Author's Note: Less angst this time around as promised and some brief PG-13 fluff. This chapter is split between Donnie and April.
Chapter Twenty One
"There, that oughta do it," Mikey says, standing back to inspect his work.
I hold up the plastic bag and duct tape monstrosity wrapped around my bandaged hand and try not to look doubtful. He used the bags from the surgical towels and the gray tape didn't touch skin until just below my elbow. Infection was still a very real and very possible threat and we didn't need to tempt it. He must see the doubt in my eyes because he's instantly on the defensive.
"It'll work," he insists, putting a hand on his hip and boarding on a pout. "Not a drop of water is getting past the duct-bag."
"Duct-bag?"
"Well, because it's made out of bags and…"
"We get it," Raph cuts him off with a slap to the back of his head.
Mikey glowers in response.
"All right, let's get you cleaned up," Raphael says kneeling with the intent to drape my left arm over his shoulders.
I lean to the other side and keep my arm flat to my side. "I can wash myself," I say for what seems like the hundredth time that morning.
I've given up a lot of my self-sufficiency over the last few days. My brothers and Master Splinter have fed me and taken care of my wound, but I draw the line at letting Raphael wash me. He's not amused and his eyes narrow in that special way before he's about to say something cutting.
"All right, fine Donnie. How about we make a deal? If you can get up and walk to the door by yourself I'll stop helping you," he says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking infuriatingly smug.
Prove him wrong.
I set my mouth in a determined line and lean back on my left hand for support. I'm not going down without a fight. If it's the last thing I do I am going to stand up and walk to that door, even if it takes all day. I'll wipe that smug look off his face. I hold my right hand close to my chest to avoid accidently bumping into anything and slowly swing my feet to the floor. The floor is freezing beneath my feet and I struggle to hold back a small shiver. Raphael sees it and he lets out a tiny, chuckle that rings with an 'I told you so.'
Prove him wrong.
I reach up and grab the edge of the headboard for leverage. It's now or never. I pull up and hoist myself to standing. For several glorious seconds I think I've done it. I think the hard part is over and the walk to the door will be a breeze. That euphoria doesn't last and my knees start to shake and my head spins. I'm going to fall. I try to lean back to at least soften the landing on my bed. Raphael catches me around the waist and manages to throw my arm over his shoulders. I don't have to look at him to know he's smirking.
"I hate you," I grumble, leaning on him for support.
He laughs. The sound rumbles deep in his chest. "Sure you do," he says. "Now come on, you have to take a shower. You stink."
"You stink," I mutter in reply.
That'll show him.
The walk to the bathroom is slow and uncomfortable and we have to stop every time my hand bumps against my plastron. I should have worn a sling. The pain starts at the crease in my wrist as it always does and travels through the tips of my fingers. Mikey follows close behind us, his feet shuffling impatiently with every painstakingly slow step. Raph turns on the bathroom light and I can't help but notice that someone fixed the door he broke days before. They did a less than impressive job. I'll have to fix it once I'm back on my feet.
Add it to the list.
Raphael lowers me onto the stool someone placed in the shower stall. I'm grateful to be off my feet and I can't help but let out a small sigh of relief. Mikey has his arms full with a shower caddy and he's explaining each item as if this is my first time using soap. I don't stop him. He's only trying to help and that short walk tired me out more than I will ever admit. I should have paid closer attention because water suddenly hits me and I am fully unprepared for it.
"C-cold!" I cry, trying to move out of the spray without toppling over onto the tiled floor.
"Oh, sorry! Sorry!" Mikey says, stepping in front of the spray and letting out a squeal of his own when the freezing water hits his skin.
He fiddles with the levers until the water turns warm and then settles on hot. It's glorious and I can't remember why I put up a fight against this. I lean into the spray, holding my right hand away from the brunt of the water. Even with the plastic covering the bandages I think it best not to risk it. Relaxation is only a fleeting sensation and my muscles tense when Raphael goes about scrubbing along my carapace with a rough-bristled scrub brush.
"I can wash myself," I snap, turning away from his less than gentle ministrations. "I'm not an invalid."
"The more you complain the longer this'll take," he replies with a shrug.
I squirm and turn away, almost falling when I make a grab for the handle of the brush. Raphael lets out an aggravated grunt and slams the handle of the brush into my grasping hand.
"Fine, here, have at it," he growls. "Ya got ten minutes," he says, taking hold of Mikey's arm to pull him out of the stall. "And if I come back in here and you're passed out on the floor, so help me…"
"I'll be fine," I insist.
He lets out a disgruntled snort, but thankfully, mercifully gives me some much needed privacy, dragging Mikey along with him. I love my brothers. I truly do…but I haven't had a single moment of solitude in the better half of a week and it is beginning to wear thing. I close my eyes and lean into the water, resting my hand on the cool tile of the wall for balance. The water is hot and starts to make me light headed. I regretfully lean back and set to the task of washing up. It feels wonderful to be clean, no, wonderful doesn't do it justice. My skin is warm and slightly raw from scrubbing and covered in the clean scent of soap. I almost feel like myself again. Ten minutes slides by much too quickly and by the time I'm reaching up for the towel hanging on the hook at the stalls entrance there's a timid knock on the bathroom door.
Raphael doesn't knock.
"Donnie? Is it all right if I come in?"
April. I feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth and I pull the towel tight around my shoulders to ward of the sudden chill in the air.
"Yeah, of course," I call back.
I want to meet her, hold the door open for her, but I can't stand on my own so I remain seated awkwardly in the shower stall. I hear the door open and my face flushes hot when I realize I don't have my mask on and that there will be nothing between us but the flimsy towel covering my shoulders. April pads barefoot across the tile floor and my grin widens when she peers into the stall. The steam still clinging to the air curls the stray hairs around her face into delicate little corkscrews and I want nothing more than to reach out and run my fingers along each curve.
"All clean?" she asks with a tiny smile.
I nod and she stands in front of me, fussing with the towel. "We should get you back in bed before you catch a cold. Mikey changed the sheets…"
I take hold of her wrist and the light touch is enough to stop any further words. I can feel her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips and I give a slight pull. Our lips touch and it's gentle and chaste and I'm sure she's afraid of hurting me. I don't want gentle or chaste and I don't want her to think I'm so easily broken. I let go of her wrist and move my arm around her waist, pulling her close and deepening the kiss. Whatever reservations she had are gone and I lean back against the wall as she lowers onto my lap and leans in to the embrace.
April
I shouldn't encourage this. He's hurt and just starting to resemble something of his old self. He should be resting, regaining his strength; healing. There are dark circles under his eyes and a slight rattle in his chest when he takes a breath. He has always been lanky, but the days without eating or moving and trying to fight off infection have taken any extra weight he had to spare. I can see it in the narrow curve of his throat and in the way his collar bone juts out under green skin; pushing dangerously close to the surface. He should be resting. Not kissing me until I lose my common sense. I shouldn't encourage this, but I do.
I hook my fingers under the edge of his shell beneath his arm, grinning around another kiss when he moans as I touch the soft skin hidden there. It's the first moan I've heard from him in days that hasn't been twisted and turned ugly by pain. I want to hear it again. I want to make him forget the agony, so I trail my fingers along the same spot and feel a tiny sense of accomplishment when his breath hitches and that happy moan echoes throughout the stall once more. His fingers tighten and curl at my waist and lift a few inches to brush against my ribcage. I surprise myself with a moan of my own and feel my face burn with the heat of the room and the growing heat in my stomach.
"S'all right?" he murmurs, kissing the side of my neck with slow, languid passes of his tongue that make me shiver and bite back another suggestive sound.
He's smiling. I can hear it in his voice. He knows it's all right, that it's more than all right. He just wants me to say it. Tease.
"Y-yeah," I stammer and I gasp when he closes his mouth around my throat.
I am quickly losing control of the situation and I try to remind myself why I shouldn't be doing this. He's hurt…he needs to take things easy…this isn't easy…this is…All coherent thought leaves in a rush of breath as his hand grazes the underside of my breast. It wasn't intentional and we both freeze. The persistent drip of the showerhead sounds like rapid, fire gunshots in the cramped space, echoing off the tiled surface and mixing painfully with his rattling breaths. I should not encourage this. Not yet, when he's better, when he's healed. When he's healed he can touch me anywhere he wants. The quiet thought burns a red, embarrassed path across my skin and I'm sure he can read it all over my face so I avert my gaze with a bashful laugh.
"Seriously?"
I didn't hear Raphael come in and neither did Donnie judging by the way he tightens his grip on my ribs and makes the tiniest of surprised squeaks. I roll and flail in the struggle to disentangle myself from his lap while trying to regain any of my dignity. Raphael stands at the entrance to the stall with his jaw tightened and moved ever so slightly to the right in the physical personification of irritation.
"Do you really think this is helping?" he asks and I bristle defensively at the accusation.
"Tremendously," Donnie says from behind me and his sleepy, happy voice makes me smile.
Raph lets out a sigh that is halfway to a growl and rolls his eyes. "All right, lover boy. Let's get you back to your room. Master Splinter wants to change your bandages."
He stops short of pushing me to maneuver enough in the cramped stall to sling Donnie's arm over his shoulder and pull him to standing. The sleepy smile is gone and replaced by a determined grimace. Guilt wiggles in my stomach and I step aside to give them room, hurrying to hold the bathroom door open. I shouldn't have encouraged him. He's in no condition. He needs to rest. He needs to save his strength.
The walk back to his room is slow and laborious and only makes my guilt squiggle harder. Raph lowers him onto the edge of the bed before bending to help him lift his legs up onto the mattress; ignoring Donnie's annoyed insistence that he can do it himself. He lies back against the clean sheets with a sigh, his eyes drifting shut and his right hand resting on his plastron. It's wrapped haphazardly with plastic bags and duct tape and drips water from every fold.
"Mikey?" I ask, gently rustling the plastic.
"Mikey," he replies with a nod, still not opening his eyes. "Seems to have worked though. I don't think any water got in."
"Raphael, you are late for training," Master Splinter says from the doorway.
The volatile turtle looks as though he might argue and then thinks better of it. "Hai Sensei," he murmurs, casting a worried glance down at his brother. "You'll call if you need help?"
A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Master Splinter's mouth and he nods. "Of course, but I believe April and I will be just fine."
Raph levels me with a knowing glare and it's my turn to roll my eyes. Master Splinter is already cutting off the plastic and tape wrapped around Donnie's hand and I'm suddenly struck with the realization that I'm about to see the injury for the first time since Sensei cut away the rotting flesh. I sit down on the bed and Donnie finds my hand instantly, smiling up at me with tired eyes. He grimaces when Master Splinter sticks a needle into his arm and I must look surprised because Sensei explains quietly.
"Antibiotics."
He catches Donnie's eye and there's a tiny, wordless nod shared between them followed by a second needle and another grimace. I feel Donnie's grip loosen slightly and his eyes start to glaze over as the pain medication starts to take hold. He's fighting to stay awake and it would be adorable if it was under any other circumstances. The rough sound of scissors cutting through linen sends a shiver down my spine and I focus on his sleepy eyes instead, not entirely convinced I'm ready to see what's waiting under the bandages.
"H-hey…hey April?" he murmurs and I barely make out my name in the groggy jumble of words.
"I'm right here, Donnie," I assure him, giving his hand a squeeze.
He smiles and his eyes drift close. "Come here."
With a cautious glance in Master Splinter's direction I lean forward and put my ear close to his mouth.
"Did…did you see Raph's face?" he asks around a delirious little giggle before his eyes roll back in his head and he's dead to the world.
I sit up straight as a board and try to cool the blush burning across my face as I clear my throat. Master Splinter doesn't seem to notice, although, to be fair, he has something more important to focus on. He methodically unwraps the bandages, discarding them into a thick plastic bag at his feet as they peel away from Donnie's skin. I make myself watch. I make myself look. I can't avoid it forever and somehow I think it wouldn't be fair if I pretended it didn't exist. I bite back a tiny gasp when he pulls off the last layer of linen and my hand goes to cover my mouth.
The skin across the crease in his wrist looks as though someone dug out a large portion of the flesh and left deep, jagged edges in its place. I don't know how he hasn't bled out and the glistening, puckered skin reminds me revoltingly of cooked, green ham. They cauterized the wound. The gash down the length of his thumb isn't much better to look at, but I force my eyes to take in the full extent of his injuries. Master Splinter carefully cleans the wounds before rubbing a pungent smelling ointment into the skin. His hands are quick and diligent and I can see the faint glint of sadness shimmer across his eyes before he devotes his full attention back to the task.
If there is one saving grace it's that the seeming improvement of the discoloration of his skin. The scaly black that at one point covered the entire extremity has been delegated to a few stubborn patches that peel and crack at the edges. Master Splinter catches one of those edges and peels off the skin with intense precision. The skin underneath is smooth and almost pink, like the peel of a particularly bad sunburn. Judging by the light green patches amongst the black I hope the red will fade in time.
"Is…is his hand…is he going to be all right?" I ask, staring once again at the worst of his injuries.
How can it be all right? How can this not have severe lasting damage? Master Splinter doesn't look up as he wraps Donnie's hand in new, clean bandages. He's considering his response and the fact that he doesn't have a direct answer is enough to crush any hope I might have had.
"It is too soon to say," he murmurs, tapping off a section of the bandages before starting on the next. "It will take time. It will be difficult and he may never regain full use of his hand," he looks up then and I'm taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes. "He will need your strength, April," he says quietly. "You will need to be strong. Can you do that?"
I take hold of Donnie's hand once more and sit up straighter. "Hai, Sensei," I reply and I mean it.
