"No good news?" Donnie asks, pushing his goggles onto his forehead. He reaches for a mug he knows is empty while he waits for April's reply, hoping it'll have magically refilled when he wasn't looking.

"Well, at least it's not bad news," she says, frowning at her laptop and chewing a thumbnail. "It's the power source that's the problem. Before, we used portals that were already operational, or we had keys that contained enough of a charge to restart one. Now, we're starting cold, and we're not just moving spatially, but temporally."

"How much power are we talking about?" He spins his chair around the desk until his shoulder bumps hers, a little shiver of pleasure flowing over his skin as she leans a little closer. "Oh. Damn."

"A hell of a lot more than a car battery, that's for sure." April bites down on her thumbnail, and Donnie hears the tiny, muffled crack as the nail breaks. She yanks her hand away, huffing, when he tries to check her fingers. "Donnie, I'm fine. Really."

Please indulge me, he thinks, but lets go reluctantly. Rationally, he knows she's not frustrated with him, but with whatever can't be solved immediately, with a few blunt blows from her intellect. Still — his stomach is cold, and now his hands are too. "Sorry." He shifts back in his chair, puts careful inches between them.

April pauses. "No," she says. "That was — I'm being a jerk." She swings her chair around till her knees touch his. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "It's okay. Guess I shouldn't have put you in charge of the math, huh?"

"Or maybe I shouldn't take it out on you." She leans forward, her movements quick and easy — she's almost healed — and kisses him lightly. "You can tell me when I'm being a brat, Donnie."

"Then I'd never st—" he says, then chokes on the words when April arches an eyebrow, smirking at him. "I mean —"

"Oh please, don't tell me you're going to get all soft now," she says. "Don't hold back on the trash talk just because…"

Because what? he thinks, hoping that she'll name what they are now. But he doesn't ask, only watches her face.

She shrugs with her good shoulder, her smirk melting into a smile. "You're smart," she says airily. "I'm sure you can fill in the blank."

Of course he can, but he wants to hear it in her voice. The sharp prick of disappointment disappears as soon as he feels it, though, because April slips her hand into his and squeezes. "Because I can do this, now," she says, and kisses him again, her mouth moving slowly against his.

Donnie can count on both hands the times he's forgotten about a project when it's sitting right in front of him. Twice for when Mikey reached for the mutagen, once for Raph hauling a bleeding, half-conscious Mikey into the lab. Three times, and now it's four. He doesn't forget for long, but April's mouth is warm, and so is the hand that covers the side of his neck.

"Don't worry," she whispers when she pulls away, leaving him stunned and silent. "I'm not going to try and kiss my way out of bad behavior."

"Why not?" he blurts out, then flushes when she laughs. "I mean, it'd be…effective."

"I don't abuse my power," she says, kicking him in the leg as he laughs. "Okay, point taken. I won't abuse it with you."

"A benevolent despot," he says, warmed by the implied future in what she's saying. He shakes himself, and makes himself focus back on April's laptop. "But we should —"

"— get back to work, right." April sighs. She turns back to her laptop too, but she doesn't let go of his hand. "Just to get the portal up and running, we're going to need two point one megajoules. City employees or not, they're going to notice if we try and pull that from the grid."

"Yeah." Donnie leans forward to scan April's work — all correct. "Kind of hard to miss when it's lights out for Manhattan — what? What is it?"

April coughs, a bad attempt at hiding what Donnie knows was a giggle. "Nothing, it's just — you do this thing with your tongue when you're thinking. I just — it's distracting."

There is something very wrong with Donnie, because in spite of the past week and all the horrors still lurking in the back of his head, the thought of April being distracted by his tongue briefly overpowers everything else. The shiver of pleasure returns, and he hears himself, ten years younger, crowing at the top of his lungs: she thinks I'm cute! She thinks —

It hurts to slam the door on that voice, but it's a temporary pain. They have work to do. Everything else — pride and distractions both — can come later.

"So that's the power needed to get the portal open," April says, flicking her fingers at her screen. "You're still working on the algorithms to figure out how far we need to go, but…" She starts to lift her thumb to her mouth, but Donnie rescues her hand before she can bite the cracked nail again. "But we don't just have to open the portal, we have to keep it open while we find the right string, which means we'll be consuming at least one megajoule per second, even if we find — Donnie?"

Oh. He's staring. Now it's his turn to flush and look away, embarrassed. She laughs, a sly, knowing note, and it's that sound as much as her hand on his cheek that drives the vast weight of what they're trying to do back. He can almost think of this fight like any other, like it's just a rough fight, rather than what it is.

And what's that, Donnie? he thinks, as April runs her reddened thumb under his eye. Oh, just the end of the world. But by all means, go ahead, get distracted. Someone else will pick up the slack.

"April, I —" He swallows, barely stopping himself from nuzzling into her touch. It's all so new — no, a better word is overwhelming. A precise word is intoxicating. He could forget everything and let April kiss him again. Or he could just listen to her talk about science until the world ends, because then at least he'd die happy. "We should focus."

"I was focusing, until a certain turtle let himself get distracted." She pulls her hand away. "Bad timing," she says. "Maybe this —"

Her next words already echo in his head: maybe this isn't a good idea.

"Maybe this is not the best working arrangement," she says. "Because we're zero for two as far as not getting distracted goes."

It takes Donnie a moment to hear her reply for what it is, rather than what he thinks it is. "You're not — oh." He shudders with thin, keen humiliation. Idiot. You don't deserve this.

April's face shifts from teasing to dismayed; too late, Donnie realizes she's felt everything he feels, from plummeting expectancy to humiliation. So he turns back to the piles of circuitry in front of his computer, and tugs his goggles over his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, reaching for his soldering iron. "I'll just — do this — oh, dammit." The iron slips out of his cold hand and clatters to the floor. The iron is probably broken, which means one more thing to fix, one more thing he didn't get right, one more reason to lie awake and stare at his ceiling tonight.

When he ducks down to pick up the iron, April is already there, kneeling down in front of him. "It's okay," she says, picking up the iron and holding it out. "It's not broken."

"That makes one of us," he says dully, without thinking.

"Oh. Donnie." Her voice is a whisper. She doesn't touch him, but she hovers at the edge of his space, all warmth and bright colors. "No, you're not."

"I'm not what we need," he says, his heart skidding in his chest. "This idea, it's all I've got, April. I don't know what else to do, there's no rule book for this thing. It's just — it's a bad joke, that's what this is. And what if this doesn't work? Then I've failed everyone this time. What if I can't fix it?"

"Donnie, breathe." April covers his fists with her hands, peering up at him from where she still kneels on the floor. "Come on, breathe."

He hadn't realized how fast and shallow his breathing had become, but now he can hear the high, weak rattle in every exhale. It's too much. He sat in this lab and watched April die, and then he saw Raph dead too and what can he do against something that can get into his head?

How stupid of him, to think one night's rest would be able to drive this clutching terror back. He should have known better; he can give everything he has and still never be good enough, and still never win.

One night doesn't change anything. He closes his eyes

"Donnie, breathe." April's voice comes from a long way away. The Boar is between them, between him and everyone else, and he doesn't know how to find his way to the other side. No portal can take him where he needs to go. "Please, just try and breathe slowly."

He closes his eyes, his throat closing to a pinhole.

"One," says April, still far away. One hand tugs away his goggles, then settles back on his fist. "Two, three, five."

Seven, Donnie thinks automatically, under the clutch of panic.

"Seven, eleven, thirteen. Seventeen, nineteen, twenty-three. Twenty-nine, thirty-one, thirty-three."

"Thirty-seven," he chokes out, gasping. "You should know better."

"I really should." April squeezes his fists. "Forty-one, forty-three, forty-seven. Fifty…" The prime numbers roll out of her mouth, a line plumbing the depths of his panic. All Donnie has to do is grab the line, and let her pull him back to the surface.

"One hundred thirty-five…"

Donnie forces his eyes open and stares down at April, who looks back calmly, all innocence. "You're not messing up prime numbers for my benefit, are you?" he says in a rough, clotted voice. "I don't know if that's sweet or sad, April."

She stands, running her hands up his arms until she reaches his shoulders, then squeezes. "I'm going with sweet, if that's okay with you," she says. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, working at the rigid knots in his muscles.

"It's okay to be freaked out," she says a moment later. Donnie jerks upright — he'd been too busy focusing on the too-painful-to-be-pleasurable relief spreading from her fingers to notice that he had almost, almost, let his head rest on her chest.

"Sorry."

"Shh." She pulls him back as he starts to move away, her thumbs pressing into the sore, tight muscles along his collarbone. "Just focusing on breathing. It can wait for five minutes."

"No, April," he says, panic rising again, full of sharp teeth. "It can't. There's too much to do." When she ignores him, her hands not pausing, he starts to stand up.

She makes a dark, frustrated noise deep in her throat. "Dammit, Donnie, do I have to sit on you to get you to hold still?"

"I'll be fine. I'll —"

April hipchecks him back into his chair, and drops into his lap. "Huh," is all he can say as April raises her eyebrows, smiling her your move now, slick smile. The panic is still there, but arrested in mid-beat, and while his heart is still pounding, it's for an entirely different set of reasons.

Other than using her weight to keep him in his seat — not that it would really deter him, if he wanted to get up — April doesn't touch him. She waits, and watches, until his brain reboots and he tentatively wraps an arm around her shoulders. Even then she doesn't touch him, but her body is pliant and warm against his. Donnie buries his face in the crook of her neck and finally, finally, takes a deep, wracking breath.

"It's a good plan," she says. Her throat buzzes softly against his cheek as she speaks. "And we can refine it. We can do this."

"It's still all we've got." Donnie shuts his eyes. Three hours ago, this had seemed like salvation: a plan, a goal. He always does best when he has something concrete to work towards. But it's not enough. He's just guessing. "I wish —"

April rests her cheek on the top of his head. Her hair spills over his face in a sweet-smelling, heavy mass, and oh, he wants to stay like this, and let the slow amazement that he has her at all fill him until there's no room for anything else.

He's not that selfish, and more importantly, he's not that lucky.

"It's more than we had yesterday." April nestles closer when he starts to shift, somehow avoiding putting her weight on his stitches. "I mean, yesterday, we were chasing ourselves in circles. Then you got six hours of sleep, and now we have a plan. What'll you do after a shower and actual food?"

Donnie laughs in spite of himself, and wraps his other arm around her. "Don't push it," he says. "I don't know if my body can handle anything other than pizza or coffee at this point."

"I think it's worth an experiment. We've been at this for hours. Let's see what's left over from the great grannie smorgasbord." April doesn't move, and Donnie doesn't try to make her. If he turns his head slightly to the right, he could kiss the hollow of her throat.

"April," he says. Why not tell her now? There's no better time for her to hear what he's wanted to say for so long. It's how he can thank her. "I want you to know, that I…that you're…"

She holds her breath, her only movement the slow leap of her pulse against his cheek.

"…that I —"

"You two are just adorable," says Casey, because this is Donnie's life, and no matter how lucky he is, Casey will be waiting to gleefully shit all over any happiness he's managed to find.

"Oh good," April says. "Casey's awake."

"I could change that," Donnie offers, still hiding under her hair. "Very quickly."

April smothers her laugh against the top of his head, kissing him lightly before twisting around to look at Casey, who's lounging against the door of the lab, smirking.

He's pale, a little unsteady on his feet, but if Donnie had any lasting worries about his recovery, that damn smirk banishes them. "I'm feeling great, thanks for asking," Casey says. "Now what are you crazy kids up to? Remember, leave space for the Lord."

"The only space I'll leave will be —" Donnie says, glaring across the lab at Casey, thinking of six ways to wipe the smirk off Casey's face. Before he can finish, April smoothly overrides him, in a honey-sweet, poisonous voice that makes the smirk slip a few notches.

"We're actually just taking a break," she says, sliding off Donnie's lap but brushing his shoulder with her fingertips as she moves. "We could get you up to speed over some breakfast, if you're up to eating?"

"Hell yeah, I could eat." Casey scratches at his bandage, grimacing.

"Don't scratch it," Donnie says, pushing out of his chair and following April as she slips past Casey. "Come on, Casey. Self-control."

"Not in my wheelhouse, Big D." Casey punches Donnie lightly in the arm, then jerks his head at April's retreating back. "Things are good?" he asks, in a low, serious voice.

Things are not good, but that isn't what Casey's asking. Donnie swallows hard, the unspoken words lodged in his throat, and nods. "We're good," he says. "We're…really good."

Casey grins, his exhausted face lighting up with honest happiness for a second, then punches Donnie in the arm again — a real punch this time, one that'll almost leave a bruise. "Let's eat! Where's that short dumbass, anyways?" he yells, then heads toward the kitchen, leaving Donnie to follow, shaking his head, but smiling.

Casey lets April bully him toward a stool without a complaint. If they want to do all the work, he's fine with that.

"Should we make something for Splinter?" April asks, squatting in front of the fridge. "There's not much breakfast food left, but we have plenty of noodles."

"I'll throw some in a bowl for when he wakes up," Donnie replies. "Pass me the gravy?"

April's phone goes off the same time the microwave does, which means the kitchen is filled with beeps for a solid ten seconds before April and Donnie manage to maneuver themselves into position. And because they're nerds, they're laughing and blushing and trying to act like Casey didn't see them draped all over each other five minutes ago in the lab.

Casey Jones is a saint and no one can take that from him, because he doesn't make all the comments he wants to about April being environmentally friendly — because she's gone green, get it? — and because he only winks at her once when she hands him a plate. She gives him one of her death-laser looks, but underneath it she's smiling. Good. There's enough weird bullshit going around. Sometimes it's just nice to see someone you care about happy.

"Oh." April's smile slips away. Over by the stove, Donnie goes still, and Casey puts his glass back down. They share a look — and yeah, maybe it's weird, the way he and Donnie know what's gone wrong, and with who, just by the way April says that one word. But this is the one thing they've always agreed on, him and Donnie: April does not deal with her shit alone. It worked that way when he was with April, it worked that way while April figured herself out, and it's going to work that way now. Donnie's gotta lead on his own now, though.

"April?" Donnie takes a couple steps closer, not reaching out as April turns to him and holds up her phone. "Is everything all right?"

Casey watches April's face go through a whole storm of emotions: anger, fear, exhaustion, and then empty resignation. It's the last one that worries him, and makes him even more sure of what's going down.

"It's Dr. Mackimmie," she says. "I've…I've got to take this."

"Reception's best in my lab," Donnie says, then steps out of her way as she leaves the kitchen. She touches his arm as she passes, just a quick little touch, but Donnie doesn't hesitate to touch her back, the way he would have a month ago — hell, even a week ago. Casey smirks at the kitchen table. For ninjas, they've always been terrible at hiding this shit.

"So," he says, just to watch Donnie tense, ready for the third degree. He pauses to let the nerd squirm a little longer, then settles back in his chair and tries to ignore the steady itch under the bandage. "They stayed out all night?"

Donnie relaxes with a small sigh. "Yeah. They'll text when they're on their way back. I'm surprised Raph hasn't texted you."

Casey isn't. Raph's last words as he left for patrol had been turn off your phone, I'm not gonna bug you, so keep your skinny ass on the couch and get some sleep, so the lack of a heads-up doesn't bother him. "Eh. As long as someone knows. Nothing weird happened last night, did it? I mean, other than you and Red finally…?"

So maybe he's not a saint.

Donnie draws himself up to his full height and glares down at Casey. "That's none of your business." He's trying to be cool, but Donnie could never not be a smug bastard when things go his way, so there's a huge smile just trying to find a home on his face. "Why do you care anyways?"

"Every month you guys dick around, I owe Jenny another twenty bucks." Casey grins when Donnie squawks. "I know the path of true love is never smooth and all that, but you couldn't have moved a little faster? I'm gonna be broke as it is."

Donnie doesn't bother trying to come up with a good comeback. He turns back to the stove and the microwave, muttering under his breath as he fixes plates. Casey fiddles with his silverware and tries not to scratch, thinking of April's face the moment her phone rang.

"Maybe we should —" Casey starts, but Donnie cuts him off with a sharp shake of his head. What the hell do you know, nerd, wants to come out of his mouth, but he sits on it. Donnie's right. Donnie's always right when it comes to this.

"Has she talked to you about it?" Casey asks instead. "About her dad?"

Donnie shakes his head again. "Not really. She's been trying to get a hold of Dr. Mackimmie all week, but I guess there hasn't been a change in her dad in over a month. He doesn't even know —" Donnie clenches his hands into fists, then releases them with a sigh.

So Kirby doesn't even know April fell. That's what Donnie doesn't say. Maybe Casey really isn't anywhere near a saint, but he's glad Kirby's so out of it, because it means April doesn't have to worry about her dad losing it over the latest disaster. Small mercies, you know?

Donnie shoves a plate of mashed potatoes and gravy toward him. "Start eating. I'm going to keep reheating."

"You need to eat too," Casey says. "Got to get your vitamins. You're a growing boy."

"And you're Cro-Magnon Man. Shut up and eat."

Casey has a reply for that — Casey Jones is never speechless — but Donnie's t-phone chirps, so he settles for stuffing a forkful of mash and gravy into his mouth while Donnie reads the text.

"They're ten minutes out," he says, slipping his phone back into his belt. "Eat fast. Leo wants a meeting when they get here."

Because Casey likes being alive with all his arms and legs still attached, he's never seriously considered telling Raph that he's painfully easy to read. Raph thrives on the idea that he's tough and mysterious, when really everything he feels is written loud and clear on his face.

Today, Raph's not even trying to hide how he's feeling with a swagger or fighting with Leo. There was a fight with Leo, because Raph's eyes have that pinchy look that always comes when they blow up at each other — but Raph's heavy-footed too, and just as slump-shouldered as Donnie after a bad day in the lab.

Shit, Casey thinks. He reaches back with one foot to snag a stool for Raph, but the twisting shifts his bandage, and all his good intentions disappear as the urge to itch takes over.

"Idiot," Raph says quietly, no real heat in it, and grabs the stool himself. "Why aren't you still asleep?"

Leo, Mikey, and Usagi all have that quiet going on too, so even though they all look fine — though now that Casey looks closely, there are long, thin scrapes on Leo's arms — something's still screwed up.

"What happened?" Donnie asks sharply. "Is everyone okay?"

"We're fine," says Leo. "Where's April? We all need to talk."

"On the phone, it's about her dad. Leo, what happened?" Donnie lifts Leo's right arm, frowning at the scratches. Till the day he dies, Casey is never going to get used to the casual way the turtles handle each other. Leo hisses and yanks his arm away.

"It's fine, Donnie. We treated them back at the shelter." Leo pauses, meeting Raph's eyes, then Mikey's and Usagi's. "Get that one off the map — we can't go back to it."

"We can't — all right, start talking, Leo." Casey feels Donnie's frustration and worry fill the kitchen, a crackling, suffocating wave. "Raph said there wasn't anything to worry about in his text, and now you all come in like —"

"You have enough to worry about," Leo says, his voice sharp enough to cut steel. Everyone goes quiet then.

Oh, fuck, Casey thinks. Here it comes, the fight that's been brewing for almost a month and a half. When Donnie and Leo fight, it's not something that can get worked out in the dojo, or with some yelling. When they fight, it makes the cuts on Leo's arms look like nothing.

Donnie sucks in a deep breath. With his shoulders back like that, he looks a foot taller than usual, and his mouth twists in a tight, ugly sneer. Whatever comes out of his mouth is going to be something he regrets for the next forever, but Casey's not dumb enough to try and distract him. The only thing that'll do is get Donnie focused on him.

Leo pushes his stool back, and the legs scrape on the concrete floor. "You want to do this now, Donnie?" Leo says. Casey wraps his arms around his chest, itch forgotten as his gut freezes over. Leo's scary enough when he yells, but this is a whole new level. "You are…what you are. That's your part to play in all this. But I am still your leader."

"That doesn't mean you keep things from me," Donnie snaps. "You really think it's going to help if you withhold information? What if something had gone wrong?"

"You say that like it didn't," Raph mutters, then jolts as every pair of eyes turns to him. Casey watches Donnie's face fall, angry and hurt all at once — but it's nothing to the sudden ice-pick of a look Leo gives Raph, who doesn't cringe. His mouth just flattens into a thin line, his eyes cutting down to the left.

"Leo," Donnie says patiently. "This is not how it works. You keeping stuff from me…it's the easiest way for everything to fall apart." He sighs, and sits down heavily, shoving Casey's empty plate away. "I don't even know what this Champion thing is supposed to mean. Don't go treating me like I'm anything…special. I'm still just Donnie." He shrugs, and cover his face with his hands.

After another moment glaring at Raph, Leo sinks back onto his stool. "We ran into a complication," he says.

"That's not an answer, Leo." Donnie crosses his arms over his plastron. "I'm not in the mood to play twenty questions. Spit it out."

Leo gives Donnie a sharp whip-crack look, and Donnie flinches. Even Casey scoots back a little on his chair. Thank god he's on our side, he thinks, for the millionth time in ten years.

"You're going to love this," Leo says, finally. "We ran into Karai. She was making a pick-up."

"Pick-up of what?" Donnie asks, like he doesn't really want to know.

"Slash," Raph grits out. "Donnie, it was Slash. The Boar had him hidden in some old house, and now he's back." With another loud scrape of metal on concrete, Raph throws himself out of the stool, out of Casey's reach, and slams both fists into the wall.

Casey remembers Slash: one shadow splitting off from the rest to creep down an alley. He'd wanted to go after Slash, chase down the asshole who hurt his friends, his family, but Raph stopped him.

You don't want to go there, Case, he said. It's not worth it.

Mikey told Casey the whole story later, the one that started with mutagen and ended with Raph and Slash howling toward each other, with three broken brothers littered on the roof in between. Not worth it? It would have been worth anything to see Slash beaten. Punished. Casey would have done it, for Raph, for all of them, because no one hurts the people he cares about — but the shadow was gone, the only piece left the part that still haunts Raph's black moods.

Donnie touches his left arm, eyes wide and faraway. "You're kidding," he says. "He went into the Hudson. He should be dead."

"He's not, bro." Mikey claps a hand on Donnie's shoulder. "Still ugly as ever."

"Wait a second," Donnie says, not shrugging off Mikey's hand as he leans toward Leo. "You said the Boar hid Slash." He draws in a quick, horrified breath. "It was there?"

Leo nods. He doesn't look away from Donnie, but he doesn't speak.

"Goddammit," says Donnie, in a dead flat voice. "Goddammit, Leo. You — what did it say? Did it talk?"

Raph punches the wall again, and again.

Casey watches Leo's eyes close. It's Usagi who talks instead, from where he's hovering by the door. "Friends," he says. "The Boar said there were other old friends who would be waking up."

"Goddammit," Donnie says, his voice shaking. "Who else did we miss? Fishface? Stockman?"

"They're dead," Mikey says. "So, we can count those dudes out."

"According to Slash, they're dead," Leo corrects. "How much of that we can trust?"

"Nothing!" Raph shouts. "It's just screwing with us! Just — screwing — with —our — heads!" He smashes his fists into the wall in between every word, until he drops his arms, panting.

If Casey hugs Raph in front of his brothers, Raph'll never forgive him. Tough shit. Casey'll never forgive himself if he leaves Raph on his own. Raph snarls when Casey yanks him away from the wall, but he doesn't fight, not even when Casey slings an arm around his shoulders. "I got you," he says, low enough Raph can pretend no one else heard. "It's shitty, but I got you."

For how long? says something, deep down in Casey's head, so quiet he barely hears it.

I need air, April thinks. Her hands shake as she stuffs her phone back into her pocket, but the restless urge to run overpowers everything else. Well, everything except two words: no change, no change, no change. Those two syllables echo and clatter in her head, until her feet can't stay still any longer and she pushes away from the wall, toward the door.

She doesn't go far, just past the first curve of the tunnel past the turnstiles. When she passes out of the light spilling from the lair, and everyone's voices are faint echoes, she slides to the ground and breathes, slowly, in and out. If she concentrates, she can almost sense the guys' minds. Almost. It's not enough to distract her, but getting any closer means answering their questions — their careful, worried questions, and she can't face them. Better to stay locked inside her head, alone, until she can breathe normally again.

No change.

It makes her pitiful and it makes her selfish that she's glad her father is still locked in his own world. He still doesn't know she fell, and he doesn't know what haunts New York. April can't keep her father safe, not this time — but she can keep him unknowing, and that's as good as it'll get.

She counts out the seconds like a pocket of loose change: five minutes, no more, and then she has to head back in. Anything more than that and Donnie will come looking, worry in every line of his body, and she can't put this on him. It's time she carried him.

I love you, Dad, she thinks, remembering the pine-and-paper textures of his mind, and pushes to her feet. Her hands are cold, so very cold.

April hears the soft footsteps before she sees the shadow coming around the far curve of the tunnel toward the lair and she pushes out with her mind on reflex before she remembers what she's lost. Nothing. She feels nothing.

The shadow is too short to be anyone but Raph, and it's the wrong shape, skinny and quick where he's all bulk. It's not Martin either. For a moment, April worries that it's Karai — the dark hair and the confident swing of the hips is all Karai — but then the light from the lair catches the curve of a young, pretty face, and it's not Karai. It's no one April's ever seen before.

"You April O'Neil?" says the girl. She cracks her gum, watching April with absolute teenage indifference.

"How did you get down here?" April asks, after a split-second pause to consider yelling for help. She reaches for her tessen instead. "What the hell do you want?"

The girl's eyebrows rise. "Whoa, don't kill the messenger."

"Messenger? From who?"

"Don't you mean from whom?" The girl shrugs when April glares at her. "Whatever. I got a message for you. Go to that little park up by the athletic fields near West 218th Street. The Bull wants to talk to you."

"The — what?" April shoves her way into the girl's face. "What did you just say?"

"The Bull," says the girl, like April's being an idiot on purpose. "You know, from the story?"

April freezes, dread spilling ice into her stomach. "How do you know about —"

"Look, I'm not the one to ask. Either go, or don't." The girl shrugs again. "You got questions, ask him. Or…whatever he is."

April looks over her shoulder at the golden light spilling out of the lair. She can still hear their voices: Donnie's, Leo's, everyone talking all at once.

"Why?" she asks. "Why does it want to talk to me? Doesn't it want to talk to its Champion?" She can't help the snarl in her words.

"Yeah, well, he said you're the one with the mind stuff, so he wants to talk to you."

April laughs, a bitter, burned taste in the back of her throat. "The Bull," she says, "is misinformed if it thinks I've got half of what I used to. I can barely feel anyone except the guys." It was taken, she thinks, pressing her hands to her empty head. And I never thought I'd miss it but I do. I shouldn't want it back, but I do. What good am I without it?

"About that," says the girl, then smiles. It's the smile of a true believer, and April doesn't need empathy to know that whatever this girl is selling, she thinks it's real. "He said…he said he can help with that. With everything. Even…" The girl straightens her back. "Even your dad."

It's too good to be true. Nothing is ever free. Either you get what you want, and watch your heart torn out of you, or you wear your skin away to the bone and still never feel the prize in your hands. Donnie would laugh, and say of course it says it can help, and then keep working, with his head down, surrounded by chemicals and equations. And he'd find a way, someday.

She isn't the fighter she was, not like this, but she can make sure it's her skin and her bones at risk this time. It's one more stupid risk in a long line of them — she can see Leo's migraine-face in her mind's eye — but it's not Donnie laying himself on the line. Better her than him, if it's a trap.

"So," says the girl. "You gonna go?"

"I'll go," April says, sliding her tessen back into its sheath and reaching into her pocket for her phone. What she'll say to Donnie — well, she'll figure that out on the way.