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A New Lease on Life	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 3159 -:- 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
- 42
- 43
- 44
Special disclaimer for this chapter: I don't own Voltaire's Candide,• H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds, the poetry anthology Dark of the Moon, or any of the mentioned teachings of Confucious.

Suggested Listening:
Adam Lambert "Runnin', Red "Pieces," Sixx:A.M. "Are You with Me Now?" Sick Puppies "Maybe," Barry Manilow "I Made it Through the Rain," The Goo Goo Dolls "Let Love In"

42: Full-Circle
Friday, September 2nd, 2016
For the first hour of the trip the non-stop bitching in the front seat of the rental van was deafening, maddening; after almost twenty hours of practically non-stop traveling, though, Amber was quite good at ignoring Casey Jones' nonstop irritable commentary. Casey still hadn't admitted he insisted on driving to Missouri because he was afraid of flying.
Headphones plugged into her ears, forgotten library book on her lap, Amber stared blankly out the window at the landscape passing by. Glenville, Missouri…she hadn't seen her world's Glenville in years, but this New World version was clearly much the same. Lots of row-shops, countless ethnic restaurants, too many hills and hollers to count, and endless traffic jams leading through the ritzier parts of town…another life, another world, and it still looked more college town and tourist trap than Branson a few cities north.
What finally broke her long bout of silence was yet another furious expletive—courtesy of the under-rested vigilante in the front seat. Honestly, April had claimed the middle seat—how could she sleep through the countless I'm not lost this state is just backwards tantrums? "The college campus is five blocks away—turn right at the next intersection an' pull over, I'll drive."
"Why should I?!" Casey Jones spat over his shoulder—nearly plowing the vehicle into a parked car. "Damn roundabouts!" he swore slamming his fist against the side of the steering wheel. Geez…someone had some road rage issues…
"On second thought," Amber corrected herself carefully extricating herself from her earbuds, "Pull over now—I went to college in this city, I know the way home."
After yet another argument, the bespectacled Other-worlder sat in the pilot's seat, guiding the car down hilly backroads just below the 'legal' speed. The sudden altitude changes and turns made her nauseous and made her ears hurt...she'd been away from hill-country so long she wasn't used to it anymore. Twice in the last ten miles, she'd had to brake for feral cats, but even more times, she was left dodging the suicidal free-range chickens that she no longer expected at every turn.
Ever since taking the wheel, she found herself recounting under her breath various sights and stories she recalled and comparing them to the sights and stories around her—a noodle shop instead of her favorite burger joint—loose dogs instead of free-range chickens—the head shop and bar were intact, but the hookah lounge above had been replaced by a much classier cocktail bar and art gallery—the TexMex joint that routinely failed safety inspections was rebranded as a 'family diner'—Everywhere she turned she found memories and facts that made those memories seem more like dreams.
Casey hadn't said a word since realizing she did, indeed, know her way around the city when Kimber supposedly grew up in a poor suburb of Jersey City. Silent, still not convinced she wasn't putting up a front after getting specifics online—or whatever kids did these days!—he watched like a hawk from the second seat, April snoring with her cheek pillowed on his bulky thigh.
"Farkin' really?!" 'Kimber' swore swerving past an unexpected free-range guinea hen. Back when she lived in this area, the rampant loose foul were a major problem that made her lose her cool anytime she ran into them, even as she appreciated their purpose. After all the other things that were different in this world, why did that one have to be the same?! "Fark, People, keep yer damn birds in a coop!"
Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Casey drifted off to sleep during Amber's long-winded tangent on Rednecks and crazy people who cared more about bugs and eggs than if their chickens wound up hood ornaments. Sometime between the surprisingly vehement grumbles of cousin-boinking Rednecks and feathered street demons Casey's world faded to black.
By the time he woke, the van was pulling into the hilly parking lot of the sort of lodging people made horror movies about—a traditional L-shaped roadside motel, honestly but with an over decorated 'public green space' decked with creepy little lawn gnomes, critter-proof trashcans at every corner, and a large, cracked window separating the office from the parking lot. "Dis don't feel like we ever left Glenville," he grumbled as the unusually short-tempered brunette parked the van in the overly large lot.
"We're on the outskirts of the city,' she answered shortly. "If ya'd rather stay on the road for a few hours longer, we could stay at Willsdale's No-tell motel—but yer luggage is gonna get bugs. Your choice but the place's only redeeming quality is advertising 'kolor TV'."
"How backwoods is dat town?" Casey grumbled to himself then startled when he got an answer to a question he thought internal and unspoken.
"No one ever goes to towns like Willsdale—they jus' leave'em," Amber admitted as April staggered to the office still half-asleep; the younger woman kept an eye on the reporter's back through the tall window, worrying silently. "If someone stops in town, they have family waitin' for 'em an' stay with them. Ya don't go to Meth-Lab Motel if ya have any other choice."
A short while after, he and April settled into the surprisingly well-furnished room while the Otherworlder took a much-needed shower. Even as April put away the couple's luggage on autopilot, Casey scrunched his tall frame into the too-small chair at the table doing some research on April's smartphone and the laggy motel Wi-Fi. So far, he had to admit, there were a bunch of things Amber told them about that were false—the college didn't have a library science or Literary Arts program, at least half the shops she told them about were different in name or purpose, the city had more roundabouts than four-way stops—but still, she was correct about enough to make the trip unsettling.
Perhaps "Kimber" had a closer history with Glenville than he'd previously believed…perhaps he was—God forbid!—maybe a little wrong about her.
In the small and surprisingly clean bathroom, Amber sat fully clothed on the floor against the side of the tub, her knees drawn tightly to her chest and eyes focused beyond the toilet. If she was driven to vomiting by the very thought of returning to the town that killed her—no, worse, that town's doppleganger!—how could she handle actually being there tomorrow? Hopefully, she'd get the chance to be more herself around Casey than the rude person she'd been so far…that rudeness, like with Raphael, had actually made her presence more tolerable, her usual kindness having been met with only suspicion and anger. Yes, she was learning how to deal with Casey Jones, but her behavior 'til the motel was not wholly based in some attempt to fly under his radar.
The warming water spray in the shower mocked the brunette haunted by memories of rain—of long nights curled into the bottom of her small, musty closet to escape the sound of thunder, as though something as simple as a sound could hurt her. She'd feared rainstorms like a child fearing the Boogeyman…but she was stronger now, she wasn't the same person she used to be…so why, after less than a year of being away, was she so afraid to see the copy of her Willsdale? Could it be that the same sort of "doubt and insecurity" portrayed in the Epilogue of War of the Worlds? Could it be, rather than some aggravating fatal flaw, a simple and understandable side effect of the time she died upon her knees?
The sound of rain churned onward, courtesy of the showerhead, but the supposedly bathing brunette had no answers for the multitude of questions it left her with.
September 3rd, 2016, early morning
After the drama of the day before, Amber's arrival in her hometown's counterpart was remarkably anti-climactic.
She hadn't slept well the night before. Like zombies in a horror movie, the victims of the tornado in this Willsdale rose in her dreams, clawed their way to the surface, and roamed the battered landscape of Amber's hometown, marveling at the novelty of another town with the same name and face. She woke with a gasp, unable and unwilling to recount the rest of the nightmare but unable to fall asleep again. Crawling toward the city limit, her knuckles white on the steering wheel and bile filling her throat, she almost convinced herself to turn back—to give up on this madness, retreat to the Motel, and stay there until the reporter got her scoop and they returned home. Only one thing was able to keep the demons at bay—one thing was able to coax her away from her fears and memories, down the hilly fog-laden highway between the rural knobs and hollers, and across the county line: a pair of eyes, shielded by glass lenses and shifting with the light between hazel, green, and golden brown.
She was sure Donatello wouldn't be angry if she just couldn't make herself go through the horrors anew…but he'd be disappointed in her. Anger she could handle—anger she could hold to her chest like a grudge, and convince herself she deserved to be hurt by it—but his disappointed eyes were the stuff of nightmares. Every time she had to back off during Exposure Therapy sessions—every time he found her wedged into some small 'safe' place, crying herself sick because she let a panic attack escalate instead of stopping it from the start with the coping skills they learned together—she saw how disappointed he was that she was more willing to let her fears control her than conquer them.
Is there anything more absurd than the wish to carry continually a burden which one can always throw down? •
When she first read Candide as an over-worked and under-rested freshman, Amber was so sure it was merely a metaphor for human resilience; now she wondered if there was another message hidden deeper in the scene. It was human to allow oneself to fall and fail, but it was also human, even more so, to stubbornly recover from every failure. That alone—and daydreams of proud hazel eyes veering an affectionate brown as they locked with hers—drove her onward. Donatello waiting for her over a thousand miles away drove her into crossing the county line with bated breath, though she knew her greatest fears waited for her at the end of the road.
After all that fuss, she never registered crossing the city limits, never realized they were in Willsdale until she recognized the little cottage she once called Home.
"Well," she mumbled as the van idled outside the cramped, cluttered house she'd never again step foot in, "welcome home, Crazy Celt."
To the crowd gathered around the small stage, the highlight of the day was the greying gentleman speaking onstage. To Amber, he was just a man—the man tasked with the entirety of the US Armed Forces and the world's image of America, but a man of flesh and blood regardless. No, the truly awe-inspiring sight lay just over the hill. The ancient, battered building had a classic clock-tower, familiar elaborate brickwork, and a massive iron bell in the courtyard: Willsdale's Town Hall, Courthouse, and governing center, all under one roof. Just over the rise at the back of the building, one could see the High School/Junior High—a school disturbingly similar to the one she died in.
Casey switched off the mobile camera equipment with a smirk, proud of having gotten the mess of electronics to function. Technically April was supposed to have enticed Vern back to shooting, just for this trip, but whatever that skinny show-boating nerd could do, well, Casey Jones could do better! He glanced around the crowd, startling at the sight of 'Kimber' wandering toward a building with a clock-tower. For a moment, he glanced from April—currently waiting in line for a private 'interview' with the president—to 'Kimber'—wandering away as though in a daze, seemingly following a trail he couldn't see.
He called for her to come back but to no avail—she couldn't hear him. After a long internal argument and plenty of consideration of just leaving the brunette to fend for herself, he remembered that Raphael had personally asked him to 'keep her safe.' At the time, he was sure Raph was worried about outside influences…now he wondered if the surly ninja had worried more about the punk hurting herself more than anyone else hurting her. Finally, with a curse at stubborn women everywhere and a moment's hope that April would be fine without him, he gave chase. Just outside earshot, Amber crested the hill and approached the school, vanishing behind the tall glass doors.
Was this what she feared so much? Was she really so afraid of coming to this city when all that waited were memories? No answers came to Amber in the silence around her—not when she mounted the hill, not when she strode through the doors of the school uncontested, not even when she made her way into the disproportionately large library she recognized from her Willsdale. Fingers running reverently along the aged wooden shelves, she wandered from one end of the cavernous room to the other, recalling it torn and twisted by a monstrous wind.
Never even noticing Casey Jones skid to a stop in the doorway—his unfashionably long black hair whipping with the movement—Amber took in the sight of her sneakers splayed before a familiar section of the library. As though in a daze, she slid a familiar black-covered book from the poetry shelf and examined it with confusing disinterest. Dark of the Moon.
Unbeknownst to the stunned man in the doorway or the elderly secretary wringing her hands near him, the woman from another world relived the last time she saw the counterparts of these walls—relived her last moments in her own world. Cherished book gripped closely—like a magic shield, or like a holy relic, her silent rival wondered dubiously?—she wandered aimlessly over to a tall corkboard located where her library had a window.
Staring beyond the colorful papers and into her memory, she remembered looking out that window—remembered feeling absolute calmness as the sky outside split in a menacing, mocking grin—remembered her fatalistic view of the world and the—apparently not mistaken—belief that the death of her current body might bring the peace dreams and life had denied.
All her life, she was visited in dreams by a young mutant who wanted only acceptance. Despite her best intentions, she gave the gap-toothed boy—and the man he became—her heart. Then…then she came face to face with the possibility that she wouldn't survive…and she refused to make a choice. She bowed down and begged protection for her loved ones instead of sheltering under one of the sturdy tables, all in the hopes that she might be mysteriously granted a second chance…and a life with Donnie. Out of all this, one thing was finally clear to her: she was an idiot. Despite the realization, she smiled wryly, turning the book in her hands and wondering if she was ever truly as happy in her old life as she was now...perhaps, she wondered as the clock on the wall ticked loudly, she simply learned to settle instead of making the best of what she had.
As before, she fell to her knees, but while she first made the gesture out of surrender and exhaustion, she now gave thanks for the miracle she was living. Somehow, and Amber knew not how, she was granted all she ever wanted—a new life, a new body, and a chance to spend her days with the bright-eyed boy she knew in dreams. Along with that new life, though, there came a price—hurdles to jump, failures to move past, and plenty of time to correct the flaws she once wallowed in without notice. The road ahead was long, broken, and full of heartache—but she knew what waited at the end was worth every step. She still feared the rain, but she would move past that fear. She was a coward who would rather cringe than face her fears, but a coward who would someday become braver. She was a fool with her head stuck in the clouds…but a fool could be educated and relieved of their folly.
"Is she alright?" The sudden question whispered nearby surprised the prostrate brunette; hands digging fingers-first into the old industrial carpet, she came back to herself in embarrassment. This wasn't her Willsdale—it wasn't her school—she just walked through the doors of a strange building and collapsed like a crackhead coming off a bender. She really was an idiot.
"She'll be okay…she's just had a lotta stuff ta work through." The answer, delivered in a thick backstreet accent, astounded her. As recently as Glenville, Casey Jones was still stubbornly clinging to her being Kimber and Kimber trying to fool them, but something in the man's mind had shifted. Eyes wide, lungs still, she glanced at the pair of rugged basketball shoes coming to a stop next to her right hand.
"Dis is it, right?" Casey muttered as though not noticing the reeling woman. Outside, he seemed focused on a printed calendar of events, but his every sense was trained on her answer.
"There wiz a windae here," she admitted quietly, thickly, "an'd it wiz through tha' windae tha' I stared down my own death…an' blinked."♦ This was the place and posture she died in, but there wasn't— A trace of wooden molding just beneath the edge of the corkboard sent her stomach into her shoes. There was a window where she knelt…like her school board's inexplicable decision to turn a closet into an office, this school's leaders decided to seal a window and build a wall. The wall behind the corkboard wasn't always a wall…the knowledge made her stomach turn. Why was the window sealed? Could it be that someone else met their end at the same window she did?
"Ya died here." Casey's admission, unexpected and even more uncharacteristic, gave Amber pause.
"In my own world, yeah," she admitted under her breath, more careful of her speech this time. "I worked here an' died here jus' like this…praying for the safety of my loved ones…an' though I wouldn't've admitted it, a second chance." She listened closely, but heard only their breathing; the secretary was gone. "Please…I worked with Myra from the day I was hired at my Willsdale's school…please go make sure her grandson is alright—Colin Jarvis Black, she calls him Colm. In my world, he attended the daycare…that was…"
She couldn't finish and Casey left her, pausing only to squeeze her shoulder. She wasn't sure when he first began to believe her, first wondered if she wasn't Kimber, but she could tell from the warmth of his tone and the gentleness of his touch that he did, finally believe her. Why did that feel more of a weight off her back than a victory?
Ever since he and Amber O'Brien were first parted, half of Donatello's time was spent in staring at his phone and willing it to ring, and almost as much was spent reminding himself forcefully that she'd survived quite well enough without him so far. Sure, she was borderline dependent on him and a bit too reliant on him, but if anything, the separation might make them both stronger. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that jazz, he reminded himself reaching for his soldering iron, and focusing on that absence wouldn't result in anything productive. If anything, he might find himself making grievous, stupid errors—like putting the new control panel together inside out or maybe finding hours down the road that he'd left a vital part out of something else.
A soft, insistent tone manifested at the edge of his hearing drawing him from the mess of salvaged parts scattered across his workbench. At first, he convinced himself it was nothing, that he was hearing something unrelated and convincing himself it was what he was waiting for…again…then an accidental glance revealed a video call popping up on the monitor nearest him. He opened the window and answered the call hopefully, rewarded instead with the gritty image of Amber's tear-puffy eyes and dried salt-trails on her cheeks.
"Hey, Honey," he greeted softly, and when she gave only a small, quiet smile in response instead of the usual "Hey, yerself!" he turned to scan the small room for the cause of her tears. Donnie knew this trip was a bad idea—knew being stuck in a car with Casey's attitude and April's crazy driving would drive a normal person to murder—and he'd insisted said point to no avail…at least to himself. Now he found himself face to face with proof of that…and immediately, he was sure Casey was responsible for Amber's tears. "Where is he," he demanded instead of reacting how he wanted; yelling would do no good but it was damned tempting at the moment. "I knew he would—"
"Dee, I'm fine," she insisted cutting off his warpath. He fell silent, examining her face anew. Tears streaked her cheeks and her eyes were puffy but she was beaming with happiness. Something drove her to exhaustive weeping…but it relieved her? What happened in Willsdale? "For the first time in months," she confessed softly, "I really think I'll be okay."
Monday September 5th, 2016
The day after the President's speech in Willsdale, Missouri, there was a mass exodus from the southeastern corner of the state—the tourists who came primarily to witness the momentous event fled back to their own homes. But days after, only one thing came to mind when Donatello found a familiar—and tired—brunette standing watching him from the doorway of the Lab: she came to say goodbye. "Take a walk with me," she urged instead of the ending the nervous genius expected. "Let's get some fresh air while we talk."
Although both knew where their feet were slowly leading them, neither spoke of it. Over the next hour—and plenty of hesitant self-conscious grumbling—the young woman finally did what she should've done from the beginning…she spilled her guts, just as she should have in the dirty, muck-slick alley months before.
She faced her demons head on in New Willsdale. She saw Kimber's distant family going on about their lives, already sure she was dead and uncaring of the fact. While ducking into the local feed store on the way back, Amber even had a long talk with Kimber's grandfather—a bitter, sullen man who was as different from Amber's Gran'Da as the day was long.
Glen Devonne and his oldest son Bert (the spitting image of Amber's white-haired uncle Bhaltair) ran the Feed Store with a cousin Amber didn't have—a lovely, friendly teenager with shock-white hair and the same dove-grey eyes "Bart" Devon had. Some people, Amber was still realizing, had no counterparts in her world. She wondered what could possibly make her so special. She had a counterpart but sweet, grey-eyed "Brenda Devonne" was barred from that chance. It…it didn't seem fair. More than ever before, the realization reminded her of something her Gran'Da often told her: Fair was a four-letter "F" word, and no less obscene than Fuck. She didn't have all the answers—she wasn't sure why she was given a new life—but she was sure at least of one thing. Everything happened for a reason, even if that reason might only become clear years down the road or might never become clear to her.
The long cross-country journey—the despair of finding her only flesh and blood didn't recognize her and were quite happy believing 'Kimberly' dead—Kimber's gran'da's insistence that 'the others needn't ever find out Kimberly really didn't die years ago'—the miles on the road and the strange, awkward end to Casey's grudge against her—it all convinced her that some secrets just weren't worth keeping.
Amber agreed to keep it a secret that 'she' survived after running away instead of dying young and homeless as runaways tended to do. Though she couldn't reconcile it with her memories of her own Gran'Da, Glen Devonne outright demanded her silence to 'protect' his broken family. Amber couldn't comprehend a family so broken it was kinder to pretend someone was dead than try to reconnect; the secret she agreed to keep weighed heavily on her. It convinced her to come clean with Donnie about her world; after being sworn to secrecy about a death that didn't happen, keeping a secret about someone not existing in her world seemed petty.
As the odd couple slowly made their way through gritty tunnels lined with defunct tracks and roughly ground chat, no destination in mind but heading toward one nonetheless, one confessed another lifetime's secrets—secrets and stories that made up a life. She told him things even Mercy didn't know about the accident that left her crippled by pain—about the pain medicine that only made her sick and the vital physical therapy her insurance wouldn't cover. She spoke of growing up in a dying town and going back to that town no matter how bad things got—of finally leaving that town behind to pursue her dreams only to return after she found the world unable to live up to her expectations.
Dreams…in dreams she'd finally found someone willing to let her be herself without censure, a childhood friend who grew into someone she loved with all her heart. Nearly every night, they met in dreams, even now. Instead of admitting the dreams to him and possibly finding out their long connection was one only she knew about—that this really wasn't the Donnie she dreamt of—she skirted the subject. "Ya know I'm from another world," she reminded instead, her footsteps keeping time with his—slow, calm, and even. "What ya don't know is that you were there, too—a dream, a fancy of sorts, but there nonetheless." She glanced furtively at him, morbidly curious about how he'd take the truth. "Ya weren't just in my head, either, Dee…a lotta people knew about you an' yer family."
"We were there," Donnie summed up as she searched for words, "but we weren't there? What, were we fictional characters or something?"
"…an' frequently paired up," she grumbled under her breath then answered aloud, "yeah, you could say that. It's crazy to hear it, but ya weren't real to my world—no more real than any of the characters in Mikey's comic books…an' I…"
"You thought it would break me, didn't you?" Amber fell silent. "You thought finding out I'm just a fictional character in your world would be hard for me to process? That I'd, what, lose my mind over a world where I'm not real?" He chuckled at the very thought. He'd suspected since the day they met that he wasn't really a part of her world; being subject to the poke it and make sure it's real gesture reminded him of some superhero from Mikey's comics meeting a fan face to face. Fun times…a total mind-fuck at the time, but humorous in retrospect.
Donnie turned those warm, too-intelligent eyes on her and in true Amber fashion, she blurted out the truth before she could hold it back. "Turlcest," she blurted before she could stop herself. He had no idea what she was saying and stared blankly at her. Before she could get lost in his eyes again, she resolved to finish the statement; she soldiered onward. "Folks…write stories about your family…pairing up your…brothers…like…" Two hands raised for silence cut her off.
"They…write us as…as partners?" he summed up with a heavy cringe. No, surely not—
"Sexual partners…and brothers," Amber deadpanned, "often at the same time." The unspoken—people write porn about you and your family nailing each other—was still clear and horrifying enough, but—
"Well, that's gross," he commented dryly, his expression twisted in disgust. "That's what you were hiding? –that you come from a world full of perverts?" Her cheeks flamed. She didn't quite appreciate being lumped in with a bunch of Tcest shippers but she chose to ignore it in favor of more pleasant things…like the way jamming his hands deep in his pockets caused the lean muscle in his arms to ripple and firm. Damn that turtle's biceps… He was taking this ridiculously well. "You're starting too big again."
"Wait, what?" She whipped around to face him. "You're not—horrified?"
"I never said that," he answered with deceptive calm. "I'm disgusted. I'm not as focused on labels and gender norms as Raph and Leo—maybe because I'm more interested in logic and knowledge than social mores—but the very idea of…with my brothers…" He cringed, recalling against his will some of the more graphic smut he'd found on the internet; an open mind and a thirst for knowledge was normally a blessing, but for many years, it was also a bit of a burden. He was the first one to acknowledge that humans weren't likely to accept them, and that they weren't likely to find human mates, but never once had he seriously considered sating his needs with his own flesh and blood. The very idea of engaging in those sorts of carnal activities with his family—the ones who knew his every dirty secret and were there through the most embarrassing stages of his childhood… He silenced the train of thought with a visible shudder. He'd rather die an angry little virgin.
"Still," he reminded all-too aware of the creak in his voice, "you were so insistent on keeping that a secret—insistent I never find out about your world. You chose to let me think you meant us harm and shut you out, and you spent months fighting me over it…all because you were afraid I'd find out my family's been victimized by fangirls who write about…us…uh..."
"…screwing each other bareback?" she finished too-innocently but got a grimace in response; clearly this was all being shoved into Donatello's mental deal with it later box. She really shouldn't have so much fun teasing him, but he was just so fun to tease!
"You haven't read any of it, have you?" he asked, but after realizing he really didn't want to know, quickly added "Never mind—don't answer that. The point remains…you were so worried I'd find out about that part of your world that you were tight lipped over the whole thing…doesn't that strike you as a little excessive?"
'You're starting too big again, Braids,' he'd told her every time she shut him out over that sort of fear, but during their months-long feud, he (rudely, really) added to it. 'Take things as they come—if you're afraid of something, own that fear like an adult instead of letting it rule you like a child!' The reminder pinked her cheeks, but she had to admit her total refusal over a few dirty details was a tad excessive. Even if she told him about her world early on, told him he was fictional there, did she really have to tell him about the people who wrote smut about him fucking his brothers? Oh…right…her filter would've seen to it that he knew about it. Even the most innocent of conversations turned smutty from filter-failure the moment she got gutter-brained…and she was always getting gutter brained. She always had sex on the brain, even before she found herself fighting to keep her hands off of the genius no longer present only in dreams.
"I screwed up," she admitted with a sigh. "I just—I was so afraid you'd find out in the worst way possible…and I was sure it'd be…well, nightmare fuel that—"
"That was a mistake, yeah," he interrupted with a sigh of his own. "Don't assume you know how I'll react—I'm too accustomed to Science Fiction to be surprised by this, weird as it is...and remember, my family's fought an alien before. I'm repulsed, yeah, but that's to be expected—my brothers and I were mutated from Red-Eared Sliders, granted, but there was human DNA in the mutagen. We're human and inhuman at the same time—we're sentient beings not just mindless animals." They came to a stop, both glancing at each other and both aware that they were mere yards from the abandoned City Hall station—the place he found her the day they first met. "Taking responsibility for others' reactions only ever results in heartache—take responsibility for your own reactions and focus on virtuous, honorable behavior."
"Attack the evil that is within yourself," Amber recited softly, "rather than attackin' the evil that's in others. Confucius, right?" He nodded, distracted by silly things—coconut, pheromones, the thrill he always got from being reminded that his odd country bumpkin was educated rather than just another hick… He always enjoyed philosophy and he loved that, at least in that subject, he knew she could keep up with him instead of watching his words go whizzing over her head. She was pretty hopeless when it came to computers and anything that ran off of chips rather than straightforward moving parts, but then again, he was skilled enough for both of them.
"Didn't Confucius focus more on ethics an' politics though?" Amber asked instead of admitting how nervous she was about being so close to the abandoned subway station. She died there and every time she found herself back there, something horrible happened; superstitious hoo-hah, maybe, but it was freaky nonetheless. "I seem to recall a lotta do not unto others what you wouldn't have done unto you in my readin's of his…an' if someone somewhere decided to throw me in some smut-fic about me bangin' my family, I wouldn't wanna know about it!"
"You have such a way of making discussions awkward." The reprimand was accompanied by a low laugh—evidence he was paying less attention to their 'debate' than other more interesting things. "That was what you've hidden all this time? That's it?"
"Let's see," she mumbled in feigned thought staring up at the rough concrete ceiling of the tunnel. "Fictional character bullshite, horror stories about brotherly-boinking…" She looked up, inwardly grinning at his wince. "Yep, that's about it. That's what I couldn't tell ya." Funny how it seemed such a small confession yet she felt a huge weight off her back. Was there even a point in keeping that knowledge secret to begin with?
Suddenly it hit her that she was completely alone in the tunnels with him…their family and companions were miles away and wouldn't hear if they called for help. It was the sort of realization that always led her to venture farther in her old life—to dig deeper into the woods and test the limits of her leash even further. Now, it left her with just such a longing to explore, but instead of the ruins of a farmhouse or the wooded hollers outside of town, the territory was less land than man.
"I understand." The admission ground her every thought to a halt and she had to mentally dig herself out of her gutter to remember what he was answering. As though answering the siren's call of her wants and needs, he paced toward her, backing her up against the nearest wall. She swallowed hard, resolutely staring through his bare plastron. Why did he always insist on going shirtless if it wasn't freezing, she wondered in dismay, faintly catching the sound of a sharp inhale. She knew he had clothing altered to cover his chest and arms, so why did he insist on being so naked and tempting?
"You...understand," she repeated slowly but found her voice stolen by a squeak of surprise at being lifted by her rear and pinned to the wall, her arms latching onto his neck for support. It never ceased to appeal to that small girly side of her how he could lift her like a feather pillow. Even though she knew she wasn't nearly as big as she used to be she still felt far heavier than she really was—still felt fat even though he seemed to appreciate her curves. A strong knee wedged itself between her thighs to help support her weight while tormenting her; one hand relinquished its grip on her rear and migrated up to her heart.
"Yeah," Donnie admitted as he nuzzled her neck, "but I don't think I care anymore." She wasn't the only one being driven crazy by her hormones—he could practically taste her pheromones every time he took a breath and it was driving him out of his mind. "I wish you'd told me from the start," he confessed, punctuating the words with a gentle nip at her neck; the body in his grip slackened at the gesture but her arms tightened all the more from the meaning behind it. Whatever the world decided, they belonged together—he was hers as much as she was his, and a more primal part of the genius hoped the love-bite would leave a (painless) mark. Then again, maybe it was a little cave-turtle to compare a small nip to a mating mark in a bad paranormal romance novel.
"Still," he reminded, punctuating each phrase with another strategically-placed kiss or nibble, "you're here. I'm here. We made it here without getting lost along the way. We have each other, now…" A whimper bubbled up her throat, the vibration teasing his lips on the way. "I care about you and you care about me, and we're not going to let anything come between us again…" He finally, shyly, met her eyes—grey-green eyes foggy with the same want he could feel burning through his veins like a powerful drug. "Can't it be enough?"
"You…you're not…" Amber was floored, couldn't quite comprehend what he was saying. "It's not a rush," she insisted trying to put enough distance between them to clear his head, but he didn't even budge. "I waited a lifetime fer you—I can wait longer, as long as I've gotta wait to keep ya."
"Frankly, Braids, I'm tired of waiting," he admitted seriously. "I waited a lifetime for you, too, even if it wasn't the same sort of wait; I'm not letting you go."
Amber knew she was crying again—how could she not be driven to tears by such heartfelt words? Still, she felt only his lips on hers, the faint thudding of his heartbeat, and the burning, wanting pressure of his knee ground teasingly into her groin and his aroused flesh pressing against her soft belly. Tears didn't taint this kiss—the taste of salt only sweetened the traces of bitter coffee on Donatello's lips. He was so addictive... Tired of fighting—tired of waiting for the world to tear her away—she gave in, threw herself into that love with everything she had and damned the consequences. This world was his, but now it was hers, too…and heaven help the fool who tried to separate them!
A silent force haunted the City Hall subway station, contemplating the couple obliviously humping against the tunnel wall. They couldn't see Her—She wasn't visible in that world—but She felt awkward nonetheless in the face of their...ehm..."activities.' She shifted on Her booted feet, considering what this situation meant. Was it confirmation of Her suspicions, or proof that She went too far? Worse, if She ever got a definitive answer, could She accept it if it wasn't the one She wanted?
It all started so harmlessly—shared dreams that crossed worlds and connected two souls who would never have met, all to prove a point to a group of stick-in-the-mud Elders—but those souls had other ideas when the dreams were put to an end. Years passed and the dream world was again rendered one sided, but the souls refused to be kept separate—the two souls proved themselves too connected to be kept apart, if only in the world of dreams. Now this…the two souls were more lost in each other than ever before - one heatedly exploring her lover's neck and the other emitting rattling growls of appreciation - they were together, the story had a happy ending, but She was under investigation by the Elders for Her 'point.' Amber and Kimber's deaths were an unexpected chance—an opportunity for the guilty party to make Her mistake right. Now, Amber was in Donatello's world and, against all odds, the two souls were still as closely entwined as ever. They still had no idea She was responsible for their meeting and their hardship…
…all in due time. There would come a time for them to meet their matchmaker, a time for the silent unseen woman-force to meet them face to face and confess to them Her sins against them…but that time wasn't now…was it soon? Maybe in a few years or so? She still got confused about timelines and worlds now and then, and the mutant and his lover had clearly noticed Her visits to 'key events'…of course, She had only Herself to blame for being a blabbermouth and getting noticed. If Her master ever found out—if He ever realized how badly She'd screwed up—dear Lords, She'd be stuck on Dust duty for eons!
She needed to leave…now. The Others were sure to notice Her absence soon and She was playing with fire dropping in even now. The strange mortals knew about Her visits—they even had a vial of Her space-dust to alert them when She was nearby. As brilliant as the male dreamer was, She really should have expected that to happen. No matter…the two idiots were too lost in one another to find traces of Her footprints before they faded into the ether.
A legion of ticking clocks called Her home—soft, undulating light guided Her way. With a theatrical whirl and a shower of glimmering space-dust that would vanish in moments, She vacated the subway. Next stop: the End of Time to make an appearance, then a particularly annoying Jersey nutcase who seemed to think herself below waitressing in a small town like Willsdale, Missouri. If only the unseen woman's meddling 'hints' caught on easier, Kimber would be easier to handle.
How could one mortal be so different from their counterpart? Kimber and Amber were really the same soul in different worlds—both the same at heart but molded in different ways by different choices and different struggles—and though Kimber annoyed the daylights out of the meddling woman-force who threw her into that other world and that other body, the meddler had to remind Herself to be patient. Kimber was still the same soul as her counterpart and with similar vices and virtues…she just hadn't fought her own weaknesses yet, and had yet to learn her own lessons.
Amber was brought to this world not only to fix Her mistakes—it was never that simple with mortals, and She was more likely to accomplish Her aim without long-term legal trouble if She put a different spin on it. Officially, Amber came to this world 'to learn from her mistakes and grow as a soul' and that was that. She'd made significant progress in that journey, but Kimber's journey in her new world—officially, for the same reason rather than just 'because She could and it was convenient'—well, Kimber's journey was only just begun. Mortals judge one another as lacking, are too obsessed with 'who they are' to care about 'who they will be.' It was the mortal way to judge Kimber lacking for having not corrected her own faults yet, but fortunately, the woman-force responsible for her new life wasn't mortal.
A flash of light and the ticking of distant clocks, a glimmer of space-dust, and the unseen woman was gone—somewhere at the edge of Time immemorial and far away from the reminders of Her own past mistakes and struggles. All that remained of Her was the glowing outline of a pair of boot prints—seemingly left while clicking Her heels like Dorothy in The Wizard of OZ—and in moments, that, too, faded into nothing, leaving the City Hall Subway station dark, empty, and silent as the tomb it was.
Amber jerked at some distant sound—she was sure she heard a ticking noise but the fingers buried in her loosely bound hair drove that thought out of her mind. Her chin angled for better access, comfortably chapped lips trailed from her throat up her jaw and toward her pierced earlobe. "Did you hear that?" he whispered into her ear, and she fought to clear her mind despite the goosebumps dancing along her skin.
"Nah." All memory of the ticking was gone with the cause. "Unless you meant the explosion? Ya blow my mind, Speccy." A deep, low chuckle at her ear sent a tingle along her skin but she grew solemn, recalling everything they'd been through thus far…it was a long, broken road that led her to her Donnie. As if sensing her changing mood, he retreated from her neck; already she missed his warmth. "Ya know…this has been such an imperfect life so far."
"Seems pretty perfect to me," Donnie countered tracing her lips, his eyes first following his fingers then meeting her eyes in a heated stare. "…it's just getting better." At first, he was worried—the faint ticking noise at the edge of his hearing concerned him—but like a distant dream, that worry faded with the noise that caused it.
They were only two souls from two vastly different worlds but they crossed worlds to be together. Their story was only beginning and they were ready to share the journey, come what may.
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End Part II: This Time Imperfect
To be continued in Between the Raindrops
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UP NEXT: Part II begins with some Growth

Holy Heck, this new computer works so much faster than my old Betsy! I'm actually getting these reposted pretty quickly now that I'm not using Open Office. (...knocking on wood over here.) I'm planning on getting the rest of the uploaded chapters posted, but remember that after chapter 48 (Did I have a Dream, Or Did the Dream Have Me?) these chapters haven't undergone any serious improvement. Un-improved chapters won't have an exclamation point in the title. Once I've gotten those updated I'll commence cross-posting the new stuff to the other sites. (...maybe with weaker smut.) In the meantime, I'd absolutely love to hear from y'all – drop a review or pester me on Tumblr if you have time? – and hope y'all have a wonderful day!

Glossary
♦ There wiz a windae here, an' it wiz through tha' windae tha' I stared down my own death…an' blinked. - There was a window here, and it was through that window that I stared down my own death...and I blinked. ('lost the staring contest')
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A New Lease on Life