This story stems from the difficulty of finding a decent, realistic story about one of the turtles dealing with parenthood. (It's also inspired by the film Stardust-at least, the beginning is.) To be fair, parenthood stories are difficult to find done well in any fandom, but for obvious reasons here in particular. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I'm thoroughly enjoying working on this anyway!

Special thanks to Jennie and Gwen for their input and editing. I hope you all enjoy it, and I cannot express how much I appreciate feedback on my work. Thanks for reading!

Donnie always thought things through.

He wasn't like Raph, the hothead who never questioned his strikes, or Mikey, self-proclaimed master of improvisation. Or even Leo, who could always hatch some astounding, different tactic in the face of their doom.

Donatello's decisions, by contrast, were shaped by his intellect. Careful schematics and wiring, building up and breaking down, slowly but surely piecing together something useful and, he had to admit, often very impressive. How many other teenagers had built military-class vehicles in their room?

He always had things under control. So now he wondered what it was that had made him push that control aside and give way to an impulse. What about the situation had changed everything for him? Sympathy, curiosity? Love?

Could someone even learn to love so quickly?

Leo had not exaggerated the place's beauty. Colours that felt too saturated to be real, mountains and rivers lifted straight from Sensei's ukiyo-e. It was Japan but not, a cheery watercolour of the real world. And populated by characters straight from Mikey's comic books, who went about their lives not knowing how unreal they were.

He almost walked right into her, his gaze turned towards the shout of someone hawking street food. Donnie steadied himself in a second and caught her arm as she stumbled in surprise.

He found himself looking into a face like his.

No, not quite. She was slimmer, not so muscled; her jaw had a feminine curve, an obi sash at her waist belied a female form. Her eyes widened, and she pulled her arm away, shrinking back towards her stall.

"I'm sorry!" Donnie said, too quickly. "I wasn't paying attention. Forgive me." He barely remembered to speak the right language for her to under, and bowed his head. The turtle girl watched him with her large eyes.

"You're not from nearby," she said quietly, stepping cautiously from the safety of her stall. "What an odd accent."

"No, I'm not," he agreed, feeling a flush rise through his cheeks. "I'm from very far away."

She nodded, and Donnie felt himself being examined under that gaze, by this girl who was just like him and whom he had never dared imagine was real.

These Japanese didn't like foreigners, he knew; even friendly Usagi spoke of them and their ships with disgust. But this girl smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling just slightly. It emboldened him, and he reached out to run his fingers over one of her wares (an owl carving, round and smooth).

"I'm Donatello," he said with a soft smile, and her expression warmed even more. But still, it hardly reached her eyes. It let him catch a glimpse of the sadness that lurked there, just underneath.

Her voice warmed as much as her smile did then, and they talked. They talked for what must have been hours at her quiet stall, and Donnie forgot that his brothers were still somewhere in that market, sifting through trinkets or having dinner in some cheap nearby inn. He was wrapped up instead in this girl, Akane (for that was her name, he learned), and how much closeness could grow with just a few words.

He told her as little as he could; his three brothers, their father, martial arts. Bushi, warrior caste—but no mention of ninjas. It pleased her anyway, because Donatello learned that few gave her the time of day. When she had been young and her parents couldn't feed one more daughter, they had sold her to an old woman who needed help in her woodcarving.

It was so cliché that he thought she had been lying at first, but of course her words were real. What did she know of the progressions of fiction? It wasn't her fault in the least.

How funny, that he would come so far away and find that the living Cinderella was a turtle like him, a turtle girl, who smiled at foreigners and was bold enough to reach out and squeeze his fingers.

Donnie heard Michelangelo's teasing voice in his head, as other, female faces spun in his mind. How girl-crazy can a turtle get, Donnie? Every time we run into a new one you go loopy! But he pushed it back, and leaned forward on the sweetness of an impulse to kiss her instead.

The excitement of the street was dying down by then, the sun casting golden light through the trees and dimming the streets. Soon Leo would wonder aloud where Donnie had gone to, and he would have to leave this girl he now knew too well to abandon.

Her fingers squeezed his shoulders, trailed down to his hands again as he pulled away. Then she spoke, softer words that mirrored when he had first looked at her face.

"My mistress is gone till tomorrow night, visiting her sister," she said in one soft breath. "Come home and eat with me."

Donatello's mouth opened, the words I can't on his tongue as Akane leaned forward. She pressed the words into a yes with her kiss, and muffled the part of him screaming you idiot! as she stepped out from behind the stall and squeezed his hand again, turning to put her wares in their baskets. He helped her soundlessly, and shouldered for her the small load.

Behind the rice-paper walls and in the warm, sweet darkness, Donnie forgot his brothers and Usagi, that he was supposed to meet his family before dark so they could settle down for the night. He forgot that he was the turtle of reason, who always thought ahead and always had a plan. He only knew Akane's skin, her lips, her yukata sliding off.

He knew there could never be this again. Maybe love, if he found his way back, (would he find his way back?) but this progression, like a line of careful kanji, would never be so again. And it had warmed his soul too much to let it go.