Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He appreciates having someone other than Master Splinter to discuss strategies with, especially someone who's been formally trained. Also, having someone close to his age to discuss heavy topics with, like the burden of leadership and the weight of 'doing the right thing', has really helped his mental health a lot. However, you both avoid discussing your professional lives as much as possible - work isn't why you got together, and it shouldn't be the sole topic of discussion. 
Still he worries. You're on the frontlines everyday, witnessing and often interacting with the darkest corners of human depravity, and the fact that this is New York only exasperated the problem. It's not unusual that a suspect will try to wriggle out of an arrest, resist or just outright attack you - it's an occupational risk you were aware of, but 
he still worries. Mainly because he's not there to protect you - while you may more or less work in the same sphere, he works the night shifts, and you work during the day, and the helplessness of knowing he couldn't come out and help you eats at him every day, because he would then endanger his family. 
And there have been some close calls. 
Nights after a close call are the ones where you bond like no other time. It starts with a detailed physical check, so he can make sure you're uharmed. If you are, however, he will make sure you get the care you need, be it by encouraging you to see a doctor on the surface - even though he would love to be in the room with you, if not for your comfort, than for his, or ushering you to the needle room where Donatello, quickly and quietly assesses the damage and patches you up under Leo's watchful gaze. And then here was that one time where your jacket got caught on a jagged fence and the wiring had left some marks on the back of your shoulder. 
It was just a flesh wound, just some scratches, just a minor annoyance, at best. But your man demanded it was much more. You could suffer a severe blood loss, or an infection, or, hell, lose your arm even! And you simply did not have the heart to tell him that that was extremely unlikely, because deep down you knew, he was well aware of that. 
He got some cotton swabs, gauze and alcohol from Donnie, directed you to his room and began the solemn process of cleaning up this lethal wound. 
He sat you on his bed, sat behind you and started carefully removing the clothing that was in his way. First went the now-torn NYPD windbreaker, then the button down shirt you wore as part of the dress code, and that left you with a white cammie you put on to keep you warm under your shirt in the chilly New York fall. 
"Did you catch him?" he asks, while carefully pulling the the straps of your camisole and bra to the side, and pouring some alcohol on a cotton swab. 
"We got him, yes, I'll have to interrogate him tomorrow." you respond, quietly trying to keep from audibly hissing when the stinging liquid hits your cut-open back. 
"Good." you knew he was assessing whether the chase, and subsequently, the injury, could have been avoided, but you also knew, he should know better than anyone the value of doing the right thing - even if it affects you personally. 
He was careful and methodical in how he treated your battle wounds, but he was also in no rush to complete the task. He needed to make sure you were okay, that you were still very much in one piece even if a little torn up. 
After cleaning up the cuts, he wrapped a good layer of gauze around them to keep them sterile and then he just sat there. You were now fully drained of adrenalin in a calm and hazy state of mind and were in no rush to leave the warmth of Leo's private quarters. 
Your hair was pulled away from your shoulder, and so we're the straps of your remaining clothing and warm lips landed on your skin. A sigh of relief left your lungs. 
"You know I worry about you." a huff of a laugh came out of your nose at that moment. 
"I worry about you too, Leo. It's part of the paths we've chosen."
How could he respond to that? Lie and tell you you'll both be fine? Indulge in dark depressing thoughts? What could possibly he say?
Another warm kiss landed on your skin, and then another, and then they made a path up your neck, and stayed over your pulse - you were here, you were alive, you were with him. 
That's all he could say - his lips, the hands on your waist and his slowly deepening breaths told you 'I cherish you. I want you. And I will until my last breath.'

The cammie was lifted off of you. His warm hard hands glided over your uncovered torso as if committing it to memory, his plastron planted itself firmly against your back and he surrounded you, not unlike a protective shell. 
No more words were exchanged as both of your clothes slowly fell away from your bodies and you fell into the gentle rhythm of the other's body heat. 
You were both very much there. Very much alive. Very much safe and sound and together. 
For the time being, there was nothing to worry about. 

Chapter Text

NYPD policing is nothing if not a physical job. And 'physical' is where Raphael thrives. He works with you routinely especially every year before your evaluations, running drills, sparring, weight-training you until you are the perfect machine he knows you to be.
Private spars in the dojo are his favourite, not only because he gets to spend some quality time with you but because they often turn into a lot more than that.
And sure, he'd go easy on you - meaning he won't pummel you like his life depended on it, because let's face it, he is more than twice your size, and he would let you win, because he knew the odds of you finding another giant mutant turtle you'd have to fight in real life, was zero. But he would still give a good fight.
He would have to negate that in giving you good training, correcting your stance, teaching you new techniques, you will have to get a bit bruised up - it's part of the job. And as much as it bugs him that he's the one responsible for it, he prefers that you be ready for the field, in case some nutjob decided to mess with his girl.
Besides, it gives him good reason to later *ahem* take care of you, kissing all those individual bruises, rubbing your arms and legs to ease some of the muscle ache away, just generally keep his hands on you as much as possible.
The exam stuff though, now that's the tricky bit. Whenever you need to get reevaluated, you do your physical qualification, your psych eval, and lastly your written exam.
Uh oh.
It's not that he's stupid, you both know he is anything but. But he is impulsive, and unfortunately, the most obvious decision is not always the right one.
Written tests, he admits, can be super annoying, and he only sat down to do them with you because he didn't want you to go to anyone else for help - let alone one of his brothers. The jealousy would kill him.
So, with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes that he thought you didn't see, he sat down on his bed, with you in his lap, because he had to get something out of this somehow, you started doing tests together.
Question after question after another, he got more and more into the whole thing. Maybe it was because you were the one trying to engage him, maybe because he was truly interested now into how policing was done. Maybe he actually wanted to learn a thing or two. Whatever the reason, the fact is, he was paying attention, far more than he was whenever as children Splinter and Don had tried to teach him math and whatever else. That is where, as much as he hates to admit it, you're helping him more than he's helping you.
Your presence in a room, while causing him to be defensive and protective over you, has somehow made him more patient, more clear-headed, even just a bit. Somehow, you just sitting there managed to sooth the loudest, most insecure voices in his head, and that gave more room for discussion, debate, solution.
He actually enjoyed studying with you, as much as he would deny that - rolling his eyes every time you suggested he'd benefit form studying with you. In these sessions, Raph got to have you all to himself, and also feel like he was helping in some way, even if only a bit.
But he was still a man. And you periodically readjusting in his lap with those goddamned short shorts you'd put on after you showered - he was truly distracted now. And sure, he cared about you getting a good mark on that, but you were smart enough to go straight to this test and ace it with no prior preparation.
Or so he convinced himself as his hands slid down from being loosely wound around your waist to your hips, to your inner thighs, and stayed there.
He readjusted too, sitting up straighter against the wall, pulling you back into his chest, and sneaking his snout into your hair where he picked out the soft and fruity scent of the passionfruit shampoo you'd left in the Lair for when you needed to shower, and the distinct scent of you. Oh, he could stay like that forever, with the warm presence of you in his arms, and in his mind, drowning in your scent and your soft, but clear and focused voice around him.
"According to this definition, which one of the following should not be classified as a missing person?" you query, trying to ignore, the temptation of his large textured hands.
"Hmm?" you didn't so much hear his grumble, as you felt it through your skin.
"Baby, I need you to focus."
"Oh, I'm focused, a'right." his lips parted over your skin, warm breath hit you, and then his teeth grazed over your shoulder. Your shiver and subsequent sigh were his kryptonite, his undoing. His hands gave a farewell pinch to your thighs and slid all the way up to your hips, where they nestled between your tank top and your warm skin. Oh, how he craved your heat. Be it because he was cold-blooded or because it was you, but embracing you and the heat your presence spread into his chest was something he couldn't live without now that you've been together for a while.
"Raph!" you whined, both in frustration and desire.
"I'm here, baby girl."
Needless to say, you didn't find out the answer to that question in the next couple of hours, but one thing is for sure - once you did ace your revaluation, he felt the need to proparly reward you for your excellence.

Chapter Text

Oh, he loved mysteries. Solving hard twisted cases with little evidence, getting into the criminal mindset to trace their steps and closing one of those cases was fascinating to him. Watching people try to behave like machines was something he had always found interesting though he couldn't understand why.
That is until it dawned on him that those were real people, real victims of real crimes and not just a made up character in a Nancy Drew novel.
At about that point, his occupational relish for solving cases did drop significantly but he tried to put himself in your shoes - this was your job, you did this for a living, you looked at those horrific images and people every single day, and still somehow managed not to lose the light in your eyes. So, he decided, if you can do it, than he can do it for you too. He would at the very least be there for you, shouldering the burden with you. Isn't that what love is?
No matter how much you saw him physically deflate and tried to demand you could do it on your own, he insisted he be there with you.
And in turn, you were there with him whenever he needed someone to hear him rant about his newest project. So this was the deal: you settled into working together whenever possible. Most days you stayed in his lab on opposite sides of a large desk, you - looking over evidence, crime scene reports and witness accounts, while he schemed, welded and, soldered things together.
You hardly understood most of what he did, but that didn't stop you from asking questions and trying to keep up and, realistically, that's all he needed. He had long given up on the thought of someone understanding fully everything he did - not because he was arrogant about his superior intelligence, but because he worried no one would care. And then you showed up, and lo and behold - you cared.
But those were the food days. And as much as he would love for that to be every day, he knew it was just not plausible.
There were the days when you would come back home, broken and beat - it was in the job description, emotional taxation and physical damage were parts of the work day. And days where you would have to chase a suspect to no avail, just to return to your precinct and have your Captain yell at you, and have to deal with a fuck of a lot of paperwork, were a real thing and you had to deal with that. And there he was too.
I'm desperation one time after witnessing you physically crumbling after a particularly hard day, he searched for the answer with his father and, the wise old rat had managed to give him the key to it.
"If you can't shoulder this burden for her, find out what else weighs her down."
And find out, he did.
It started with small things - returning to a clean apartment after you were certain you'd left it a mess. That stupid light bulb over your bathroom mirror was out again, until one day it wasn't. Oh, no, your laptop was super slow again. Worry not, the techy turt can fix it for you. You never needed to ask anything, you'd just have to mention something off handedly to one of his brothers, or maybe April or Casey, and boom he had it covered.
But he also knew that wanst nearly enough to help ease the weight you carried on your shoulders. Well, what had helped him, be more calm and steady? When you listened.
That one time when you had had to testify on court and the guy had gotten away with murder,you barely had the strength to unlock your door, you were so broken. Nearly a month of work, running around, talking to people, to the victims families and it was all for nothing.
That night, it rained as if the sky was morning with you, pouring cold tears and wind into the world bellow in a blind search of relief. That night, Donatello greeted you at home.
There was nothing supposedly special about the occasion, he hadn't made a grand entrance, he hadn't fixed anything, he hadn't. But he was there to listen.
The moment he saw you with your hair and clothes soaked through, makeup running down your face, with the most sullen, hollow look in your eyes, he knew he had picked the right time. Quickly, he threw off the humongous hoodie he was wearing, and stripped you from your jacket and shirt. He was so focused on you not catching anything he hadn't the time to appreciate your figure.
As if, you weighed nothing, he picked you up, and carried you to the couch where he put the hoodie over you, quickly stripped you of your pants and socks and hugged you close to share whatever body heat he could. Geez, you were freezing.
"Dove, what happened?"
Looking at your face in that very moment was truly like watching a dam burst. The carefully-constructed facade of professionalism and detachment collapsed. Tears started running over your already smeared makeup, your chin and hands shook as you painfully recounted the story of the trial. You knew what the job entailed, you knew not all the arrests you made were going to end up in jail, and you knew not all of them would be fair. But being aware of the truth ans interacting with it are vastly different.
You told him everything - everything about the case, the victims, the evidence, the court ruling. And once your tears had ran out, once you had expelled all the bile and trauma from your being he stood up to make you a cup of tea, offering reasurance, and consolation.
"Realistically, there's nothing more you could have done. You used every tool at your disposal and things sometimes don't work out. And that's okay."
He was aware that he wasn't always the best at expressing his feelings but that is a part of growing up underground with three brothers.
But he also knew that you understood him, like his brothers couldn't. Logically, he assumed that was because of your more expansive social experience, but deep down something in him believed that it was just the connection you had.
Once he was back at your side, you didn't wait and found your way into his lap, hand and head on his plastron, legs bent under the hoodie to keep you warm. He placed the mug carefully onto the coffee table, and fully embraced you, hands slowly rubbing over your back and arms to get back any heat you'd lost in the rain.
Even though you were visibly calmer now your tears had stopped raining, you had stopped shivering and shaking, he still thought he hadn't done enough.
You had helped him find his confidence, speek up to his brothers for once, yu had taught him that his value wasn't his inventions and that he didn't need to apologise for his existence. There had to be more he could do for you.
As if sensing the gers turning in his head,yuo lifted your head from his chest.
"Baby, I need a distraction." you stated unambiguously.
And as the realisation set in his cheeks inflamed, his heart thudded in its armored cage, and his palms started to sweat. Every time was like the first with you.
You drew him in, as he always needed you to initiate contact. Your lips landed on his slowly, languidly as if time was made for you alone, your arms wrepped around his neck to keep him close as one of your hands started rubbing and gently scratching at that spot on the back of his neck that drove him wild.
His purrs and growls could be heard from a distance but you felt them first reverberating through your chest straight to your heart.
His hands landed just short of your ass, which you took in your and put where thay should be. Don was always, from day 1, an ass-man. He groped and massaged your bit pulling you into hims and finally letting his hands dive under his own hoodie. Oh, you were warm, alright. The kind of warm that no amount of rain and wind could take away from you. His hands glided up your sides making you shiver and sigh onto his mouth, knees landing on either side of his waist on the couch.
Needless to say, that mug of tea was the only thing getting cold that night.