Chapter Seven: A Cautious Friendship

"Whoever said that loss gets easier with time was a liar. Here's what really happens: The spaces between the times you miss them grow longer. Then, when you do remember to miss them again, it's still with a stabbing pain to the heart. And you have guilt. Guilt because it's been too long since you missed them last."

- Kristin O'Donnell Tubb, The 13th Sign

On the cold damp stone of the sewer floor, Donatello wept. Since the day of Jade's funeral, alone in his room, he'd not cried this hard and this thoroughly. It was as though whatever flood gate had opened inside of him could no longer be held back. He'd kept everything in for so long, determined to stamp down his pain and conceal his grief, determined to lock away his memories of Jade tightly and completely- never letting himself think long on all that had transpired. All this time, all these months, Donatello had hidden his feelings. He'd beaten them down firmly, callously even. And he'd done so for his brother, both for selfless and selfish reasons, wanting to spare both of them the pain that was sure to come with any admission of truth.

But now everything was out, all was revealed. There were no more secrets, no more lies, and Donatello felt awful. His past was rushing to catch up to his present, and it slammed into him with such a force that it took his breath away, leaving him gasping for air. He felt all the pain of Jade's death stab into him, and at the same time he felt the gravity of loss for Michelangelo. Because he felt, without a doubt, that he'd lost his brother. There was no going back, no making things right. They would never, could never, be the same again.

As another wave of despair washed over him, Donatello gripped the back of his head and buried it between his knees. "Dammit," he groaned, trying desperately to calm himself with deep breaths. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to hurt anymore. But the tears and chocking gasps continued.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

He groaned once more, feeling as though he were in actual physical pain, desperately trying to gain control over his emotions, to once more keep them concealed and at bay. But they would not, seeming to have taken a life of their own as they refused to be forgotten once more. And the thought that kept returning to him, over and over again like a mantra, was; Jade is dead. She's dead. Dead, dead, dead.

In the dark next to him there was a clearing of a throat, and Donatello did not need to look up to see who it was. Instead, his cries became more prevalent, and he sank his head deeper into his knees- as if to hide.

Leonardo laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, kneeling beside him.

"Let's go home, Donny."

Helping him to his feet, clutching him to his side, Leonardo said to Donatello once more, "Let's go home."

One week later…

Done.

Michelangelo was done.

It had been a week since Donatello had been to Michelangelo's apartment, darkening his door and complicating his already complicated life. Michelangelo felt drained both mentally and physically. Everything he'd been working toward, every baby step of progress he'd made had been washed down the drain in one fell swoop.

"I loved her, Mike. I hated that I did, but I did all the same."

It was one of the many things that Donatello had said that kept coming back to Michelangelo, repeating itself over and over again in his mind. It plagued him day and night, attaching itself to him as though a leach might. And he hated it, hated these thoughts and his inability to ignore them. Because they proved, as much as he hated to even think it, he'd been wrong.

So, so wrong.

The anger was still there for his brother and Jade, still festering and refusing to relent. He could not let go of what he'd held on to for so long. The reasoning, however, would not be quelled with fury. As wrong as it was for his brother to do something so stupid as to fall in love with his own ex-girlfriend, as much as he wanted to keep hating Donatello and the ghost of Jade for their discrepancies, reason was making that a hard feat. Because…

Because Donatello had loved her. It had been so clear, so blatantly obvious on Donny's face, that he had loved Jade unconditionally. And Michelangelo knew, through his hurt and pain and rage, that Jade had undoubtedly loved his brother back. That Michelangelo and Jade had, as Donny said, been becoming more friends than lovers. Michelangelo could recall Jade and Donny being close while they had dated. They'd had much in common, and had been friends, always laughing and teasing one another in what had probably seemed to both of them as innocent flirting. But at some point it had changed, and Jade must have realized it.

Mikey couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if things had been different, and Jade had not died. If, when he'd gone to her apartment that day, she'd been there to greet him. To smile and say hello, and to tell him she'd fallen in love with his brother.

He grimaced and took a long drag on his cigarette. That question had been one that had been mulling in his mind for the last week, and he still had no answer for it. So once more he pushed it aside, trying for what seemed like the millionth time to focus on anything but his brother and the past.

Michelangelo adjusted his hat lower on his head and picked up the pace, his boots crunching in the newly fallen snow. He needed another pack of Marlboros, and he had desperately needed to get out of his home. The last week he'd left only in the mornings to do his paper run, and even that had seemed like a trial. He'd tried to find the energy to do other things, to take his nightly jog or venture out to see Justin at the law firm, but it seemed nearly impossible to leave his apartment. He'd taken to devoting hours to piecing together his puzzle and napping, with occasional showers in between. But, between feeling as though he was hiding from the world (at least, the little bit he was exposed to), and needing to have a few essentials in his fridge, he had forced himself out of his sanctuary.

He sighed, pushing aside thoughts of anger and confusion and despair.

"The store," he thought. "Think about what you need from the store."

The warmth hit him in a wave as he stepped through the automatic doors. The Corner Market was the perfect place for Michelangelo. It was fairly small and always open, which suited his late night hours. It was within walking distance and he was never carded, the check-out clerks always being too old or too young to care about carding for tobacco or alcohol.

Mikey picked up a basket and, adjusting his fedora one last time, took to the aisles. Somewhere between bananas and the freezer section, he noticed Penny. The girl, sans her child, walked alone through the store, this time carrying only a small hand basket instead of the massive cart she'd been pushing a week ago. Truth be told, Michelangelo hadn't thought much of the woman since he'd left her and her son on the sidewalk. His thoughts had been preoccupied with Donatello and Jade, and any fleeting memory of his rather unfortunate run in with Penny had left him as swiftly as it had come. Probably, he should have gone elsewhere to do his shopping. What he purchased could be procured at a gas station easily.

He scowled at the thought of finding a new location to shop. He had as much of a right to shop here as anyone else.

Michelangelo deigned to ignore her, his jaw set, hoping that she hadn't noticed him and chastising himself for his lack of awareness of his surroundings (it had taken much too long for him to notice her). He grabbed a half gallon of milk and, on impulse, snagged a large plastic bottle of cheap Russian vodka. He made a beeline to the checkout and muttered to the clerk, a middle aged and heavy set blonde, that he also needed a pack of Marlboros. She squinted at him, clearly trying to see past his thick woolen scarf and low hat, but in the end she'd slid the glass case open and extracted the pack of cigarettes, her weariness outweighing protocol.

Out of the corner of his eye Michelangelo noticed Penny step into the line behind him. She was watching him intently, almost as though she were trying to catch his gaze. He again felt annoyance creep up his neck as if it were a living thing; he should have noticed her much sooner than he had. Instead he was too distracted, too full of conflict, and he was chastising himself for not noticing her sooner. He was ninja; he told himself sternly, he was better than this.

Michelangelo internally debated for a moment on whether or not he should even acknowledge her, and ended up nodding toward her by way of greeting; knowing she knew who he was and feeling a sudden wave of anxiety fill his chest. The last thing he wanted was a hysterical woman in public, and he certainly didn't want her causing a scene in the middle of the Corner Store. But Penny nodded back, and then, with a surreptitious look at the clerk who was now bagging his items, motioned with the universal signal of "wait" by putting her finger in the air. He was surprised by this request, but Michelangelo made no response indicating that he understood, and he saw Penny scrunch her nose in irritation.

Behind his scarf Michelangelo smiled. She was clearly put out by the fact that he refused to respond her, and her reaction amused him. He still remembered her horrified regard of him the week previous, and he was not above being a little petty in return. She was glaring at him now, trying to covertly wave and get his attention. Deciding he would make her suffer, he continued to ignore her, and when he paid the clerk he didn't even look her way.

Once out in the snow, he lit a cigarette and leaned against the brick of the building, waiting, wondering what she could possibly have to say to him.

Penny listened to the Corner Markets clerk half-heartedly, silently willing the woman to quickly bag her groceries.

She needed to catch up to Mike.

"Mmhmm," Penny mumbled, trying to see if Mike (she was proud that she'd remembered his name) was outside waiting for her. She could not see him though, and her frown set deeper.

The clerk scowled; clearly annoyed that she wasn't the focus of Penny's undivided attention. But the woman scanned the rest of her purchases without trying to engage Penny in conversation, and during this time Penny thought about what she was trying to accomplish.

A week ago, Penny had been scared out of her mind. She'd left Mike standing on the sidewalk, her hands shaking out of fear and from the weight of her groceries. She'd ushered Julius into their small apartment, kicked the door shut with her foot, and (dropping the bags of groceries that weighed her hands) had raced to her living room window. Mike had been on the street, but he wasn't looking for a way into her complex. Instead he'd retrieved his hat and had walked away.

Penny had waited at the window, the minutes ticking by, sure that he would be back. She had clutched her cell phone, ready to call the police if she saw his face again. But he hadn't returned, and eventually Penny had conceded that he would not be back to harm her.

As the days went by, Penny thought about the supposed turtle often. She found herself burning with shame at her reaction to his appearance. He probably wasn't a turtle, after all, but a man who had some sort of genetic disease. And she had reacted abhorrently in face of strangeness. As frightening as he'd been in looks, he had been kind. And Penny had thanked him by screaming in his face. She still wasn't sure what the purpose of flagging him down was, but at some point in the week she had found herself hoping to run into him. When she had seen his hulking figure, unmistakable in stature, she's felt a thrill of relief course through her.

She needed to talk to him.

Penny took her bags, only a meager two this time, from the clerk with haste, thanking her offhandedly as she rushed out of the store and stepped out into the biting winter air.

She didn't see him at first, and she felt her heart sink as her eyes scanned the empty parking lot. Then, seeming to materialize out of the shadows, he appeared leaning on the side of the building, watching her.

Steeling herself, Penny walked towards him, raising her gloved hand and calling, "I didn't think you saw me. I want to talk to you."

As she reached him she had to swallow a gasp of shock. He'd pulled down his scarf, and the bright green of his skin was in plain view.

Something must have shown in her look, though, because he smirked and said, "You know if we talk you can't tell yourself it was just a dream."

Pushing back the fear that had built up in her, trying to look into his eyes instead of staring at his skin, Penny scowled at him.

"I know what's real and not real. I don't lie to myself."

Not anymore, was the afterthought that she left unspoken.

Mike's eyes narrowed, but he shrugged and turned, beginning to make his way down the street. Penny fell into step next to him, sneaking glances at his still exposed face as he smoked his cigarette, unable to tear her eyes away from his peculiar face. The more she was able to study his features, the more she decided that, while he certainly didn't look human, he also wasn't as frightening as she had originally supposed. Green, yes, but not how she might picture a monster to look. He looked serious and intelligent, not mindless and bloodthirsty.

"Is there something you wanted?"

Penny jumped and tried to hide her startled reaction by rubbing her arms like she was cold. She hadn't realized that so much time had passed without her saying anything.

Mentally cursing herself she said, "Oh… yeah. I wanted… I just… I'm sorry."

The words came out in a harsh staccato, her words tumbling out in uncertainty. She looked down as she said it, both from the shame of how she had reacted on their last meeting, and from embarrassment at having been caught staring. She found herself in the incredible position of being downright rude, once again, and it was completely out of character for her. Penny felt out of sorts, unable to wrap her mind around the fact that the man next to her was green.

Green for god sakes.

It took her moment to realize that not only had he not responded, but that he'd stopped walking. She had to stop and retrace back a few steps, now facing him

He was just gaping at her, his eyes full of distrust. When it was clear that he was not going to respond she continued. "I acted… badly. You helped me, and I was rude."

He didn't have eyebrows, but where they would have been was raised high in a clear look of surprise.

Silence had pressed between them, causing Penny to fidget. Finally Mike said, his voice hesitant, "Uh… It's alright. I'm used to it."

While it didn't sound accusing, Penny still flinched at this. She was just another of the crowd.

They began walking again, the quiet between them awkward. Mike had put the scarf back over his face, flicking the cigarette butt onto the street. He had his hands in his pockets, the grocery bags on his wrists. Penny noticed that it was him, this time, that was looking at her in study. She tried to keep her face blank, but finally she looked at him and said, "What?"

He shrugged, not trying to disguise that he'd been looking at her. "I don't know. I'm trying to tell if you really meant it."

Penny's lips pinched. "Why wouldn't I mean it?"

They had stopped once more, but this time it was because they were in front of her apartment complex. She was only able to see his eyes now, large and brightly blue and unreadable.

"People don't usually apologize, it's not normal," he said to her.

"Well… I guess I'm not normal." She hoped that didn't sound tactless or condescending. She thought he might be smirking under his scarf though; his eyes crinkled and he made a little huff of breath as if disbelieving her proclamation.

Penny realized that she was shivering, and she looked up at her apartment in silent debate.

"Maybe I'll see you-"

"Do you want to come up?" She'd cut him off purposefully, and she thought that he was once again taken off guard. He just looked at her, his eyes wide.

"Julius is at a sleepover with one of his daycare friends. I have wine upstairs…"

His eyes stayed wide, then quickly narrowed. "I don't need your pity," he sapped at her.

Penny held her hands up and shook her head. "No!" she exclaimed. "I just… I just thought maybe… I just…" She was faltering, trying to find the words but unable to locate them. Was this out of pity?

Before she had an answer for herself, Mikey took her by surprise by relenting. "Okay, sure. Fine."

"Really?"

This caused Mike to laugh. "If you didn't mean it I can go. Just make up your damn mind lady."

Penny found herself scowling at him. "I meant it, I just…"

Once again, she was at a loss for words. She turned, sighing loudly, and motioned him to follow her. He did, adjusting his hat low on his face as they passed a group of young people on the street, clearly headed to a bar.

The ride up in the old swaying elevator was quiet, and Penny purposefully avoided making eye contact with him. Instead she tried to analyze her decision to invite him up to her small apartment. They'd been little but hostile to each other since she's hailed him down in the grocery, each of them defensive and on edge. Penny wondered how an apology had gone so astray, feeling as though she'd only managed to make the situation worse, every word that came out of her mouth seemed like the absolute wrong thing to say.

She sighed again and said into the silence. "I really am sorry for freaking out on you."

Mike was quite for a moment, seeming to think on her words, before finally saying, "It's alright. It's not every day you meet a turtle."

The doors slid open, and Penny had to bite her cheek to keep from questioning him about the turtle remark. Besides, it wasn't as though he could be serious.

That would be ridiculous.

When they entered Penny's mid-level apartment Michelangelo was not surprised by its miniscule size. The building had clearly been made to cram as many people into one area as possible. But it was clean, the only mess being a few toys scattered over the living room floor, and it was weighed with the scent of spices and baked goods. His mouth immediately started to water.

As the door shut behind him he began to shed his winter clothing, first pulling off the scarf and hat, then the long trench coat. He'd begun to set them on an on brown love seat that sagged in the middle when he heard a gasp.

Penny was behind him, and as he turned to look at her he saw that she was staring openly at him, mouth open.

"Is…is that a shell?" She asked.

Mikey raised an eye ridge. "Most turtles have them."

Penny's mouth opened and closed for a beat, no sound issuing. Then she said, "That can't… You…," then a sort of comprehension rushed into her eyes. "Oh my god. You're a turtle." She said it low and with an awed voice.

He gave a little laugh, setting down his coat and groceries and turning to face her. "You thought I was lying?"

"No! Just… I thought you were joking."

Michelangelo couldn't help it. It was the first time he'd been amused in weeks. "How many green humans have you met, exactly?"

Penny, who'd not been able to stop staring at him, finally seemed to come out of her shock enough to glare at him. "Oh, shut it. I thought… I thought that it was some unheard of disease. I thought…," her eye locked on the ridge of his shell that peaked over his shoulders. "How is this possible?"

Michelangelo sighed. "It is a really, really long story."

"How about the cliff notes version?"

Michelangelo ginned widely, and a bark of laughter escaped his lips. "I guess the short version of it would be… A lab name TCRI created a chemical that could mutate genetics… sort of. And when they were transporting it, the truck was in an accident, and a canister fell out. Uh… it fell on us, and… ta-da?" He waived his hand in mock fanfare.

Penny expelled a gust of air she'd been holding in.

"Okay," she said, nodding as if to clear her mind. "Okay… You're a turtle."

She stood there and stared at him for a moment longer, him grinning at her, clearly amused by the situation. Finally she turned and headed to the small kitchen. Michelangelo followed her at a pace, and laughed again as he watched her clumsily uncork a bottle of cabernet and pull down a wine glass. She poured herself a very large amount of red wine and took three large gulps, draining half the glass. Setting it down, she pulled down another glass and added wine to it as well. She handed it to Michelangelo, who took it and raised it to her in mock cheers.

"Maybe you need time to process this," he said after taking a sip.

"No… no I'm alright. I think I just have a lot of questions. This is… weird."

In a corner of the kitchen Mikey noticed a small two person table. He reached around her and snagged the bottle of wine and then herded her to the table with a nod in its direction.

"Let's get drunk and you can ask me all your questions," he said, a little bewildered by his own eagerness to talk to her.

He'd confined himself to his apartment for too long, he decided, if opening up to strangers was the result.

As they sat, Michelangelo offered to her, "You shouldn't feel bad about being shocked. Everyone acts like this"

Except Theresa.

He ignored the last thought; he knew that she was the exception to the rule.

Penny nodded, black tendrils of hair escaping her pony tail and falling around her face. She pushed them back in annoyance and said, "I'm sorry if I'm being rude. This is… weird."

"Yeah, you've said that."

Penny felt hot around the neck as mortification swelled inside her, but Mikey, seeing her look of embarrassment, waived a dismissive hand at her and said, "Let's both just stop worrying about offending each other, yeah?"

Penny nodded, taking another large sip of wine. Realizing that she wasn't going to be able to ask any questions like this, Michelangelo said, "Here, let's make it a drinking game. You ask me a question, I answer and you drink, I ask you a question, you answer, I drink. A drink is the price of an answer. No answer, no drink."

Penny smirked then. "That isn't really a game."

"Michelangelo just made it a game," he quipped, then, seeing her confusion he clarified, "That's my full name. I usually go by Mikey, for short."

"Oh."

"Here, I'll ask the first question," Michelangelo said, leaning in on his elbows. "How old is your son?"

"Four."

Michelangelo smiled as if to say, see? Then he took a large sip of his wine and looked expectantly at Penny.

"Okay… Um. How old are you?"

"Twenty-Six."

Penny drank.

"Any brothers or sisters?" Mikey asked.

"Only child."

Michelangelo drank.

"How have you survived twenty-six years?"

Mikey snorted with laughter at this. "Just barely," he said by way of answer.

Penny drank.

It went on like this for a good while, Penny's questions finally moving from his being a turtle and being able to survive all these years, to what differences there were in turtles and humans.

"Can you go into your shell?"

"Not since I was a kid."

Penny drank, and then refilled her glass.

"Why did you name your son Julius?"

"That was my dad's name."

Mikey drank, then, unable to wait his turn asked, "Where is Julius' dad?"

He knew he'd made a mistake as soon as he'd asked it. Her face, which had finally relaxed into a smile, closed down rapidly.

"It's not your turn… and he's dead."

Michelangelo and Penny's eyes were locked, and Michelangelo though he felt his heart skip as the weight of her predicament sank in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have-"

"Stop," she cut him off tersely, shaking her head and continuing, "You didn't know. It's fine."

They sat there in an uncomfortable silence for a moment before Penny said, "Does anyone else know you exist?"

Michelangelo breathed out a laugh, the tension breaking, and answered, "Yeah… a lot of people, actually."

He avoided any more questions about Penny's deceased husband after that.

It took less than an hour, the questions more rapid fire than conversation, to finish the bottle of wine. When it was empty Penny stood, and Michelangelo watched her open the refrigerator and poke around. A few minutes later there was a new bottle of wine between them, and an assortment of sliced cheese, crackers, elongated grapes that Penny told him were called Moon Drops, and a very small jar of blueberry preserves. The jelly, she told him when he asked, was supposed to be spread on the crackers and eaten with the cheese.

He took a tentative bite, and then looked at her in surprise. "What kind of cheese is this?"

"That's Gouda. The other one is a horseradish cheese, and then there's some soft port."

He ate some of the assortment that she'd laid in front of him before saying, "This is fancy as shit."

Penny burst into laughter.

"Seriously. I'm no Queen of England."

She rolled her eyes and popped a grape in her mouth. "Shut up, I like good food."

"Do you cook?" He asked, but he asked it around a mouthful of cracker and cheese, so it came out sounding like, "Do fu ook?"

Penny laughed again, spilling some of the wine she'd been pouring.

"Don't waist the booze woman!" Michelangelo said in mock horror.

"Feel free to lick it off the table. And yes, I cook." After a moment's hesitation she added, "I'm a sous chef."

"Huh. That's cool."

"Not really. The restaurant I work for is terrible, and I have one day off a week."

"Hey, feel free to cook for me instead," Mikey jested.

Michelangelo didn't know how long this went on after that. There was wine and food and, to his great shock, laughter. At some point the wine had gotten him very drunk.

"How? How did this happen?" he repeated over and over to Penny between laughs, not ever recalling an ability to get more than slightly buzzed off a bottle of Boone's Farm.

Penny had actually squawked in laughter when he'd told her this.

"That's not real wine!" she'd exclaimed.

They'd only lasted a bit longer after that, and when Michelangelo had started to doze right there at the kitchen table, Penny had led him to her sagging couch and deposited him on it.

The last thing he'd thought of before he passed out, was that it was good to have a friend.