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A New Lease on Life	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 3157 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, any of its characters or devices, or any songs/books/movies referenced. No money is made from this story. I DO own any & all OCs included in the story...and a Woozle.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
It's official - thanks to the lovely rayray40, ANLoL WILL be updating on this site henceforth. Hon, you literally made me cry happy tears with your reviews - thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts! You absolutely made my day! I sincerely hope the story continues to be to your liking, and if at some point that changes, please don't hesitate to say so. Writers can't progress without honest feedback, both positive and negative, and I'd NEVER delete a non-troll review, favorable or critical.
Updating is going slowly considering the story is at approximately 60 chapters elsewhere. I'm finding and correcting errors as I adjust the formatting and doing so while sick. Hopefully we'll have all of Part I updated within a couple weeks, after which will follow Part II and the ongoing Part III. In the meantime, I have a few one-shots for this story posted on here as well. All will have spoilers.
The Blonde and the Beefcake - focuses on Raph and Mercy in the future, heavy spoilers.
Of Lovers with Brothers - Amber/Donnie smutamush.
Two Out of Three - A/D with some Raph and Mercy.
Seasons and Cycles - a pair of A/D shorts.
Twenty-six - A/D smutamush.
And lastly Time to Burn, which isn't my best work but fits the first part of the story pretty well.
Precautions include the usual plus alcohol use, blunt discussion of sex and virginity myths, and a little ranting from Amber. Also, one instance of prevented violence.
Suggested Listening: Blue October, "Picking Up Pieces"

15: Progress
If pacing never helps alleviate stress, why is it so hard to resist? After over twenty years of searching, Leonardo still hadn't found a satisfactory answer. Normally, he wasn't prone to allowing worries to consume him to the point of interfering with his routine; he was, after all, the team leader. It was up to him to maintain a level head when no one else could, and barring that, he'd lose himself in training or meditation to clear his mind. Only one thing could drive him so far beyond reason that neither helped—only one thing could send him on an endless track from one end of his bedroom to the other in a rapid, dizzying course…
'Doc Crane Sat. AM,' the text had read. 'Upstate 4 a bit. Dnt wrry, Hogosha-kun! Will call soon.'
The text came in sometime last night from the looks of it, from a number saved vaguely as "B2." By now, Leo had searched the seemingly innocuous message for hidden meanings, warnings in the subtext, anything that might confirm his fears. Finally, he gave in…surely the sender was awake. The dial tone stretched on far too long for his liking, every moment bringing more worries than the last. When the other party finally answered, he felt drained from the wait.
"Heya!" a sunny voice chirped at him between static from an open window; obviously the perky speaker was on the road, taking advantage of her car's hands-free calling. "How's it going, Leo?"
"What happened?" he blurted out; in the silence that followed, he mentally kicked himself for it. Over the buzzing of a window rolling up he caught traces of a mumbled conversation. What happened? one voice repeated under their breath. Don't look at me, the other grumbled. I told him last week!
"Didn't you get my text?" Bree hazarded a glance over to the passenger seat of her car; the occupant shrugged, never even opening her eyes. It was pointless, after all…Beverly couldn't really see her anyway. "I—"
"I repeat," Leo ground out tensely. "What. Happened." After a tired sigh, another voice came on.
"What part of don't worry didn't you understand?" Bev asked dryly, tucking a loose lock of black hair back under her green headscarf. "It's just a routine appointment—Doc just wants to make sure the scans still show improvement. I did tell you I had an appointment coming up, remember?" Leo held his silence a moment, mentally thinking back to the last time he and Beverly spoke. Not getting an answer, she added, "Snickerdoodles."
Finally, the blanks filled themselves in. The last time he'd been by to visit the cousins, Bree had been baking snickerdoodles to cheer Bev up over the upcoming appointment. "Ah," Leo muttered, roughly grinding his forehead under his fingertips. "Right…I forgot. Things have been…" He searched for a descriptor that was somewhat effective without being insulting. "…interesting lately."
"What happened, Leo?" Beverly asked lowly, the query punctuated with a loud honk nearby, then a deep woof from the chocolate lab in the backseat. "Quiet, Bosco," she scolded before asking, "Are you okay?" Deny though he did, he knew she was right…again. "And don't give me any of that I'm fine horse-hockey—I can hear you making that 'why me?' face."
"That's what it means?" Bree piped up dubiously. "Here I thought it meant he was constipated…guess I can stop lacing his drinks with Metamucil when he visits." Bree's disabled brain-to-mouth filter could certainly give Amber's broken filter a run for its money, he thought grimly, dragging one hand down his face in frustration.
For a time, the three conversed, Beverly trying to wheedle information out of him, Bree bribing him with enough homemade junk food to send him headlong into diabetes, and him deflecting every question with ever-decreasing efficiency. "Look," he finally interrupted, mentally kicking himself for turning down a double batch of tiger butter fudge all to himself, "I've gotta go, okay? Give me a call when you're done at Crane's…Good luck."
As they said their goodbyes, Amber stood frozen outside his closed door, her reason for seeking Leonardo out long forgotten. A sigh whispered from the otherwise silent room, reminding Amber of a long-past conversation with Aaron and a few acquaintances. If TMNT characters had been noted in their high school yearbook, they'd wondered, what would they have been voted for? Mikey, of course, won "Most likely to go into the entertainment business" by a landslide, while Bebop and Rocksteady tied for "Prison Bitch in the making." At the time she hadn't agreed with Aaron's assessment of Leonardo—"Most likely to have a secret life"—but now, she found herself ready to eat her words.
"Amber?" Donatello called from the lab. "You about ready?"
'Right,' she thought, obediently trotting to her doom with a cringe. 'Exposure Therapy time again…Just shoot me an' get it over with.' Halfway to the door, Raphael lumbered from his room, intent on lunch. The two collided with a shout and a curse, one stumbling backward and the other landing hard on the concrete. Ripped from his ruminations by the impact, Raph stared down at Amber in disbelief that was quickly sharpening into anger.
"Aw, my arse!" she grumbled, rubbing her sore backside. "That's gonna hurt in the mornin'! Ya mind?" She raised her right arm for a hand up.
When had he seen her that way before, he wondered? Of course, he realized bitterly. He'd seen Kimber in just such a position the night she rejected him—legs splayed weakly, shoulders tight, one hand raised in a plea—a plea for what? Mercy? Forgiveness? She'd toyed with him, rejected him—she was the one at fault, not him! Why should he grant her mercy, forgiveness, when she used him and threw him away?!
"Raphael!" The sudden shout shattered the red haze over his mind...and revealed a horrific scene. Splinter stood between his son and the frantic brunette, one clawed fingertip dug into a pressure point in Raph's wrist, the other hand poised to jab him in another to knock him out. As his senses returned, the younger male realized what he hadn't noticed in the midst of that red haze—he held Amber's outstretched wrist in a bruising grip. Without his sensei's intervention he could have broken it, all because she unwittingly woke a sleeping demon. His grip slackened in dismay; never taking her eyes off of him, she pried her arm free and scrambled backward, watching him for any sudden movement.
In all the time Amber had lived with his family, she'd never shown any sign of fearing him; now she was terrified, her grey-green eyes mirroring the ones that silently accused him every time his closed. 'Kimbuh,' he wondered dejectedly as he followed his sensei to a closed off room down the corridor, 'ya happy now?'
The dead never answer the demands of the living.
To the average visitor, the lair seemed straight-forward with few secrets; only the family who lived there knew the truth. What started as a defunct subway station had over time evolved into a sprawling network of rooms both open and hidden. Some rooms' original purpose were obvious, like the bathroom and the living room, one with a long trough sink and fully functioning electric hand dryers and the other lined with lockers in various states of disrepair. Other rooms like the kitchen and the lab had undergone such intense remodeling one couldn't easily discern their origin.
The hashi was among the latter. Only Splinter had a key to the cavernous room full of salvaged furniture and makeshift obstacles. In all honesty, Amber had believed the perpetually locked door by the weapons wall to be a supplies closet of sorts, or perhaps a storage room. The truth became clear when she first witnessed father and son stalk through into a large, dark, empty room she'd never expected. A small part of her was itching to snoop around the secluded room, just like it had driven her to explore every nook and cranny of her hometown's remote places on foot. She resisted, though; the stories Michelangelo had told her about time in the hashi would turn a gal's hair white. That room wasn't a chat pile, abandoned farmhouse, derelict ruin, or secluded tree stand…what went on in there was nothing she wanted to see.
If only she could find a better plan! Nothing came to mind, even after two hours of searching and debating. Covered basket in hand, she hesitantly approached the forbidding steel door. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a still irate Master Splinter; it took everything she had to maintain eye contact and not search the shadows for Raphael.
"Sir," she greeted politely, "is…is it possible that I could…um…" she faltered and took a moment to steel her nerves. "Speak with'im?" For a moment, the aged rat didn't speak, merely studied her without any sign of reaction to her words.
"State your reasons," he finally answered in a clipped tone. "Raphael is rather occupied with his lessons." For the first time in either of her lives, Amber found herself severely intimidated by the being before her; his expression and tone told her that 'lessons' was a euphemism for 'punishment.' Splinter was a good and trustworthy father, but as a sensei, he was harsh and humorless. She thought hard, formulating her reply.
"When I was a girl," she answered finally, "one of the first lessons I was taught was that good people can still make bad decisions, and doing thus didn't necessarily make them a bad person. Love the sinner, hate the sin, my mother told me, 'cuz someday the tides may turn. You may be the one beggin' their forgiveness the next time 'round." She finally broke eye contact, staring at the doorframe. "I know Raphael has a bad temper, an' I know he could have really hurt me, but he didn't…and…well, I worry that he'll internalize all this if we don't talk it over an' that it'll just make things worse…if…that makes sense?" She glanced back up at him with a cringe; sometimes she really wished she were better with words.
The silence stretched longer than she was comfortable with, but finally, Splinter answered her. "Your request will be granted, Miss O'Brien, but with conditions: he is to continue his punishment, and you are to have another with you at all times." He shot his son a warning glance, and the hulking mutant winced. It wasn't so much that Splinter worried Raph would lose his temper again, would lash out again and really hurt Amber; he knew if the two weren't left alone, Amber was less likely to interfere and try getting him out of his punishment. She had a soft heart, even for those who wronged her - perhaps an admirable trait, but more likely a flaw waiting to be exploited.
Twenty minutes later, she and Donatello were waved through the doorway by Splinter, who promptly departed as agreed. The latching of the door wasn't particularly loud, but in the cavernous room it echoed menacingly. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they did, her heart ached. How the heck had Raph not fallen and busted his arse yet, she wondered as his knitting needles continued clicking together? Her mind was made up; she hazarded a glance at Donatello before approaching his brother.
"Take a load off, Raph," she suggested as she emptied the basket's contents onto a rickety desk chair with Mikey's name scratched into the seat.
"Amber!" Donnie interrupted nervously, "Master said—"
"—that Raph's to continue his punishment," she cut him off. "He said nothin' about continuin' that punishment…thus, I'm not goin' against Splinter's wishes." Donnie eyed her warily, glancing toward the locked door, and after a moment of internal fretting washed his hands of the situation. It took a little convincing on her end, but Raph ultimately came to join them on the worn rug. He paused in rubbing the soreness from his calves and wrists to down one of the bottles of water she'd smuggled in, touched that she'd be so thoughtful after what he did.
The water hadn't really surprised him—Amber was, if anything, a bit of a mother hen when his family was concerned—but the basket's other contents took him aback. A package of wheat crackers, three glasses, a canteen full of ice cubes, and two different brown bottles of what had to be liquor. For a while she said nothing, simply poured everyone two fingers' worth of one bottle, adding a finger's worth from the other bottle and a few cubes of ice, and passed the bowl of crackers around. "Well," she mumbled staring into the amber contents of her glass, "cheers."
For a moment, Raph just stared at the woman slowly sipping from her glass, bewildered by her behavior. Finally, unwilling to be outdone, he tossed back his entire glass at once…and promptly started hacking it back up. "Da—Hell is—dis shit?!" he sputtered between wheezes. "Tastes like fuckin' gasoline!" Amber gave a long-suffering sigh and shot him an annoyed glance.
"It's not shite," she retorted, absently swirling her glass, "nor is it gasoline. It's single malt Scotch with Drambuie an' ice, also called a 'Rusty Nail' on the rocks—if you toss it back like that, it'll kick yer arse. You've gotta take your time with it—roll it around on your tongue, get to know it before you swallow." She grumbled a few more things under her breath, little of which he could discern and none of which, he was certain, were complimentary. "If ya wanna try again, I'll pour ya another, but if you spit this one, so help me, I'll deck ya."
For a time, no one spoke. Donatello had yet to attempt his glass, preferring instead to simply hold it and glance worriedly from Amber to Raphael as though expecting them to spontaneously combust. Finally, she spoke the words she'd come to say. "Raph, I'm sorry."
"What?" Raphael balked. "Who nearly broke whose wrist, Kid?" She scrunched up her nose at the title but said nothing about it. Again, he was struck by how different she and Kimber really were; again, he was forced to admit that Kimber really wasn't in there anymore.
"Not for that," she admitted. "I'm sorry that you're stuck with me now—that Kimber's gone, and that seeing me reminds you of her. If I could switch places with her, bring her back to you, I would." Amber eyes bored into hers accusingly.
"Ya think ya got me all figured out, don't ya?" he rumbled scowling darkly. "Bet'cha think I loved'er, don't ya?" Finally used to the burn, he took a slow sip. "Ya don't know shit."
"You sayin' ya didn't love'er?"
"Sounds like it, huh?" He scoffed. "An' she didn't love me, eith'a…she used me, an' I used her back, nothin' more, nothin' less. Turns out she couldn't handle me wit' da lights on, so dat was it." Amber squinted over her glass at him, searching his eyes for answers.
"What makes you think that?" she asked lowly. "Did she say as much? Did she demand to have the lights off when you were around?" Raph growled, shaking his head. "Then why?" If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was blushing; the sudden darkening on his cheeks struck her speechless.
"We—" He cut himself off. "Afta'wa'd, she started cryin'—freakin' out all ova' da place." Amber turned nervously to Donatello.
"I get the feelin' this's about to get awkward, Dee," she mumbled. "Might ought'a put yer ears into Incognito mode so anythin' ya hear won't stick around in yer memory. Raph," she asked seriouslyseriously, "you said she cried afterward…might she'a been…a virgin?"
"Not a chance!" he snapped back, gritting his teeth. At her 'why,' he replied simply, "No blood, no cherry, got it?" For a moment, Amber simply stared at him incredulously. Surely he wasn't serious…of course, would it really surprise her? She sloshed another dose of her favorite poison into her glass and took a steadying drink. It seemed the majority of her peers were under the same delusions; why would someone who never had to suffer through the public school's version of 'the talk' know any better?
"Change'a plans, Donnie," she muttered. "Plug yer ears—this's gonna get messy." Before he could so much as blink, she blurted out, "Lesson one: the 'Cherry' is a myth perpetuated by boys an' virgins who read too damn many dirty books." Donnie cringed; she warned him, alright. Amber continued, her voice becoming almost snappish. "Lesson two: most women don't bleed on their first try! People always make a big deal about pools'a blood, heart-rendin' agony, cryin', screamin', borderline-masochistic behavior, an' all the horrors of 'deflowering,' but it's total bullshite! If you're careful and you're not a freakin' goliath down there, if she's ever used a tampon, had a pelvic exam, or checked out her own downstairs—Hell, if she's ever done anything other than sit on her ass for her entire life—there shouldn't be any significant blood!"
"Bullshit!" Raph snapped back. "Everyone says dere's blood—it's common knowledge!"
"Oh, for the love of—" Donnie watched nervously as Amber started ranting. "Urban legends are common knowledge, too, an' they're just as fake! WHY are people so farking delusional?! Most of the time, the hymen tears while you're still a kid—pre-pubescent kinda kid!—from roughhousin' or even jus' runnin' around—an' if that don't do it, yer first Pap smear will! Bangin' a virgin ain't like openin' a bottle of aspirin—cunts don't come factory sealed!"*
With that one sentence, it seemed all the air had been sucked out of the room. Oblivious to the awkward sideways glances passing between the brothers, Amber seethed into her glass. Finally, the silence got to her; she shot an almost stern glare at Raphael. "Not everyone reacts the same way afterward," she grumbled, "but cryin' is kinda normal. Folks have a tendency to over-inflate the importance of their 'first time,' an' a lotta gals get really emotional afterward. If it was a spur of the moment decision, it's even more likely to leave'em bawling."
Something in Raphael's expression silenced her; she'd hit the nail on the head. She'd spoken the truth—some people did place too much importance on their first time being absolutely perfect, even though it rarely was. Others, possibly including Raph, just wanted to 'get it over with' so they wouldn't die a virgin. Unlike much of her hometown, she'd never seen shame in virginity or lack thereof, a viewpoint that had caused many arguments with her mother. Against her own will, she couldn't help but silently recall her own first time with embarrassment—smelly sofa, leg cramps, and roomie-interruptus included. She'd cried, too, but only after walking in on her douche-canoe boyfriend snogging a skinny sorority-brat the very next day.
For a while, no one spoke, each preferring to mull over things silently. Finally, Raph broke the silence. "She came ta me fa help," he mumbled, staring a hole through the floor. "I...I wasn't dere…she died because of it. I—" He cleared his throat, his voice cracking. "She was…a good friend…I neva said goodbye." Before his brother could descend further into self-blame, Donatello broke the awkward silence, passing his untouched glass to Amber. The drink wasn't everyone's cuppa tea, but she, for one, loved it—loved the warm, woody fragrance, the stiff burn, and the faint undertones of spice, honey, and heather—and gladly drank it for him.
"Master will be returning shortly," Donnie warned them. Without a word, Raphael handed over the empty glass and choked down a few more crackers and another bottle of water. As before, he clambered up onto the rickety broken bicycle, assuming the position. For a time there was no sound other than Amber packing up the basket and the clicking of Raph's knitting needles.
"Fa what it's worth," Raph admitted fixing serious eyes on Amber, "I'm sorry, too…I ain't gotta like ya, but ya deserve to be treated betta' at least. I'll try ta remembuh dat." Amber held his eyes a moment before breaking away nervously.
"I'll be more careful, too," she offered quietly. "You need your space, I'll try harder to give it to ya. You ever need anything, an' I do mean, anything, you jus' lemme know, 'kay? I enjoy your company when you're not lashin' out at me...an' I've missed havin' a drinking buddy."
With that one sentence, she unknowingly ensured that Donatello would eventually coax himself into filling that very role, even if it meant hangovers and puking.
Later that evening, after another stressful Exposure Therapy session, Amber and Donnie sat around the kitchen table doing prep-work for dinner. Since they had agreed to co-op with lasagna, baked ziti, garlic bread, and salad, that meant lots of grating cheese and chopping greens and garlic. Aside from the radio tuned to a local classical station the kitchen was nearly silent.
"Sorry 'bout earlier," Amber finally broke in during a commercial. "I'm s'prised your cheeks aren't still burning." It took a moment of staring at her like she'd spoken in Swahili, but finally the dots connected.
"Oh." He swallowed noisily, focusing too hard on mincing the garlic cloves as finely as possible. "Um…well, we're all adults, right?" Amber smiled, laughing almost bitterly.
"I wouldn't'a given ya booze if ya weren't," she drawled, smirking at him. "Hope I didn't embarrass you too much…I've just gotten so sick'a that stupidly-widespread misbelief that…well, you were there," she finished with a mild blush. "Growing up in a small town tends to do that—you get used to bitin' yer tongue an' holdin' everything in, an' when that final straw breaks the camel's back, the poor thing goes postal." He shook his head, smiling at the mental image. "We good?"
"Yeah," he answered simply, scraping another pile of garlic into the chipped cereal bowl. "I just…I just keep getting surprised, you know? Every once in a while you share just a little bit of yourself on accident, then you go back to being a blank slate again." Serious hazel eyes took in the sudden tensing of her shoulders, the slight pause in cheese-grating, the uncertain expression she wore, and the grey-green eyes staring through the pile of shredded mozzarella. "You agreed to start talking to me, remember? You promised to let me in and stop being such a closed book, but I know little more about you now than I did then."
"I'm sorry, Dee," she mumbled tiredly. "I'm trying, really…it's just…" She trailed off, shaking her head and frowning. "Whadda you want me to do? Tell you who I was? Tell you what I was like?" Finally, she met his eyes, clearly struggling. "To be honest, I'm not even sure I'm me anymore—I don't know what I'm like now. I died!" He cut that train of thought off at the station, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand reassuringly; she didn't have the heart to admit she wasn't confused over losing herself in dying so much as she was the lifetime of changes she made in her formative years.
"You're starting too big again, Braids," he reminded gently. "Start with little stuff. You know, your favorite color, your favorite music, your hobbies—little stuff." He shot her an encouraging smile; she stared back, seemingly stunned. Again, that bright blush stained her cheeks and she turned back to her task.
"Grey," she mumbled softly. "My favorite color is grey…indigo, violet, and pine green come in pretty close, too. I like just about any kind of music, but I'm not crazy about rap, scream-o, an' obscenity-packed lyrics. My favorites, I guess, would be rat-pack, jazz, and swing, classical, and just about every kind of Rock in existence…an' my hobbies're pretty scattered." She gave a lop-sided shrug and an awkward smile. "Loved reading, a'course, especially classics and poetry…before my accident, I spent a lotta time hiking an' explorin' the outdoors…I enjoyed bird-watching on occasion an' always loved cooking…you know, nerdy stuff." Though she couldn't fathom why, she felt very shy, nervous.
"Nerdy stuff?" Donnie echoed with a grin. "Are you kidding? On behalf of nerds everywhere, I object. Besides," he pointed out gently as she grinned back. "You have a new life, but that doesn't mean it has to be a new you. You're still the same Amber you were before, right? So why would your hobbies and tastes have to change?" By her surprised stare, he was sure he'd read her correctly. "You didn't get a blank slate when you came to our world; don't wipe away what makes you Amber, okay?"
As she silently pondered his advice while gathering cookware, he nervously stared through the cutting board, repeatedly glancing up at her and hoping she wouldn't see. Not for the first time, he wished he had Mikey's charisma; people and socialization weren't easy for him. He'd always been more introverted than his brothers and prone to flustered rambling when he was put on the spot. Machinery and numbers came easily to him—outcomes were clear-cut and predictable, every problem had a clear solution based on set variables, and everything could be boiled down to logic and reasoning. With people, logic and reasoning went out the window.
He shot another furtive glance at Amber, admiring the full swell of her hips, rear, and bust, the faint notes of red in her greying hair, and the soft smile tilting her unpainted lips. Perhaps he would feel more confident around her if she weren't so familiar—so close to the 'ideal' woman he'd never admitted fantasizing about. It wasn't exact - her hair wasn't red or blonde, she wasn't quite as playful or outgoing as he'd hoped, and other than typing, her computer skills were depressing - but none of that really mattered when he thought about it. Overall, she was just what he'd hoped for.
She was kind, compassionate, intelligent, and capable underneath the crippling trauma plaguing her now. He'd never met a human so thoughtful, really. Most people he encountered spent their lives glued to their phones or had malicious intents toward others; he couldn't imagine them leaving hot coffee and pop-tarts on a friend's nightstand every Saturday. She really cared for him, for his family - cared despite the appearances that made others fear them. Of course, he had to admit, she also had bright, gentle eyes and curves that just didn't quit - curves he couldn't help but appreciate. Should his inhibitions ever fail, he was sure she'd be soft all over, soft and full from head to toe in a way he and his brothers would never be.
'What am I thinking?' Donnie wondered with a wince, turning away from the brunette stretching up on her toes to access a cabinet just out of reach. He felt like a total creep—a pervert! Amber O'Brien wasn't just some random woman he'd never met…she was his friend! His family didn't exactly have the best track record when it came to relationships, romantic or otherwise. They'd been down that road before, Raph's history with Kimber being only one example, and he was sure the result would be the same. Between dreams and wishful thinking, though, it was becoming harder and harder to remember why falling for Amber was a bad idea.
He shook the thought away and approached her, easily grasping the large glass pan she'd been straining to reach. She accepted the Pyrex dish gratefully and pecked him on the cheek in thanks, seemingly oblivious to the darkening skin there. He'd been the tallest of his brothers for many years, perpetual slouch aside, and had never really seen it as a positive or a negative trait - it simply was what it was. With this petite woman around, he felt inexplicably masculine and proud, as if reaching high cupboards were a skill to be mastered! Either way, he admitted silently, he'd reach things for her all day if it meant getting that kind of thanks!
Struggling to focus on her work, Amber began layering the soft noodles in the pan; Donnie took to digging out another pan from the same high cabinet. When he turned to pass it off, she quickly tore her eyes away from his arms back to her work to find she'd neatly laid three noodles on the tabletop instead. Her cheeks blazed. 'Damn that turtle's biceps,' she thought weakly. It was suddenly all-too-clear why she'd never asked Donnie to help with dinner; he was just too distracting.
The kitchen was ripe with the brunette's pheromones again...and Donatello was beginning to wonder what triggered them. 'Patience,' he reminded himself as he took to digging through the pantry in hopes of clearing his head. 'Patience…if it's meant to be, it'll happen in time.' Until that day came, he would focus on being what the broken woman needed most…
…a friend.
UP NEXT: things are starting to weird in A Calm Before the Storm
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A New Lease on Life