A/N: Thanks to Ravenshell for being an awesome beta!
Chapter 39
"Hey." I smile as I peek through the cracked door.
"Oh... hey, April." Donnie's sitting on the side of his bed as he greets me with a lopsided grin. He seems a little jittery.
"Were you resting? ...I was just checking on you. I could come back later when dinner is ready." I know how hard it is for Donnie to get a full night's rest. He texts me at night when he can't sleep. He says the medicine makes him both tired and restless. I think he's still having nightmares too.
He shakes his head and pats the mattress beside him as an invitation. "No rest for the weary."
I give him a worried smirk as I take a seat beside him. "You didn't text me any at night last week. I thought you were finally getting some rest."
"Actually let me rephrase that: there's no rest for the weary around Mikey during the holidays." I laugh. Mikey called me at least ten times yesterday to make sure I didn't forget to bring the turkey. He said the holidays had to be super awesome for Donnie. He really is a good little brother when he's not driving his family crazy with his shenanigans.
As if on cue, Mikey's voice rings through the lair as he sings to the tune of Deck the Halls:
"DECK THE PLATES WITH LOADS OF STUFFING! FA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA! DONT FORGET TO CARVE THE PUMPKIN! FA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!—"
"FOR THE LOVE OF SANITY, WILL YOU STOP SINGING CHRISTMAS SONGS?! AND NOBODY CARVES PUMPKINS AT THANKSGIVING. THAT'S HALLOWEEN, YOU NITWIT."
"WELL, DUH! BUT IF YOU'RE GONNA MAKE PUMPKIN PIE YOU MIGHT AS WELL MAKE A JACK-O'-LANTERN TOO, BRUH!"
Donnie and I share a look before we burst into laughter. Our comic relief ends abruptly as a coughing fit consumes him. When the coughing continues, I rub circles over his shell with my nails. He turns to me with a nod as he clears his throat. "I'm okay." I frown at his lie as I glance over his tell-tale skin. Within seconds his complexion is a ghastly grey.
"Oh, really?..." I cross my arms, looking over his body. Donnie looks down, taken aback by his sudden change in appearance. His face twists into a small grimace as he breathes deeply. I watch as his skin turns back to its familiar olive tone. "How long have you been hiding the fact that you're not okay?"
He looks like he's going to lie again but a single glare from me makes him reconsider his words with a sigh. "Not long. Just a few days. I think it's just a sinus infection." I don't believe him. "I don't want to worry anyone, not today," he says as he rubs his lower plastron.
"Are you going to be sick?" I ask, reaching for the trash bin beside me.
"No. I'm good," he says swallowing back the truth like a bitter pill.
"Do you feel up for venturing into Mikey's Thanksgiving Food Coma Extraordinaire?" Donnie gives me a look of amusement. I shrug. "I'm just repeating what I heard." He rolls his eyes with a smile.
"Mikey..." He says his brother's name with an easy sigh on his lips while shaking his head. "With everything that's happened, he still believes good food and company are the cure-all of all cure-alls."
"I think Mikey may be on to something." Maybe being around his family and friends today will take Donnie's mind off how cruddy he's been feeling. "I think I heard Casey coming in." I wince at the barbaric howl. Yep, that's Casey alright. "Come on."
"Wait." Donnie grabs my wrist, halting my exit. Our eyes meet as I slowly sit down again. "There's something I need to say to you." His amber eyes are sharp and focused. Despite his weariness, his muscles tense as he pauses to concentrate on whatever it is he's getting ready to say. My heart races as Donnie takes my hands into his. My eyes water but I don't know why. I blink back the offending tears before looking at him again.
He doesn't say anything, just stares at my hands. They're so small compared to his enormous hands. His taloned thumb strokes the back of my hand with feather-like gentleness. He stares at my fingers for a minute, turning them in his hand as he feels the texture. It's funny how mesmerized he is by my small, pale fingers. My patience is rewarded when he finally looks at me again.
"Thank you for coming down today."
"What?" It's hard to keep the confusion out of my voice, but the sudden unnecessary thank you catches me off guard.
He shakes his head and starts again. "Not just today, but every day when you come to see me. Thank you. Thank you for administering my treatments; for talking about any and everything to keep my mind off how my blood feels like it's boiling out of my veins; for head massages until I pass out or fall asleep, whichever comes first; for listening to jazz tapes with me when I didn't want to talk and making me talk when I needed to; for making me eat; for staying even when I told you to get out..."
His voice cracks and I swallow the lump in my throat at the recent memory. Donnie had a really bad session. He was in a lot of pain and nothing I did seemed to help. He was so frustrated and angry. I wasn't mad when he yelled and said those nasty things to me, I knew he didn't mean it. So, I stayed. I held him close that evening until the pain subsided and he eventually fell into a fitful sleep. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes again.
"Thank you for—"
"Donnie, stop. Please." I stop him before he continues to prattle off more thankfulness from his mental list. You don't have to thank me for anything."
"Yes, I do. You... you didn't have to do those things... didn't have to be here. You stayed and you didn't have to."
Through my blurry vision, I can see his eyes are also glossy with unshed tears. "I didn't stay because I had to, I stayed because I wanted to. I thought we were past this." My words are soft but the declaration is strong and unwavering.
"I... I know, and we are... I just..." He holds my hands a little tighter as he draws them closer to his plastron and I find myself leaning closer as well. He clicks his tongue in frustration. There's more he wants to say, but I know words of the heart are difficult for him so I give his hands a squeeze of encouragement. "I need you to understand... what I'm trying to say." He turns his body toward me.
"Actions almost always speak louder than words, and these past few weeks, your actions have spoken volumes. I just had to be sure what your actions were saying. According to typical human behavior when an individual shows the level of dedication, commitment, and concern that you have selflessly shown me while in a dire situation similar to mine, it generally means the giving individual has feelings for the receiving individual—feelings that supersede self-gain or any perceived benefits for the giving individual..."
His hands are moist against mine as he babbles his thoughts out in the form of observations and theories. "...but... but it's not just a behavioral phenomenon of empathy. There's also a physiological aspect. You stare at me... a lot, and not in that annoyed and disgusted way, especially when you think I'm not looking; you always smile when you're around me too so... so I'm pretty sure you're happy when we're together; and your pulse is racing right now," he confirms with fingers I didn't realize were pressed against my wrist. "So your heart probably skipped a beat or two in the past ten seconds."
"These... symptoms all mean something and if I had to diagnose it, I'd say these were the first signs of love."
My lips part in a gasp. Donnie leans forward with a small smile until our foreheads touch. "...and I think you're contagious."
Stunned, I'm frozen in my emotions that Donnie spliced in front of me like a scientist over a Petri dish. I don't have much time for recovery as he continues. "So am I right or are my theory and research simply wishful thinking?" As he tries to sound airily confident, I see the glimpse of wavering hope glistening in his eyes.
"No. It's not wishful thinking at all," I whisper, at the edge of my emotions. My heart isn't skipping anymore; it's practically running a marathon in my chest, every hurdle a pounding thump between my ears as Donnie's hand cups the side of my face. His careful touch doesn't match the callused texture of his palm. I'm not afraid as his thumb swipes my bangs to the side, the sharp talon at the end never breaking my skin. I close my eyes as he tilts my chin up. His beak nuzzles my nose before he slowly finds my lips. The kiss is so gentle, softly asking permission as I feel the pause in his movements. Permission is granted as my hand rubs the side of his head and trails down neck before I pull him closer by pressing my hand against his carapace. He doesn't hesitate anymore.
I never really understood those axioms about one's heart floating to their head until now. My heartbeat has slowed from nervousness to blissful elation and, yes, it does feel like my heart is fluttering in the grey matter of my brain. April deepens the kiss as my normal arm hooks around her waist. I've waited so long for this, too afraid before to take that leap of faith. It was always easier to stay in the safety of the friendship tightrope, never looking down in fear of falling into rejection. Fortunately, I did fall and April fell with me, hand in hand into the depths of an unexplored love. It's amazing the sense of bravery you muster up when faced with inescapable fate.
My lips part slightly and April takes it as a solicitation as her tongue brushes the inner parts of my lip.
"Well, it's about freakin' time."
April shrieks. No wait, that was me. I hear Raph's full-body laugh before my eyes glare over April's shoulder at him. I'm mortified to see he's not alone.
"Woooo! Way to go, D! This is the best Thanksgiving ever, bruh!" Mikey chimes in with a fist pump as he smiles so widely at me I think his face will split in two. Smiling, Leo leans against the doorframe, apparently enjoying the show as much as our brothers as they laugh and give me congratulatory winks and noogies, and completely humiliating me while effectively ruining this treasurable moment between April and me.
April blushes to a rosy hue before staring at me with a shy smile. I get the feeling there will be plenty more treasurable moments to create in the near the future.
"Um, I'll be in the pit," she whispers to me before planting a peck on my cheek and making a beeline for the door.
"Dude, did you tongue her? ...Tell me you tongued her," Raph says once he's sure April's out of hearing range, while still tugging my neck into loose choke hold.
"Raph, leave Donnie alone," Leo comes to my rescue, even though he also has a smirk on his face. "I'm sure he's not the type of turtle to kiss and tell."
"Thank you, Leo." I give my oldest brother an appreciative look as I shove away from Raph's hold. "Furthermore…. she tongued me." My room goes wild with virile howls and laughter.
"Yo, what's all the hype about?" Casey asks as he shoulders between my brothers.
"Donnie-boy just played his first round of tonsil hockey….with April." I roll my eyes at Raph's response, while observing Casey.
There's a shocked expression on Casey's face at this sudden news but he recovers quickly. "For real, D? ... That's wicked sweet, bro." The words sound sincere enough but the pitch of his tone tells me his enthusiasm is a bit damper.
As my brothers exit my room, Casey lags behind. He's hunched over slightly with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He straightens his stance as I push myself from my bed. "There's more to Red then just a pretty face and if any guy deserves to discover the mystery that is April O'Neil, it's you," Casey says wistfully as he turns his attention to the subject of our conversation.
In the doorway of my room, I stand with him. April looks back at us from the cushioned pit with a quirk of her brow and smiles, but both Casey and I know it's not for him. As much as Casey and I try to one-up each other, and I belittle his idiocy, he really is a decent guy and deserves a nice girl.
"Guess the best guy won, huh?" Casey asks rhetorically, his fist extended to me.
April's no prize to be won. She's my sweet chinchilla—intelligent, compassionate, protective and fierce, but I understand Casey's sentiment. I return the fist pound with a small smile. As we part ways, I meet April at the pit. No words are exchanged between us and no words need to be as I slide beside her and my arm rests on the back of the couch. I smile at how perfectly she fits in the crook of my side.
"Teenagers... amusing specimens are they not?" Mr. O'Neil says shaking his head with a smile as the burst of whoops and laughter erupt from Donatello's room. I concur with a nod and hearty chuckle. The boys are in good spirits. For this I am grateful. The past few weeks have been challenging, particularly for Donatello. His treatments were seemingly successful in the beginning, but now I am not so sure. Though he has not mutated further, his health has wavered considerably both physically and mentally. He has become more susceptible to sickness and the inner wall of his mind has grown weak. Meditation helps, but I fear it is not enough.
I feel Mr. O'Neil's suspicions as well. Just as I sense the spiritual realm, I know he senses the psychological imbalance within Donatello. Perhaps it is time to tell Mr. O'Neil the truth about the tragic incident in the tunnels. I have pondered over this for a while. Perhaps in these past few weeks, Mr. O'Neil has seen my family as more than just strange mutant ninja. Perhaps he has used this opportunity to know us as humane individuals... to see my most reserved and gentlest son as the teenage boy that he is.
Mr. O'Neil looks curiously at Donatello and April as they form a single silhouette on the couch. Their growing bond has not gone unnoticed by me. Their conversations are casual and natural; their smiles and interactions linger longer than necessary... innocent yet maturing rapidly.
A smirk grazes my lips as Mr. O'Neil stares intensely at his daughter as she leads my son to the dinner table. They sit beside each other as they often do, but their fingers are interlaced upon the table, a new yet not surprising development between the two. Well, it is not a surprise to me. Mr. O'Neil, on the other hand, seems a bit nervous of their interaction, which I suppose most fathers are, concerning their daughters. I have a strong notion he already sees my son as a notorious 'teenage boy'.
This deception does not bode well with my spirit but I had to be certain Mr. O'Neil would willingly help my son, that he would not let mutant prejudices blind him from doing what was right for Donatello. But what does this say of my own motives? Do I hold my own prejudices against the moral (or lack of) conscience, of humans? It is settled. After dinner, I shall speak with Mr. O'Neil and explain the full matter of Donatello's ailment. It is the right thing to do, and I'm not sure how long meditation will keep this darkness within Donatello at bay. We must all be prepared.
TBC...
A/N: I hope you guys had as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it! As always thank you for every review and favorite! Don't forget to leave a review for this chapter, I would love to read your thoughts!
See you next chapter!
Poetique