A/N: This one is long overdue, I've been working on it intermittently for the past few months. I stopped for a while. Dropped off the face of the Earth. Hated that it taunted me. Finally, I got out a notebook and actually plotted this thing out properly (Not that you can tell - you). I do have other stories that I'm working on. But for now, I hope you enjoy this one.

THE WALK

"Tell me you're kidding?!" April paused typing long to stretch her fingers flat over the keyboard. "You really haven't been out there just for a walk. Not running. Not training. Not a junkyard pickup. Just a nice stroll to enjoy the sites?"

"Does sleepwalking count?"

"Conscious only, I'm afraid."

"Then… uh, nope." Donatello gave a smile that bordered on apologetic, recapped his pen and placed it neatly beside the stack of notes in front of him, "I mean, as you said, we frequently go topside for supply runs and training… and visiting you, of course."

Blatant skepticism dimpled her cheeks: "I see."

"A-And back when I was young I watched whole documentaries playing on TVs in storefront windows. We had a small wireless and could pick up the audio. That was kind of neat. So we kind of had leisurely surface time. Of sorts."

"Hmmm."

Donatello gulped as she shut the lid of her laptop with a click, ready and waiting for the grand show that came with the hole he was about to dig for himself.

"And...uh… if you count witnessing from afar, I can tick off most of the landmarks: Governor's Island, Empire State Building, you name it, I've probably seen it– and...uh…let me think…" He was rambling now. He knew it. "…and as I understand, it's not uncommon to bypass the tourist attractions in your hometown... maybe it's just a human condition, thinking you have an endless amount of time, or not taking interest in the familiar-"

"How about now?" she said, sweeping her hand towards the bolted door.

Donatello jerked back before glancing around April's apartment where they had stationed themselves for a day of coding. It had been many months since he and April had undertaken a project together and it was proving itself to be a welcome return to old habits. Tonight she had beaming, more enthusiastic and animated than ever, and he had been swept up right along with it, for once dismissing the notion that it had nothing to do with him. And so they had worked. And ate. And worked some more. Evidence of their light dinner – a fragrant Pad Siew - was still stacked up in the sink, with only loose candies to fuel them onward, scattered rather out of place among the pads of notes and their shamelessly overclocked laptops. Beside him sat a thrice emptied coffee cup, and had not even hit his lower limit. He had been pacing his caffeine, expecting to be at least another four hours before they called it a night. Or so he had thought.

"N-Now?"

"Let's do it, Donnie. We can reschedule another night to finish up, right?"

"Reschedule? Now?"

He inwardly cringed, all too aware of his embarrassing quirk of repeating things that caught him off guard. Having molded himself to the chair and getting elbow deep into the testing phase, a part of him was reluctant tear himself away, but an even larger part was curious. Perhaps a walk would be nice. Something to add to his limited, albeit unusual, lexicon of experiences.

"Yep." she said, "Walking around without any real purpose except to walk. How about it? You can't say you've truly lived without trying it at least once."

This time his grin almost appeared sad, "I'd love to but..." he glanced down at his body,"it's a little difficult to appear inconspicuous. Even in New York."

"Pff! Such a flimsy excuse for a master in the art of deception. Wait here. I have an idea."

April bounced to her feet and headed down the hallway towards her bedroom, shoes clacking merrily on the timber panels. When out of sight, Donatello let go a nervous huff, fully aware of her ability to conjure up the most terrifying of plans. In the distance he could hear her drag something from beneath the bed and rummage around. After less than a minute, she returned brandishing several bulky items of clothing. Donatello started in surprise:

"For me?"

"Care of the thrift store."

He pushed away from the table and stood to receive the offering. To his pleasant surprise, all traces of the former owners had been washed away and reinstated with the familiar smell of her laundry detergent. Apples. It was nice.

"Don't take this the wrong way." she said, a trace of concern flitting across her, "I know you don't often wear stuff like this, but these just seemed the right fit. I couldn't resist."

He dumped the pile on the dining table before holding up a grey hooded jacket, long and wide enough to slip over his carapace. It was only remarkable, perhaps, in its ability to make him appear anything but.

"It does look about right."

It was only when he noticed himself removing his elbow pads that he realized he was agreeing to her excursion. The jacket was soon on, falling to his waist, and without question far more comfortable than some of the ludicrous get-ups he had worn in the past.

"Hey." Donatello looked down the length of his body. "Not bad."

April punctuated his thought with a sharp clap.

"I knew it! I knew it would fit as soon as I saw it!"

He did a half spin, "What can I say?"

"How about: where are the matching pants?"

She picked up the pair of drawstring slacks and flung them over his shoulder. Donatello wasted no time in punching a foot through the first leg. He yanked the pants up past the lower quarter of his shell and secured the cord. Then another thought struck him.

"I'm starting to feel like this may have been planned."

"Well..." she said, hovering on the word, "maybe a pre-emptive strike would be a better way to think of it. Plus, a bunch more of this stuff Raph and Mikey have been asking to stockpile. You know how they love to go among the people."

Donatello slipped the jacket hood up over his head. Only the most central part of his face remained visible.

"I'm positive Mikey forgets we have T-cell trackers."

"I'm under the impression he knows and does not care." She patted his jacket lapel down. If there was one thing Donatello could wrap his head around regarding clothes, it was all the micro-adjusting. As if to prove his point, she flipped down the end of his sleeve, "And believe it or not, I actually got the idea for the app from Mikey. You know… track where you are, make a map as you go, share with your brothers… no more panicky nights wondering whether or not he's at his girlfriend's house." She rummaged around the pile finding some large, downy socks, "As for you, I at least owe you a postmix coke for your help tonight. At the very least. And it goes without saying, a fifty percent dividend if our app actually makes any money."

Postmix. The addition of soda to syrup that was unmatched by anything in a can or bottle. She just had to dangle that cherry in front of him.

"You really think this will work?"

"The app or the disguise?" she asked innocently.

He held up a large boot. Sturdy. Efficient. There was no doubt it would fit.

"Either."

April held up the matching shoe and grinned: "Both."

...

Every journey, as the old proverb went, began with the first step. And these particular steps were perhaps the most challenging – remaining unnoticed inside her building. People, he reasoned, were much apt to take a second look at someone walking down the apartment corridor than someone in the street. And even though it was only twenty yards to the nearest exit, it was still twenty yards of nowhere to hide.

After getting the 'all clear' thumbs-up from April at the spyhole, they emerged into the carpeted hallway. A baby's thin and endless wailing drifted towards them in waves. Despite the cold, he broke into a light sweat. From the time since Donatello could remember, it had been instilled in him to remain invisible to humans. He fought back, calming himself for the short trip to the fire well, but the relief was short lived when an older woman's warbling voice came seeping from the opposite doorway.

"April?! April, darling? Is that you, April?"

April's face drained of color.

"Oh, crap… Donnie, you'd better-"

Before she could even finish he had maneuvered himself a dozen feet down the hall, hugging the wall tight. Without a second warning, the closest apartment door swung in. Framed by the jamb stood a flour dusted woman, her ashy hair pinned back as tightly as the skin across her knuckle of a nose The woman wiped her hands down on her apron.

"April, darling, I need to ask something."

Donatello watched on in silent panic as April laced her gloves together, not deviating her attention for one second to where he remained crouched.

She flashed an even smile.

"Certainly, Mrs Kuzkin."

"Are you using your junk mail, darling? I told Vika to leave mine alone, but can you believe – he is putting ours straight in the trash! Just like that!" she clapped her hands and speckles of flour went flying,"Who would pay five dollars for the fancy paper when it comes free in the letterbox?!"

April blinked but otherwise remained motionless.

"You want junk mail?" she repeated in confusion.

Just to her right, Donatello's palms had broken into a sweat, hoping against hope that her neighbor would not glance down the hall. April had mentioned this resident to him before, a nosey but kind woman who often asked for bizarre favors for which she would repay by gifting bullet-proof strudel. He realized, quite ironically, that April had undersold the extent of crazy.

"Ya, darling. The junk letters in the mail. Do you have any, darling?"

"I… uh… not currently," she conceded at length, "but I'll be sure to keep some aside for you."

Mrs Kuzkin slapped a floury hand against the chest of her apron.

"You are a doll! I must sound off my rockers! I'm making Christmas books… uh… a photo book… scrapbooking. Scrapbooking with the scrap paper, but the lump tossed everythink."

"That's… awful."

"And if you don't mind, darling – the ones for… ah… the flower ones, I like. For the… what do you say… flowers. Many flowers."

"Florist flyers? I'll keep an eye out for them."

"Fantastic, darling! And listen to me," Mrs Kuzkin's voice dropped to a conspiratorial rasp, "Don't you ever get married if you want a moments peace in your life. I have been listening to Vika talk about golf a week straight! He never played in his life! You're a smart girl. You don't need a man. Just a good cucumber, this long."

Mrs Kuzkin held her fingers a respectable distance apart before laughing at her own joke. April gave a nervous titter before blushing into a deep red. But something was wrong. Donatello could see it in the way April's chin tilted ever so slightly upward. He quickly suspected Mrs Kuzkin's attention was beginning to drift towards him when April struck:

"GREEN!"she practically yelped. It worked, Mrs Kuzkin's eyes snapping back with elastic speed towards her. "Who couldn't do with more green in their diet?"

From his corner of the hall, Donatello could barely hold it together. Either could her neighbor. She cackled like a bird, a sound that echoed sharply in the narrow space.

"April! You are terrible!"

"Terrible and late." April glanced down at her watch, "I'd better be off, you have yourself a good night Mrs Kuzkin."

"Yes, darling. And I have a little reward coming for you!" The woman held up her floury hands and wriggled her fingers, leaving little allusion to the fact more strudel was on the way. With a small wave and a weak smile, April began to walk in the opposite direction until the door clicked shut. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

"Stairs?" she whispered.

He gave a curt nod and pried himself off the wall, arriving at the stairwell without further incident. April pulled the door open with a creak. They slumped as the door swung shut behind them. Relief came gushing out all at once:

"April - that was awesome."

She gave his arm a light pat, "I learned from the best." Her mouth fell open. Then shut. An intent frown emerged, "But can we not mention that cucumber thing to anyone, ever?"

"So, the gourd family in general is off limits?"

"Ah, yeah."

"And no dietary supplements of any kind?"

Irritation flashed across her face, "What do you think?"

It was time to stop before she kicked him down the remainder of the stairs. He grinned back as innocently as he could muster.

"I think I'd like to retain the use of my legs."

…

They exited the apartment block and stepped onto the sidewalk without fanfare. Side by side they were rendered seamlessly into the stream of pedestrians around them, navigating the aging sidewalk through person after person after person. They almost didn't exist as they all whizzed by, glued to their phones, or the ground, or their own internal wonderings. It amazed him, to be so invisible right out in the open. April was right. But she had assuaged any remaining doubts with a contingency plan.

"If anyone is looking too long, just face me, and we'll drift off to the side, okay?"

"Sure, no problem."

They crossed the next intersection near Fifth, Donatello careful to ensure his hoodie was secure and head tilted down as people skimmed by. He kept silent. Just one lingering glance at his face could cause a panic. But April kept him close, dogged his side, and drew attention away like a pro. And he was more than grateful for it, letting him remain, for all intents and purposes, a sheep in wolf's clothing.

"You're doing good." she said under her breath, "It'll thin out a little bit up ahead."

It was different out on street level, he decided. Down below in the sewers, the damp and the ever present tinge of waste pervaded the gloom of the claustrophobic warrens. The rooftops, on the other hand, were like the peaks of mountains, offering the freshest air and the most spectacular views of the city. But at surface level, beneath the luminescence of thousands of streetlights, the city seemed to writhe with energy, oddly bringing to mind bacteria he saw squirming beneath a microscope. Lights, people, smells, buzzing skyhigh sprawl. It all mixed into a glorious soup quite unlike anything he had experienced from the other two extremities. It would almost be overwhelming had he not had April to anchor himself to. His mouth clamped shut as he did what he did best: observe and dissect until he could make head and tails of the bombardment.

One clear thought soon emerged: So, this is what it's like to be normal.

Perhaps the most disconcerting adjustment was ignoring the sheer number of strangers he was practically scraping with his clothes.

"Do people always walk that close?"

"Definitely not by choice," she spoke, her volume equally low, "More of a necessity. You think you're living on top of your brothers is bad? Imagine millions of other people. Don't even get me started on the subway."

They took a moment to steer around an unspooling group exiting a corporate building, remaining quiet as several businessmen brushed past them heading in the opposite direction. Souring cologne and low murmuring voices of people on cell phones intruded their space and siphoned away.

"Whew! It's colder out here than I thought." April said, rubbing her hands together. She tugged her beanie a little further down before flattening her hands beneath her elbows, "Are you warm enough?"

Donatello patted the wool above his upper plastron.

"I'll have you know that I got to your place without any of this winter gear on."

"Yes, but you're bordering on indestructible. Or you keep plutonium bars in your belt. I haven't decided."

"I would not say no to some plutonium…" he muttered, then realizing how weird this sounded, added, "I've been reading an article on nuclear applications in Modern Science. I would love to replicate some of the studies…. maybe even switch them up a little, see what I can do."

Only he remained unaware that he could say anything remotely similar and not sound like he was kidding. April laughed again.

"You never cease to amaze me. Terrify and amaze me. And I almost mean that as a compliment."

He could feel the blush firing up before it even appeared - a stripe of muddied green across his face. What was he, fifteen again? Unable to keep the non-sequiters to a dull roar?

"I haven't been out of the lair much!" he blurted out. Then, realizing that a comment like that didn't exactly help his situation, slapped a heavy hand across his eyes, "I'm… going to shut-up, now."

Her laughter sprinkled over his embarrassment like pops of light, which she topped with a lazy slap on his arm.

"Don, you have more ideas in a day than most people have in a lifetime. Don't you dare stop."

Taken aback with the compliment, Donatello was embarrassed to find himself blushing harder, and in true form, acted as if he had neither heard nor deserved it.

"Is – ah – is this the right direction?"

"Don't you trust me?"

The inflection made it obvious she was teasing, but he wanted this for the record -

"Of course." he said, as a background train of thought logged every street name and turn they took, cross-referencing it with the most mundane and exotic of facts: from the Italian influenced architecture to the composition of the weather-stained cement sidewalk. Wherever it was they were heading, it was an indirect route cutting through some of the relatively quieter streets in Nolita.

"East River Park." she said, her eyes fixated on their feet, "It's not too late, but more than dark enough to keep under the radar."

The revelation satisfied the part of his brain that had been searching for answers. Sometimes, he found he couldn't even think over the relentless drive of his curiosity. Except, perhaps, around April. There it seemed to languish into a slow moving stream before the rapids struck in her absence.

"East River Park?" he said, as a precisely archived memory flashed in his mind, "I haven't been there in years! But… I was bleeding at the time. And trying to evade a couple of people carrying guns while trying not to break the very delicate tech I had rescued from their stash. They had stolen it first, so technically I was reclaiming it for the greater good. But, anyway… it probably doesn't count as a walk."

"No." she said with a toss of her head, eyes wide and firm, "No it does not."

"Lesson learned, there." he confided with a reassuring grin, "I'm much more at home at, well, at home. Kudos to the internet which has made it infinitely easier to source supplies."

She gave a long, sympathetic sigh.

"I don't know how you do it, sometimes."

Curious, he looked past the rim of his hoodie towards her.

"Do what?"

"Not surface for weeks at a time." The worry on her face was evident, no matter how much she tried to disguise it. "I swear you must forget what the sky looks like."

"I look at the scenery all day…" he joked, swinging his head back towards the sidewalk as they pressed onwards, "If you count my desktop background."

"All engines and star charts?"

"Not quite. The Northern Lights. And…" he revealed lightly, "I was actually planning a trip up to Canada to see them for myself."

April's head snapped back towards him.

"What? When?!"

"February next year." The time frame was precarious, and before she could protest he added, "Don't worry, I'll be here for your wedding."

Her reaction surprised him: open mouthed and silent - April O'Neil had been rendered speechless. It took a good minute, he calculated in a quiet panic, but eventually she was able to break free:

"Oh… good."

"It should be." he said, not quite feeling as enthusiastic about it before he had told her. But there was no way he could tolerate hanging around in the city come her honeymoon. What he needed was somewhere dark and cold to crawl into and restructure.

"It sounds amazing… getting away from it all." she said softly, then: "How are you crossing the border?"

"Using good ol' Ninja Stealth." he squeezed out a grin and wriggled his mittens, "Actually, getting me in is the easy part. It's the transport that's proving a problem. I wanted to drive the van up there, but I might have to take the spare cycle instead. Pack a tent. Keep off the main roads. I figure I could do that much."

"J-just you alone?"

"Yep." he gave a casual lift and drop his arms, "Just me. Leo had South America. Mikey had his week long bender in Southern California. Raph goes missing days at a time on the regular. I believe I'm due."

Though, he thought quietly, it was not like he had never traveled before. During his brother's sabbatical in Colombia he had made a brief visit. He had also been interstate countless times to stay at the farmhouse. But travelling alone as a means of examining his life? This was something long overdue.

April let out a noiseless exhale, "How long are you going for?"

"Not too long." he said reassuringly, "A few months, maybe. Six months, tops. I need to travel extra carefully up there in the winter, make sure I'm refueled for each leg of the journey. "

She seemed to be focusing on the tips of her shoes as she answered.

"You're absolutely right, it's important you keep safe." April gave a toss of her head, clearly apologetic for her concern, "I'm sorry… it's just… it's so out of the blue…"

"I guess it is." he said, "But the idea just struck me, and I knew: this what I had to do."

A ghost of a smile emerged at the corners of her mouth.

"I understand completely."

Then she said nothing. Their footsteps fell like beats on the pavement, a tempo that had long played between them. Stacked against the whir of traffic and wailing of an ever-present distant siren, it seemed to echo loudest. Glancing up, he found them to be walking beneath evergreen fronds that stretched like fingers across the high wall of a private park. Donatello had not noticed how pretty the trees were in the city before. They had already traveled far.

"Maybe it's a good thing." she said, a trace of humor back in her voice, "Starting off small, tonight."

"By going on a walk?"

"Mm-hmm. Your very first one. You're a natural."

Donatello tipped his head towards his feet, "Yeah, you'd almost think I'd used these things befo-"

"Donnie!"

He felt himself yanked backwards as a delivery truck went roaring past where he was about to step. The shaken driver blasted his horn, screaming out the window as he sailed away.

"Get outta th' way, moron!"

With more than a few curious glances in their direction, they slipped quickly through the crowds and resumed pace as if nothing had happened.

"Yep." she breathed at long last, "It's almost uncanny how well you have that bipedal motion down pat."

"Whoa, that was close!"

"Yeah," she scoffed, "A little too close."

A sheepish giggle left him, recognizing Mikey's saying at once: the classic in-joke with that seemed to crop up from near-miss incident to near-miss incident. As a family of trained ninja, it was something that was almost a little too common.

"Ah... thanks." His alarm downgraded to relief, "There you go, saving my shell again."

"Oh, please. Don't mention it - but for the love of all that's holy, try not to get run yourself killed – I dread having to explain to your brothers why the remote's never getting fixed."

"Ouch. Noted."

She frowned, "You know what? I'd better -"

April came closer to his side before looping her arm through his. His entire left side succumbed to the unfamiliarity before eclipsing pleasant and heading straight into magnificent.

"Just 'til the end of the next block." she explained in a throw-away tone, "That way I won't lose you."

A grin peaked at the corners of his mouth, "Seems like a sensible precaution."

"I think so." she added, giving his coat a gentle squeeze, "Now, tell me all about this trip of yours…"

.

They had been walking in time, April's warm arm looped through his, as she listened to the details of his planned invasion of the North by means of a micro submersible. From there, he figured, it would be easy. He would reassemble then ride his bike until he reconnected with the highway. Child's play, really. As he talked, he could feel her grip getting tighter and tighter. It was only when his elbow became numb that he dared speak up.

"How's my blood pressure reading?"

It took a second, but soon April glanced down at his arm before flicking her gaze up in horror.

"Oh my god – I'm so sorry." She eased off her grip, "It's just… I'm worried. How are you getting back?"

"Same way I get in. I'll hide the sub underwater, relocate it, and disassemble the bike to fit it back in. I've timed it down to eight minutes to get the bike apart."

His answer had April pressing her lips inwards in thought.

"Please, be careful. There's so much that could go wrong."

"April," came the smooth version of himself, "Careful is my middle name."

As soon as he had said it, he knew that he had made a mistake. She pounced on it like a tiger.

"That's a quite a claim from someone that set their lab on fire last week."

How the heck did she know about that?

"Uh, that… that was an accident."

"I would hope most lab fires are." she said with a wicked poke into his ribs, "When Mikey told me, I almost had a heart attack."

Michelangelo. Of course it would have been Michelangelo.

Defeated, he let out a sigh:

"Would you believe that I changed my middle name to 'Careful' after that fire?"

Her mouth slanted, refusing to surrender all trust.

"It might take a little more convincing."

"Believe me, I've gone over the plans multiple times, factored in redundancies, have backup plans - the works. Everything is going to be fine. I'll have my T-cell so… you can all keep a track of my whereabouts using your app – how about that?"

"It's… a little better."

"Please. Don't worry about me. I'll be back to repair the appliances another day. I mean, have you noticed how time just seems to get faster and faster? Click your fingers. It will be that fast."

Her eyes flitted up and down his body, "Let me guess: you've already set up an experiment to figure out if your time perspective theory holds true."

"I would but... for that I'd need the plutonium."

April chuckled into her closed lips and fell into a thoughtful quiet. Passing by an empty storefront, he glimpsed at their reflection. April was more beautiful than ever, all fire and freckles, and partnered with her sparkling wit, a woman to behold. As for himself, in the passing years he had phased neatly out of gawkiness, into something hard and almost angular. Splinter was not one to go lax on training no matter their age. But there was a nagging worry that his hardness had seeped below the surface and settled in deeper... unless that is what their Master had wanted all along. To truly protect them from the world.

They followed the street along through the endless cross section of people and past the intervals of alleys where the smell of urine, trash, and spray paint reined. He chanced a peek, wondering if there was a reason she had stopped talking. She seemed a million miles away, lost in thought. Or so he had thought - until she thumped him lightly on the arm.

"How you holding up?"

"Me?"

"Mm-hm."

Her tone was curious, light-hearted. To the point. So very April. The cold air had stained her cheeks pink. City lights danced in her eyes. And she was here. With him. Arm in arm. And all at once he was lost. Just... lost.

"That bad, huh?" she answered for him.

She had no idea.

He went to say something, and fast, but everything he wanted to say felt so trite and insubstantial to how he felt. Tongue rendered immobile, he nodded. Seconds turned to more seconds. Only sheer terror of discovery forced an answer.

"I'm good."

He clenched his eyes at how blasé it felt rolling out of his mouth. To his surprise, April smiled.

"Good." she echoed softly with a nod of her head.

He felt her press into his side little firmer. From nowhere, she gave a light titter, then:

"How is- " "Whe- "

"You go." April said quickly.

"No, no... please, after you."

For a second he thought April was going to protest, but instead she clacked her tongue with a worried expression.

"Last time I was over, Splinter mentioned something about heading up to Casey's farmhouse. I wasn't sure if he had brought it up with the rest of you, yet."

Donatello made a puzzled sound in his throat, acutely aware of a long ignored twig of worry that had settled in over the last few months regarding their master.

"No. He hasn't." he admitted at last, "Did he mention why?"

She unhooked her arm from his: "I couldn't get it out of him."

Donatello's brow rutted in the way he'd been told a million times before - ratcheted tight until the answer came to him.

"I'm not sure, either, to be honest." Splinter. At the farmhouse. Why? It struck him. "Although… Sensei's arthritis really kicked in this last year. We've been trying various treatments at home with moderate success, but he's always believed that the fresh air up at Northhampton eases his symptoms a little. And being outside in the sun... there's no medication that quite captures the same thing." He paused to correct himself, "Well, prednisone, NSAIDs, and a whole slew of drugs, really, aside from the more inherent natural supplements of vitamin D, folic acid, and perhaps-"

"But not quite, right?" April interjected with a modicum of humor.

"Not quite. Splinter never specifically complains about his ailments. He just becomes a lot more... cantankerous. And here's me, thinking it might have been Mikey giving him more grief than usual with all his topside fraternizing." He released a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in his chest. Everyone worried about Splinter, but when it came to the particulars of medical care, the responsibility fell squarely on him. "When does he want us to go?"

April shook her head, "That's the thing, D. He was quite insistent about staying alone. I believe he may want some time away from the kids."

"Is that how you still see us? As kids?"

Her eyes widened, "Kids? God, no!"

"...because I was trying to find the right time to tell you I accidentally drank the bleach under your sink." He patted his face, "Do I look a weird color to you?"

She rolled her eyes but could not hide her amusement.

"I stand corrected."

It was not often he got one over April. Victory was sweet.

"If he's as determined as you say to spend some time alone, I'm not about to stop him. He may have gone grey, but he can still whoop our collective shells before his tea cools on a good day. I'll just make sure he's loaded up with meds and familiar with his T-cell so we can keep in contact while he's away. Convincing Leo will be a different story."

Relief washed over April's face.

"Oh, thank goodness. You know, I'm happy to take him up there... I'd do anything for him. He's been like another father to me. Ever since we really were just kids."

Kids. Had they ever really been kids?

"It seems like such a long time ago." Donatello mused, "I cringe at what you must have thought of us back then. A bunch of teenagers, all ego and sharp edges. Literally," he gestured to where their weapons would be, "sharp edges. Then you came along and made us-"

"Softer?" April said with skeptical rise of one brow.

Donatello shook his head.

"Better."

He swallowed. There it was. As close to the truth as he could ever go. He wondered what she would do or say, or if she would even acknowledge exactly what he meant.

"Well," her voice softened, "Speaking for myself, I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't met you. All I know is I wouldn't trade it for all the software in Silicon Valley... no matter how much of a lucrative trade it would be."

"All the software in Silicon Valley? I wouldn't stop you."

She hmm'd airily.

"I'd probably just use the financial windfall to track you back down. Don't think you're getting away that easy."

Donatello unleashed a snort and giggle, loud enough for heads to skew their way. Actually, he thought red faced, not so much a snort as an oink - a nice dusty number from the archives he thought he had learnt to pare back. But his outburst had April grinning madly:

"Ha! I almost forgot that sound!"

"Wow – that was, uh... that was embarrassing."

"Are you kidding?! That's how I know I got to you!" She let out a misted stream of air that ruffled her bangs, "I haven't seen you laugh like that in ages… you're always so busy with things to do or make or fix or... do. I don't know what it is." She cast an uneasy glance his way. "Maybe it's me."

He refuted with a firm shake of his head.

"Not unless you've developed some kind of allergy to reptiles."

"That'd be my luck. But, really. How long has it been since you've been above ground? Weeks? I've seen more of your brothers in the last month than I have of you in the last four. And now… I can barely tempt you up with the promise of a grilled cheese sandwich. Oh, how things change."

Donatello gave an amiable shrug.

"I've just been slugging away in the lab. Nothing nefarious, I assure you."

But she was right. It had been a long time since he had seen topside and even longer since he could remember laughing. Tonight with April was just like old times. Just her, and him, and the world before them. It was the most fun he'd had since the announcement of her engagement.

"And you've been busy with your wedding arrangements, I assume."

She shot him a smile that defied anything he recognized, something almost edging on wistful.

"You know what they say about assuming, padawan."

"Let me guess- that it's a viable application of Occam's Razer?"

April retaliated with a playful slap of his arm: "Ha ha."

Knowing he might have pushed too far, he eased back.

"I mean it. You seem really happy. I'm pleased."

"Donnie, I... uh-" she stumbled on her thoughts and fell silent.

Over the course that time he had come to know every inflection in her voice, every mote of concern. And right now she sounded nervous. Spine-tingling, edge-of-the-cliff, nervous. He could only recall a few other instances she had been like this. It had never ended well.

"April, is everything okay?"

"Me!" she said brightly, "Oh, yeah. I'm... perfectly fine."

"Oh. Are you sure?"

April pressed her lips together and nodded, "I just wanted to get out and talk, you know? Away from the computer. Hell, maybe I'll even get some inspiration out here. Please. Tell about your week. Help me get my mind off things."

"Ah... sure."

For a moment his mind went blank as he scrambled for very neutral and unseasoned ground. It always went back to his family. The topic was practically a sinkhole.

"Did I fill you in on the latest family project? Raph wanted some help making modifications to his shell cycle and roped me in. He got the idea from one of those TV shows that soup up their clients' bikes with superfluous design components."

"You mean 'American Chopper'? He vaguely mentioned something."

Donatello verified his memory a moment, then:

"Yes. Yep. That's the one. We're in the middle of welding the redesigned body into an aerodynamically-sound and terrapin-inspired shape. Even Mikey's offered to do some designs on the chassis."

"Oh," she asked with a curious lilt, "of what?"

He slapped his shoulder: "Scutes."

Her brows shot up in amusement, "And Leo's okay with this? A big bawdy turtle cycle on the street?"

"Well. We certainly got his patented look when he found out about it."

"Oh, Donnie, I am familiar with that look - remember the last time I brought down a bottle of tequila and a pack of cards? That did not go down well with him - until the third deal."

"My brother, at times, can be a bit of..." He lowered his voice and gave a surreptitious glance around at the streams of people that had all but ignored his existence. Satisfied Leonardo wasn't around: "an old woman."

After April's bright crack of laughter died down, he continued:

"Believe it or not, he's just a big of a thrill seeker as Raph - even if the underlying causes are different. That's why I have him working on the handlebars."

"Leo on the handlebars, hey?"

He gave a quick nod.

"You're probably aware of how he likes to take control of a situation. But I have to give credit where credit's due - the molding he carved out for the hand-guard is absolutely remarkable."

Her eyes darted back to him, "I have to this beast, now."

Donatello gave an imaginary rev on imaginary handlebars.

"Just imagine me with wheels."

The open invitation had April's gaze lingering on him longer than usual, across the heavy thread of his pants, and down to his equally non-descript boots. Slowly her focus dragged upwards until she caught him back in the eye. Donatello returned a gentle smile. Caught staring, she turned away with a blush.

"It's okay." he said, "I still don't know if I look stranger with or without clothes."

"Oh, with. Definitely." came from under her breath. Shocked, she slapped a gloved hand up to her forehead, "I... uh... that sounded-"

"It's fine." Donatello reassured her.

A slow hiss escaped between her teeth as she nervously picked at the buckle of her jacket.

"No. No, it's not. You are not, in any way, strange. Okay? I'm just sure you can't wait to get back to mine and out of those clothes – and... ah..." she blinked rapidly as a creeping rash peeked out from beneath her scarf, "Tell me I did not just say that..."

He delivered the most innocent grin, "I can't wait, as a matter of fact."

"My god," she dropped her head in disgust, "will you please let me know if you have something in that medicine cabinet of yours to get this foot out of my mouth?"

He couldn't resist: "Only ethanol."

"Oh, Donnie. Trust me. You do not want to go down that road. Speaking of which, take a turn here."

...