Chapter Text
The fiery colors of early fall had faded to shades of dull brown and gloomy gray. Grass in the parks had dried up, and only a few stubborn leaves still clung to the thin branches of the trees. Evenings were slowly growing longer, a thin layer of frost coated the windows of cars parked on the street most mornings, and there was a chill to the air now even on the sunniest afternoons that hinted at winter soon to come. Decorations soon started popping up in residential neighborhoods. A wreath hung on a door; candles shining in windows; garland wound around streetlights. Excitement rippled through the City as residents began eagerly anticipating the upcoming holiday season and the return of the Winter Holiday Village – the sprawling open-air market and hub of holiday activities in the Waterfront District.
“So, it’s an outdoor mall that exists for a month and then disappears?” Raphael asked April when she brought up the Holiday Village during dinner in the lair a few days after City Hall announced the official opening date.
“Well . . . yes,” she said. “But there’s also ice skating, decorations, live entertainment . . . Have you guys really never been?”
“Nah, not really our speed,” Michelangelo said.
“Hm. Anyway,” she went on, unable to stop the grin creeping across her face. “Now that the event schedule’s been made public, I can finally share I was chosen to be Snow Princess at this year’s Sparkling Snowcase!”
“Well, hello Your Majesty!” Raphael teased. “Didn’t realize we were in the presence of royalty. Would have gotten out the fancy paper plates if we had!”
“That’s wonderful news, April,” Leonardo said, giving Raphael a disapproving look which the other turtle pointedly ignored.
“Yeah totally!” Michelangelo agreed. “But uh, what does that mean?”
“The Snowcase is a show the City Performing Arts Committee sponsors at the Village every year to encourage arts education in public schools.”
“Ah.” Leonardo inclined his head, though he still didn’t fully understand.
“So what do you have to do?” Donatello asked.
“Also, what does a Snow Princess have to do with it?” Raphael added.
“It’s a reference to a fairy tale. I think,” April said. “Might have been a story that went along with the show at one point but now it’s a purely ceremonial role. So, I mostly just sit on my throne while local school kids sing holiday songs – districts are chosen by lottery to participate. Although,” she continued after taking a bite of pizza, holding her hand up in front of her mouth while she chewed. “I do get a dance at the very end. Music they chose for this year is ‘The Snowflower Waltz’ from The Wooden Toy Soldier.”
“The . . . What now? Michelangelo said.
“It’s a ballet,” Donatello said. “Girl’s uncle gives her a toy soldier for Christmas. Later turns out to be a prince that’s been put under a curse.”
Michelangelo shot him a confused look. “How do you know all that?”
“Irma,” he said, shrugging a shoulder.
“My partner is Chet Szymański,” April said, oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place. “Playing the Snow Prince.”
“Wait,” Donatello frowned. “Chet Szymański . . . why do I know that name?”
“He’s the new weatherman for Channel 8.”
“Oh right! He received that award from the Science and Research Foundation for the consulting work he did on that exhibit about extreme weather phenomena at the Museum of Science.”
“Mmhmm.” April nodded. “He’s a really sweet guy, though he keeps stepping on my feet during rehearsal.” She snorted a laugh. “Maybe I should see if they make steel-toed dance shoes. Flats, since if I wear heels, I’ll be taller than him.”
“And how’d you manage to land this gig?” Raphael asked, leaning forward to grab another slice of pepperoni pizza out of the open box on the coffee table.
“The Committee selects people they feel have made significant contributions to uplifting the City’s youth. I had that Junior Heroes segment this past spring profiling High School students giving back to their community. Chet has a visiting lecturer series all about teaching kids about science and weather.”
“You seem really excited about this, April,” Leonardo said.
“Yeah, I am,” she said after a moment of thought. “I’ve never done anything like this before, and I was really flattered when they asked me. Plus, there’s something so, I don’t know. Whimsical about it all.”
The turtles shared a look. All four of them had noticed how her expression had softened, the way her eyes had turned distant and dreamy. In all the years they’d known April, she’d always been so sensible and down-to-earth. This event clearly meant something special to her.
“Then we’ll be sure to go see your show,” Leonardo said
“Aww you guys are so sweet,” she said. “But you don’t have to do that. The show is really about the kids. Not me.”
“All the more reason,” he insisted. “Everyone else’ll be there for them; we’ll be there for you.”
“Besides, Splinter’s always encouraging us to get out and experience new things,” Donatello chimed in. “He’d probably say it’s a good opportunity for us to expand our horizons.”
Michelangelo nodded vigorous agreement. Raphael nodded as well, if with slightly less enthusiasm.
April dropped her gaze to her lap, touched by her friends’ unwavering support. “Thank you,” she said with a shy smile. “I really appreciate it.”
***
Winter made an abrupt appearance in time for the Sparkling Snowcase. The temperature had dropped dramatically the night before, and it wasn’t expected to get above freezing for the next several days. Rather than deter visitors to the Holiday Village, the cold snap only seemed to heighten the festive atmosphere. The Christmas tree stand was doing a brisk business selling fresh trees and wreaths to families and young couples. Small children squealed with delight seeing the ice sculptures carved into the shapes of snowmen, animals, and their favorite cartoon characters. Shoppers browsing the wares at the vendor booths warmed their hands with cups of hot chocolate and eggnog while cheery lights twinkled at them from the greenery edging the stalls. Every person strolling down the crowded sidewalks, clustering around the food stands, or standing at the rails of the skating rink watching the skaters circling around the ice had a bright smile on their face paired with a pink nose and rosy cheeks.
April, hands stuffed deep into the fleece-lined pockets of her coat, scurried toward the squat building behind the stage near the giant Christmas tree at the far end of the Village. The official tree lighting had been a few nights ago, and in a little over a week the City would hold another event to light the menorah on the first night of Hanukkah. A staffer met her at the side entrance and directed her to a dressing room where her costume had already been laid out. Although she’d just worn it for the final rehearsal session the night before, she still felt a thrill of wonder seeing it waiting for her on the hanger when she opened the door. She took a moment to trace a fingertip over the swirling patterns of clear and silver rhinestones sewn into the bodice and run her palm over the smooth white fabric of the skirt before slipping it on. The chill air brushing her skin raised goosebumps along her bare arms. April shivered and offered a silent thanks for the heaters she knew would be warming the stage. She might have been playing a snow princess, but she was not a fan of the cold.
A pair of boxes on the counter under the mirror contained the final pieces of her costume. She lifted the lid of the first box, uncovering a gleaming silver tiara on a red velvet cushion. The smaller one held a iridescent crystal snowflake on a fine silver chain. In the center of the pendant was a round silver-gray gem that appeared to be a pearl at first glance, but had sparks of vibrant color deep inside more like an opal. April clasped the necklace around her neck and finished up her makeup before carefully lifting the tiara out its case and setting it on her head, using pins to secure it in place. The last thing she did, after folding up her jumpsuit and draping it over the back of the chair along with her coat, was slide her feet into a pair of white slippers and tuck her boots against the wall where they’d be out of the way.
Chet found her as she was leaving the dressing room. It looked as if he’d just recently gotten out of the shower. His light auburn hair, which he’d slicked back with pomade, was still damp and there was a slight flush to his smooth cheeks. April caught a whiff of his aftershave – sandalwood and vanilla with a hint of citrus. His Snow Prince costume was a white jacket and pants, and a pair of polished black shoes. The light overhead glinted off his wire-rimmed glasses as well as the gold threads around the cuffs of his sleeves and in the decorative braiding across the jacket’s front.
“Oh good, you’re here,” he said, a hint of relief in his voice. “I was hoping we could run through the dance again one more time before the show starts. . .”
April could tell he was nervous by the way he was twisting his fingers together. She understood. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little anxious herself. Another round of practice would probably be good for both of them, help ground them and ease their nerves. And, she hoped the movement would warm up a little bit.
They found a spot with enough space where they wouldn’t get in the way of the staff corralling the kids and chaperones and began their practice session. During one of the sequences when they had to separate and come back together, Chet misjudged the distance and brought his foot down hard on top of hers. April swallowed a yelp of pain, eyes screwed tightly shut.
“Oof, oh sorry! Sorry!” he said, letting go of her hand and hurriedly stepping back.
“It’s fine,” she said, suppressing a grimace.
“Uh,” He laughed nervously. “Nerves, I guess.”
“Mmm.” She gave him a tight smile in reply, choosing not to remind him of all the times he’d stepped on her foot before. At least the throbbing in her toes was starting to subside.
“Okay everyone,” the stage manager called out. “We are going live in five minutes, so I need us all to be ready. Do we have our Snow Princess? Snow Princess over here, please!”
“Guess I’m on,” April said.
Chet smiled at her. “Good luck.”
“Thanks. Though I think it’s customary to say Break a leg.”
“Oh right!” He winced. “Right, right. Uh, break a leg then, I guess.”
April reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “See you in a little bit,” she said, then hurried over to where the stage manager stood near the door leading out to the rear of the stage behind the backdrop. There was another woman standing with her, dark hair just brushing the tops of the shoulders of her red blazer and a microphone in her hand. April recognized her as the Chair of the Performing Arts Committee. The two of them exchanged pleasantries until the stage manager gave the signal that it was time to start the show. The Chair vanished through the doorway and a moment later her voice echoed back from the stage.
“Good morning, everybody! It’s so wonderful to see you all here today!” She continued with her welcoming remarks, introducing herself and the Performing Arts Committee before shifting to expressing support and appreciation for the schools participating in the Sparkling Snowcase this year. “And now, it is my privilege to welcome this year’s Snow Princess, Miss April O’Neil!”
Cheers and applause carried through the doorway. April took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and walked out onto the stage.
***
If there was one benefit to the Arctic chill gripping the City, it was the turtles had an easier time blending in. With parkas covering their shells and most of their green skin hidden beneath dark wool pants, heavy winter boots, and knit hats and mittens, they were just four more citizens bundled up against the weather. As Donatello guessed, Splinter had been pleased to hear about the turtles’ plans to go see April’s show at the Holiday Village. He’d then taken it a step further by encouraging them to experience as much of the Village as possible. So, they’d arrived at the waterfront a little while before the start of the Sparkling Snowcase to wander among the booths displaying crafts and gifts made by local artisans.
“Pizza flavored popcorn is not something I would have ever considered,” Raphael said as they were walking away from a stall selling artisanal snacks.
“I know, right?” Michelangelo said around the handful he’d just crammed into his mouth. “Whoever came up with it was a genius!”
“I’m still thinking about that glass elephant figurine for Irma,” Donatello said. “Do you think she’d like it?”
“Yes, there’s no doubt she would very much appreciate receiving an elephant figurine from you,” Raphael said slowly and deliberately. Donatello was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice the knowing smirk on the other turtle’s face.
Leonardo turned away to hide his own grin and caught a glimpse of the clock tower decorated with holly and a red bow on the corner. “Oh shoot,” he said. “April’s show’s already started.”
“All right, well. Pretty sure it’s near the Christmas tree which is the direction we’re going,” Raphael said, pointing at the giant decorated tree at the end of the block.
The turtles quickened their pace and found spots at the back of the large crowd gathered in front of the stage. They spotted April right away, wearing a pretty white dress and sitting on an elaborate silver throne with a plush red cushion. The backdrop behind the throne depicted a snowy woodland scene, and the trees dusted with fake snow on either side had presents tied with shiny gold ribbons piled underneath them. April was directing her most professional smile at the young kids downstage from her singing and acting out a skit about a snowman that had somehow come to life.
“This is . . . Um.” Raphael trailed off.
“Charming,” Donatello said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself. “It’s . . . charming.”
“We’re here to support April,” Leonardo said firmly.
“Not arguing that point, Leonardo,” Raphael said. “Just . . . how long is this thing?”
Leonardo sighed, shoulders sagging. “I don’t know.”
“I dunno man, I’m kinda digging it,” Michelangelo said. “A snowman coming to life for Christmas? It’s, like, that whimsy April was talking about.” The other turtles cast him bland looks but didn’t reply.
The kids finished their singing snowman song, and the turtles clapped politely along with the rest of audience – Michelangelo with a little more gusto than the other three. A woman in a red jacket walked onto the stage after the kids had scampered off and announced the name of the school the next group of performers represented. After she left, a line of adolescent girls wearing identical green plaid skirts and black sweaters filed out and arranged themselves in a semi-circle. As one, they opened the black folders in their hands and proceeded with a song about gifting a loved one an increasing number of birds for Christmas.
“Still whimsical, Michelangelo?” Raphael teased.
“Yup,” he said stubbornly.
The show went on a little while longer. More students took the stage, and more holiday songs were sung, each time preceded by an enthusiastic welcome from the woman in red. The turtles shifted their feet awkwardly, suppressing a flare of disappointment every time she said the name of another school. Even Michelangelo eventually started showing signs of boredom. Their restlessness was near its peak when at last the performance they’d been eagerly waiting for was announced, the dance of the Snow Princess.
Donatello exhaled a sigh of relief. “Ugh, finally.”
A flourish of brass horns sounded from the speakers and April rose from her throne.
“Hey, didn’t April say her partner was Chet Something? The meteorologist guy?” Michelangelo asked.
“Yeah,” Leonardo said. “Why?”
“Remember her saying something about him being shorter than she is.” He pointed to the tall, dark-haired man in white crossing the stage. “So who’s that dude?”
“Call me crazy,” Raphael said slowly. “But that almost looks like . . . “
“It is,” Leonardo said grimly.
***
The kids from Greenwich Elementary were singing a song about a gingerbread man that had escaped from the oven and was leading its baker and a collection of farm animals on a merry chase around their rural village. It was an adorable piece, with different hand gestures to represent each of the characters speaking, but April was struggling to pay attention. Her mind kept wandering to her upcoming dance, and the nervous flutter returned to her stomach every time she did. How odd, she thought, that she could have a job in the public eye – one that required her to talk to complete strangers every day which she did without the slightest hesitation – yet be overcome with a case of the jitters over a dance at a holiday festival. Because talking to people and being on TV was completely different than performing in front of a live audience, she decided.
A burst of applause jolted her out of her reverie. The Greenwich kids had evidently finished their song and were being ushered off stage by their teacher. She clapped along with the audience, thinking ruefully that she never found out what happened to the gingerbread man. The Performing Arts Committee Chair came back out to introduce the next group, the choir from Northeastern Academy performing a medley of contemporary Christmas pop songs. April didn’t even bother trying to force herself to listen. They were the last school on the program. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered harder. She concentrated on taking slow, even breaths and hoped her anxious fidgeting wasn’t too noticeable. At least it would be over soon, a tiny voice whispered at the back of her mind.
The Northeastern Academy students finished their set, much sooner than April had been expecting, and the Chair returned to announce they would be closing out the show with the dance of the Snow Prince and Princess. There was a moment of silence after she’d hurried offstage, then the fanfare heralding the Snow Prince’s entrance played. Pushing her nerves firmly to the side, April smiled brightly and rose to greet her Prince. The smile faltered when she saw the man in the white and gold Prince’s costume striding toward her from the wings wasn’t Chet.
“Play along, Miss O’Neil,” Shredder said, holding his hand out toward her.
She narrowed her eyes at him as best she could while still smiling. He tipped his chin down a fraction and quirked an eyebrow up in silent question. April clenched her jaw, accepting she didn’t have a choice, and placed her hand in his.
The opening strings of “Snowflower Waltz” drifted through the air as Shredder escorted April downstage. They turned to face each other and she dropped into a deep curtsey while he bowed to her. He took her hand again after they’d both straightened, looped his other arm around to press his palm lightly against her back, and led her through the opening steps of the dance.
“What are you doing here?” April hissed, grateful that her role wasn’t a speaking one so hadn’t needed to be mic’d. “Also, how do you know the routine?”
“I’m a quick study.”
“Hm.” She noted how comfortable he was with the dance, and how much more fluid his movements were than Chet’s had ever been even after all the hours they’d put into rehearsing. Perhaps ninja training was a transferrable skill. April found her own stiffness easing, no longer bracing herself for her foot getting crushed under her partner’s. “Still doesn’t answer my first question. It can’t just be to have a dance with me.”
“Can’t it, though?” He said innocently. She fixed him with a stern look. “Fine, you’re right. I’m here to find something.”
“The perfect Christmas present for your loved one?” She guessed. “Pretty sure there’s a shop here you can get a handmade scented candle.”
“Hardly,” he scoffed, ignoring the second half of her comment. “Krang has been searching for years for a drop of opalargentium that came to Earth centuries ago from Dimension X. Few days ago, he finally traced it to the City. Specifically, to this holiday market.”
“And? Some goo from another dimension ending up on Earth during the Dark Ages still doesn’t explain you barging your way up on stage.”
“That goo is an extremely rare, extremely powerful natural energy source. So powerful, in fact, that that tiny little drop is enough to fully repower the Technodrome. It wouldn’t have remained liquid after hundreds of years, of course,” he went on. “Would have solidified, like tree sap hardening into amber. Only silvery in color. Might even resemble a black pearl with a unique . . . sparkle to it.” April inhaled sharply. What he was describing sounded a lot like . . . “Mmhmm,” Shredder said as if reading her thoughts. “You’re wearing it. That gem in your necklace is the opalargentium.”
“But if you already knew that, then why go through all the trouble to —“
"Well,” he interrupted with a mischievous grin. “Nothing wrong with mixing business with pleasure.”
Shredder dropped his hand from her back and lifted their clasped ones overhead. April twirled under his arm, her skirt flaring out around her. “The turtles are in the crowd,” she said when she’d returned to his embrace. They’d said they were coming to see the show, anyway. She’d looked for them when she first came on stage but hadn’t seen them in the crowd. Then she’d become so preoccupied thinking about her dance she'd stopped looking. Still, it wouldn’t be like them to break a promise. They had to be around somewhere.
“I know,” he said. “Which is why we will be departing as soon as the final bows are over.”
April swallowed the swell of panic at the word We. “Where to?”
“Oh come now,” he chided. “I’m not going to tell you everything. For now, just enjoy your dance, Miss O’Neil. All eyes are on you. As they always should be.” He lifted their hands and spun her again.
They continued their waltz, gliding in graceful turns around the stage, their movements elegant and romantic yet at the same time playful and flirty. Shredder’s eyes shone with delight, and a contented smile tugged at corners of his mouth. Clearly, he was taking his own suggestion and enjoying the moment. April’s own smile was frozen on her face, but her mind was racing, scrambling to think of some way to signal to the turtles she needed help. Did any of them know what Chet looked like? She couldn’t remember. Would they even recognize Shredder from far away? Without his armor? She flicked a glance out at the audience every chance she got, hoping to catch a glimpse of a green face among the crowd. Each time she thought she’d spotted one of the turtles, it turned out to be someone’s scarf or the pom-pom on a hat. The music was swelling for the finale. April cursed silently to herself. She was out of time.
Shredder guided them to a stop at center stage and circled both arms around her while April hooked one of hers around his neck. He shifted his weight forward slightly as she leaned back, stretching her other arm overhead right as the song reached its triumphant end. The audience erupted in applause.
April held the pose a beat longer, letting herself forget about the danger she was in for just a moment to soak up the cheers and savor the exhilaration at what she’d just done, before standing back up so she and Shredder could take their bows. He maintained a crushing grip on her hand as they moved back up stage to make room for the curtain call, quashing any ideas she might have had of slipping away. A fresh round of applause greeted each student group when they came back out to take their own bows. April scanned the audience as the stage slowly filled, desperately searching for the turtles again. Movement downstage right caught her attention, but she couldn’t tell if it was someone coming towards them or just the crowd starting to break apart.
When all the performers had assembled, including the Performing Arts Committee Chair, they took one last group bow together and then began filtering off the stage. Shredder towed April along behind him through the doorway into the backstage building. She held out hope that someone on the event staff would stop him, question who he was or confront him over whatever had happened to Chet. But they were all overwhelmed with trying to manage the flood of parents come to collect their children. Any calls for help she would have uttered died on her tongue. She didn’t want to frighten the kids.
Shredder wove his way deftly through the chaos and turned down a hallway leading deeper into the building. They burst out a rear door into a wide alley where Bebop and Rocksteady waited beside an idling cargo van they’d no doubt stolen. The sudden blast of cold air took April’s breath away. She gasped and hunched over instinctively, wrapping her free arm around herself in a futile attempt to fend off the biting chill.
“Wow, lookin’ sharp, Boss,” Rocksteady said.
“Yeah,” Bebop agreed. “You lookin’ fancy too, April.”
“Hey, see that crown on her head?” Rocksteady nudged the other mutant with his elbow. “We in the presence of real royalty here, Bebop.”
“Gee, I dunno what the protocol is. Do we bow or kneel or somethin’?”
“Oh will you two shut up!” Shredder snapped, shoving April at the minions. She stumbled forward, shivering too hard to protest when Bebop caught her. A hysterical thought crossed her mind that even though she was being taken captive, at least she’d be warm again inside the van. “Come on, we have to get out of here. Now!”