Dark clouds were gathering in the skies of New York. Occasionally they flickered with lightning or rumbled with thunder, but the storm had yet to really break.

It was an ominous morning, and April had the feeling that there wasn't going to be much business at her antique shop. She sat up in bed, hugging her knees to her chest, wondering if she should even bother opening the place.

It had taken her almost two weeks to reopen her antique store, long after she had gotten the broken windows and doors replaced. At first, April had told herself that she needed time to restock — the Purple Dragons had smashed or torn apart a number of things in her shop, and she needed to replace them. In fact, she had gone to a number of estate sales, and come away with some impressive deals. Anyone who saw her shop now would never think she had lost her stock at all — dishes, some jewelry, furniture and some very nice 19th-century folk art were all on display.

But deep down, she knew the real reason had been that she needed time to recover from the kidnapping, and everything that had happened to her and Don. It had been almost a month and a half since the kidnapping, but her heart still jumped into her throat at unexpected noises and shadows.

But she was doing better than Don was. She visited the Turtles almost every day, making sure that Don was all right — that he was coming out of his room, that he was eating, that he felt her support. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel abandoned by her, especially now that she knew how he felt.

And as she sat beside him, helping him with their joint experiments and making emergency repairs on the TV remote, she couldn't help but remember that he still felt love for her. It was nothing he said or did — he acted as he always had with her — but she felt it radiating from him, so clearly that she was amazed that she had never noticed his love before. He was so earnest, so quietly devoted, that it seemed obvious now.

He seemed so fragile still, so worn and pained by what had happened to him. But April could feel that he was trying desperately to fight his way through his depression and his fears, and she would do anything she could to help him.

And that knowledge had been following her into her dreams. On several mornings, she had woken from dreams that she was back in Don's room — only this time, there was no more worry about age or trauma, no one forcing them together, no one waiting anxiously for them below. There was only Don on that futon, smiling and shining-eyed, welcoming her with his body…

A shiver ran through her at the memory. "Get a grip, April," she muttered to herself.

But the memories of Don followed her into the shower, where she scrubbed herself furiously in an effort to distract herself from thoughts of the Turtle's hands and mouth on her body. She wasn't sure what was wrong with her — he was still in a fragile state, needing support from her and his family, not romantic attention. She shouldn't be fantasizing about him when he was still so traumatized.

She stepped out of the shower just as her cell phone rang, and hurriedly wrapped her dripping body in a towel as she ran to answer it. Her heart jumped as she recognized Leo's number on the tiny screen. "Hello?" she said breathlessly. "Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly," Leo said, sounding worried. "I wanted to tell you that… Don finally told us what happened last night."

April sank onto a chair. "Oh… what happened?"

"He had another dream about the — the rape. We found him scrubbing himself in the shower. He was almost in a trance," Leo said hesitantly. "He blurted out everything that happened during his captivity, everything that they did to him."

April felt something churn in her stomach. That meant—

"Including what happened between you and him."

Her fingers tightened around the phone, and for a moment she thought it might slip out of her hand completely. "Oh."

Leo's voice was full of aching compassion. "April, why didn't you tell us what they did to you?"

She huddled forward, the towel sliding down her breasts and threatening to fall to the floor. Damp strings of red hair fell over her eyes and clung to her cheeks. "Because I — I didn't want to you what had happened to him unless he wanted you to."

"It happened to you too, April. You were as much a victim as Don was."

April shook her head, feeling droplets of water streaming down her face from her wet hair. "I should have found another way, Leo," she said thickly, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "Don — I feel like I forced him into it, because someone threatened us…"

"Racer made you do it," Leo said firmly. "It wasn't your fault, April. Don doesn't blame you."

She huddled forward, running her free hand over her arm. Goosebumps were rising on her bare skin as the water evaporated, and her damp towel wasn't keeping the cool air at bay. "Leo… I'm going to come over as soon as I get dressed. Can we talk about this then?" she said quietly, standing up and pulling the towel over her wet hair.

"If you want, April."

She shivered as she headed back into the bathroom, and began unfolding the clothes she had brought in. One of her socks fell down beside the sink, and she dipped her hand down to pick it up. But her fingers found a small, familiar box of thin cardboard that rattled as she picked it up. She felt a brief flash of surprise as she saw that it was a box of her tampons, which had fallen off the sink and been hidden behind the trash. Somehow she hadn't noticed it there since the last time…

… the last time she had used them.

A chill ran through her as she tried to remember when that had been. The last time she had menstruated, it had been been a few weeks before she and Don had been kidnapped. She remembered because Mikey had wanted her to play volleyball with the Turtles and Casey, but she hadn't felt well enough. She should have menstruated again a couple weeks after her abduction… but she hadn't. It simply hadn't happened.

Her hands began to shake as she realized that in aftermath of her kidnapping and captivity — and her desperation to help Don — she hadn't noticed that her period was late. Very late. In fact, a second one should have started two days ago.

Wait. It was possible that it was just stress that had kept her from menstruating. She had been under enough stress that her body could simply be off-kilter, and everything would go back to normal when she was more relaxed. That was an entirely valid possibility, wasn't it?

It simply wasn't possible… was it?

She dressed herself in a daze, raced through her store and burst out into the street. There was a drugstore a few blocks away that she sometimes went to for cold medicine and band-aids, but this time she was going there for something else. Her hands were shaking as she dropped six or seven pregnancy tests of different brands onto the cashier's counter, and began counting out money.

"I think you only need one of those," the pimply-faced cashier said with a smirk.

"Just ring me up," April snapped.

Her heart hammered in her ears like a drum as she made her way back home, her tests in a plastic bag hanging from her arm. She glanced up at the sky as fat raindrops began to spatter the street, and began running as her shop came into view. More rain began to fall in sheets and heavier drops. Lightning flashed as she fumbled for her keys, and wrenched the door open as the answering crash of thunder almost rattled her windows.

She was gasping for breath as she ran up the stairs into her apartment, clutching the bag to her chest. Frantically she tore the first of the tests out of its box, and stepped into the bathroom.

An hour later, April was sitting silently on the floor of her bathroom, with six used tests arrayed around her like a strange constellation. Her eyes slowly moved from one to the next, taking in the results that had appeared on each one. They all showed the same results. There wasn't even a feeble hope that they were wrong.

Nausea rose inside her as her stomach twisted. She curled her legs up against her torso, clutching her knees to her chest and digging her toes into the tile floor. She looked like a lost child waiting for her mother to find her and take her home, but she knew no one was there to help her with this.

"No," she moaned faintly, pressing her face against her knees, and rocking back against the wall.