A secret-santa fic from a couple of years ago that needs to be put here for the holidays, I think :D Set towards the earlier half of season 2, after Slash and Destroy.

tmnt is property of viacom :D

cookies with mikey

By the time April gets back to her locker after her last class, her phone has practically buzzed its way through the steel and into Irma's locker. It buzzes again as she dumps her books in and fishes it out.

Fifteen.

There are fifteen messages, and five missed calls. Her initial reaction, therefore, is worry - oh god, what's happened - in broad daylight, no less - to warrant fifteen messages? Her first thought is Kraang, and the second is oh god did my dad eat someone and the third, when she finally gets to the notifications page (ultimately, the thing is giant in her tiny, human hands, the interface designed for mutants and not her), is Mikey what.

more

—

From: Mikey
hi

april

hi r u ther

this is turtl commander do u read

Missed call x3 (Mikey)

From: Mikey
へy亜p利l位tsみけｙ

oops

Missed call (Mikey)

—

"Jeez, Mikey," she hissed.

—

From: Raph
Attached:imagejpeg

—

She waited for the file to open, and rolled her eyes when it did: Mikey was sprawled out on the floor, his feet in the air and his chin on his hands, watching his phone like a sad dog.

—

From: Mikey
hi

pls

i ahve an idea

can we go grocery shipping

i need u to buy things

buy me things

not pizza this time i promis

Missed call (Mikey)

From: Mikey
hellllllllloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo pls call me back

—

"No offence, Red, but you've got the weirdest phone I've ever seen."

When she's recovered from not screaming (for a hockey player who spends his free time smashing into stuff both on the ice and off, Casey is surprisingly stealthy when he wants to be), April ends up pulling one of the most un-ninja-like moves of her life, which is subtly holding the phone behind her and saying, "what phone?"

"Uh, the one that's the size of your head."

"Nope, no idea."

"Oh," he says, then reaches around and swipes it anyway.

"Casey! Give it back!"

"Just a sec! I'm serious, where'd you get it? It's pretty cool!"

"I… uh. I made it! Yup. Myself."

Casey raises his split eyebrow at her, turning the T-Phone over in his hands. His thumb rubs gently along the shell-shaped back of the freakin' turtle phone, then he flips it over, tapping the screen and getting knocked back by the lock screen. He tosses it back. "You nerd!" he says affectionately, and ruffles her hair. "Y'know, some kids are just happy with an iPhone."

She smiles nervously. "Yeah, well, you know me," she says, brushing her bangs into place again and avoiding his gaze. "Besides, everyone's got an iPhone." And everyone can't just walk into Verizon and ask for the latest brand new T-Phone with Kraang-tracker, blingies in the photo app, and custom-built explosives.

(She still didn't know why, or indeed want to know why, Donnie had thought that would be a good idea, because it was either completely ridiculous or wholly depressing.)

My life isn't just weird, it's a fanfiction, she thinks tiredly.

"Right, right," Casey teases. "you wanna be unique. So, I wanted to ask about study-class—"

Her phone buzzes again. "Yep, okay, cool, see you at seven, bye!"

"Uh, well actually—" he begins, and April takes off out into the snow.

—

From: Mikey
sry donnie said u were at school r u done yet

—

To: Mikey
I'm going to get Donnie to remove your texting privileges.

why do I need to buy you things?

—

From: Mikey
HI

PLS NO

COOKIES

—

"Cookies," April says aloud, deadpan, and sighs, her breath catching in the air and misting. She has about thirty dollars in her wallet, plus her dad's card (he's still, technically, registered as on medical leave from his job, and since they moved in with her aunt he hadn't been paying any rent, which means there's a fair amount of money piling up.

But there's also the fear of using it - just once - and being grounded by a homicidal bat-dad and forced to eat rat as punishment). "Cookies!" she says again, then texts Mikey back:

—

To: Mikey
you were bugging me all day because you want me to bring you cookies. are you actually serious. just for that, no.

—

It's not even five seconds after she sends the text that the phone starts to ring, and she slams it to the side of her face: "What, Mikey!?"

"Uhhh…" says not-Mikey.

"Casey!?"

"Yeah…" he drawls; his breath crackles down the line. "I was trying to say before you ran off, I can't make it tonight; I got extra practise before the game this week. You free tomorrow?"

Tomorrow is supposed to be training, like almost every other day, but right now she wants to wring every turtle's neck, just by virtue of their existing and being related to Mikey, so she says "yes."

She can hear Casey smile down the phone when he next speaks, and can't help smiling herself. "Awesome. Catch you later, Red."

He hangs up, and it's not even another five seconds before her phone rings again. This time, she checks her phone first and Mikey's picture beams out from the screen like a sky-laser of obnoxiously-happy smile. She takes a long breath to steady herself for his relentless enthusiasm, and then picks up with a "hi, Mikey."

"pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease April I have a huge favour to ask," he hushes down the phone.

"Why are we whispering?" April whispers back.

"Because it's a secret."

…she can't exactly argue with that, even though Mikey is officially the worst turtle when it comes to keeping something quiet. She's seen him try it before, and the words I Am Hiding Something practically light up on a neon sign across his head. "Okay," she says again. "Am I allowed to know what this secret is?"

"I wanna make Christmas cookies. Y'know, with all the icing on 'em and stuff."

"…okay?" April says, for the third time, and stops in the middle of the sidewalk. "So, why can't you make them at home?"

"Because then they wouldn't be a secret c'mon, April, pleeeeeeease!"

"Okay okay, fine, I'll help you with your secret cookie thing!" she snaps, before the whining really gets started. "My aunt's on a late shift tonight, so just come over after about seven."

"Oh," Mikey replies breezily. "I'm already out. Look up."

April does look up, and then drops into a hunch like she's just spotted a team of snipers along the rooftops. "Mikey what are you doing?"

"Relaaaax, the sun's almost down. I need you to buy cookie stuff. Uh. I'll pay you back."

April rolls her eyes so hard that Mikey should be able to see it from where he's perched across the street, on top of a building like a big green gargoyle. "No, you'll whine at Leo - or Donnie - until he pays me back."

"Well, like sensei always says, a family that shares is—"

"—is a family that's being suckered by the brat at the bottom. Fine. What do you need?"

To Mikey's credit, most of the stuff is either stuff her aunt already has, or stuff that isn't too expensive - though some of it has her raising an eyebrow (green food colouring, black food colouring, a bag of peanut M&Ms, a bag of normal M&Ms, a snowman shape and some candy-canes). And she knows that this is expressly not the purpose for the T-Phones (Leo and Donnie both have given her that lecture - except in both of their cases it was less lecture, more, please April if you wouldn't mind because we could be tracked down and put in jail - or, y'know, Area 51), but really, how bad can it be to indulge Mikey just this once?

The grocery store on her block is one of those fancy organic-is-for-ordinary-people-too! places, highlighting the benefits of slow food and healthy eating in a place like New York (counter all the cancer you get from breathing the air with all the cancer you avoid from eating unprocessed foods!). Every other week or so, there's a big push for Slow Food Kids, mostly focusing on things like cookies and cakes, and when April slips through the door reading the text-message shopping list courtesy of Mikey, they're already hanging posters of the Holiday baking session over the weekend.

—

To: Mikey
Okay in. Heading to the baking section.

—

From: Mikey
GO GO OPERATION SECRET COOKIE

—

OPERATION SECRET COOKIE manages to stay secret a little longer until April reaches the flour aisle, at which point, her phone starts buzzing and she instantly hates Donatello for putting the strongest batteries he could scavenge into these things. When she answers, she doesn't even speak, just sighs.

"I forgot," Mikey says. "you need brown sugar."

"No, I have that."

"Oh. Eggs?"

"Those too."

"Oh. But just in case—!"

"Okay seriously, I will walk out of this store and you will have no cookies at all."

"no I'll be good," Mikey says, hangs up, and April sighs again, because her life is ridiculous.

She is in a supermarket. Buying cookie-ingredients. Because her giant turtle friend is stalking her across the rooftops. Because he wants to make cookies. And when she is done, she is going to go home to her perfectly average apartment on the Lower East Side, and bake cookies, with her giant turtle friend.

If she weren't underage, she would send Mikey home with his cookies, head for the nearest dive bar and start drinking forever.

It's still a tempting option, even though she doesn't think bars are as lenient as the guy who keeps thinking her high school ID is a FDNY/NYPD/city inspectors/health inspection ID.

But she is underage, and Mikey (Donnie) owes her sixteen dollars and thirty-nine cents exactly.

—

To: Leo, Donny-Boy
I accept and personal favours.

—

From: Leo
STOP. Buying things. For Mikey.

Please.

Do you want me to beg? I will beg.

—

Mikey follows her home, and by the time she's clattered up the stairs, he's already broken into her apartment. She finds him standing innocently in the kitchen with her aunt's cooking apron already on, and an egg-beater in his hand like the world's cutest serial killer.

The first batch of cookies - and the second - are all simple, festive shapes, like stars, and snowmen, and circles that will be iced into snowballs and tree decorations. April digs up a festive-themed playlist on her laptop and learns quickly that Mikey knows the words to too many Christmas songs.

It's probably the most time she's ever spent with Mikey one-on-one and - attempt to draw on her face with red icing notwithstanding - it's surprisingly not as exhausting as his brothers make out. By the time the second batch of cookies are out of the oven, the first are cool enough to ice, and she starts to decorate while Mikey uses up the leftover dough to make slightly-less-festive, but slightly-more-awesome cookies.

"Oh, you need the star-shape? Here," she offers, sliding it along the worktop.

"Naw, I'm good," Mikey replies, waving a different shuriken to the one he was carving around. "Throwing-star cookie."

"Oh-kay. And— is that a— did you bend my snowman cutter!?"

"Ninja snowman. What?"

"They had people shapes in the store."

"Yeaaaah, but then it wouldn't be a ninja snowman," he says, as though this is perfectly obvious.

"I understand Raph so much more now," April says, and goes back to her icing.

A knife jabs into her vision, and she reels back instinctively. She'd seen them wield weapons as long as her leg, longer, even, like Mikey's chain or Donnie's naginata. They'd sliced and diced through Kraang, Foot Clan, other mutants…

…but she'd also seen them running with knives towards fresh pizza. And towards each-other. And just in general. And it didn't matter that Leo had a party-trick of throwing carrots up and dicing them in the air, it still scared the hell out of her when they were jabbed near her face.

"What's that?" Mikey asks, poking April's perfectly-round cookie with the tip of his knife.

April shoved his hand away and ducked her head, studiously focusing on the black icing she was splotching. "Hockey puck. What's that?" she asks, and jabs a finger at the biggest cookie, the weird-shaped one Mikey had made with the last of his dough.

Mikey winces - actually winces - and tells her.

April stops, looks up from what she's doing, and smiles, "Awww, Mikey…" and her arm sneaks around his shoulders to squeeze.

—

From: Leo
Tell Mikey if he's late for patrol we're eating his pizza.

All of his pizza.

We know where he hides it.

—

When all of the cookies are iced and only four have been eaten, Mikey heads off after April promises - on girl scout, boy scout, Little League, ninja and just about everything she's ever held dear's honour - to bring them by before her study session tomorrow. Which she does, snow-blown and flushed from the cold, waiting shivering in the tunnel for Mikey to get out here and take them already.

"You are the best," Mikey gushes, and yanks the paper bag out of her hands. "Thanks, April!"

He turns and sprints back to the lair, and April just. Stands. In the tunnel. Alone. "…you're welcome."

Well, it's not like she doesn't have somewhere else to be.

—

To: Jones
pg. 36.

and don't take my swing.

—

From: Jones
Attached: Photo_1jpeg
FIGHT ME FOR IT

—

To: Jones
Attached: tessenjpg

:)

—

"The heck're you doing in my room!?"

Raph has never, ever trusted that butter-wouldn't-melt look Mikey tries to use every time he catches him doing pretty much anything. He learned it from Leo, except Leo's actually good at it (good enough to get sensei off his tail, at least).

Raph doesn't buy Leo's I'm being good honest face. He sure as hell doesn't buy Mikey's, especially when the little brat says, "Ohhh, this is your room?"

"Yeah," Raph snaps. "This is my room. Same as it's been for like, the past ten years - now get out."

Mikey salutes, and marches out whistling, and it's only because Raph's eye has caught the shiny plastic wrapper across the room that Mikey is able to leave without a foot planted on his shell to assist. The door slams shut, and Raph is frowning at the bright, cellophane-wrapped, tortoise-shaped cookie balancing on Spike's old bed.

He still hadn't had the heart to take out the old pillow. Something like that was too cold, too final, when he was still waking up with the burned-in habit of reaching over to pat the worn shell, and when Slash is still out there, somewhere.

There was more green icing than there was cookie, and two orange peanut M&Ms for eyes.

"Brat," Raph mutters fondly, and sets the cookie on his shelf, unopened.

—

From: Mikey
thank uuuuuuu

nexttime can we make brownies

—

To: Mikey
no.

—-

Happy holidays!