Cookies and Milk

There were cookies and milk on his bedside table. Cookies and milk.

Perfectly made, the crumb texture looked crisp and sweet, the chocolate chips plentiful, and, on closer inspection, the bottoms were golden and none of them burnt. The milk looked freshly poured, the glass clean for once, and the condensation slipped down the sides temptingly, a seductive invite to match the welcoming smell of home baked goods.

There was only one problem, Mikey decided, as he ventured forth and crammed one past his waiting lips to chew thoughtfully, amazed that a simple cookie could taste so good.

He didn't make them.

So who did?

He let the thought pass for a moment, lost in a world of sweet delight, letting the crumbs fall happily from his lips as he shoved in another. The remanants of the previous victim found solace in the creases and curves of his stained sheets, making friends with the ghosts of snacks now passed. Donnie always admonished him about the state of his room, and how it was a breeding ground for fungus. Mikey always retorted that he was a pretty fun guy too, so everyone was sure to be great pals. This elicited a painful groan from the brainiac as another pun died a torturous death.

Leo had tried too, on occassion, to ram the point home that a cluttered room was surely the sign of a cluttered mind, and a more zen like abode would almost definitely calm Mikey's frantic soul. Mikey was always highly amused and confused at Leo's statements, didn't his leader know he had already obtained a zen like state, his perfectly ordered piles on the floor allowing him to find anything he needed with no more than ten full minutes of rummaging?

Raph was always the best at knowing when a fight could be won or lost and left Mikey alone, only offering support when Sensei threatened on occassion to throw a lit match inside and close the door. Those times he helped Mikey sweep the bulk of it under his bed, away from sighing eyes. Also showed him the best places to hide his most private and prized magazine collections.

These thoughts brought him back the present, the cookies and the state of his room. Someone had made him cookies, and snuck their way into his inner sanctum to leave them, not minding the mess, and on closer inspection, not disturbing it one bit.

Must have been Raph.

Raph had been known to cook on occassion, when Mikey was sick or injured. When the thought of one more pizza delivery made them all wish for merciful deaths, and the idea of one more healthy meal choice made Raph wish death would come sooner.

But his fare was usually more robust, eggs, bacon, steak. Could whip up a mean burger too, when the mood suited him, and in Mikey's mind, it never suited Raph enough.

But baked goods? What was the occassion?

Licking the crumbs from his stubby, green fingertips, Mikey laughed at the mental picture of Raph in a Betty Crocker apron, spatula in one hand, bowl in the other. There had been times Raph had whipped up a cake for a birthday, and made cookies for Mike when he'd been on death's door and nothing else would tempt him, but they were rare few times. What on earth would make him decide to break out the cookie sheets now?

Shoulders slumped a little, as he sat up in his bed and toyed with the glass of milk. He hadn't been feeling his best lately, he'd been feeling kinda, off. The sea green turtle couldn't even pinpoint the exact cause in himself anymore, so long had he tried to struggle through this alone.

Or so he thought.

But here now, was a plate of cookies and milk, left by a brother who was more muscle than mental, a brother who took the time to make him a batch of this favourite cookies, knowing the terrible price he would pay if anyone found out. To let Mikey know he was there, that it was ok, and that life was sweet, as long as you're brave enough to take a bite.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, he plonked the glass down on top of the empty plate and tumbled out of bed. It only took him twenty minutes of silent swearing to get ready for the day, a personal best.

It was time to tell Raph thanks.

Sprinting to the kitchen, glass and plate in his hands, he skidded to a halt at the table, realising, once again, he was late.

Crap.

Raph was sitting astride his backwards chair, leaning over as usual, hunched, watching his cereal pass him by. There were dark rings peeking out from under his bandanna, red as his blood shot eyes. Mikey knew why he'd been up so late.

Carefully placing the plate and glass beside his hot headed brother, he sat, and draped a languid arm over Raph's shell. Not wanting to offend him, or let his little secret slip, Mikey just beamed wide and whispered the simple word.

"Thanks."

Amber eyes looked at the arm and followed it up to the goofy grin. He wasn't exactly sure what Mikey was smiling or thanking him about, but by the look of the dirty dishes, he could hazard a guess. Raph snarled softly.

"Great. I ain't doin' ya dishes Mikey."

Mikey looked at his brother confused. Was this some kind of ruse? Brilliant baby blue eyes clouded slightly in confusion as he nudged his brother gently, hoping to spark some kind of understanding.

"No Raph. The cookies and milk?"

"Cookies and milk?" Raph's voice was loud and proposterous. "I ain't made you no damn cookies and milk Mikey. Who'd ya think I am? Ya frickin' maid?"

Mikey almost fell off his chair in shock. He was sure to the depth of his being that it had been Raph. Now his thoughts spun freely and he turned his attention to Donatello. He was seated at the other end of the kitchen table, a personal fortress of facts and figures strewn around him and his coffee cup. Donnie looked tired too, and could follow a scientific formula with precision. Perhaps it had been him that ...

"... don't even look at me Mikey." Donnie chuckled softly, as he took another sip of his slowly congealing brew. "While the idea of me performing such a simple task of domesticated bliss is not out of the realms of possibility, I have had no time to pursue such noble endeavours. I have been far too busy formulating the precise and very needed equations of basking times for each of our particular shells this coming winter, taking into consideration previous injuries and successive scute loss."

Blue eyes blinked and looked at him owlishly wide.

Donnie dropped his cup tiredly onto the kitchen table and sighed, liquid chocolate eyes pleading for understanding.

"I haven't had time Mikey."

"Then who?"

All eyes turned towards Leonardo, flapping his arms furiously at the toaster, as if a wave of his magic hands could stop the flames that were now hungrily licking the cabinets above. His brothers screamed, gasped and groaned, performing there well worn kata of pulling Leo away, pulling the plug out of the wall, and dumping a wet tea towel over the mess, snuffing out the inferno. Mikey and Raph chuckled as Donnie wept, peeling back the blackened fabric to examine the cause of this latest toaster calamity.

"Leo..." A mournful, exasperated cry of frustration left Donnie's lips as he viewd the charred remains inside the toaster crematorium. "When I said you could toast muffins, I meant of the english variety, not the american ones! I thought you didn't like sweets anyway, you're always telling us our body is a temple and we should treat it as such?"

Raph just couldn't resist.

"Hey my body's an amusement park, not a temple."

"Yeah, a run down, scary amusement park that no one goes to. Like in horror movies." Mikey's remark caused him duck under his brother's oncoming fist.

Leo sighed and looked coolly at his brothers, folding his arms in defiance. "It was a bran muffin and nowhere in our little conversation Donatello did you specify what nationality my muffin had to be." Looking at the toaster in distaste, Fearless wrinkled his beak. "I didn't know it had a preference."

"Well it does." Holding the cooling machine like it was a sorely abused child, Donatello ran a soothing hand over it's blackened surface. He murmured softly to it, like it was frightened. "C'mon. Let's get you fixed, huh?" Darting an accusing glance back at the trio, he made his cutting remark. "At least you know it wasn't Leo who made your cookies Mikey. It must have been Father."

The idea of Leo baking cookies had Mikey and Raph roaring in laughter. Tears fell from their eyes as they fell against each other in great, gaping, gaffaws.

The tension in Leo's crossed arms grew as he narrowed his eyes to slits and peered dangerously through them.

"I'll have you know, I'm very good at cooking when I need to."

"Yeah," snickered Mikey, trying desperately hard to damn the wave of sniggers with his fists. "Like when we need somone killed." Mocking blue eyes sparkled as they curiously looked at his emerald green brother. "Hey why haven't we ever tried sending Shredder some of Leo's burnt offerings? We could kill him without ever getting close."

"Nahhh," Bickered back Raph, more than willing to play the game. "Too damn heavy Mikey, we'd never afford da postage."

"I can think of a better game the two of you could play if you're bored?" Leo offered as way to end this terrible slander. "It involves either the dojo, or the never ending list of household chores. I'm nice enough to give you a choice, which is much nicer than you're being right now ..." He left the threat linger dangerously in the air.

The bantering brothers went quiet in an instant.

"Yeah ... well ..." Raph started to speak. "We've got better things ta do, like, writing a thank you letter ta Father." He gave his youngest brother a prompting nudge.

"Oh yeah!" He blurted out, as his mind tried to find something else to say. "Better say thank you to Sensei huh? Would be rude not to." Baby blue eyes, back to their breathtaking brilliance beamed at the eldest brother. "Need to let him know that he's made things really ok."

The pair slunk out sniggering, their leader burning holes in their shells with his dangerous, onyx, eyes.

As soon as the kitchen was quiet, he too, sniggered.

Packing away the breakfast things, dipping the dishes into the sink, he scowled softly to himself as some flour fell from the folds of his protective gear. Leo wiped it away with the cloth, thankful no one had seen, chiding himself softly for this simple slip in his secrecy, lamenting also, at the sacrifice his muffin had to make.

One day they'd discover his terrible secret.

But until that time, there'd always be cookies and milk.

Perfectly made, the crumb texture looked crisp and sweet, the chocolate chips plentiful, and, on closer inspection, the bottoms were golden and none of them burnt. The milk looked freshly poured, the glass clean for once, and the condensation slipped down the sides temptingly, a seductive invite to match the welcoming smell of home baked goods.

To let Mikey know he was there, that it was ok, and that life was sweet, as long as you're brave enough to take a bite.

A/N: A promise kept to a dear friend, who helped me when I needed it, and inspired me with a simple plate of baked goods. My interpretation of the never ending debate over whether or not Leo can cook. If you read the comics you'll find that he can, and his eggs are to die for.

Rant, rave, review. Just like Mikey, letting authors know how they're doing keeps their spirits alive and their inspiration running. So read, there's a plethora of wonderful stories out there, but remember to review, for it's the reviews, like cookies, that keep life sweet and worth taking a bite.