"You go get April," Leo says. He slides off his stool. "I'll get Splinter. Is there —"

"Already reheated," Donnie replies as he passes. "There's a plate in the microwave." He doesn't quite make eye contact, but he doesn't recoil when Leo shifts to bump his shoulder against Donnie's. He doesn't lean into the touch either. That's fine; Leo knows there's work to do, mortar to replace, and he's happy to do it. His mistake, his responsibility to make amends.

Splinter is still asleep when Leo opens the door to his private room. He pauses on the threshold, conscious of the weight on his shell, and how hard he has to work to keep his shoulders straight.

Life would be so much easier if Splinter still guided them. Leo could leave the apportioning of blame to him, and shoulder his share without complaining, because Sensei said so. Splinter could help him find a way to apologize to Donnie — but Splinter has been sleeping more lately, slower to wake even on the warmest mornings, and the family has been Leo's to lead for years now. If there's blame to be handed out, he's the one that has to do it. He can't spare himself.

It's a measure of how age has finally started to catch up with Splinter that Leo's approach only stirs him. He shifts on his futon, murmuring, then settles into silence. Leo listens to the whisper of his father's breathing, and marks the way grey has overtaken brown in Splinter's fur. Splinter is almost old.

Now is far from the best time to be considering mortality — his own, or his father's.

But it is topical, Leo thinks wryly, and slides the door open all the way. There's a catch as the door shudders in its sliders, just like Leo expects, but the soft click doesn't disturb Splinter's rest. He keeps breathing, steady, slow, dreaming and wrapped in soft blankets.

A stray shaft of regret touches Leo briefly; wouldn't it be easier to just leave his father to his dreams? Splinter won't be fighting with them, Splinter won't be planning with them. At best, he'd offer counsel, or a wry remark to break tension.

Leo weighs this idea, finds it solid and unyielding in his mind, and closes the shoji. He can get Splinter up to speed later.

The regret fades to a whisper, and then to nothing, and he lets his focus turn back to Donnie. Donnie and his inventions, Donnie and his damned refusal to quit. Donnie and his unending reservoir of forgiveness. Leo sighs, and rubs his forehead with the back of his hand. There's no more denying it, no more easy answers. He should have brought Donnie home, and he didn't.

It wasn't my fault, he tells himself as he walks toward the kitchen. The thought is no comfort; he should have known himself better. He should have questioned it. He should have —

"Uh, Leo?" Mikey parts the curtains to the kitchen, eyes searching for Leo in the half-dark of the empty dojo. "You…you should get out here, dude."

Leo nods, very aware of how tired he is, how leaden all his muscles feel, and pushes down his longing for a bath and then bed to squeeze Mikey's shoulder on the way past. "Let me guess," he says, trying to smile. "Some new crisis?"

Mikey pauses, then nods, swallowing audibly. It's enough to make Leo start running worst-case scenarios in his head: Kirby is dead, the Kraang are back, Karai has —

"So, April's back," says Mikey, with the false bright edge he uses when he's trying and failing to not alarm everyone. "And she uh. She said she met the Bull."

Half an hour later, Leo finds himself staring at April's shoulder, where the angry red wound has healed into a pink, ragged scar, the size of April's fist. His head aches, and his exhaustion has wound seductive little tentacles through his entire body. He feels like he's underwater, every movement slow and heavy.

April, pale as milk, her pupils blown wide, lets the collar of her shirt fall back into place. No one speaks, no one moves, though Leo can feel Donnie's tension coiling ever-tighter just a few feet away.

"So, to recap," he says, his voice rolling out of his chest strong and sure. "A girl you don't know came into the lair and told you to go meet the Bull, so you left, without telling anyone. And then the Bull met you on a train ride, and told you that it had given you powers, and then…dropped you off back at your stop? But only twenty minutes passed, so you…time-traveled? Or…"

I hate my life, Leo thinks, as April slowly nods. At least she has the decency to look ashamed — of herself, of her story.

"I don't know where to start," he says, rubbing his forehead. "I don't even know what to say. Normally I would be willing to take something on faith, but now…"

Mount Donnie erupts.

"Oh, great, faith," Donnie snarls. "Because belief has gotten us so far. Maybe we can just believe the Boar away! Maybe we'll all get special powers and turn into magical princesses and win through the power of good. Because that's what happens when you believe, right? Can't wait for it to be my turn."

It's hard for Leo to not feel like every word is aimed straight for him, and harder still not to let his furtive guilt show on his face.

"Donnie," April says, twisting her hands together. "I'm sorry, I just thought —"

Donnie throws up his hands, a rough scoffing noise crawling out of his mouth, and then turns away. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my lab. Working on an actual solution. You guys — you do what you want, as usual."

April's wince is barely noticeable, just a tiny twitch of her head, but Leo sees it. He knows any punishment he can hand down for breaking this unspoken, cardinal rule — go nowhere alone without telling someone — would be frail as wet paper against the steel edge of Donnie's temper.

She stands, her body angling after Donnie, her eyes following him as he stalks toward the lab.

With a massive effort, Leo does not cradle his head in his hands, and instead grabs April's arm to hold her back.

"Let him cool off," he says. April wheels around, the shitlook already in place, but Leo has no reason to go easy on her. "I said let him cool off, April. We've got work to do."

That catches her off-guard long enough for the shitlook to melt away, to be replaced by honest curiosity. The flashbang anger still hovers, not too far away, but Leo has a plan for that. A plan to use it.

"Work?" she says slowly. The lion's share of her attention is still on the lab, but she's interested, and that's the first, hardest step taken. With April, distraction and anger are an even more dangerous combination than usual.

"Work," Leo says, and points back toward the dojo. "You say you're healed? Let's test it."

Because if what you're saying is true, and the Bull has turned you into a weapon, then I need to know how to use you, Leo thinks as comprehension dawns, and April nods.

He should feel guilty — April is a person, she's family — for thinking this way, but he can't.

Leo waits in front of the tree until everyone is seated - Splinter too, who woke when Donnie exploded, and met them in the dojo - before calling Raph's name. "You're up."

It's impossible to miss Raph's smirk, and it's just as impossible to miss April's uncertainty; why is Leo starting her off against Raph, of all people? She shifts from one foot to the other, her movements easy and loose, and flicks open her tessen.

It's a simple plan, in three stages: Raph will come at April, all brute force and strength. If she can evade him, then it's Mikey turn to try and dazzle her, to test her reflexes and her ability to adapt.

If she gets through that, then Leo will take over, when she's exhausted, nearly wrung dry. And then, he'll see how she fights with someone, not against them.

He feels a thin trickle of concern when Raph starts to circle April, fists clenched, still smirking, but he ignores it. This test isn't a punishment, but it's not fair, either. Leo knows April wouldn't lie, but she might not have been told the whole story, or she may have assumed she's capable of more than she really is. Leo can't take the risk of going easy on her; if she falters, better that she falters here, when she's just facing Raph's fists or his own blades, and not topside, when the family is depending on her.

"No rules," Leo says, and watches Raph's gaze snap to him before focusing back on April. "You fight until I call time, or until one of you is knocked out."

Raph's smirk clearly says not gonna be me, princess, but when their next turn puts April facing Leo, her face is locked in concentration, her mouth set, her eyes hard.

If she goes down, Leo muses, she'll drag Raph with her, injured or not.

He feels his own energy level rising to meet theirs, adrenaline filtering into his bloodstream, and folds his arms over his plastron. Mikey, Usagi, and Casey kneel behind him, their attention narrowed to the pair circling each other like wolves in the center of the dojo, and yes, their energy is rising too, sharp and bright, like knives catching the moonlight. Leo waits, and waits, holding his tongue to let that restless, seething wave keep cresting higher, waiting for the dojo to be filled with it, crackling just under his range of hearing, until Raph lets out a frustrated, hot huff of air and April's shoulders are tight with anticipation.

"Hajime!" he calls into the thick welter of silence, and Raph comes at April with a roar.

April isn't there; she drops like a stone into water and rolls out of Raph's path, slamming her right leg out and back to connect with his knee as he flashes past. Raph barely stumbles, and wheels around to charge at April. He doesn't worry about telegraphing intent; he's an avalanche, sudden and massive, and while he's not the fastest of the four, he's still blindingly fast. Leo watches with something beyond pride as April blocks Raph's next blow with the flat of her forearm, then slides her tessen through the prongs of his sai and wrenches his arm hard to the left.

Mistake, Leo thinks. April can't shift Raph, not with how big he is, how heavy. Raph's smirk turns feral, and Leo feels Mikey and Usagi sink a little under the weight of disappointment: the fight's over too soon. In a few seconds, April will be laid out flat on her back — even now, Raph's turning at the waist, ready to kick her legs out from under her.

But April gives one last wrench, and uses the momentum not to drop Raph, but to spin herself out of his kick's reach, turning smoothly on her left leg. Her bad leg.

Past Raph's shoulder and disbelieving face, Splinter nods once where he kneels at the other end of the room. Leo realizes he's grinning, and smooths the expression away.

Now it's an all-out brawl, Raph pounding away at empty air as April spins around him, striking light blows on his shoulders and arms with her elbows and tessen. They're not meant to hurt so much as disorient and let April get out of the way before Raph can strike back.

But she's getting tired — healed or not, she's been out of the fight for almost two months. Leo knows she's trying to compensate for the weight and stamina she's lost by focusing on speed, but she's slowing down. Raph's opening is coming.

April's mistake is simple; she tries to jam her tessen through the prongs of Raph's sai again, but she doesn't move fast enough, and leaves herself in Raph's reach. Raph catches her wrist in the prongs of his free sai, and twists his wrist with a fierce, brutal snap. He's strong enough, and April light enough, for the movement to flip her over Raph's arm and flat on her back, breathing hard.

Leo feels a jolt of pure adrenaline race through him. The arm Raph caught was April's right arm, and she's not writhing in pain. Yes. Yes. One handful of luck.

"Yame!" he says, and Raph steps away, grinning and practically glowing with confidence. Leo rolls his eyes — Raph's crowing is old, old news — and calls April's name.

She nods as Raph helps her up, rolling her neck and shoulders. "I'm good," she says. "Stupid mistake. Dammit." Her voice is more frustrated than hurt, another good sign. Cautious, tentative optimism leaks into Leo's mind, and he nods.

"You lose, O'Neil." Raph shoves her lightly, still grinning. "Never gonna beat me."

"Whatever, asshole," April shoots back. The color in her cheeks is high, but not feverish; she's angry, not in pain. Leo glances at Mikey, who stands easily and moves to the center of the room. "I'll get you back."

"Whatever, asshole," Raph snots in a fair imitation of April's voice as he falls back to kneel in Mikey's empty space. April's mouth thins again, glaring at Raph instead of watching Mikey, who's bouncing innocently on the balls of his feet, beaming.

"Hajime!" Leo yells, his voice like a thunderbolt in the tense, hot room, and April startles. Too late; Mikey's already feinted a punch at her face that makes her reel back, all grace gone. Leo knows Mikey pulled the punch at the last second, but it wasn't meant to hurt, it was meant to rattle. And now April's wild-eyed, her focus scattered, and Mikey happily smashes into April's personal space, hooting and cackling, a riot of noise and color. Even Leo's dizzy, and he's just watching.

Two near-misses later, and April's pulled back into herself, letting herself react to Mikey instead of trying to predict where he'll be. She's slower, centered now, but it's costing her. Not physically, but in terms of concentration. Sweat drips down her neck and mats her hair to her head, but Mikey can't touch her. As fast as Mikey is, and as unpredictable, he can still be in just one place at a time, and April only has to be anywhere else to avoid him.

But taking a purely defensive posture with Mikey never works; it means that April can't take him out, because she's too busy avoiding his nunchuks to attack him. She knows this, Mikey knows this, everyone knows this — you can't beat Mikey when you're trying to outthink him. Sooner or later, something in your brain shorts out, and he catapults through the last of your focus, hollering and grinning, and then you're done.

April holds on longer than Leo assumed she could; almost seven minutes, and the last two minutes are vicious. Mikey stops yelling, stops making raspberries, stops trying to pat April on the head, and launches himself at her in silence. The only sounds in the room are the solid thwak as April's tessen blocks Mikey's nunchuks, and April's harsh, labored breathing.

In a movement too tiny to track from Leo's position, Mikey thumbs the release on his nunchuks, and the chain of his kusarigama unspools, the blade glittering in the light. April throws herself out of the way, but Mikey yanks the chain back and swoops low to coil it around April's legs. She tries to leap, but the chain wraps around her ankle — and for the second time, she's flat on her back, with Mikey dancing over her this time.

"Yame!" Leo calls, needlessly, and watches April punch the floor as Mikey unwinds the chain. This time, he backs away without helping her stand, kneeling next to Usagi without a word.

Everyone waits in silence as April rises. Her legs are shaking with exhaustion, her head low between her shoulders. Her breathing is still the loudest noise in the room.

"Do you yield, April?" Leo asks. His words sound hopelessly formal, but the question must be asked. If she's done, she needs to say so.

"No," she says, after a brief pause. When she turns around and meets Leo's gaze, her eyes glitter defiantly, and her hand does not shake as she holds her closed tessen in front of her face. "I'm ready."

He unsheathes his katana, the rasp of metal drowning out all other noise before the dojo fades into silence. April lifts her chin, pale again, but focused.

"You have nothing to prove," Leo tells her, circling her slowly. "You don't need to impress me." He keeps his voice gentle, reasonable, because nothing gets April's temper flaming hotter than when she thinks someone is trying to coddle her.

There's a snapcrack moment when Leo thinks she's about to turn on him, teeth bared and screaming, and he'd fail her for that loss of control. It's happened before, too many times to count, but this time April hauls herself back. Her eyes flash, cold and furious, but she has it leashed in seconds, and her body goes still.

Leo will never know how hard she has to work to control herself; her battles are not his. But he can respect the strength it takes, even as he does everything he can to break it.

"You don't have to fight to be worth something to us," he says, pitching his voice even lower, even kinder. "If you can't, it's all right. We can just wrap it up, take another few days —"

"Leo," April interrupts, her voice just as soft as his, "I know your game. I'm ready." She lowers her tessen and flicks it open and closed again at her side, her spine straight as the shaft of an arrow. "Shall we?"

He nearly grins, but controls himself instead, and leaps.

Exhaustion bleeds away, and time slows. Leo feels like he hovers mid-air for hours, watching himself descend toward April. She doesn't move until the last second. Then she simply kneels, her tessen closed and held above her head in both hands to catch the blades of his katana. Leo could break her hold easily with one more blow, but she rolls out of the way before he can, coming to a stop a few feet away, flicking her tessen open to hide her face.

Let's dance, then, Leo thinks.

He matches his movements to hers: stately, elegant, slow. It's not a challenge, not a fight. Leo wants April to read his movements, to understand his intent. He doesn't want to beat her. He wants her to comprehend.

And she does, she does. It's so beautiful that Leo's throat hurts. This is what he lives for, this wordless communication, this ultimate trust in his family. Nothing will ever come close to the almost unbearable joy in what he and his brothers can do together, but this is nearly as cherished:

April reading the line of his arm to block his blow, the tilt of her head as he thrusts his katana toward her.

He forces her to keeping fighting, pushing her faster, harder, waiting for her to hit her limit. Leo feels like he never will, like he could keep this dance up for days and feel like he's slept for a week at the end of it. The gouges on his arms ache and sting as his sweat runs over them, but that's nothing to the joy of movement. They can do this, they can win.

It hurts to end it, and snuff out the trusting light in April's eyes.

"Raph, Mikey, Usagi — now!" he yells, his voice shattering the silence. April flinches away, confused and heavy-headed, and then hisses through her teeth when she sees the other three converging on her.

Leo gives April thirty seconds before she gives up. She's surrounded, shaking with exhaustion, and mad as hell, and her first misstep will be her last.

How she reacts to her defeat is the final test.

April blocks Usagi and spins low to take herself out of Mikey's reach, but Raph is there, cutting off her one path out of the circle closing in on her, and the dry, acrid smell of her anger fills Leo's nose. It's almost over.

Almost.

He'll take her down smoothly, one kick to the back of her knee, and let that be the end of it. A good end to a good fight. April's earned that much.

When she sees him advancing, she snarls at him, her lips curled back over sharp white teeth, and a single word slips out of her mouth.

Sorry.

What for? quickly becomes oh shit as April shuts her eyes, her entire body tenses, and then she flings out both arms, palms out.

The soundless concussion shakes leaves from the tree and rattles the picture of Tang Shen and Miwa in Splinter's altar, and it throws Leo and the rest clear across the dojo. He lands on his shell with a whuff and slides back until his head hits the wall, the air knocked out of him. A few seconds pass as his vision wavers in and out of a grey fog and the gouges on his arms scream a protest, and sitting up leaves him dizzy.

"Whoa," says Mikey weakly, from somewhere far away. "That was sick. Is my head still on, dudes?"

"If you're talking, you're fine," Leo replies, blinking away the last of the grey. "Guys? Sensei?" A low chorus of murmurs rises in answer to his question, so Leo pushes to his feet and sheathes his katana. He's far beyond exhausted now. He's drained, like something's been scooped out of him. The hollow place is filling in again, slowly, but he's still clumsy as he crosses the dojo to stand in front of April.

For her part, April looks fine. Better than fine; she's bright-eyed, her cheeks flushed with warm red. Her posture is loose, confident, like she could go another five rounds of sparring and still not be worn out. It gives Leo a chill, knowing that he's so weak and she's fresh as sea air.

Of course. The Bull changed her. How stupid of him to forget — but he can work with this. He can use this.

"Nice demonstration," he says. He searches out Splinter, who looks a little bleary from catching a ripple of April's...whatever, but otherwise fine, then turns his attention back to April. "But don't pull that again. Not on us, at least."

April gives him a chagrined look that lasts for half a second, then shrugs. "Seemed like as good a time as any to show off," she says, as close to an apology as Leo will get - not that he hadn't baited her to begin with. She looks around the room. "Casey, you okay?"

Casey waves at her, propped up on his elbows. "I'm good. Little warning would've been nice."

"Tell me about it," Raph says from the far corner of the room. He's made it as far as his knees, but his eyes are still a bit glassy. He glares at April. "What the hell, April?"

"I told you," she says, staring down at her closed fists. "I've been…augmented." She opens her hands, fingers spread wide, and smiles. It's an empty smile. no pleasure or defiance in it at all, and Leo steps a little closer, trying to lend what comfort he can. Nothing he can say will soften this — Donnie might be able to, but Donnie's not here. They'll make do.

"It's an augmentation we can work with," Leo says, and smiles back when April gives him a warm, hopeful look. "I think we can work you back into patrols, with a little more practice."

"Tonight?" April asks, her hope a little bolder now.

Leo shakes his head. "We're in tonight. Everyone needs a break, and you and I need to talk about your little sojourn." April winces, then nods, meeting Leo's eyes through her lashes.

Thought you got away with it? Slippery, slippery April. No, we're in tonight. We both need to talk to Donnie, and we need to figure out who that girl is, and, and, and…

April sighs, sinking down into herself. "Got it," she says, staring at her hands again.

"You did well, April," Leo tells her. "You're back on." He reaches out and squeezes her bad shoulder — not hard, but one final test. April winces again, on reflex, when he comes close, then sends him a sharp look. I know what you're doing, her eyes say.

"Probationary basis," he says. "All right, everyone, get some rest."

It's no surprise at all when April heads straight for the lab, instead of the showers like everyone else.

The doors to the lab creak when April slips inside, but Donnie doesn't look up from his desk. He's hunched over his keyboard and doesn't turn around even when she makes it halfway across the lab. The only noise is the soft patter of his fingers on the keys, and the rush of blood in her ears.

Maybe I should have showered first, April thinks. When she inhales, she smells her sweat and the resin on her hands and bare feet. It's not unpleasant — she's smelled like worse things, too many times to count — but a shower would have given her the chance to gather her thoughts, and find the best way to apologize.

A shower would also have given her time to talk herself out of apologizing. It'd be too easy to think, I need to let Donnie cool down more, and then let that nebulous thought stretch out into hours of silence. Then what? The silence would congeal, trapping them both like insects in amber. Donnie deserves better than that.

"Hey," she says. "Are you busy?"

Donnie shrugs, still not turning around. "I found that girl on the security feeds," he says, jerking his thumb at the monitors to his left. "I'm running through DMV records now to see if I can get a match."

"Oh?" April says, gritting her teeth at the tentative, nervous quaver in her voice. "Good plan. Do you need any help?"

Donnie's typing doesn't slow. "Nope. I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar." She tries to make it a joke, but the words come out too pointed, tiny barbs flung across the lab, and it's too late to catch them back. "I mean…Donnie, I came in here to apologize."

He nods, still typing. The sound clatters against April's ears, and she resists the urge to stomp across the lab and swing Donnie around in his chair so he actually looks at her. But this is what she deserves, more than any punishment Leo will dish out later. She broke the rules, yes, but she left. She doesn't get the privilege of offering her apology when it's convenient for her.

"If you want me to go, I will," she says a few moments later. "But I am sorry. I screwed up." She swallows and looks down at her feet, unable to watch the high, unyielding wall of his shell any longer. Was it only this morning that she didn't hesitate to touch him? That he touched her?

The typing pauses. April lifts her head, ready to face the brunt of Donnie's anger head-on, and steps into the range of his mind. The anger's there, but nowhere near as intense as she expected, and what's left isn't directed at her, but far away - far away, and fading fast. It's burning itself out, and leaving only ashes. Tired, grey, resigned ashes.

He stays hunched over his keyboard as his emotions wash over her, and a moment later the typing begins again. "It's fine," Donnie says. "I'm sorry I freaked out."

Oh, no. No. April is not going to let them follow the usual script; she is taking the blame for what she did, because she is going to be better — but isn't that selfish, too, in its own way? If Donnie doesn't want to assign blame, why should she demand it?

Because that's the old way. If she gets to keep this fragile beginning, she has to earn it.

April bites the inside of her cheek. "It's fine," she says, carefully, measuring each word. "You deserved to freak out. I was an idiot, and I'm sorry." She lets a few seconds go by, counting them silently in her head, before she tries again. "If you don't want to talk, I'll go, but you don't have to say it's fine just to...just because you always have."

No reply comes, just more typing. April nods to herself, and turns toward the door before

Donnie's voice stops her mid-step.

"What was it like? The Bull?"

This is good; curiosity is good. Donnie doesn't turn around, but he stops typing, and April nearly sighs with relief.

"It's…strange," says April. "God, that's such a cliché, but I don't have the right words. It was…it hurt. Just being around it hurt, until —" She waves her hands, sharp and frustrated, and sucks a quick breath between her teeth. "It's not good, in any way I can explain. It just is." She hesitates there, unsure what else to say, unsure how to say it.

"It's much bigger than it looks," she says finally, slowly, every word a struggle. "I saw what looked like a man, but it's like that was just all it wanted me to see. Or all I was allowed to see. It wore the man, but there's more and I —" April huffs, shaking her head. "I keep trying to quantify it in my head, or come up with the right analogy, but nothing's coming. It's big, and it's not…kind. Not the way we think of kindness."

"Well, that's reassuring," Donnie says, his voice dry as old bones. "Explains a lot, too."

"I think you'd have to be a poet to get even close to what it really is." April shrugs, even though Donnie can't see. "And we both know that is something I'm not."

Donnie nods, hunching even lower at his desk. It shouldn't be possible for someone so tall to look so reduced, but he does. He looks tired and small, and April forgets all her good intentions to let him be to cross the rest of the lab.

She brushes her knuckles down the line of his arm, a quiet, testing touch. When he doesn't move away, she keeps touching him, gentle fingertips stroking the ball of his shoulder. He sighs, deep and shuddering, and leans back in his chair.

"What I don't get is why it won't talk to me," he says, eventually. April waits, and keeps touching him in silence. "It makes no sense, if I am what it — what this story says. If it's not going to help, why choose me?" The hurt in his voice takes a wry twist. "Then again, maybe it just likes watching me flounder around. It'll help you, it'll pick random people off the street to play messenger, but when it comes to the Champion, no, better not say anything! It's funnier this way. Watch Donnie run."

"It said it would come to you soon," April says, knowing it's a weak protest. "And that the lair is tainted —"

"So why not ask me to go?" Donnie finally wheels around in his chair. "I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but what am I supposed to do? Wait until my turn for divine guidance shows up?" He shakes his head and covers his face. "Why?" he says into his palms. "Why?"

If this were a panicked reaction to stress, like earlier, then April could have pulled Donnie back with logic, with numbers and sterile calculations. This is something closer to despair, and April doesn't know how to help Donnie when he's this tired, and this sad.

You're a real bastard, she thinks at the Bull, all too aware of the healing warmth still clustered under her scars. I'm not the one you should have helped. Take it all back and help your Champion.

It's not a prayer, and there's no answer. Of course not. Why would things be easy?

"I don't know," she says. "I wish I did, but —" Donnie sighs into his cupped hands, a lonely, barren sound, and April reaches out without thinking to cover his shoulders with her hands. "I'm sorry for leaving," she says. "I should have thought — I wanted to help, but I didn't think. This is not how I wanted this to start."

What a selfish thing to say, she thinks, angry at herself for blundering into the personal when Donnie has so much on his shell already, but Donnie lifts his head out of his hands and blinks at her, as if he's just realized she's there. A faint glow reaches her from his head, a golden, summer-flavored warmth that tingles in her mouth and fingers first, before spreading through the rest of her.

"I'm not mad at you," he says. "Did you think…?"

"You've got every reason to be," April says. "I acted like an idiot. And yeah, maybe there are side benefits —" She thinks of Raph slamming into the dojo wall like a cannonball, and makes a mental note to tell Donnie about it later — "but I should have…you know, actually thought things through."

"Then you wouldn't be you," Donnie says, one side of his mouth quirking up. The real smile is in his eyes, warm and hopeful.

"Wow, harsh." She's too relieved to feel any offense, and grins down at him. Her hands have started stroking his shoulders again, without her being aware of it, but since Donnie isn't complaining — he is, in fact, leaning into her touch — she's not stopping. "I think some things through."

Donnie squints at her, his worry and care receding into the background. She has so much work to do, so much room to improve, but at least she helped now, and that's all she wants to do. "Yeah?" he asks. "April O'Neil, thinking things through? I'm shocked."

There's no better opening, no better opportunity, so April closes her eyes and kisses him. Donnie makes a muffled noise of surprise against her mouth. She breaks away sooner than she wants, to read his expression and know if she's crossed over a line, but she only feels a scrap of stunned relief, and that summer warmth again, before he pulls her close.

When the hell did you get so good at this? April thinks with the last rational thought left in her head, before Donnie kisses her near-senseless. So much for any of her intentions, good or bad; she might have come to the lab to apologize, but Donnie has apparently decided to kiss her breathless and she's not going to argue.

But she needs him to know she's not trying to cheat her way out of blame; she meant it when she said this is not how she wanted them to start, and so she pulls back far enough to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't — I wanted to help, but I —"

"April." Donnie runs a hand through her hair, then frowns. With a smooth motion, he eases her onto his lap, an echo of their earlier position, but now it's him comforting her. "Just…don't do it again. Please?"

He's not just asking her to think, he's asking her to stay. To help. Donnie, who never asks for anything, asked her. It's more trust than she hoped for so early, but she won't — can't — take it for granted.

"Promise," she says, and leans in for another kiss. She wants it to be sweet, but then Donnie runs both hands through her hair and the kiss becomes something else entirely: heat, and need. Warmth prickles down her neck and over her legs, and she wraps both hands in the tails of his mask and pulls him closer. He responds with a tentative brush of his tongue against hers, and she's debating how to best maneuver herself so she's straddling him — why not go a little farther, while they're here and she has him so attractively pinned down? — when an alarm chimes softly to her left.

Donnie lets her go slowly, resting his forehead on hers and delightfully flushed. "That's…" He licks his lips, and April nearly kisses him again. She settles instead for nuzzling under his chin, and smiling when he sighs. "That's the DMV search. We've got a match."

"Oh?" April lifts her head, and finds the girl from the tunnel staring down at her, sullen and washed-out. "Oh, wow, yeah. That is her." She squints to read the name, reluctant to move off Donnie's lap. "Angelica Vega, nineteen years old." She shudders. So much for holding on to the warmth of Donnie's kisses; they're back to the war now. Probably a good thing, too — Donnie may be willing to let her slide to keep the peace, but that's no foundation for going forward. For being them. For now, though, that conversation can wait. "God. She really is just a kid."

Donnie makes a thoughtful noise. When April looks up at him, he's frowning. "Angelica Vega," he murmurs. "I know that name."

"Someone you guys helped out?"

He shakes his head, the frown deepening. April stands up, knowing that look all too well. She might want to distract Donnie, but that's the last thing he needs. "Wait, that address — Mikey's grannies. That's Milagros' address."

"The one who makes the bread?" April says, then wants to smack herself in the head for saying something so inane. "So…this kid is her what, granddaughter?"

"Looks like," Donnie says, stepping closer to the monitors. He turns back to April, grinning. "Which means we've got ourselves a lead."