a 'no,' Don," she murmured. "It isn't a rejection. It means — I need time. I need to think about this. I need to figure out what's best for both of us. I need — I need time to figure out what I've done wrong. And you need time too…"

He nodded slightly, resting his face against her cheek. "I can wait as long as I need to, April. As long as you need," he said softly, his eyes watching her.

She was tempted to kiss him one more time, to lose herself in his caress again before she had to leave. But instead, she hugged him tightly, gently running her hand over his shell. "We'll figure out what we are to each other later," she said softly. "Don't worry, Don. I'm not going to abandon you, no matter what."

And she had never meant anything so much in her entire life.