Chapter Text
“Don?” April called, her voice echoing down the lonely tunnel.
Her sneaker found the last rung of the service ladder, and she jumped. She did not look before she leapt. She just jumped. Straight into a puddle. She sighed, making a half-hearted attempt to sidestep anything else that might lead to her being up to her knees in fresh sewage. She turned, her wet sneakers sucking at her feet, and peered down into the sewer. A dim light flickered in the dark.
She felt her heartbeat accelerate. Where was he? She glanced over her shoulder, down the tunnel in the opposite direction, where no light shone. April reached for her back pocket, where her t-phone rested, ever ready. This was the spot, wasn’t it? She glanced down the tunnel. It had been years, and while she had always been impressed with the turtles’ intimate knowledge of the warren of tunnels below the city. If she was being honest, they all sort of looked the same to her. But this had to be it. The evac rendezvous spot; close enough to the lair but not too close.
She rubbed her shoulders against the creeping cold, gaining little ground with her wet clothes. The sewer offered more cover than the streets, but not much more warmth. She shuddered, and felt the rippling pinprick sensation of goosebumps spreading across her skin, even under her hoodie. April exhaled sharply and rubbed her arms harder, mentally thanking past April for leaving a change of clothes at the lair.
The manhole at the top of the service ladder rattled above her and she stepped the side, out of view. She ran her hands over her hoodie sleeves again, desperately hoping the friction would make enough heat to make a difference. She closed her eyes and indulged in a fantasy of warm, dry , pajamas, and curling up on the couch next to Don. She could probably even stay the night. She doubted she would even need to ask.
April paused at the thought, blinking in the darkness. Would that be weird?
Was it weird now? Now that they were -
Something splashed out of sight and she backed up against the tunnel wall.
“ Donatello ?” she called, her shaking voice echoing down the length of the bore into the earth, disappearing into nothing.
“Hey,” Donatello said down the length of the tunnel, his voice oozing with misery.
“Hey,” April replied, rushing through the puddle at her feet to find him in the dark.
“You okay?” he asked, unable to mask his concern.
“Fine,” she shrugged. “Wet.”
“Did they – “
She shook her head. “I bolted before he could question me.”
“Good,” Donatello nodded, seemingly relieved.
“Are you alright?” she asked, though as her eyes searched his face, even in the low light, she already knew the answer.
“I’ll be fine.”
April’s face creased in concern. The security guard had pulled out his phone when he had found them on the stairs. But it was dark, and Donatello had moved fast. But maybe not fast enough. There was no way to know. Unless...she chewed her lip, trying not to think about it. Donatello pulled a small scrap of fabric from a pouch on his belt and proceeded to clean his glasses. Or attempt to clean his glasses. April frowned. The rag was wet, and only smearing the smudge around the lenses, but Donatello seemed too miserable to notice.
“Here,” April offered, gently. “Let me.”
She gently took his glasses from his hands, breathing onto the lenses. They fogged in her hands, and she rubbed them with the edge of her hoodie (the only thing that hadn’t seemed to have gotten wet on her descent into the sewer). When she was done, she folded the arms up and offered them back to him.
“Thanks,” Donatello slid his spectacles back on. The small smile that had found its way to his face vanished. “I just can’t believe I let that rent-a-cop see me. What if - what if he photographed me?”
“Don’t worry about it,” April reached for his hand, her small fingers entwining with his. “It’s gonna be fine.”
Donatello nodded, though something in the way his mouth waivered told April he was unconvinced.
She tried to smile reassuringly. “Come on.”
Putting one foot in front of the other they began to trudge home. April’s wet sneakers sucked at what felt like even wetter socks with each step, the heels rubbing her skin in just the wrong way. She wondered if she still had those crocks back at the lair. Anything would be preferable to her current footwear situation at this point. Just as she was about to shove her hands into her hoodie pockets, she felt something graze her wrist.
She looked up to see Donatello smiling nervously, his hand drifting by her side. She smiled at him again, and her hand found his. Five fingers easily intertwined with three, as if they had been doing this forever. It didn’t feel like the first time; it felt like the culmination of a lifetime of waiting.
Each soggy step faded into the next, until Donatello stopped.
The door to the lair had never felt less inviting. Don stood before it, caught between stillness and action. This door had welcomed them home a thousand times. Unless they were under siege, it was never locked. All Donatello had to do was turn the handle, and they would be home.
April squeezed his hand.
“It’s gonna be fine,” she said again.
He nodded, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. They entered the lair together, hand in hand.
April tread softly, trying not to give away their position with the squelching of her wet sneakers. Donatello padded along silently beside her. Though he stood tall, she felt his fingers tighten around hers. Don’t worry , she thought , I’m not letting go . She glanced up at him, but his eyes were trained on the den where turtles were all seated together on the couch, illuminated by the soft glow of the television screen in the low light. Leonardo sat apart from his brothers, eyes intent on whatever it was they were watching. Michelangelo’s legs were kicked up on the coffee table next to an empty pizza box. Raphael’s toned arms, muscles well defined even in repose, were spread across the cushions. Donatello took another step, and April followed.
When her sneaker hit the floor it made a sound like she was giving a wet whoopie cushion a half-hearted squeeze. They froze. Raphael craned his neck over his shoulder and looked the two of them up and down with his one good eye.
“Nice,” he said with a smirk.
A smile tugged at the edge of Donatello’s mouth.
“See, I told you- ” April began, but the rest of the words dissolved in as she watched the expression on Donatello’s face.
“Oh - “ he groaned.
The volume on the television shot up. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Donatello only pointed across the room. April felt the color drain from her face when she saw what the turtles were watching.
“Oh this is so not fine,” Donatello wheezed.
Raphael snorted. “You can say that again.”
Michelangelo turned around and draped himself over the back of the couch. “ Busted! ”
Leonardo glanced over his shoulder, glaring as sharply as the kunai at his belt. “Explain,” he glowered.
“It was all my fault!” April blurted, stepping in front of Donatello, as if anything she could say or do would protect him now. “I - “
“April, I know you mean well, but,” Leonardo began.
“It was my fault,” Donatello confessed, numbly, his eyes glued to the television, where a blurry full-body shot of him was plastered to the screen. “I was stupid. I exposed myself. It’s all my fault.”
“What was that?” Raphael asked, cupping his hand to where his ear might be if he had any.
“I exposed myself,” Donatello admitted.
“You’ve exposed all of us!” Leonardo raised his voice as he stood.
“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Raphael chortled. “The other part. Before that.”
Donatello rung his fists at his side. “I was stupid.”
Raphael cackled from the couch.
“Raphael!” Leonardo snapped. “This is not funny.”
Raphael snorted again and turned the television up by thumbing the remote. Gambe’s voice poured out over the blurry cell phone pic of Donatello. April watched as he wilted beside her. Though none of his features were distinguishable due to the poor lighting and phone camera quality, it was definitely Donatello.
“Local security captured this photo of this unidentified organism earlier this evening, and experts are postulating - “
“What experts !?” Donatello seethed, and April sighed.
“That it may be extraterrestrial in origin,” Gambe continued. “ Could this mysterious being be related to the Midnight Sun?” He paused, and the news feed cut to Gambe pensively shuffling a folio of papers at his desk. “ It’s too soon to tell.”
“HA!” Michelangelo’s head flopped back over the couch. “They think you’re an alien.”
“New York City is full of urban legends; rats the size of grown men, alligators in the sewers, but can aliens really be among us?” Game queried, raising a brow.
“If only they knew,” April whispered, stepping closer to Donatello.
“Knew what? ” Leonardo demanded. He had made his way around the couch and stood, arms crossed over his plastron, waiting for an answer.
“The anomaly is totally aliens,” April turned her gaze Leonardo’s imposing figure, defiantly taking Donatello’s hand in hers. “Donatello confirmed it with me at the university observatory tonight. At my invitation. This was all my fault.”
“Aliens!” Michelangelo crowed, raising his arms triumphantly as if someone had just scored a touchdown. “I knew it.”
Leonardo’s icy gaze shifted to his brother. “Is that true, Donatello?”
“Yes,” Don pushed his glasses back up his snout. “I do believe the anomaly is extraterrestrial in origin. But April is not at fault for my being seen.”
“It doesn’t matter!” Leonardo snapped. “You were seen! By a rent-a-cop, no less!”
“I know,” Donatello groaned.
“A RENT-A-COP!” Leonardo fumed. “You’re a ninja, Donatello. A ninja .”
“I know,” Donatello hung his head shamefully.
“Sensei trained you better than this,” Leonardo added, and April watched as the words twist inside Donatello, sharp as a knife.
“You don’t have to pull the dead dad card on me, Leo. I know!” Donatello shouted. He sighed dismally. “I know.”
“Don,” April said, softly, gently squeezing his hand.
Donatello’s attempt at a deep breath turned into a miserable sigh. But then he squeezed her hand, and a small smile broke across his face. April felt heat rushing to her cheeks. “Come on, April,” he said. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
“ Wow! ” Raphael exclaimed from the couch, his head lolling back over the couch cushions. “Making up for lost time there, Don?”
April and Donatello both blushed. “That’s not – “ Donatello groaned, turning away from his brothers and back to April. “That’s not what I meant,” he whispered hastily, his cheeks flushing pink.
“I know,” April murmured, her thumb gently running over his. Not gonna lie, she thought, that would be way more fun than the Spanish Inquisition over here … she forced herself to stifle a smile as her eyes darted away from Leo, avoiding his gaze.
Donatello took her hand and she felt her heart skip in her chest under every damp layer of clothing. She almost bit her lip, cold and chapped from the night wind, but thought better of it. She didn’t want Don to know how nervous she was. She didn’t want them to know. Or breakfast tomorrow would be brutal. She brushed a clump of wind-matted hair hanging in front of her eyes behind her ear, and took the next step, her wet sneakers sucking at her feet again. One foot in front of the other, she told herself silently, her sneakers squeaking so loudly it almost felt obscene.
“We’re not done,” Leonardo said, flatly.
Her wet sneakers wheezed as she stopped dead in her tracks. Leonardo had spent years mastering his paternal tone, on away missions, at home, acting as the voice of reason, and in recent years, providing guidance Splinter no longer could. April frowned. And tonight, he had finally perfected it, in all its self-righteous glory. Of course . She nearly rolled her eyes.
April could not recall a time when her own father had even spoken to her this way. He had always seemed to trust her, even when he shouldn’t have. But she never came home dead, so it had all worked out alright, hadn’t it? She shifted her weight uneasily under Leonardo’s harsh gaze. He was laying it on thick, tonight. Splinter had been more of a parent to her than her own father ever had, in some ways. Kirby had drifted away, after her mother disappeared. As long as she had gotten good grades and ended up in her own bed before dawn, it had all been groovy. But after they lost Splinter, too... her heart sunk thinking about it. She knew Leonardo had taken that the hardest. But no one had given Leonardo that burden to carry but himself.
And he carried the burden remarkably. He always had. Even as a boy, thrust into the mantle of leadership at only fifteen, he had persevered. But now, there was something else under the surface of his deep blue eyes. Leonardo wore the burden like a mask, as plain as the blue bandana across his brow, but it did nothing to hide the shame and the guilt of that night. Even in the storm of her fury at Leo’s self-righteous assholery, April’s heart ached for him. He bore that burden like Sisyphus. It hadn’t been his fault; but the only one that didn’t seem to know that was Leonardo.
“You two are very sweet and all,” Leonardo’s eyes narrowed at them. “But I cannot have this distraction endangering our family.”
“That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think, Leonardo?” Donatello asked, somberly.
April squeezed Don’s hand so hard her nails bit into his flesh. Don’t go there, Don , she pleaded silently. Please .
“Since your last distraction ended with a hole in Raphael’s face!”
April’s stomach lurched. They did not talk about that night. They did not talk about what had happened to Raphael. And most importantly, they did not talk about her. She was gone. April’s eyes widened, watching Leonardo attempting to compose himself. Donatello had broken the unspoken agreement they had all adhered to for years in his anger, red hot and furious, at himself, at Leonardo - at the entire world for rejecting them, after everything they had done. April’s heart was heavy in her chest. The world would never know, but she knew. They all did.
“Do not bring her into this, Donatello,” Leonardo said, coldly.
Her fingers tightened around his, thinking about that night. The night just another battle with the Foot had turned into a tragedy. She remembered how the fray had frozen all around them. How cold those eyes were as she had forced Leonardo’s hand. Donatello’s skin was hot against hers, just like the iron of her tessen was in her hands that night. April closed her eyes, trying to shut it all out. The sound of Raphael’s screams. The sound of Leonardo’s ragged breath as he watched. The ghosts that were little more than echoes, now.
“I think the eyepatch is a good look on you, bro,” Michelangelo said, simply. “Very swarthy.”
“Not now, Michelangelo,” Raphael growled.
“What’s done is done,” Leonardo finished, eyes icy cool.
She could feel the retort at the tip of Donatello’s tongue, hot and eager and ready to lash out at his brother; ready to rip that old wound open even wider. She watched Don’s mouth twitch into the first syllable of her name. But he stopped himself.
“Come on, Leo,” Michelangelo nervously changed the subject from the couch. “It’s not like they know what we actually are.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Donatello muttered, as his eyes said what he could not. I was stupid . “It won’t happen again.”
“No. It won’t,” Leonardo said, flatly. “Because none of you are going top-side again until I say so.”
“What?” Raphael shouted over the television, where an ad for toothpaste transitioned seamlessly into an advertisement for some sort of soda.
“We’re not children,” Donatello’s brow furrowed beneath his mask. “You can’t ground us just because it suits you.” He yanked his hand away from April to point furiously at his brother. “Not anymore.”
“I can if I think it’s in the best interest of the team,” Leonardo replied, unmoved. “And I will. No one goes up until this all blows over. Your fifteen minutes of fame, the anomaly, all of it.”
“But - “ Donatello attempted to argue.
“This is not a discussion.”
Donatello’s hands balled into fists, but he said nothing further. April could practically hear Donatello’s teeth grinding. And then there was nothing. Not a protest from Raphael. Not even a defeated sigh from Michelangelo. Silence swelled in the living room like a noxious gas, invisible, but utterly palpable. Just when April thought they all might choke on their own wordlessness -
“Are you done?” Donatello asked, expressionless.
Leonardo only crossed his arms over his plastron. April sighed in exasperation. Thanks, Dad .
“Come on Don,” April gently placed a hand on his carapace. “Walk me out?”
“I would be happy to,” he said. “As long as that’s alright with you , Leo.”
Leonardo glowered, but made no further remarks. Seizing the opportunity, April grabbed Donatello’s arm and stalked away, wet sneakers squeaking in protest with every step. “G’night guys!” she called, not looking back.
“Night April!” Michelangelo called meekly. April ignored Raphael’s grunt of acknowledgement, and tried not to let the weight of Leonardo’s gaze slow her pace as she whacked the turnstiles out of her way, yanking Donatello along with her. Donatello sputtered as he whipped around behind her. April smirked. It was kind of cute.
April barreled through the door. Once Donatello was beside her, she slammed it behind them. Only when they were alone did she draw a deep breath of stagnant sewer air. She had never thought a mouthful of sewer smell could be such a relief. But it was. Out of sight and out of earshot, she felt her shoulders slump, exhaustion the only consolation prize of the evening.
“Well that could not have possibly gone worse,” Donatello rubbed his eyes under his glasses.
April shrugged, buried her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “You could’ve actually said her name out loud.”
Donatello sighed. “What I really wanted to do was punch him right in his smug – “
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Her hand found a way back to his.
“So,” Donatello began, shyly, casting his gaze to the tunnel floor.
April grinned. “So what?”
“So who should keep this?” Donatello produced the thumb drive like device from his utility belt, holding it up to her between his thumb and forefinger.
She drew a quick, sharp breath. The anomaly recording. She had almost forgotten in the emotional landslide caused by Leonardo swinging his dick around like that. Her face crumpled at the thought, reminding herself not to be too harsh. Donatello had been seen, after all. Leonardo’s blue eyes flashed in the recesses of her mind, cold and calm, but unable to belie how he truly felt. And she wondered, thinking of those hurt blue eyes, if the wounds from that night all those years ago would ever heal, or if they would always be there, just below the surface, waiting to be dredged up anew by every crisis, any argument.
Donatello was wrong. The evening could have gone so much worse. If Donatello’s anger had become completely unbridled, it could have caused a deluge. In the years since that night, they had never spoken of it. Not the fight. Not their losses. Not her. Leonardo was right to be cautious, she realized. He knew from experience what came of being reckless with your heart. But that was not Donatello’s burden to bear. Gentle, timorous Donatello, who had come so far out of his comfort zone he might as well have been on another planet.
The anomaly flashed in her mind’s eye, dark and ominous through that telescope. There was a whole new world unfolding between them, above them; around them. And in that moment, all the possibilities before them kept the fear of the unknown at bay. April almost smiled.
Her eyes fell over Donatello’s outstretched hand, and his fingers, which she had entwined her own with so easily just moments before. But now that they were alone again, she hesitated to touch him, almost afraid of what that might lead to in the safety of their solace. Even if it was only temporary.
“I think it’ll be safer with you,” she said, finally.
Donatello nodded and pocketed the device. “I’ll throw it up on the cloud when I get back to the lab.”
“Thanks,” April chuckled. “But no hurries no worries.”
“What?” Donatello’s brow ridge arched.
“Well, I mean, now that the media has evidence that aliens exist and are roaming the rooftops of Manhattan, the footage is hardly breaking news,” she rolled her eyes, leaning back on her heels, making her wet sneakers squeak.
“Ha ha,” Don said, dryly. “Very funny.”
“I thought so,” April shrugged.
Donatello shook his head, but still, he smiled. “Text me when you get home?”
“Of course,” she said.
Her eyes met his, and she wondered how it had been so easy to touch him before. She bit her lip, then bit the bullet. She popped up on the tips of her toes, wet socks crowding her toes in wet sneakers, and kissed him on the cheek. When she pulled away, his face was flushed pink. She wondered if hers was, too.
“Not bad for a first date?” Donatello smiled lopsidedly.
“Not bad at all.” April’s face cracked in a smile. She wondered why it hurt, until she realized that she had been doing it all night.