1. DANCING IN THE DARK

"Ah! I love this song!" April cried out.

He didn't quite recognize the tune, a bright voice with a bass line that sent shudders through the room, but it was met with the enthusiastic approval of the surrounding dancers in the auditorium.

Her face was pure delight, and in that moment Donatello couldn't help but fall a little more for her. She turned her attention to him.

"C'mon, dance with me!"

She grabbed his arm, forcing him from the chair he'd been so strategically clinging to all night.

"I can't." he said shaking his head, but unable to fight off a happy grin. "I can't dance."

"That's a complete lie! I've seen you dance."

"You mean to Tequila? That in no way counts."

"Really? It doesn't count, does it?" she said in mockingly, "Spin me."

Smiling, he obliged the move and she twirled beside him, her skirt flittering against his thighs. He watched on, captivated. She was so beautiful in her dress; it skimmed her form cleanly, and exposed her bare shoulders. Her locks, normally as wild and tempestuous as she, were pinned up, revealing smoky gemstones earrings that caught the light.

"See? It's easy, I'll show you."

There was an alluring challenge in her eyes, one that he couldn't help but take on.

"Okay, okay." he laughed in surrender, suddenly giddy with excitement.

"Great! Come on, this way."

They stepped out onto the dance floor, ducking stray limbs that seemed to fling out haphazardly in their direction. The floor was slippery, he noted distantly, and he stepped carefully between the dancers.

"Careful." she said to him.

"I'm okay."

April guided him past some of the closer people- slightly inebriated and dancing sloppily but merrily - and kept walking through a crowd that seemed thousands of people large. Most of them were wearing costumes, their faces obscured by masks, and bodies attired in a litany of shapes and colors. Some of the more elaborate costumes amazed him: a couple with LED lights lining their robotic suits; another dressed as a fallen angel with skeletal wings that clawed the air; and even a stone Medusa, capped with menacingly petrified snakes. No wonder he could walk here freely. He looked almost boring.

"We're almost there!" She turned back to him and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

A woman with a decaying face raked her eyes over him.

"I love your costume!" she said in a sultry voice. Donatello smiled, not used to hearing compliments from complete strangers. He would have returned the favor but the effect of the dried blood running from her eyes and down her chest was unsettling.

"Ah… thanks."

April caught the exchange, "He looks good, doesn't he?"

She winked at Donatello, as together they moved past the zombie.

They walked further still, amongst the masses of people. A group of women dressed as witches were dancing together, their stringy hair flipping in time with the song. An older couple cackled as they tried imitating each others movements, their voices drowned out by the beat.

Where was this place, he wondered. He couldn't even remember getting here. He was dressed nicely, clean from a good soak, but he couldn't even remember doing that. He just knew he was supposed to be here. With April. And there was nowhere else he'd rather be. Finally, they arrived at a small space, lost in the crowd, just big enough for the two of them.

The tempo was fast, and they began to move. He thought it would be strange, that he would look stiff and unnatural, but his years of athletic training surprised him. He had a natural fluidity in his movements that belied his assumptions. The music coursed through them, his heart synching with the bass.

"That's it! You're a natural!" her feet moved lightly, countering his. "Phew! You're good."

"Yeah, not as bad as I thought, right?" he said grinning.

"You're making me look bad." she cried out.

"That's impossible."

She laughed and took his hands, spinning them in a circle. She let go and continued to jive to the song.

Donatello fell into her rhythm easily and had just lost himself to the beat when the song faded, transforming into a bittersweet melody, bringing a languid calm to the floor. The room dimmed as a woman's forlorn voice lamented of lost love. Mirrored lights moved drowsily in circles across the floor, throwing moving shadows onto their bodies. He watched as they played across her face, catching her head dip, eyes closed, a smile full of laughter. They swam in a galaxy of shattered light. It hurt him to watch her, and he averted his eyes.

"Ah, wow. A little awkward." he joked lightly.

Part of him wanted to return to the safety of the chair, terrified of rejection, but an even larger part wanted to stay. All of him wanted her. The heat he was giving off, how could she not notice? Damn if he didn't feel transparent.

She shook her head and said nothing, stepping closer to him. Taking his hands in hers, she watched as she guided them to her waist. Soft and warm. She looked back to him, resting her hands on his shoulders, her fingers brushing the edge of his shell. They fit so well, Donatello marveled, like two puzzle pieces clicking seamlessly together. Slowly they began to move as one, their eyes lost in each other.

Round and round we go, where we stop nobody knows, he thought dreamily.

They remained like this, dancing, holding each other tenderly as they circled to the music.

"I…I like this." he said to her.

She smiled. "Me too."

She began to shift closer, resting her head on his shoulder and bringing her right hand down to sit above his heart. The sensation of her fingertips dragging across his plastron almost killed him.

"You look beautiful." he whispered into her ear, her neck deliciously close to his lips, her perfume intoxicating. God, she smelt great. Like everything good in the world.

She looked back up into his eyes.

"Donnie-" she whispered.

He cut the thought short as if drawn to a flame, leaning forward, his lips meeting hers. It was ecstasy; and he lost all control in her and the warmth of their tentative embrace. Passionately she returned his kiss, her mouth exploring his, her hand reaching up to cradle his face. She pressed against him in a way that turned him on reflexively, the violet folds of her dress barely disguising the curves of her body. How could he resist this stunning creature? Donatello slid a hand into her hair, trailing his kisses into her neck.

"Oh, Don."

He returned to her mouth eagerly, her breath hitching at his passion. He broke away, to look upon her face, flushed and beautiful, the smattering of freckles peppering her face like stars. He could lose himself there forever.

Her eyes burned with desire. They sparkled in the light, searching his face for the answer she wanted to hear.

"April, ever since we've met…I've loved you…" he stumbled over the words that he held so close to his heart for all these years, "I love you."

"Donnie," she whispered, hand on his cheek. Bolts of pleasure ran through him. "I want you."

He was floored to hear her desire so openly expressed. The moment he had so foolishly dreamed of for so long, something he had never allowed to be. He caught his breath as images of her body under his, the sheen of their sweat in the starlight, flashed through his mind. It was all he could do to just remain standing. He kissed her again, strongly and deeply, his heart beating like a drum, his body aching for hers.

"I want you." she repeated, her breath warm at his ear.

"April…"

He faltered momentarily- What are we doing here? What about Casey? But a more selfish part of him, a part that yearned for her and all but battered into submission, spoke first:

"I'm yours."

She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him tenderly. He closed his eyes taking in her smell, her taste, drinking it in til he was drunk with lust. Her response mirrored his, the bliss they found in each other unequaled.

"April." he said as he nuzzled into her shoulder, "I want you. Every part of you."

She gasped at the sensation of his lips murmuring into her flesh.

"Donnie," she pulled away, and leaned towards his ear. "There's something you need to listen to. You need to listen carefully."

"What is it?"

April whispered something into his ear but he couldn't make out the words, the sound becoming strangely distorted.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

Again, nothing made sense. He strained to hear as his sense of logic slowly infiltrated his heart. He snapped open his eyes. The room grew dimmer as the music and the dancers faded to nothing but a blur of distant echoes.

"April!" he cried out in hoarse anguish. But she, too, was gone.

Nothing.

"No."

The despair hit him hard as his mind reeled, trying desperately to understand what was happening. He blinked rapidly as the reality of where he was filtered through.

It was not a dance floor at all.

Warehouse? I'm in a warehouse?

An ambient drone was all that remained in on floor he was standing on. He was in the dark. Alone. The shock of his loss startled him, and he collapsed onto the floor, burying his face into his hands.

No…

The memory of his dream shadowed him like a nightmare.

What the hell had happened? How did he get here? He thought of April, taking him by the hand, leading him. Had he walked in his sleep this whole way? The semblance of time was garbled in a dream, that he knew. He must have stepped out of the lair and felt his way blindly through the tunnels. The dancers, the things he had been seeing...April - were nothing more than figments of his mind.

His phone began to buzz. He looked at the caller ID, and regained composure.

Twenty missed calls? That can't be right.

"April?"

"Oh my god, Donnie! Where are you?" her relief was palpable.

His heart beat faster, his voice still thick with drowsiness.

"I'm- ah-I'm over in the warehouse district. In the old shot factory."

Donnie looked around the vast empty building, vandalized many time over. Shattered glass and dust covered the ground. He had been to this place before, weeks ago, when scavenging for material. The high ceilings reinforced by stark beams only seemed to pronounce the resounding emptiness.

"We've all been looking for you the past three hours. You went missing, god, we thought something had happened. What are you doing there?"

"April, I'm sorry...please tell Splinter and my brothers that I'll be back soon."

"Please," she begged,

I want you…

"Tell me what happened."

He laughed hollowly, "You'd never believe it."

Despite the coolness, he broke into a light sweat as images of her entangled in his arms flooded his mind. He had slept walked before, but never like this.

April's heart, still hammering from stress, wouldn't right itself. She frowned at the feeling of dread and tried a different tact with her friend.

"Donnie…"

I want you…

An uncontrollable shiver coursed through him.

"Come over to my place. You're closer, anyway. I mean it - you don't sound yourself…"

"I'm okay." he promised her.

"I'll make you a hot chocolate."

This phrase was designed by his brothers and her as a fail-safe. If being held against their will it was a code to ask of their condition. There was only one correct way to answer.

"Don't forget the marshmallows." he said quietly, a small smile on his lips. He heard her exhale in relief. She would never forget.

In the distance Donatello began to hear voices approaching the warehouse.

Kids, he thought, probably looking for somewhere to sleep or something to break.

"April, I've gotta go."

She tried one last time to get him to open up to her:

"Are you coming here?"

Donatello hung his head. The pain of seeing her like this was too much. To fall from the dream their hot embrace to the cold floor, the thought of holding her, kissing her, and how it could never be. He couldn't bear it.

"No, I think I've got to go home. I need to sleep."

She had hit a wall. Rarely did that happen with him.

"Okay. I'll let them know you're on your way." she finished sadly. "Be safe, Donnie."

"Bye, April." He flipped the phone shut, and quickly made his way to the exit.

Back in her room, April sighed into the silence.

This is my fault, some part of her told herself, I should have been with him.

She glanced down at her hand where her ring had been. She had worried it off days ago, done with it. It was over. The insanity of her relationship with Casey had finally burnt her out - it was like hitting her head over and over again expecting things to change, but in the end she realized that she didn't want him to change. But neither did she. They just didn't fit together – just like the ring and her. It had been strangling her finger from the moment it was on, and a queer sense of freedom had hit her when she finally removed it. She had placed it sadly back into his hand, his face in a quiet rage. Oh, he was hurt. Badly. And deep down she thought he knew why it was ending – he'd never be so stupid as to openly accuse her of having feelings for Donatello, he didn't have to. He could probably see it written all over her face anytime she mentioned his name. Shame welled up inside of her, and an irrepressible guilt. Casey had gone into a fit of despair, accusing her of never loving him, then left, taking nothing with him - to where, she could only guess – to take it out on some unsuspecting thugs, perhaps, or some floozy at a bar. And not for the first time, either. She had cried alone in her apartment for days because she was just too stubborn to involve the others. It was between Casey and her…and it just didn't seem fair.

Fair to Don, a voice chided.

And after all the tears she realized that she did love Casey, but it was with the love and deep affection one friend has for another. But with Donatello it was different. She had been too scared to admit it for so long, even accepting Casey's proposal thinking that those feelings would ebb away. But she was wrong. They grew stronger like a fire feeding on her regret, with flames that burned her skin whenever he was close.

"Don." she whispered.

She sat on the floor, knees pulled up to her chin. In a spate of sorrow, she dropped her head on her arms.

I want you…

…

Donatello entered the lair quietly, and began to head for the the lab.

"And where the hell do ya think you've been?"

He turned his head towards the voice of his brother, only to see his entire family around the kitchen table. His head, still reeling from his dream state, failed to bring the words together.

"Uh…"

"Just thought you'd go out for a midnight stroll without leavin' a note, did ya?"

Considering who was asking, Donatello couldn't help but see the irony.

"Raph, I'm fine. I was just sleep walking."

There was a collective sigh of relief.

"That settles it. Pay up, dude." Michelangelo shot his hand out towards Raphael, who was still scowling unhappily.

"You said he was with a hooker, you bonehead." Raphael hissed. Donatello blanched at the implication.

"Street walker, sleep walking- can't we all just agree on this?" Michelangelo asked innocently.

"Michelangelo." Splinter's gruff voice reprimanded his youngest son, still causing mischief in the wee hours of the morning.

"You must have set off one of the alarms when you were out in the tunnel." Leonardo explained. "I went to tell you but you weren't there and …we were worried."

He stood beside Michelangelo, arms folded and swords strapped to his back, ever ready for a situation.

Donatello raised his hands, "Nothing to worry about, see?"

"Ya gotta admit, Donnie, it's not like you." Michelangelo interjected "If you're not in the lab you're at April's," he held out one arm, "and if you're not at April's you're in the lab." He held out his other arm, "and if you're not in those places, you're with us." He motioned a few punches.

The mention of her name caused him to blush, and he was grateful he stood in the dim light. He dropped his head in what he hoped appeared an act of humility.

"I'm sorry for worrying you. I had this dream where, ah, I was...going through a…crowd." he stuttered lamely, "I came to quite far away. I had no idea."

"Well, we rang you. Several times." Raphael pointed out.

"I didn't hear-"

"We know." he finished abruptly.

"My son, you do not even have your bo. It is fortunate you did not encounter any mishaps." Splinter knew Donatello well - he was a well trained hand to hand combat fighter, but most proficient when equipped. Outnumbered he would most certainly have been outmatched.

"I'm sorry, sensei. No-one saw me."

He had been very careful coming back, doubling back in key parts of the tunnels. Raphael shot him an unimpressed look.

"Well, I'm ofta bed. Maybe nail yourself in next time, egg-head. It's four in the mornin'"

Raphael stalked off towards his bunk, and Donatello watched him leave, oddly admonished by his hotheaded brother's rare bout of concern. Leonardo followed, briefly patting his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're okay."

Lastly Michelangelo stood, bounding over to his brother and squeezing him tightly.

"Don't scare me like that…I almost lost a bet to Raph."

Donatello scoffed at his sibling.

"Give it a break, Mikey," he grinned.

"Ya think he'll pay up?"

Donatello answered his brother with an even stare. Down but not defeated Michelangelo headed back to his room, stooping to pick up Klunk on the way. "C'mon itty bitty kitty." he cooed, "G'night sensei!"

"Shuddap Mikey." Raphael's voice came distantly.

Donatello shook his head lightly, still fixed to the spot. He had all but forgotten his father observing him nearby.

"My son, please sit."

Donatello wearily made his way to a chair.

"This is not the first time this has happened, is it?" Splinter inquired gently.

Donatello shook his head, "No, sensei."

"And was this a bad dream?"

Donatello didn't know how to answer and he sat unmoving, stuck on the question. Splinter's whiskers twitched ever so slightly.

"Mm. I see. It is said that dreams are a manifestation of the mind. Is there something troubling you, my son?"

"No, sensei." The words barely left his mouth.

Splinter waited a fraction, deciding it best not to press him.

"I am always here to lend my ear whenever you require it. Do you understand?"

"Hai, sensei." His eyes were firmly on the ground now.

Splinter knew one thing of Donatello – he only ever spoke Japanese when he was putting up a facade of correctness. He knew that his highly logical son wished to think on this more, to work through it alone, but in doing so shut out the people around him and the irrational side of him that needed addressing. It was little wonder his dreams were…disturbing. Splinter sighed.

"Please, rest now."

Donatello bowed his head, thankful that the family inquisition was over.

"Thank you, sensei."

The chair scraped the floor as he stood. Slowly, he made his way towards his room. Once inside he locked the door with a bolt, took the key and slipped it under the door. He staggered into bed, laying a forearm across his eyes, as visions of his dream played over and over in his head, prickling his skin with desire and filling his heart with emptiness.

Where we stop, nobody knows.

...