Chapter 20: Breakthrough

It was hard waiting. April was so eager to hear what insight Raphael might have about the store that she was filled with a slightly nervous excitement over the next couple of days. She refused to even consider that he might not have any useful input—instead she felt more and more sure that it would lead to a breakthrough. Of course, she hadn't told him this. In fact, she had been intentionally vague with her request for "help," knowing he might not agree to it if he knew that she was looking for insight rather than manual labor. For now, though, she just had to try and be patient, because so far Casey hadn't mentioned picking up any evenings. He was due home from work shortly, though, so maybe today he would have an update on his schedule.

When Casey walked in, April was chopping vegetables for a salad. "Hey," she greeted him, munching a slice of pepper.

"Hey," he returned in that tired end-of-the-workday voice. He hung his jacket by the door and came into the kitchen, eyeing the vegetables spread across the counter. "What's for dinner?"

April froze mid-cut into a cucumber, and then continued slicing again in a slow, measured way, trying to fight the unconscious tightening of her muscles. "I should be asking you that," she said with forced lightness. "It's Tuesday. I just thought I'd help out by making salad."

"Oh. Well in that case we're having salad for dinner," he said in a joking but clearly not really joking way.

Deep breath, April. Deep breath. "Fine with me, but then we'll have to swap cooking nights."

He glanced at her, probably trying to see if she was joking. She was not, and evidently the look on her face told him so. His expression hardened. "Gimme a break. I'm tired. Let's just get takeout."

April rested both hands on the counter, squeezing the handle of the knife she was holding much harder than necessary. "Takeout? We each have two cooking days a week. It shouldn't be that hard to throw some meat on the grill or something. I manage it on my days."

"You get home earlier," he countered.

She sighed, both in frustration and resignation. It was the same tired argument they'd had a hundred times. "We have the same length workday," she explained. Again. "I only get home earlier because I work downstairs. So why should I have to work the same amount of time, and cook every night too?" As it was, she did almost all of the grocery shopping, and over the weekend they often ordered out. Coming up with dinner for two nights was not that big of a deal! Well, it shouldn't be that big of a deal.

Casey didn't answer, but she saw the knot in his jaw and knew he wasn't ready to back down.

"Are you saying that if you got home before me, you'd willingly fix dinner every night?" she pressed.

"If I had your job, then yeah, I would!" he shot back, fetching a glass before filling it with water from the dispenser on the fridge. "Ain't exactly physically demanding, is it? Sitting in an empty store all day?"

Ouch. It hurt all the more because it was true. "You think—what?" she responded tightly. "You think I surf the web all day? You think I just paint my nails and sip lemonade and wish customers into the door?! Casey, I bust my ass every day trying to make this business succeed!"

"Which is why you're so big on me bringing home a steady paycheck, I guess," he retorted.

April's body went cold, and for a moment she couldn't speak. This was not the same tired dialogue; this was something new, something darker. "That is not fair," she said in a low tone, her throat beginning to burn against her will. "That's not fucking fair and you know it. It's not like you're canning prunes, Casey. You work on motorcycles. Something you do in your spare time anyway, and now you're getting paid for it in spite of the fact that you don't have any formal education as a mechanic! You should feel lucky to have this job! But somehow I'm the bad guy for wanting a little help with the bills? For wanting you to have health insurance? Benefits?" She shook her head, lost for words, and turned aside to stare at the kitchen cabinets with blurred eyes. "You know what?" she said, only barely managing to keep her voice steady. "Eat whatever you want. I'm not hungry anymore."

She set the knife down on the counter and retreated to their bedroom without another word. Then she hurriedly stripped down and stepped into the shower so she wouldn't be available if he tried to come after her, even though she secretly wanted him to try. She stood naked next to the spray of cold water that raised goosebumps on her skin, rehearsing in her head what she would say to Casey if he did come in… but when the water grew warm, and then hot, and still he hadn't come, her anger gave way to despondence. She stepped all the way in and let the hot water beat over her as she cried helpless, painful tears, fighting the urge to sink down and hug her knees to her chest like a lost child.

Maybe she should've cut him some slack. Was it really that big of a deal to get take-out? Or she could have mentioned the chicken in the fridge, thawed and ready to cook, and offered to start up the grill. But it was too late now. And a tiny voice deep inside whispered that it didn't matter—this wasn't about dinner. It wasn't about his job, or hers. It was all of it. What she wanted was for them to be able to disagree, even if that included yelling, and still be able to work through it. She was the one who had stormed off this time, but he was guilty of it just as often. There was no talking, no resolution. No hug at the end, no 'I love you.' Tomorrow there might be apologies, but the cycle would remain unchanged.

It wasn't just Casey. She knew it would take a lot of work, for both of them, to have any chance of changing these patterns, of learning new ways to communicate. But they both had to want that—and Casey refused to do any counseling.

How did things get this way? When did they stop being on each other's team? Why couldn't they be together and just be… happy?

Raphael lingered up on the roof of her building for a few minutes, breathing and trying to steady himself. There was barely any wind tonight, unusual for as high up as he was, but the air was bitterly cold.

He had agreed to this—she had called yesterday, Wednesday, and asked if he could come over tonight. He had agreed, even though what he had really wanted was to postpone, delay indefinitely, because seeing her meant telling her, and telling her meant… it was over.

Over. The very thought made him feel like he would suffocate, even out here in the open air. But there was no veering from the path. He would go in there, and help her with whatever she needed in the shop, and then, somehow... he'd tell her.

Preferably without throwing up.

He was on the roof long enough that his hands were beginning to hurt from the cold before he gave in and admitted to himself that it didn't matter how long he stayed out here—it wasn't gonna make him feel any better. She'd be expecting him by now… and somehow, mechanically, he got his body moving and descended to her window, hesitating only long enough to take one more deep breath, in and out, before rapping on the pane.

She must have been nearby, because within moments she was raising the window from inside, beaming her happiness at his arrival. "Hey, you made it!"

Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke, he told himself in a running mantra as he eased through the window and into her kitchen. This time there was a towel on the floor for him to step on, and after closing the window he wiped his bare feet carefully, relieved to have a reason to delay looking up at her. He worried that she would read in his face that something was wrong and press him for a reason, and he didn't want to get into it right now. But before he had even straightened, she was talking about a mile a minute, practically bubbling over with energy.

"Brrrr, it's freezing out there. You don't even have a jacket! Come in, come in—can I get you something? A sweatshirt? Hot chocolate? Or are you hungry?"

Raphael had looked up in the middle of this stream of observations and questions, glad for the opportunity to look at her without having to say anything right away. "Thanks. No, I'm, I'm fine."

Her face brightened even more, if that was possible, and he could tell she was pleased by his answer, though he didn't understand why.

"Okay, great, then we can just head right down." And with no hesitation, she seized him by the hand and led him towards the front door of the apartment. "God, your hands are freezing!" she said with an extra squeeze and a glance over her shoulder, but evidently her concern wasn't enough to make her think of delaying their trip downstairs, because she kept on pulling him along.

From the first moment she took his hand, Raph's entire existence shrank to that one touch, her grip warm and firm yet somehow soft, drawing him forward. There was something charged about the contact, as if it wasn't just superficial skin on skin but something deeper, spreading up his arm with an unnerving tingle. Even if he had wanted to pull away or change his mind, he couldn't have. He allowed himself to be lead but he didn't really return her grip. Somehow it was all he could do just to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

They went out to the short hallway inside her building and down the stairwell, April holding the keys she'd swiped off the counter on their way through the kitchen. She didn't release his hand until she stopped to neutralize the security system and unlock the door, and only then did he feel like he could draw a full breath at last. He concentrated on that for now, just breathing. It helped that she was turned away from him, and he unthinkingly curled and uncurled the fingers of the hand she had let go of repeatedly, as if he could shake off the memory of the touch.

She got the door opened, looking over her shoulder at him once again as she stepped through and flipped on a light switch. "Come on in."

Raphael followed behind her, taking advantage of the opportunity to just look at her without feeling self-conscious about it. Her hair was pulled back into a messy sort of knot, with the usual wisps and strands hanging loose that she was always having to brush out of her face or tuck behind her ears, and the neck of the oversized sweater she was wearing had slipped down low on one side, exposing a stretch of smooth skin, and the delicate line of her shoulder where it met her neck. Even though the sweater hid much of her trim shape, she moved with a careless vitality that, to an eye used to sizing up opponents, broadcast her physical fitness. God… how could he have been around her all these years, and never really see her?

April finally stopped near the front desk and turned to face him. He halted too, staring dumbly back at her and hoping the warmth that had risen to his face wasn't noticeable. It wasn't until that moment that he thought to wonder what she needed his help with.

"Ok. So," she said, launching right in, "I want you to look around, and tell me what's missing."

Raph's brows drew down. "Missing?" Then he understood, and anger flared in the pit of his stomach. "You think something's been lifted?" he asked sharply, scanning the sales floor more closely.

"No, no! I meant what's missing in the overall… ambiance. The, the atmosphere, you know?"

Raph just stared at her, too surprised to even formulate any words.

"I just know something's not right in here," she elaborated, "something's off, but I can't pinpoint what." Her manner was almost business-like, her eyes on him clear and direct, and she faced him without fidgeting. Still, when he looked more closely at her face he could tell her expression was somewhat rigid, her jaw tight, and he had an inkling that as dispassionate as she was trying to seem, something about this was very important to her.

"Um…" he said at last, "I think you got the wrong guy. You need Don, or maybe Leo. Hell, even Mikey would be more of a help. This kind a' thing ain't exactly my… thing," he ended lamely.

She was shaking her head before he'd even finished speaking. "I asked Donatello, and he… well he was very encouraging! But now I need someone to be brutally honest with me. No sugar-coating, no pep talk, no hand-patting. If I don't get some business in here…" She stopped abruptly, dropping her eyes, and he could tell she was biting the inside of her lip. Then she cleared her throat and looked back up at him, her eyes pleading. "Please, Raphael. Help me. Just tell me what you think."

Raph's eyes began sweeping around the store, more to break eye contact than anything else, but he didn't know what to say. In spite of what she'd said, he still thought he was the last one she should be asking. "April, I don't think—"

"Please, Raphael," she pleaded. "We're friends, right? Help me out. I need this."

"I dunno…"

"Come on, just one thing! Whatever pops in your head. Please?"

"It's, it's…" He was scrambling, trying to come up with something else to tell her, 'cause there was no way he could say the thing that popped into his head as he looked around the store.

"Just say it!" she goaded him. "Come on, Raphael, spit it out, whatever your first thought is, just say it."

"I don't—"

"SAY IT!"

"Fine, it's boring!" he snapped, and the moment the words were out he wished he could take them back.

April looked stunned, her wide eyes fixed on his, and she slowly repeated the word, as if not quite comprehending. "Boring."

"Ah jeezus, I told ya—nevermind. Look, don't, don't listen to me, I don't know what the hell I'm talkin' about!" he stammered. "Just, just go ask Leo or something an' forget what I said, ok?"

She seemed to be ignoring him. Either that or she was still in shock. "Boring," she said again, more to herself it seemed, and her eyes were flicking back and forth introspectively. "Ok." Then she pulled in a deep breath, looked up at him again and said, "Can you… be more specific?"

"No! Just forget I said anything!"

"Raph, stop. I want to talk about this. But… I think I need to sit down first." Still looking somewhat dazed, she went over to the desk and sat down rather stiffly. "So tell me—boring in what way?"

He turned to face her. "April, I really don't wanna—"

"You believe in me, don't you?" she interjected softly. Her face was tilted up to him, her green eyes searching his face, and he couldn't even summon a breath, much less an answer.

"Before, when I said I was asking you because I knew you'd be honest… that wasn't the full reason. I think… you believe in me. And I think you might be the only one who does," she ended in a small voice.

He shook his head. "That ain't—we all believe in you, you know that."

"I know everyone supports me, but that's not the same thing. I think you might be the only one who actually thinks I will succeed."

He had no answer to that, and so he said nothing. He'd never even thought about the distinction before, and he found himself analyzing his own feelings on the matter, trying to discern if what she suspected was true.

"That's what your Christmas gift was about, wasn't it?" She scanned his face another moment, and then abruptly dropped her eyes to the desk. "Unless I was just reading too much into it."

All at once Raph felt the need to sit down too, and he slowly went over and lowered himself in a second chair off to the side. He drew a deep breath, and let it out again, his heart squeezing painfully with each beat. "You weren't," he said at last, likewise looking downward. And he knew in that moment that he had already fallen for her, even back then.

The words were so simple, his tone low and gruff, and yet they made April feel warm down to her very core. She knew if she tried to talk just then she would only start blubbering, so she sat trying to compose herself, swallowing hard against the burning of her throat. She wasn't mistaken—he did believe in her. And if ever she had needed confirmation, it was now.

Then, to her surprise, Raph began to elaborate.

"When I said the place is… boring, I guess what I meant is, it just looks like any other artsy-fartsy, yuppie store. I mean, not that I've—whatever. Point is, I don't get any sense of you in this place."

Relieved to have something to focus on, she thought about what he said. That's good, I guess. At least he doesn't think I'm boring—just my store. "But I don't know what would make it seem more like me. I just thought… this is what the clientele wants to see." She looked around her at the space. "Clean. Modern. Refined."

"Well then, fuck the clientele! What is it about this job that you love? What gets you excited?"

April looked down at the desk again, tracing the whorls in the wood grain with her fingertip as she thought. What was she excited about? Although her dad had purchased Second Time Around because he'd seen it as a good business opportunity, he had been better with the accounting and strategic side than the actual product. Instead his brother August had been the one who selected and procured much of the merchandise, and April had loved listening to her uncle's stories about all the different items in the shop. Augie was a born storyteller, and he made each and every piece seem important in some way, like a treasure, though April's mother had sometimes called it junk. But that didn't matter to Augie.

As it turned out, perhaps the brothers should have listened to April's mom a bit more. The shop had never been very lucrative.

April had been excited to re-open the store, to fill it with pieces that she felt a connection with… but when she thought about it, she was happiest away from the store. If she could, she would spend most of her time tracking things down, like she had when Winters hired her to find the Stone Generals. Once she acquired an item, it became merchandise, something she needed to sell to make ends meet. But when she was out there hunting it down…

Suddenly she went still, her eyes widening, and the wood grain of the table became one of the many topographic maps she'd used while in the field. Adventure—she'd always loved adventure! The turtles had even commented on it, about how quickly she'd taken to life in the wilds when Uncle Augie's Artifact had pulled them into the alternate world where they fought a hive of giant killer hornets. Thinking about it now, she realized it didn't even matter if what she sought was in another dimension, or a dusty attic, or a premier gallery. What really drove her forward was…

"The hunt," she whispered. She looked up at Raphael, and found his amber-flecked eyes looking steadily back at her. "It's not the store—it's the thrill of the hunt!" she said, breathless with the euphoria of a breakthrough, and like a dam toppling before the pressure of the water behind it, a rush of ideas inundated her, a hundred ideas, a thousand ideas. "You're right!" she laughed, almost giddy with excitement. "LOOK at this boring old place!" she crowed, throwing her arms out wide to indicate the entire store. Then she sprang up from her chair and started pacing as she put words to her new vision.

"I need to, to create a sense of adventure, the thrill of the hunt. The whole place needs a face-lift—maybe even a name change. And I don't think I'd have to do any expensive remodeling to create the atmosphere I want. Just modifying the flow, the floor plan, the décor, could work wonders! Like Indiana Jones meets Manhattan chic! I could make it a, a maze or something! I think maybe I should even try to refocus a little, work on getting more commissions to track down things people want. I don't need to bring in so much inventory if I can get paid just for tracking things down, right?"

She laughed again, just because, and then looked at Raphael, who was still sitting in the chair at the desk. He was smiling, too, but something in his eyes…

"What?" she said, suddenly self-conscious.

"Uh, nothin'," he said, one side of his mouth quirking a little, though his manner overall seemed oddly subdued. "Just, you. Look at you." He gestured in her general direction with one three-fingered hand.

She beamed back, understanding what he meant. She hadn't felt this energized, this alive in a long time. "Yeah. I'm… this is amazing, this feels…" Unable to find the words, she impulsively stepped over and bent to hug him, only remembering his recent neck injury when he stiffened as her arms tightened around him. "Oh, sorry!" she said, hurriedly withdrawing. She kissed him on the cheek to make up for it, lingering for a moment with her face close to hers. "Thank you, Raphael." She stepped back, still smiling. No, not smiling, grinning like a fool.

"You're welcome," he replied earnestly. The smile was gone, his expression almost somber, but his eyes… there was an intensity to them that drew her attention, and when April studied them more closely her giddiness vanished, leaving her feeling somewhat lightheaded. For a second, she forgot to breathe… and then Raphael broke eye contact and looked down, and though she was able to take in air then, she was left feeling confused and oddly flustered.

He couldn't tell her now, not tonight, not when she was this excited, her eyes so luminous it was hard to look directly at them. She had worked so hard for this place, struggled so much…

No matter what he'd promised himself, he couldn't ruin this moment for her.

Instead, he cleared his throat lightly and steeled himself before looking up to meet her eyes again, trying to project a calm he didn't feel. "So. Let's get to it then," he said with a hitch of his shoulders.

She looked at him. Blinked. "You mean… right now?"

"Sure." He shrugged again. "As Mikey would say, you should ride this wave. I'll be the muscle—you just tell me what to do."

She watched his face silently, and when he was done speaking she looked almost dazed. "Yeah," she breathed, her expression slowly brightening. "Yeah… you're right. Why wait? I can start right away!"

She was flushed and slightly breathless, and Raph smiled to himself at her enthusiasm.

"This is great!" she continued. "I'll just need a, a pen, and some paper to get some of these ideas down," she said, and she patted the pockets of her pants like the materials she needed might be there. "And wine!" she blurted out, looking up at him suddenly. "I should get us some drinks! It can be like a, a celebration! What can I get you, a beer?" She was already turned, ready to head to the stairs.

"No, um, just a soda for me. Thanks."

She paused on the brink of starting the stairs and looked back at him over her shoulder, her brows raised in surprise. "You sure?"

"For now," he said quickly. "Just. Kinda thirsty."

Her expression smoothed, and she smiled again. "Coming right up."

She all but sprinted up the stairs, and when she was gone, Raph let his smile drop and let out a slow, steadying breath. Then he rose and went to the desk to hunt down a pen and paper.

Celebration? No way. He could be happy for her, was happy for her, but this was no celebration for him. He supposed alcohol could go either way— heighten the excitement, or numb the pain. But he wanted a clear head right now, wanted to spend this time with her with his senses unaltered, to see and feel everything as it was… because it would probably be the last time they were together like this. But at least he could help bring her vision to life. At least he could do that much for her, before everything came crashing down.

Raphael was glad for these few minutes he had to himself as he slowly rummaged in the desk drawers for writing supplies. His entire body felt weighted, leaden, and every movement was an effort. The hollow ache in his chest was the worst of it all, but somehow, he was gonna have to find a way to function in spite of it. When April came back down those stairs, he was determined to put all his shit aside, and just be what she needed.

He knew it wasn't going to be easy— especially when each beat of his heart only made him ache anew…

Especially when he could still feel the exact spot where her lips had touched his cheek.