Donatello stood in the alleyway between apartment buildings, slinking into the shadows that only grew longer and deeper as the lights of New York City grew brighter in the fading day. A bitter autumn wind stirred the leaves it had blown in from off the street, making the garbage that didn't quite make it all the way into the dumpsters rustle as it blew back and forth across the ground. Donatello almost smiled; he liked autumn best. Shorter days, longer nights. Not like the summer, with those long days and late nights that forced them to wait, biding their time below ground. Longer nights meant more latitude to come top side. More time to spend with her.

He had rehearsed his delivery of April's laptop countless times. Every time he imagined returning it to her, his hands became clammy. His throat became dry. The turtle's eyes drifted to the fire escape, up the face of the building where the windows were flickering alight as the darkness settled over the city.

He wondered what would have happened if he was the one left behind after that Foot raid, not Raphael. If he had been there with her instead of his brother, would she have taken up his bo staff instead of the sai? Would it have be him walking her home at night, now?

The turtle's face settled into a frown as scenarios populated his mind. If it had been me instead of Raphael, we'd all be dead, most likely. He thought. If it hadn't been for my tracking signal they might never have found us. Donatello sighed miserably. April's intelligent enough. She would have known where to go. But the odds of them finding us before Sacks completed his experiment...marginal at best.

He didn't believe in fate. Or destiny. But there were still observable consistencies. Mathematical regularities in nature. But the theory of everything was posited to explain the universe; not to explain why April and Raphael were doing...whatever it was they were doing, and Donatello was alone in an alleyway, attempting to gird himself against the inevitable. The smiles. The sweet words. The excuses they would both make. He let out a deflated breath. Nothing was ever simple.

Donatello closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, running through the most likely scenario of the evening's events in his mind one last time.

The lonely night wind trailed him as he scaled the fire escape, making the tails of his purple bandana whip back and forth around his face. He wasted no time in making his way up the building, long legs taking even longer strides, but when he reached her window, he paused. The curtains were drawn.

Donatello blinked, then cast a quick glance to the watch on his glove. He had arrived at the agreed upon time. The turtle leaned in and squinted, trying to peer through the curtains, and his breath clouded the window before him. As he withdrew, his lips pressed into a flat line. You could just go. It could be that easy. He thought. You could just leave the laptop here on the fire escape. It would be fine. His eyes flicked up to the sky. As long as it doesn't rain.

A tap came at the bottom of the window and Donatello reeled back with a high pitched yelp.

As he scrambled to regain his composure, he saw her luminous blue eyes peering out from behind the curtain. She was there, smiling. April O'Neil was smiling at him. Donatello took a deep breath and pushed his glasses back up his snout. The turtle opened his mouth to speak, but his breath had stopped; it was caught in his throat, which grew arid and parched as his hands grew hot and clammy. And she hadn't even invited him in yet.

"Hey Apr-" he tried to say, but the wind blew the tails of his bandana right into his mouth. The turtle only managed to stop sputtering in order to sigh. "Hey April."

Of all the variables he had considered, wind had not been one of them. All the times he had rehearsed this scenario, and he had not even bothered to factor in the elements of nature. April looked up at him from beneath those long, dark lashes as Donatello chided himself in silence. He would know better next time.

The window groaned open. Despite his ungainly power pack, the turtle slid in without any further incident.

Rustling through the contents of his pack, Donatello hurriedly explained to April the repairs he had made to her laptop. An upgraded processor. Added RAM. A replacement fan. The best anti-virus he could pirate. Now the laptop would last her a little longer, at least.

April returned the favor with a smile. Her gratitude was written all over her face. It was in the way her lips parted in that thoughtful way her eyes shone. The way she leaned in close, listening, all of her attention on him. It made his knees quake.

"Earth to Donatello!" April chuckled.

Donatello blinked. "Oh. Um. What?"

"I was thinking of ordering a pizza. Sound good?"

"I, uh, really should be going." His hands were becoming clammy again. "Thank you, though."

"Isn't it, like, against your ninja code to say no to pizza?" She cocked her head to the side. If Donatello didn't know better, he would have sworn she was pouting.

A smile tugged at the edges of his lips. "Thank you, April. But I promised Master Splinter," he began, ready to prattle off one of many pre-prepared excuses he had armed himself with, but April simply shrugged.

"Say no more," she leaned over the couch and hoisted the window open again.

Donatello frowned. He had hoped she might protest his refusal, just a little. The turtle took a deep breath. "Ok, well, uh, let me know if it gives you any trouble."

April blinked.

"Your laptop."

"Oh, right," she replied, perching herself on the arm of the couch. "Thanks, Don."

The turtle stepped up on the couch, then crouched to squeeze himself out through the window. If Raphael could fit, so could he. It had been easy enough to get in, after all. As he began to pull himself over the back of the couch and out onto the fire escape, something jerked him back.

His pack, jutting every which way, had caught on something. Donatello's face crumpled in dismay. It's ok, it's ok - he reassured himself. You're fine, you can do this, he thought as he backed up slightly and tried again. Maybe she didn't notice. As he repositioned himself and his pack, a sharp pain shot up his neck. Something must have happened to his face, because in an instant, her hand was on his shell.

"Are you ok?"

"Fine, fine - I'm fine," Donatello attempted to look over his shoulder at her and winced.

"Yeah, right." April said flatly. "Sit down."

Donatello obediently backed out of the window, slowly and deliberately. The turtle and his pack sunk into the couch. He turned slowly to look at April, to reassure her that he was indeed fine, but just as he opened his mouth to speak the pain flared again, white and hot like a bolt of lightning. The turtle in purple grimaced, his hand instinctively shooting up to his neck to rub the source of the pain.

April's eyes drifted from his face to his back, and then his pack. "No wonder you're having neck problems with all that junk on your back."

"It's not junk," Donatello sniffed, wondering if he would ever catch a break for his equipment. His brothers were none too fond of it either; they said it slowed Donatello down. If one of them was slow, it put them all at risk. But he didn't see them complaining when he used it to disable the Sacks Tower security system.

"Take it off."

Donatello stiffened. "What?"

"Take it off," April ordered again. "Your ju-" The turtle's eyes narrowed, and April began to chuckle. "Your pack. Just take it off, ok?

The turtle stood, slowly, and reached for the straps to his pack. The movement made him wince. He shrugged the pack off without further incident. She tapped on his goggles, and he removed them. She gave him another knowing look, and he peeled his headphones away.

Something churned in his guts as his headphones clattered on the coffee table. Anxiety. He could feel it bubbling up inside him. He was exposed. Donatello felt the heat rise in his face. Naked. But he was also...lighter. The pressure on his shoulder was gone. The turtle rubbed his neck gently. Though the pain had abated, he could still feel it needling under his skin.

"Wanna back rub?" April chirped. "Raph says I've got magic fingers."

Oh, right. Raph. Just Raph. Donatello chuckled nervously. Just your brother, Raphael, who could totally rip your arms out of their sockets and pick his teeth with them. No big deal. The graphic mental image of blood squirting out of holes where his arms used to be like he had been dismembered in a samurai movie was interrupted by the touch of her hand.

April slowly circled around Donatello. Her lips were turned up in that half-smile that said she simply would not be refused. Anxiety swelled inside him, making him stiffen. He hadn't anticipated this. None of this was going according to plan. There were no variations of this scenario that involved touching. Backrubs were not among the variables he had considered as he rehearsed this evening over and over in his head. But if she could help him with the pain...

She instructed him to sit, so Donatello sat on the floor, back to the couch, pulling his shoulders back as his torso straightened to his full height. Even sitting down, he was almost taller than she was, sitting on the couch behind him.

"Oh come on, Don. It's just me," April teased. "Relax."

"I-I'm not relaxed?" the turtle stammered.

"Oh please, you're stiff as a corpse. Relax. Take a deep breath," she instructed. Donatello glanced up over his shoulder to see her taking an exemplary deep breath herself. As she brought her hands before her, her chest swelled as she inhaled. Something roiled within him, and he cast his eyes to the floor. He could only hope that his wide eyes, made even wider by his prescriptive lenses, had not given him away. The turtle sniffed, and his nostrils flared across his face.

"You call that a deep breath?" April leaned in, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and brushing against his, filling the air between them with her scent. She smelled so sweet, and clean. Like shampoo. And something else. A warm, natural smell that made his stomach turn and his tail twitch beneath his loincloth.

"Try again."

The turtle acquiesced and inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the way she smelled. Trying to forget just how close she was. Resistance was futile. In her apartment, her scent was everywhere. It was between them. It was in the blankets draped across the arm of the couch. It was radiating from the yellow leather jacket hanging by the door.

As Donatello took a deep breath, he tried to quiet his mind. His chest and plastron swelled in unison, and his eyes closed behind his glasses, as if he was beginning to meditate. In truth, meditation was never something he had excelled at. Though he never would have admitted it to Michelangelo. Or Raphael. Leonardo might have known, if he was not too preoccupied with his own practice to notice. Much to Donatello's relief, their other brothers' impatience tended to eclipse his own shortcomings. While Leonardo chided their brothers, Donatello had managed to master the art of appearing to meditate, but not meditation itself.

Donatello knew how how to begin the breathing exercises. But even if he was in lotus pose, back straight, eyes closed (and chakras allegedly aligned), his mind was rarely still. There was so much to know. So much to consider. So much to learn. Meditation had always seemed like a waste of time.

Before Leonardo had taken the lead on their group training sessions, Master Splinter was known for beginning every meditation session with the same words. "A ninja must have a strong mind, as well as a strong body." But Donatello's mind was already strong. He was writing his first lines of code when Raphael was still struggling to learn to read, for Darwin's sake.

He had failed to see how quieting his mind made it stronger. Meditation only seemed to make him slower. Whatever his thoughts were on the matter of meditation, Master Splinter continued to emphasize its importance, so Donatello continued to make an effort. But he made no promises about where his mind went when he closed his eyes.

"Much better."

April's soft lilting voice drew him out of his thoughts, back to reality. The turtle blinked, and he was sitting on the floor of April's apartment, not the dojo. This was relaxation, not meditation. Though he had no idea how he could be relaxed with how close she was. Maybe he could fake it. Her fingers were running up his shoulders now. Donatello swallowed. Maybe this wasn't so unlike meditation after all.

Perfectly manicured fingers traced the edges of his shoulders, following the line of his clavicles to the base of his neck. When he felt his shoulders tighten, he took another deep breath. His posture slumped, slightly, but April didn't seem to mind. She was kneading the base of his neck. The tips of her fingers oscillated between pushing down, hard, and drawing across his skin, softly. Donatello let out a contented sigh, and April chuckled over his shoulder.

"Told you I had magic fingers."

April leaned forward, using her weight to apply pressure to his shoulders. Her hands swept up over his neck, lightly caressing his freckled skin. Her touch, as soft and fleeting as freshly fallen leaves on the wind, became forceful once again as she re-applied pressure to the base of his neck with the tips of her fingers. Donatello's head lolled back as the knots that laced his shoulders began to subside.

Her hands, gentle and warm, opened and contoured to his body before slipping down the crest of his neck. Her fingers, deft and quick, began to knead his deltoids. He thought, for a moment that her hands might slide down his arms to the bridge of his shell, to draw him closer to her. Without warning, her fingers jabbed at his shoulder, and his face pinched in discomfort.

"That's a nasty knot, Don." She leaned over his shoulder, and he caught her grin out of the corner of his eye. "Think I can take it?"

Donatello gulped.

April cracked her knuckles."Challenge accepted."

"Oh, April, it's fine - really," the turtle sputtered.

"Normally I would use my forearms, but your shell makes things," she paused, and Donatello hung on her words. "Complicated."

Before he could utter another protest she was leaning in, putting her weight on his shoulders again. The weight was nothing compared to the gear he lugged around on a daily basis, but it was sharper, distributed unevenly, targeting the persistent tangle of muscles lurking below the surface of his skin. Donatello gritted his teeth, waiting for the pain to break, like a wave on the rocks. Waiting for the release... for her fingers to be warm, and soft, and caressing him again.

"Almost got it," she murmured before her green nails abruptly scraped across the rim of his shell. Donatello cried out, not in relief, but in pain. His body instinctively lurched forward, away from her and her touch.

"Oh!" April yelped in surprise. "Oh, Don. I'm sorry"

Donatello glanced up at her. As he collected himself, he pushed his glasses up his snout. The turtle held her gaze just long enough to see her blush. April's cheeks were flaring a bright pink; pink as her glistening rosebud lips.

"I didn't know your shells were so...sensitive," she added hurriedly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

The turtle blinked before glancing away. She was flustered. Why was she so flustered? After everything she and Raphael had done while they were doing...whatever it was they were doing, she didn't know? He shut his eyes and then popped them open, his mouth drawing out into a taut, awkward line. Maybe they hadn't gone as far as he'd thought.

"I just thought, since you get, beat up on, you know, that -" she stumbled over her words. "That you didn't feel anything. In your shell."

Something sunk in the pit of Donatello's stomach. Was he so inhuman to her that she assumed he felt nothing? Shifting his weight, he turned to face her with a solemn expression.

"You can have your body beaten, but it still feels, doesn't it?" he asked, sounding more doleful than he had intended.

As her face settled into a sad expression, her gaze fell on Donatello. He tried not to swallow too loudly. Her full, beautiful lips were creased in the slightest frown. The turtle's eyes widened behind his glasses. Of course. She was used to Raphael, the impenetrable tank. If she hurt him, he never would have said anything. Would he? In his experience, even a wayward glance at Raphael could be just cause for swift retribution. But Raphael was gentle with April. He had to be.

"May I?" she pointed at his shell, almost shyly. "I might be able help relieve some tension."

She was making excuses. Donatello blinked, taken aback. She was curious about them. About him. He had never thought anyone would ever want to touch him. Much less anyone as beautiful and brilliant as April. Like he had told Michelangelo; "It was so improbable it was practically impossible."

The turtle in purple bit his lip, considering his options. He could let her touch him now, and accept that Raphael would kill him later, or he could refuse her, and odds were still quite high that Raphael would still kill him later.

Raphael be damned. She wanted to touch him. And he wanted her to. Donatello craved her, like he craved coffee, and conclusions, and solitude. Between all the text messages, and e-mails, and the late night arguments about who was the superior Starfleet captain, he had become addicted to her, and he hadn't even noticed.

"Uh, sure…" Donatello trailed off in an effort to sound nonchalant. As he repositioned himself with his back to her once more, he thought he could feel her smile. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Don't make inferences you can't back up with evidence, Donatello. It never ends well. The turtle took a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind of all the graphic details of the myriad of ways Raphael could murder him if he ever learned of this encounter.

Just as Donatello was imagining Raphael snapping each of his appendages off his body like twigs from a sapling, she touched him, and all the thoughts crowding his mind faded into the background, until they were so quiet he could barely hear them at all. She pressed a single finger to the back of his shell. Gentle, yet firm, the tip of her finger fell right at the apex of his carapace.

"What's this?" She questioned, quietly.

"The one that looks like a keystone in an arch?" Donatello asked, trying to remember to breathe. "That's, uh, th-the nuchal bone."

And then it occurred to him. Breathtaking wasn't just some exaggeration, or a puffed up expression coined by some fool so high on their own hormones that they couldn't see straight. She was breathtaking. Literally breathtaking.

"And what about these?" He felt her fingers sliding down the edge of his shell, gentle and slow.

The turtle swallowed. "Those are my marginal scutes."

"Scutes?" She chuckled.

Donatello couldn't help but chuckle, too. "Yeah, it's, um, a bony plate under the shell."

As her hand moved inward towards the center of his shell, he felt his tail twitch under his loin cloth. "And these?"

"My pleural scutes." He stifled a stuttering breath.

And then her finger was dead center on his carapace, gently pressed over his spine. Donatello bit down on his lip, hard. Her finger hovered for a moment before she began to trace a line up his shell. He stiffened at her touch. Shoulders back, spine straight, he clenched his teeth to try and keep himself from shivering as she continued her exploration of his shell. His body ached for release, to succumb to the pleasure of her hands on him. He knew he could sate her curiosity about them...about him. About his body.

"Aren't you going to tell me what these are?" She asked, her voice soft and low. Heady, almost.

He realized how far he had let his mind wander, and instantly felt the heat flare in his cheeks. Her finger was still poised over his spine. "Vertebral." He gulped. "Vertebral scutes."

Her hands fell away, and Donatello became acutely aware of the absence of her touch. His senses were painfully heightened; all of a sudden everything felt so much more intense. The lingering heat on his shell from where her hands had been. The way she smelled. The sound of her breathing; calm, slow and rhythmic.

Donatello turned to face her. April O'Neil; as beautiful as ever. The way she was sitting on the couch with her arms crossed over her chest reminded him of that one comic book he had hidden under his bed for years. Spider-Man. It was Spider-Man; the one with the J. Scott Campbell cover of Mary Jane Watson in those ripped up jeans and that low cut top. He smiled. April was even prettier than Mary Jane.

"Better?" She asked, her full, pink lips curling into a grin. The answer was so obvious it might has well have been a rhetorical question. Maybe it was. Donatello didn't know anymore.

He opened his mouth to answer, but instead of offering any sort of respectable reply, he leaned up and kissed her. And this kiss wasn't like the friendly, fleeting kiss she had given him in the lair; this kiss was hard and firm. His lips closed around hers forcefully, then gently, pulling away slow. He opened his eyes, blinking behind his glasses, expecting wide eyes, and a furrowed brow. Donatello gulped. His infraction merited a protest. A slap on the face, even.

But instead, she yanked him towards her by the plastron and kissed him again. His eyes widened behind his glasses, but as her lips parted and her tongue slipped into his mouth, they were quick to close. He succambe to her; to her lips, and her tongue, to her mouth. Her wet, hot mouth was against his, inviting him into her.

Donatello pressed himself against her, and the heat of her body radiated from beneath the thin, soft fabric of her top. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing his face to hers. Her hands, soft and delicate, grasped at his cheeks as her lips collided with his again and again.

As she showered him with furious, rapid fire kisses, it occurred to him. Fuck. He stiffened. You have no idea what you're doing. He had never thought any one would ever want to kiss him. He had never bothered to prepare. Am I applying an adequate amount of pressure? She kissed him again. Am I giving her too much tongue? Her mouth opened to his again, her tongue aggressively, deliberately attempting to draw his out. Oh. More tongue. That's good, right? Her hands were still on his face. Her thumbs gently brushed across his cheeks, lingering at the frayed edges of the bandana beneath his glasses. Fuck. You have no idea what you're doing.

Seizing the brief moment of pause, Donatello broke the kiss. Pulling away, slowly, he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his snout, but that did little to improve his vision. Their body heat had fogged the lenses of his glasses. April was so close he could feel her panting breath on his face, but she was little more than a hazy outline. Maybe she won't notice. He cleared his throat.

"April," he swallowed. "Uh. Am - am I doing this right?"

He lifted his glasses to see her brilliant blue eyes locked on him; her glistening pink lips turned upward in a smirk. "Shut up Donatello," she ordered with the forceful confidence of someone considerably more experiences than himself. Donatello was glad at least one of them knew what they were doing.

Before his glasses had the chance to hit the floor, he was straddling her on top of the couch. She stared up at him from beneath a veil of long dark lashes; her eyes, brilliant and piercing, cut through him like a blade, making him shake and buckle above her. Her lips parted, and Donatello drew in a shuddering breath. The turtle silently thanked Darwin he was nearsighted, not farsighted - that he could see her, below him, as her chest rose and fell with each hot, hastened breath.

"Don," she bit her lip. "Maybe I should be on top."

"Oh." Donatello blinked. April's fit, lithe body suddenly seemed so small and fragile beneath his. "Right. Of course."

In one swift motion he gathered her up in his arms and rolled onto his back. She shifted her weight, sliding her pelvis over his. His breath hitched, catching in his throat as her legs pressed against his sides. She leaned forward, and her thighs squeezed his. Oh fuck. Donatello forced his eyes shut. What am I doing?

"Don."

He opened his eyes.

"I have a feeling you're overthinking this," she said, gently.

April took his hands in hers, and placed them on her hips. She let him go, leaning back, teasing him with a gentle rock of her hips over his. The motion was just enough to make his tail tremble beneath his loin cloth. Donatello's heart hammered in his chest.

His thumbs shyly brushed over the jut of her hip, and his remaining fingers rested on her waist. He could feel his tail throbbing now; the slow, rhythmic pulse of blood rushing to his organ as it began to fill. He slowly moved his wide, green hands up the curves of her torso.

Her skin was so soft and warm; sweet smelling. Donatello inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself, but instead, his nostrils filled with her scent, making his heightened senses flare; making his swollen tail strain against his boxer briefs, his cock aching to emerge.

"I want you," he exhaled.

April bit her lip. "How much?"

"More than anything." Donatello tightened his grip on her waist.

And as he pulled her down, drawing her into another embrace, a bitter cold coursed through the room.

When Donatello opened his eyes; he was still in the alleyway next to her building. He hadn't delivered her laptop. He hadn't even made it to the fire escape. He was just standing there; cheeks flushed, heart pounding beneath his plastron.

"Oh." The sound of his sudden, forlorn self-awareness slipped through his lips, and was carried away by the night.

The lonely autumn breeze danced at his feet, sending a chill through him almost as cold and bitter as his disappointment. He sighed.

At least this time he would know to account for all the variables; even the wind.

A/N: I started this final chapter, I don't know, four months ago? It was such a challenge to figure out how to maneuver through the situation with Donatello and April in a way that felt genuine and true to them as characters in the 2014 universe. I struggled with the decision to make this Donatello's fantasy, but in the end, it's just what rang true. I never intended for it to become a multi chapter story; the whole thing sprung forth from a little one shot that people seemed to genuinely enjoy, and I enjoyed writing Donatello, so I went with the flow and this is what happened. Thanks so much reading; I hope you enjoyed.