Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT…or Cyrano de Bergerac…oh but imagine if I did!
Note: 'Tis a love triangle, with a healthy sprinkling of parallels, references, and quotes from the incomparable play of Cyrano de Bergerac. Which as noted above, I do not own! If you're not familiar with the play or any of the movies based on it, fear not, things are pretty self-explanatory. But if you haven't read it or seen it -gasp- check it out!
Thanks to Mandy for beta reading this! (hands more cookies to Mandy) You rock, hun!
Cupid Got It Wrong
Don't Tell Me You Forgot
Leaping down from his room to the main floor of the lair, Raph landed gracefully into a crouched position. Straightening, he raised his arms over his head to stretch. With one more yawn, the red clad turtle murmured to himself, "I love naps. Almost as much as I love beatin' the snot out of Purple Dragon goons."
Glancing about and finding none of his brothers, but the TVs still flickered with life.
"Stupid, Mikey, never turnin' off the TVs. What a waste of energy—jeez, I sound like Leo," he grumbled making his way to the couch to find the remote.
However, a loud snort and garbled wheeze startled him. Lying face down on the couch, absently scratching his butt in his sleep, Casey Jones continued snoring as ESPN played on the screens. Raphael drew back a lip in disdain, annoyed by the vigilante's presence in their home. He thought Casey had left hours ago, like when he had gone to take his nap.
"What a bonehead," Raph muttered. Shrugging and vaulting himself over the couch, the hot-headed ninja landed forcefully on top of the human, sitting upon him with his full weight.
Considerably surprised, Casey shot up—or at least tried to, before realizing a turtle was sitting on him, crushing him with his shell. Chuckling at his friend's discomfort, Raph took pity on him and stood, but not before punching him in the shoulder. Protesting the abuse, Casey groaned.
"C'mon, Raph, why you gotta go hitting me? Can't a fella get a decent nap 'round here?"
"Yeah—at your place. What are you still doin' here?"
"Musta fallin' asleep. 'Sides, it's not that late—only what? 8:30?"
Raphael was about to answer, but Leo entered the lair and interrupted.
"Hey Raph, Casey…what's up?" he greeted.
Rolling his eyes, Raph said, "Just tryin' to get this leech to leave and go home."
"Actually, I'm surprised you're here, Casey," Leonardo commented, sitting on the floor in front of the TVs to stretch for a training session.
"Why's that, Leo?' Casey asked after cracking his neck and stifling a yawn.
"Just thought you would be out with April."
"April? I just saw her two days ago. We went to a wrestling match. It was awesome! And it's not like I need to spend so much time with her."
"She is your girlfriend, doofus," Raph reminded him, joining Leo in stretching.
"So?"
"Actually, Case, I thought you'd be with her tonight since it's Valentine's Day and all…" Leonardo said.
"—What? What's today?!" Casey yelled in alarm. He stood frantically, only to trip over the table.
Smacking his forehead, Raph moved to help the vigilante up, while muttering something about idiots and clumsiness. As Casey steadied himself, he shared a worried glance with his older brother. Leo repeated himself, "It's Valentine's Day."
"Oh crud."
"Case, please don't tell me you forgot about Valentine's Day."
"…"
Snorting, Raph resumed stretching and said, "Oh jeez, you did. You are seriously the king of morons."
"What am I gonna do? April's gonna kill me." He covered his face dejectedly with his hands.
Leo offered, "I suggest you go beg for forgiveness."
"And for mercy! She's gonna wail on you and—" Raph added gleefully.
"Not helping, bro," Leo interrupted.
"Heh, sorry Case."
Gathering up his coat, Casey moved to leave. "Gotta run, guys, I really screwed up big this time!"
Staring after the fleeing human, Raph turned to his brother. "So…think she'll forgive him?"
"Not a chance."
Above, at street-level, Donatello tinkered on the Battle Shell, trying to get the engine running more efficiently. The radio let out soft tones, a cassette playing—not music—but a recording of one of Don's favorite plays. As he did, the brainy turtle absently recited along with the lead, while continue to figure out the engine problem.
"No, small, quite small—minute!" stuttered the Bore.
"Minute! What now? Accuse me of a thing ridiculous! Small—my nose?" Don and Cyrano asked.
The Bore pleaded, "Heaven help me!"
"'Tis enormous! Old Flathead, empty-headed meddler, know that I am proud possessing such appendice. 'Tis well known, a big nose is indicative of a soul affable, and kind, and courteous, liberal, brave, just like myself, and such as you can never dare to dream yourself, rascal contemptible! For that witless face that my hand soon will come to cuff—is all as empty…" Don had long stopped fixing the engine, waving his wrench at an unseen foe. He proceeded to cuff his imaginary opponent.
"Aie!" cried the Bore.
Don and Cyrano continued with, "—of pride, of aspiration, of feeling, poetry—of godlike spark of all that appertains to my big nose, as…what my boot will short come and kick!"
Breathing a bit heavily from the quick wordplay, Donatello chuckled as the cassette continued playing. He rubbed sweat from his brow and happened to glance into a mirror set up on his workbench. He sometimes used it to be able to see what his fingers were doing more closely when working on a tiny gadget.
The bo-wielding turtle's reflection stared back, a few splotches of grease on his face. His work goggles sat crooked upon his head, beads of sweat resting there as well. His mask tails looked a bit frayed, and there was certain darkness under his eyes—and of course, he had his beak protruding from his face like the bow of a ship. Alas, he and his brothers were cursed with the big nose of their turtle cousins and ancestors.
Sighing, he listened to Cyrano's witty remarks continue to sound in the warehouse from the radio. "I feel your pain, Cyrano. We both have less than aesthetically pleasing visages…wish I could make fun of myself like you do."
Don depressingly hit the stop button on the radio, stilling the sounds of the play. "Back to work," he muttered, and went to another corner of the warehouse searching for a spare part he needed.
As he did, the elevator emerged, letting Casey exit from within. He walked up to his parked bike, and he lifted up his helmet. Staring at it, his hands began to shake unsteadily; he threw it to the ground.
"Why am I such a bonehead?" he muttered in despair, dropping to the floor.
"Because you lack common sense," came a voice from behind him.
Nearly jumping out of his skin, Casey whipped around to see Donatello next to the Battle Shell, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Give a guy some warning, Don," Casey whined good-naturedly.
Snickering, Donnie put his hand on his hip and said, "Sorry, ninja, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah…"
"What's wrong, Case?" Donnie asked, taking off his goggles.
"I forgot it was Valentine's Day."
Don paused in his clean up efforts, before saying, "Ouch."
"Yeah, I wanna go apologize to April, but I'm afraid she won't even talk ta me."
"Well, you've made mistakes before, she'll forgive you," Donatello tried comforting, even though he didn't really believe the words himself.
"One too many mistakes. This really bites it."
"Bring her a gift."
"I'm no good at that kinda stuff. 'Sides, I bet every place is close by now."
"Casey, we live in New York. There's always someplace open."
"Still! Flowers and chocolate…that's too easy. April knows that! Heck, even I thought that! And she deserves better than that…"
"You say that, and yet you forgot Valentine's Day…"
"Oh, shove it, Don."
Ignoring that comment, the purple clad turtle suggested, "Why not recite something for her?"
Throwing his hands up in the air in frustration, Casey moaned. "Oh yeah? Like what? Hockey team stats? I don't know that girly junk."
"I'll have you know, Casey, poetry is not 'girly junk' as you so eloquently put it. It's an often lyrical and beautiful expression of thought and emotion."
Blinking dumbly at Donatello, he said, "Whatever! I still don't know nothin' about it."
"Then you should just speak from your heart."
"When I talk about my feelings, Donnie, all I do is trip over my words and somehow end up insulting April."
"Oh please, you can't be that bad," Don ventured.
Casey looked up at the turtle and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Listen to this…on her birthday, I just wanted to say, 'Happy Birthday' and 'I love ya, babe!' But instead, I told her she had cake on her chest, then I ended up starin' at her chest! I'm tellin' ya, Don, I'm hopeless."
Donnie winced at Casey's lack of social skills and manners. Sighing heavily, the quiet turtle reflected on the situation. Here was the perfect opportunity to watch Casey fail and flounder in his and April's already tempestuous relationship. Here was the chance to stand back, watch it crash, burn, and evaporate. But Donatello wasn't cruel, nor was he heartless to Casey's plight. He was still his friend. And April liked him, for whatever reason, she cared about the vigilante in that special way.
If only she could see him that way! He stated at his reflection in Casey's helmet visor sitting on the seat of the bike. Fingering his large beak, he once more scrutinized his green, mutated appearance. Don wasn't stupid—far from it. Only in his fantasies would April ever reciprocate his tender feelings for her. Just like Cyrano pining after the beautiful Roxane, only to lose her to the dashing, but slightly slow Christian. Or in this case, Casey Jones. Donatello knew what he had to do—his only choice was to help a friend in need, if only to make April happy.
"Case, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to help you."
Perking up, Casey said, "Really? You'd do that for me, Don?"
"Yeah…"
Jumping up from the warehouse floor, Casey swept Don up in a crushing hug. "Thanks, Donnie! You're the best!"
"Can't breathe, you maniac! Let me go!" Able to properly breathe once released, Donatello continued, "Well, let's get going before April decides to pretend you never existed."
"You're right! Let's go! Goongala!" Casey jumped on his bike and started it up, excited at this chance to woo April and get back into her good graces.
Walking over to his workbench to grab his helmet and a leather jacket, Don miserably muttered, "Yeah, woohoo…goongala…" He put on the protective wear and hopped on behind Casey. And with that, they sped off to the 2nd Time Around.
A/N: Hehe...this is my first romance story...feels strange writing it. Hopefully it will unfold as I envision it... Ja ne!