Work Text:
April wakes up to an empty bed.
She must've had a nightmare. Or maybe their neighbor did, or anyone else close enough for her to reach in her mind, because her heart races in her chest, whole body buzzing like TV static.
It's still dark outside, but her vision sharpens, scanning the room.
It's messy and unkempt, exactly like how they left it last evening, but it's also warm and familiar, burned into the back of her mind like a catchy song.
When she left for college, her dorm room always felt a bit empty and sterile, like it was already waiting to pack her bags again and leave. She hated living with her aunt before it, and everything that happened at the farmhouse was a general blur of misery, and all of it made her feel like maybe there was never going to be another place for her like her childhood home.
And then she moved in with Donnie, and it felt bittersweet to realize just how wrong she was.
She can't remember what she dreamed about, but whatever it was – it couldn't have happened here.
April takes a slow, shaky breath.
She wonders if it was the dream itself that woke her up, but her nightmares are usually of the clinging type, and there's a dim stream of light spilling from under the door, and that seems like a more than probable scenario.
At this point she's more than used to Donnie's seemingly unrelenting need to do, generally speaking, odd shit – at all hours of the day and night.
She caught him messing with their oven because he got 'distracted' on his way back from the bathroom more times than she can count, and it's not all that surprising to find him passed out at their kitchen table, face on his computer, and one time she woke up for work, only to find him and a brand new motor engine – both spread out across their living room floor.
Normally it wouldn't bother her, but he's been acting a bit off for a while now, and she still feels dizzy, and achy, and lonely.
She lays there for a moment longer, one hand stretched out over the empty side of the bed. It's vaguely warm, and that makes her feel a bit better.
Their new mattress is a king size, but April can't sleep without a wall to her back, which usually leaves her squeezed into the very edge anyway.
Donnie used to pretend to get mad at her about it, like it was a completely normal and only slightly annoying thing to do, and he'd bring up how often she'd hit her elbow in her sleep, and how she always managed to drag the whole comforter with her, and she'd roll her eyes and tell him to grow up.
Donnie knows every scar across her back, and that sometimes seeing a familiar face is the only way for her to calm down in the morning, and how often she wakes up with the sudden urge to do something and needs a strong hand to pull her back down.
She always appreciates how often he's willing to play pretend with her like that.
That thought makes her heart ache, and she finally pushes herself up to stand. She's still tired, and there's a lecture for her to give in the morning, but time never really feels real this early in the day, so she supposes it all can wait for just a moment longer.
Their bedroom door leads directly into the kitchen, which doesn't really make that much of a difference, unless Mikey comes over and tries to cook. That almost made her reconsider the whole apartment layout at one point.
The light above their kitchen table is almost annoyingly bright, and she has to squint, dark spots dancing in the corners of her vision. She doesn't say anything, but she wasn't exactly acting quiet, so it doesn't surprise her to find Donnie looking up at her when it clears.
“Your lawyer,” her husband says, “is a quack who uses Oxford commas in legal documentation.”
He's sitting at their kitchen table, shoulders hunched, eyes a little narrowed like he's also not used to the bright light. It's not a particularly big table by any means, and it's being completely swallowed by a mountain of books and papers – with a large, cardboard box sitting proudly right in the middle of it all.
Donnie looks even worse than that.
There are some dark spots lingering under his eyes and he seems a bit pale, his fingernails short from how much he's been chewing on them, and there's something just a bit on the wrong side of manic in his gaze.
He hasn't been sleeping all that well those last few days, and it's starting to show in every line of his face.
April has a sneaking (or rather: very obvious) suspicion as to why that is but getting Donnie to talk about something he didn't want to usually felt like opening a wine bottle with a fork. She's been waiting for the right moment to bring it up, and judging by the general state of him – that moment is now.
She stands there for a moment longer, waiting for him to say something more. He doesn't, but he's looking at her expectantly, like he wants her to agree, or at least argue, because proper grammar usage is one of their favorite topics for mutual complaining, but it feels just a bit too early in the day for all that.
“Okay,” she says, voice rough.
Donnie frowns, looking at her, then out the window, then back around to the clock on their oven. Then, because that thing is still broken:
“What time is it?”
“Five in the morning,” April says, leaning against the door frame.
“Shit, really?” His eyes go a little wide. “Did I wake you?”
He probably did, but she shakes her head 'no', blinking away the last bits of sleep from her eyes.
April walks up to stand behind his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her chin on his shoulder. Mostly out of habit.
And a little to make sure he's real.
“Are you okay?” Donnie asks, looking up from the paper.
April hums, giving him her best shrug. She can still vaguely feel her heart drumming against all of her ribs, but even just seeing him is making her feel a whole lot better.
Donnie doesn't seem convinced, face full of shadows, twisted into a frown that's already starting to solidify into wrinkles. She hates to see him like this.
“Yes. I think it was the neighbor's dog again. That little guy has fucked up dreams,” she says, only half-joking.
The corners of Donnie's mouth smooth out a little, something softer showing in his eyes.
“You're seeing other people’s dreams again?”
April hums.
There are a few things she was forced to come to terms with when she turned thirty.
Like the fact that her aching knee was only going to get worse, or that not all of her annoying colleagues associated job seniority with authority, or that every time she'll see her dad – he'll look just a bit older than she remembered.
And that alien powers, very much like the human body, were not above betraying her for no apparent reason.
Controlling them has gotten a bit easier with age, like walking a thousand miles in too-small shoes, where she can't really be sure if it's them stretching or if her feet have just grown numb; but she's always been particularly bad at dealing with stress. She gets nauseous, her whole body just a little numb, and really, compared to some of the stomach cramps she's been dealing with – the dream thing isn't all that bad.
Not like she doesn't have enough nightmares on her own.
She supposes it's only fair she's been getting it now, and Donnie must be thinking the same thing, because he puts a hand on her arm, giving it a light squeeze.
She straightens, stepping to the side to stand next to him, mostly just so she can feel a bit taller again.
“Why aren't you in bed?” She questions in return.
He doesn't answer immediately, maybe because he's not really sure how to, or maybe because he's considering lying for whatever reason.
She would know if he did. Even if the big lettering at the very top of the paper he's been reading didn't make it obvious – she can't think of many other things that would currently get him into this kind of frenzy.
“I just...” He says finally, voice slow. “Wanted to look this over before we turn it in.”
That's about what she was expecting, and it makes her let out a long, slow breath.
Donnie tenses, and there's just a bit too much guilt spilling out from his face, and she'd hate for him to get all wrapped up in his head about all the things she might be feeling, like he used to when they were younger.
April sighs, right next to Donnie's ear.
Then again, louder, because she knows he hates it, and it makes him wrap an arm around her waist and squeeze.
“Stop breathing on me,” he says, but it sounds light with relief, on the verge of laughter.
“Stop looking so breath-able,” she says, and then he's pulling her closer, like he's going to throw her over the shoulder and she squeals, hands resting on his chest. “Okay, okay!”
He lets her go, but not before kissing whatever closest, which just happens to be her shoulder.
“You're full of energy for someone who just woke up,” he says, watching April lean over to push the box and some of the papers further down the table. “I was reading that, by the way.”
“Too damn bad.” She hauls herself up to sit on the table. “And I hope you are, too, because we should really talk about this.”
Donnie's newfound smile dims a little.
“Shit,” he huffs, a little like he was trying to make it seem like a joke and then give up halfway. “Feels like that's all we've been talking about.”
He's not wrong about that.
Kids, as April is quickly starting to realize, take up a lot more space and time than she ever could've prepared for.
They've spent the last couple of weeks mulling over the right agency, the right lawyers, the right paperwork, and it's all starting to blend together in her mind, to the point where she doesn't even know how she was ever able to think of anything else.
“I know,” she says, picking up the papers Donnie's been reading. It doesn't surprise her to see it's still only the first page, but she's a little taken aback to see it actually filled out.
The words feel so daunting it's hard for her to look away – like a less tragic but equally poignant, adoption-application-shaped car crash.
April knew she wanted to be a mom in the same way she knew she loved Donnie – not at all and then all at once.
It didn't necessarily feel like her life was lacking anything per say, but more like she never even thought to consider that an option for herself until it finally hit her. She played with baby dolls when she was younger, but only because she liked pushing the little plastic stroller that came with it; and in middle school she always said she wanted four, but only because it made adults laugh.
She met the turles when she was sixteen, and her life was suddenly mutants, and aliens, and bruises on her face and knuckles, and the world almost ended in her hands more times than she could count.
When she was younger, a little less hopeful and a little less in love, it felt like giving up something.
They weren't normal – her and her friends. They weren't like others, and they had to claw their place into the world through broken nails and teeth. She couldn't see many white picket fences a future like that.
They got married when she was twenty five despite it.
She wore her mother's old dress, and it was a perfectly lovely summer evening, and she could see her father wiping his eyes with the back of his hand the entire night.
Looking at Donnie that day felt like seeing him for the first time – tall and only a little nervous, dressed in all dark blues and purples, with a wide smile and even brighter eyes. He put his hand on the small of her back, and it felt like he never once let it fall the whole night.
April loved him like every flower in her hair, every stitch in her dress, every ring on her finger.
Like the hand on her back – holding her up.
She loved him all the same when she turned twenty-nine on a Saturday.
Donnie woke her up to the smell of fresh eggs, and he didn't say anything about it, but he kissed her long and hard, which meant there was probably a surprise birthday party waiting for her in the evening.
She hoped so, because that would mean Raph and Mona would come down to visit, and she hadn't seen them or their little girl in so long she felt like crying.
They ate in silence, and she moved her chair to squeeze into the tight space next to Donnie, just so they could bump elbows.
He made her coffee after it, and he didn't need to ask her how she likes it, because they've been married for four years, and it was a sunny and warm day, and looking out the window made her glance towards their guest bedroom, and she's not quite sure when the words ''Have you ever thought about having kids?'' left her mouth, but they did.
Judging by Donnie's expression, and everything that came after it – the answer was 'no'.
She must've gone a little too quiet for a moment too long, because Donnie reaches out a hand, giving her knee a reassuring squeeze.
She doesn't think she's the one who needs reassurance in this, and her face must show it, because Donnie winces a little, looking away.
“It's not like... I'm not having second-thoughts,” he says, in that tone his voice always turns to when he's having second-thoughts.
“Uh-huh.”
She shifts where she's sitting, and there's an oddly familiar rattling noise right behind her. She turns to look at the box. It's all beat up and dusty, but she's never seen it before, and that thought makes her frown.
“What even is this thing?” She mutters under her breath.
Donnie didn't seem all that bothered by it just a moment ago, but now his eyes go a little wide. He makes an odd gesture, like he wants to take the box from her but then doesn't, or maybe like he doesn't really know what to do with his hands.
“It's nothing,” he lies, rather poorly. She raises an eyebrow, and he relents, looking everywhere but at her. “Fine, open it.”
She does, and it takes her a moment to realize what she's actually looking at. It's all abstract shapes and smooth edges, colorful plastic and light metal – all the trademarks of Donnie's work, but nothing like the things she's seen him make before.
“Baby toys,” he supplies, almost mumbling into his collarbone.
“Aw,” April coos, her chest a little warmer now. “For Judy?”
There's a beat of silence that comes after, and it's enough for her to look up, suddenly unsure.
“They're...” Donnie sucks on his teeth, face a little stiff and flushed. “No. It's not for her.”
Very slowly, April feels her something twist inside of her chest.
She looks down at her lap, then back at her husband, before leaning over to put the box down on the nearest chair.
“That's so sweet,” she says, and she means it with all of her heart, but it all feels a bit dizzy now, like she just got thrown off a bike. “Why didn't you want to show me?”
“I wanted...!” Donnie raises his hands, almost defensive. “I'm just... Nervous, I guess. About everything. All of this.”
“Obviously,” April says, even quieter now. “Everyone would be. You think I'm not? I threw up in the shower after that last e-mail.”
And it's only the beginning. She's scared of what will happen if they actually make it all official.
She's scared there will be a kid for them. She's scared there won't be any. She's scared the courts will suddenly change their minds on mutants, and she's scared they won't, but that they'll end up pulling away anyway.
She's so scared she can feel it in all of her bones.
It's the waiting that's the worst. In some ways – Raph got lucky with his happy accident. He got to skip this stage almost entirely.
“I know,” Donnie says, probably a little rougher than he intended. “I know, I'm just...”
He goes quiet, looks away.
And that's what she's been scared of the most.
The toys made her light up with something like hope, but now it's all starting to dim once again.
Donnie was mostly hesitant towards the idea of kids, and it took a lot of time and convincing to get him to even consider it. Even longer for him to finally agree.
She didn't want him to feel pressured or backed into a corner, even if being with him was the very thing that made her want to have this in the first place.
She needs him to know they can still back down. Their family's big enough as it is, and they all love Raph's daughter like their own. April has a career to focus on, and they can always get a dog if they need something to fuss over.
She'd be fine with that. It's been years since she doubted herself when it came to Donnie, and she'd make a million little sacrifices for him if he needed her too.
She'll be fine.
Even if she wants this so badly, it feels like it might just kill her.
“Hey,” she says, leaning forward to meet his gaze. “Look at me, love. You know this isn't the be-all and end-all for us, right?”
He hums, but only vaguely.
April shifts, resting her feet against his thigh. They're probably cold, because he winces, but it finally makes him look up.
“I know,” he says, voice oddly serious. “But I promised I'd give you everything. This is the next best thing.”
“You already did,” she says, and she really does mean it. “I like our life. I like when it's just the two of us.”
Donnie reaches out a hand, running his fingers over her loose braid. Her hair has been growing a bit gray around the edges for a year now, which was honestly rather predictable and something she's been feeling coming on since she was sixteen. She didn't think much of it until one of her friends from work asked if she was planning on dyeing it. She wasn't, and Donnie's reaction when she brought it up only solidified that idea in her mind.
“But,” he says, very quietly, “you'd love it if it was the three of us, right?”
April doesn't answer immediately.
He's right, but she's not really sure what exactly he means by it.
You'd love it, but I wouldn't. You'd love it, but you'll live without it. You'd love it, so I must, too.
All of it sounds bad, even just in her own head.
But she really, really would.
She wants someone she could teach how to ride a bike, how to write their own name, how to tie their shoes. Someone she could love like the sun, the moon, and every morning star.
But more than all of it – she wants Donnie with them.
She wants to listen to him read a bedtime story, she wants to see a pile of big and small shoes next to their front door, she wants to attend a teacher-parent meeting and hold his hand under the desk.
To hear, see, feel it all in every 'I love you'.
Slowly, she says:
“I would.”
Even slower – Donnie nods.
“And I hope you know...” He looks at the papers in her hands, face soft in the warm lighting. “That I would, too.”
And just like that – April's heart surges with hope.
“Oh,” she says, a bit dumbly, and he laughs.
“Don't look at me like that,” Donnie chastises. “I already said 'yes' before, don't look surprised.”
He did, and he wouldn't lie to her about something like this, but he seemed so unsure of himself, so doubtfully, she couldn't help but let the thought cross her mind.
Donnie used to bend over backwards for her, and it took years apart while she was in college for him to grow into his own, full person, and it was sometimes hard to believe he meant half of the things he showed but never said.
She half expected him to push forth for a while longer, maybe throw himself into baby-project after baby-project, til he finally broke and told her he couldn't, or wasn't ready yet, or something like that. It's why she left the bulk of the paperwork to him, and why she wasn't surprised to see the very start of it still sitting at his desk weeks later.
“I'm not.” She shakes her head, feeling her lips stretch into a smile. “It's just... Nice to hear that.”
Donnie goes to stand, and she wraps her arms around his neck, almost on instinct. He leans in, so close she can feel his breath on her face.
“Last week, when Raph and Mona came to visit,” he starts, voice oddly quiet. “Mona was holding Judy, and I just looked at her and thought about you, and I- I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.”
April remembers that evening. She didn't think much of it at the time, but now she realizes why he held her hand so tightly on their way back home.
“Oh my God,” April breathes. “The baby fever. It's kicking in.”
She's not really joking, and Donnie grins at her like he knows that.
“Yeah.”
“Really?” She teases, but mostly just to try and hide how giddy she feels. “That was all it took?”
“I guess.” Donnie shrugs. “Just you. Always you.” He leans in to kiss her, quick but hard, and April wonders if it will ever stop making her feel this warm on the inside. She hopes not. “But this still needs to be corrected.”
He picks up one of the papers from the table – an official letter from their lawyer.
April takes it from his hand, giving it a read-over.
“You and your commas,” she teases and he huffs in mock offense, but the hand smoothing up and down her hip seems to suggest otherwise.
“If we're really doing this, I need it to be perfect. You know I do. Or I'll die.”
“You're so-” She starts and then stops, her eyes scanning over the line. “... That's not a comma. It's just a bit of dirt.” She wipes it off the paper with her thumb. “See?”
Donnie goes still in her hold. She can see him blinking, like it's taking everything out of him to accept this new reality.
“... Oh,” he says, finally.
April swallows down her laughter.
“Let's go back to bed,” she suggests.
She won't fall asleep anyway, but Donnie might, and he's going to need every bit of that he can get before there's a baby in the house.
She can't help but smile at that idea, and Donnie can't possibly know what she's thinking about, but his gaze still softens.
He leans down, kisses her one last time, and with a bit of a sigh, he says:
“Whatever you want, love.”
(art by @nerdy-turtle-enthusiast (tumblr))