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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
- 43
- 44
- 45
Just so ya know, I really hate the beginning of this chapter. It gets better but I still wanna kill it with fire.

Suggested Listening: Michael Bublé "After All," Red "Best is Yet to Come," Fleetwood Mac "The Chain"
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 Begin Part III: Between the Raindrops 
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43: Growth
September 15th, The Lair
Amber O'Brien's new life in Donatello's world began in January, and all Spring and most of the summer, that life was one big shit-storm after another. Now, Fall was on the way—the air was cooling, leaves were fading, and more had changed than stayed the same. As she puttered home along the dusk-greyed street, still clad in her delivery uniform and carting a mountain of pizza boxes bungee-strapped to the back of her scooter, the otherworlder reminisced on the many changes she'd already seen in her new life. It was mind-boggling when she looked back at everything she'd been through in less than a year, and considered that she endured maybe half that much spaced out over a few decades in her previous life. If nothing else, this new world certainly moved faster than her own.
Golly…this year…her head swam from everything that had already happened in only a few months. She died and was brought back to life and given a second chance in another world. She found out about Counterparts, learned the dirty secrets of her own, met the Counterpart of a dear old friend, and discovered an even older friend with a very new problem. Amber's Counterpart's past actions led to Amber being hunted down—assaulted, gravely injured, and nearly killed before it was all over.
Leonardo's distance shrank over time and he agreed to start helping the otherworlder with guided meditation and pseudo-hypnosis. Once his secret life was brought into the open by the youngest—who, apparently, had a secret life of his own—Leo became unsettled but more open. He still insisted that Beverly was 'just his friend,' but his pinking cheeks and boyish grins told Amber there was more to the story. Mikey was ecstatic to not have to hide the Hardy cousins anymore, and the woman called "Bree" became a prominent fixture in the Lair.
…and that wasn't even the half of it. From the very start, Amber and Raphael were at odds, rivals sometimes driven to near-violence against one another, but now they were friends—they shared booze and bitch-fests, determined to help one another spare their family their drama. Mercy Ross, now a recovering alcoholic if no longer homeless, was obviously and disgustingly in love with the hulking ninja, and Amber was even more disgustingly in love with his brainy twin brother. If not for Raph and Amber's routine venting to one another, though, things would be much more chaotic around the Lair.
Perhaps she was biased, but the greatest changes, it seemed to Amber, were the changes in her relationship with Donatello. Amber met Donatello and his family, begrudgingly moved in with them, fell head over heels for the genius all over again, spent more time trying to push him away than let him in, then blew up all over him and started a completely unnecessary fight. They spent months at odds until they came together in a single moment of weakness—a dark pantry and a mostly harmless attempt at making peace, and the last walls of her resistance crumbled. Once they were finally reconciled, they never looked back—neither ever apologized or admitted fault, but they gave into the attraction that had been driving them crazy. Now…now he knew the truth—the horrifying truth she hid about her world— and they were only growing closer.
Not long had passed since Casey, April, and Amber traveled to the Willsdale of this new world, but Donnie was sure Amber would soon start seeing an improvement in her Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was an understandable reaction to being killed by what she feared most, honestly, but Donatello saw it and her phobia as a challenge, a chance to use his considerable intelligence to conquer a problem. Now that she wasn't having to fight for her life, training with him was more relaxed, and now that the Lair's renovations were mostly complete, they had more free-time…and more free-time meant more time for the couple to drive one another up the wall.
The brunette faltered, her physical body pausing at a stoplight but her thoughts charging ahead with abandon. Donatello seemed to make it a point to drive her out of her mind at every chance. He never hesitated to strip her bare and render her a blabbering mess with his incredibly talented tongue and lips, but he had yet to let his just as eager lover return the favor. His canvas trousers taunted her, reminded her that even though she gave him her all, he still feared she'd lose interest if she saw him at his most vulnerable. Amber shook away the thought, silently berating herself for it as the light turned green and she took off with the rest of the traffic. Donatello had every right to take things slowly—he wasn't keeping his distance out of an attempt to push her away, he was simply not ready…and when that day came, Amber wanted him to be ready—ready to spend at least a day unable to walk.
Crud. She scoffed at the direction her thoughts were turning, sure her cheeks were flushing. 'Hello, gutter…it's been, what, an hour since ya last called me?' As often as she had sex on the brain, it was entirely likely she was driving Donnie up the wall, too; as he admitted recently, her scent always changed when she got gutter-brained, and he wasn't the only one who could pick that up. Needless to say, she still wasn't crazy about wearing perfume to mask the 'horndog' scent, but she was getting used to it. At least it made things less awkward with her other family.
Family…the five mutants were once housemates, just kind souls who offered her a place to stay and a roof over her head, but now, they were her family—the kind of family she chose rather than 'chose to avoid.' Amber spent enough years avoiding her own blood relations, some because they simply grew apart and some because they drove her blood pressure through the roof, but she couldn't see herself ever letting this family out of her sight the way her blood kin fell by the wayside. Granted, most of those kin were crazy and/or intent on killing one another with drama, but every family had drama sometimes.
…she missed her nutty family so much it hurt. Best table that line of thought.
Glancing around for followers and prying eyes, Amber swerved down a familiar alley, paused long enough to open the garage door, then pulled into the cavernous warehouse to park with the other vehicles. She parked Dorian Grey between Raph's Shellcycle and the Party Wagon and hung her helmet from the handlebars. As she passed the garbage truck, she noticed a pair of long, toned, canvas-clad legs poking out from the underside of the garbage truck, and heaved a wistful sigh. The owner of those delicious legs—clearly so enthralled by his task that he never even heard the door open—muttered aloud about a possible cause for an oil leak.
"Check the bolts on the oilpan," Amber suggested dropping to the concrete beside the tall vehicle; he whacked his head on the undercarriage with a grunted oath, but soon recognized the scent of his curious visitor. "If there're any loose bolts there, the seal can be affected an' you'll wind up with a leak."
"That was the first thing I checked." Donnie rolled out with the creeper to greet her, rubbing his sore head. "It's an old truck so I'm surprised this hasn't come up before."
"Degraded seals?" He nodded. "How bad? If they're just a little shrunk an' stiff, I can pick up some leak-stopper on the way home tomorrow—it'd fix the seals."
"I'm still not used to this," Donnie admitted with a weak smile. "I'd normally have to make do with scrounging for usable parts and jerry-rigging what I couldn't replace…it's…nice being able to fix things properly." He sat back against the side of the vehicle, arms propped on his bent knees and dangling between them. "Would you mind? Or would it be—"
"I'm sure you could whip up some awesome repair with just chewin' gum an' toothpaste," Amber teased inviting herself into his lap, "but it'd be no problem to hit the store on the way home—need a few things anyway, no trouble at all." He went to argue further—continue insisting she didn't have to go out of her way for him—but the little braided minx stole the words right from his lips. The situation derailed quickly, the genius' insistences forgotten in the midst of the gentle, brushing pecks and lip-nibbles, but he had no regrets. One massive hand latched onto Amber's lower back as its owner trailed kisses down to her neck, the other sweeping up to splay across the back of her skull. "I mist'cha, ya sweet speccy," she murmured as Donnie came back up to rub noses with her.
"Missed you, too, Honey." He pulled her back in for a final chaste kiss. He loved where this was going but they weren't behind a closed door—they were in the garage, vulnerable to the possibility of intrusion—and so he forcibly pulled away. At first, she was visibly disappointed, but let him lean back against the truck unhindered. "You've proven your skill in home repairs." He gestured backward to the undercarriage of the garbage truck. "What about car repair?"
"Well," she admitted with a sheepish shrug, "I wouldn't say skilled but I kept Ol' Jumper running on my own. Some things were beyond me, like the shocks and more intricate stuff—that beast's shocks were a pain to mess with, an' my arse paid the price. I'd love to learn more," she added with a blush. "Would love to be able to help out more often…other'n cleanin' an' cookin'."
"Sounds like someone needs to show you the ropes," Donnie teased, shoving away from the vehicle and urging Amber to lie flat against his front; with a few calculated boot-shoves, he rolled back under the tall truck with her. "Let's start with the oilpan seal—think it can be reconditioned with additive, or do I replace it entirely?" Amber inspected the cracked, crumbling rubber, trying to keep her brain on the job rather than the pair of thumbs slowly tracing circles into her full hips and the swelling lump pressed up against her rear end. Perhaps she wasn't the only one getting gutter-brained at awkward times. Wait...was that the door?
"Bubblegum an' toothpaste," she answered glancing over her shoulder at him with wide innocent eyes. "After dinner, though—I brought pizza, your favorite." …and everyone else's favorites, granted, and a rather suspicious philly-steak and feta cheese pan pizza someone ordered then forgot to pick up. "You said Casey and April are comin' for dinner? They already here, or are we—" A brush of chapped lips on the back of her neck cut her off with a gasp.
"We're waiting for them," Donnie's voice in her ear was husky from hormones and light from teasing. "Until they get here…"
"We're here," a woman's voice cut him off, kicking one heavy-booted foot in warning. He groaned in disappointment, burying his blushing cheeks in Amber's neck. "Quit necking under there and help us with the groceries Vern sent."
"To be continued?" Donnie mumbled into Amber's left ear as April's shoes clacked away toward Casey's car.
"Better be," she teased breathlessly as warm breath ghosted across the pierced cartilage. That turtle was really going to kill her one of those days… "Somethin' tells me it'll be a helluva- sequel."
"So how's work going?" April groaned in annoyance, picking at her pizza crust.
"My new boss is a tyrant," she grumbled in answer to Donatello's question. Every time April and her fellow reporters took a story on-air, it had to be written up before hand, and the 'big boss' was a stickler for spelling and grammar. "She chewed me out for a ridiculous typo today—said 'if you can't properly spell 'Bronx' maybe you should go work there.' Auto-correct is gonna get me fired."
"Hey, I thought you were workin' at the pizza parlor!" Mercy teased Amber. "When'd ya take up journalism, Grammar Nazi?"
"I didn't," Amber answered with mock offense; if she was April's boss, she wouldn't be dodging cars to deliver pizza. "Hence the pizza sauce on your chin…Messy." Instead of embarrassing the blonde, however, the remark just made her turn to Raphael and point at her face in a hint; sure enough, the burly ninja swiped the trace of sauce away and sucked it off his finger, intently holding eye contact with the blushing blonde. "Oi! Some of us are eatin' here, ya horndogs!"
"Not my problem," Mercy teased a little too breathlessly, completely ignoring Casey's cringe and Splinter's dirty looks. In secret, she and Raphael were still moving slowly in their relationship, but all bets were off around the rest of the family; sure, they could refrain from the rampant over-the-top PDA, but it annoyed everyone else so well!
"So I was thinkin'," Casey began, stopping to clear his throat.
"Naw," Michelangelo muttered in disbelief, "when'd you take that up? OW!" No one saw the brain-duster administered, and considering he sat between Raph and Donnie, there was no telling which was responsible.
"Guess ya don't wanna go back to da farm next week, huh?" Casey demanded of the still-whining youngest mutant. "An' here I was gonna take you nutjobs out'a town for da weekend." Amber silently stared down into her iced tea, torn between excitement at her family having a chance to get out of the city and regret at how she and Mercy would again wind up left behind. "Might have to clear out da attic so's Blondie an' Amber can have a place'a their own fer sleepin', but it'd be a start."
Wait…what? Confused, trying not to get her hopes up, Amber stared across the table at Casey, feeling a familiar hand give her chunky thigh a comforting squeeze. "You're…yer invitin' us to come with the family? –to come stay with y'all in Northampton?" she asked the vigilante with a hopeful, watery smile. "You—"
"Yer not Kimbuh Bryant, right?" He avoided her eyes in favor of his plate. "You an' Blondie ain't gonna hurt anyone, an' yer part of the family now. It's just a weekend." He winced at April's elbow to the ribs, then added with an awkward pacifying smile, "Dis one, at least. Maybe once we've all gotten used ta each other, we can do longer trips."
Amber turned wistful, watery eyes to Donnie; sure enough, he winked at her in confirmation of his interference, and the hand on her thigh squeezed again. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse and her smile weak. "We'd love to go with y'all," she admitted quickly glancing at Mercy for confirmation only to cringe at the sight of the blonde trying to feed Raphael a breadstick. Surely that wasn't meant to look suggestive…right? Amber needed to get laid before everything around her started looking sexual!
"One question," Mercy asked brusquely, took a bite off the breadstick she just shared with Raph, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "Are there cows? It ain't the country if there's no cows."
"Da neighbors got cows," Casey answered blankly, "an' chickens…an' I think dey even got a donkey. Why?"
"Well, strap me to the luggage rack an' hit the road," Mercy grinned. She missed her family's livestock—missed the cows, especially—and if she hadn't been already convinced by the 'weekend in the country,' the cows sealed the deal. She loved cows, after all. "Don't bother settin' up a place in the attic fer Scotch-bright, though—she's sleepin' with the nerd." Amber choked on her iced tea and Donatello had to start whacking her on the back to clear her lungs.
"Mercy!" the brunette objected shrilly, her voice hoarse from the tea she inhaled.
"What?" the blonde asked her embarrassed friend with feigned confusion as Casey sputtered in disbelief. "Y'are." Amber hid her face in her hand, sure it was turning as purple as Donnie's mask. "Better lock the pantry, too, Case—those two're deviants."
Long after dinner was over, the dishes were running, and April and Casey had gone home, the Lair was finally quiet again. Torn between thoughts of his family and worries about a certain woman with molasses brown eyes, Leo padded over to the Lab's open door and peeked through. Seated across from one another at the workbench, Donnie and Amber sat around a propped up tablet displaying a triggering video clip. Exposure therapy again, Leo realized as Amber pointed at the written scale—the video of a violent rainstorm was considered a high two on the scale, whereas it once would have triggered a panic attack. In the days since April took Casey and Amber to Willsdale, Amber had begun making unprecedented progress with her PTSD and her storm phobia.
"Maybe it's time to kick this up a notch," Donnie suggested with a lopsided grin. "You've moved beyond photos, you're handling short videos pretty well…maybe we should start checking the Library for more immersive material, like movies and recordings."
"If you make me sit through Twister," Amber warned in a huff, "I'm sleepin' in the barracks."
"Better the barracks than the attic," Donnie teased reaching over to chuck her chin and triggering a shy blush. "First time it rains, you'll come running back." Still seeming blissfully unaware of Leo's presence, the couple argued playfully, exchanging meaningful glances and delving deeper and deeper into more physical displays of affection. Feeling awkward at the couple obliviously snogging in the Lab, and missing Beverly like crazy, Leo turned away, slouching back out the door without ever saying a word.
"Think 'e's gone yet?" Amber murmured into Donnie's neck, the hair at the back of her own standing at attention at the low chuckle resonating in his chest.
"Yeah," he answered pausing for a teasing neck-nuzzle. "I kinda feel bad for ignoring him…"
"If it was really important," the brunette reminded her lover, "Leo would'a spoken up—he's too stubborn to let us chase'im off when it really matters. Raph an' Mercy on the other hand…" She cringed at an inconvenient and rather creepy memory. "Those two're gonna drive me up the wall…I'm startin' to realize how she felt all those years ago when we were roommates." Amber averted her eyes trying to think of anything but the world she left behind and noticed the all-too familiar cot against the wall. She slept there before she moved into the Barracks with Mercy and Daron…was that really only a few months ago?
"Do you miss it?" Donnie recognized the direction her thoughts were leading her. "You had a place of your own in the barracks…You're sleeping better in my room, but there's not really much in the way of privacy."
"Actually...no," Amber admitted with an awkward smile. "Other'n the place I lay my head, not a lot's changed. I spent months sleepin' in that cot tryin' not to jump ya…all that's changed is I'm not sleepin' in the cot anymore." He blushed, scratching his neck awkwardly, and his embarrassment encouraged her. "Still tryin' not to jump ya," she teased perching on the edge of the cot with an inviting smirk. "Ya don't make it easy on me, Speccy."
The tease accomplished her aim—the Lab door was quickly shut and locked and before she knew it, he had joined her on the cot, pushing her down into the sheets and pulling at her clothes. Before he could get very far, though, a knock at the door to the Needle Room startled him back to himself; he didn't think to lock that door. With an apologetic peck on the cheek, he crawled off and crept to answer the door, blocking the intruder's view of the flustered brunette righting her clothes.
"Hey, Bruh!" Mikey greeted obliviously from the Needle Room side of the door. "Came to ask if you'd fix my computer, but the Lab door's locked! What gives?" Apparently, Donnie developed a 'why me?' face because Amber cracked up over on the cot. Suddenly it occurred to Mikey what he interrupted. He cringed, backing away from the flustered mutant with repeated embarrassed glances at the woman he called 'Sis.' "No rush—take your time." Without further explanation he fled the doorway, fled the Needle Room, and took off to his bedroom, intent on calling Bree. He always called Bree when life in the Lair became awkward.
In the Lab, Donnie buried his face in one massive hand, shook his head, and shut the door, remembering to lock it this time. Over on the cot, Amber watched him with heated eyes, remembering the multitude of wet dreams this cot saw. Hopefully, she considered as Donnie joined her again and picked up where they left off, hopefully, none of his other family would be a twat-block and interrupt them again.
Even as he threw himself into spoiling his girlfriend, touching then tasting, Donatello couldn't stop thinking about the trip to come. Amber's pheromones flooded his lungs, but he couldn't keep his mind off the farm, the old barn he'd staked his claim on, the small tinker shop he'd set up in the loft, and the futon bed he'd hauled up into that loft. The other-worlder mewling in his arms had made great progress with her fears—she could handle fake and recorded rain—but could she handle real rain on the barn's tin roof, the sound he loved most? Some things, he decided as her thick thighs latched around his shoulders, only time would tell.
Rain or no rain, he couldn't wait 'til the weekend.
The Hardys' Loft, Brooklyn
A whole year had passed since the fateful day Leonardo found Beverly Hardy collapsed in an empty subway station…a whole year of testing, draining surgeries, heavy antibiotics, and daily IV drip treatments…What started off as 'you'll be back on your feet in no time' quickly became 'We're looking at about six to eight weeks in recovery,' but after several relapses and numerous failed excisions and draining surgeries, the techs at the hospital stopped giving Beverly or Bree a time. For the longest time, they advocated for Hospice treatment—at first claiming that Beverly 'wasn't really dying,' but would be better off with constant supervision and treatment. Then, those claims changed…eventually, there was no longer a question of whether she would live or die. She was sure she had no future.
A whole year of nothing but bad news, relapses, constant medication, and more bad news…now, Bev found herself stunned by the words given her in the phone call. After a whole year, she finally got good news—as of her last checkup and CT scan, the abscess was finally...gone? She was finally left to just recover from the effects of her sickness instead of the sickness itself. After a whole year of being ill, of being constantly on the verge of dying, Bev was finally sure she would live and would heal…and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about it.
"Miss Hardy?" the receptionist on the other line asked in her too-chipper voice. "It's great news, right? Doctor Crane still wants you to come back every month for a checkup for a while—you'll still need frequent cat-scans to make sure that abscess doesn't—"
"Yes, it's wonderful news," Beverly finally answered not realizing she was interrupting the other woman, then quickly bid her good day. The phone hung up, she wandered through the parlor hung with lithographs, over to her black lacquered piano by the window, and weakly lowered herself onto the cushioned bench. Her mind was reeling—after so long of dying, she was finally healing…Bree wouldn't need to take care of her anymore…she could get a new job with the school system like before, or stick to giving private lessons…Leonardo wouldn't have to...he wouldn't have to worry about her anymore…
Leonardo. She cringed in recalling her explosive argument with Leo after her last relapse caught her by surprise; normally, she wasn't prone to outbursts of emotion, but then again, she wasn't the only one who lost her temper in that hospital room. It was long overdue but they started really understanding one another that day—they admitted their mutual affection and made plans to wait until she was healed before starting any sort of romantic relationship. So long she'd waited for him to see her, to understand her and care for her; now, she finally had her chance to live out the life she'd wanted with him for almost a year…and she was terrified.
Beverly wasn't always going to be sick, but Leonardo was a worry-wart—he was constantly asking about her health, inquiring about her treatment, and checking on her 'just in case.' He rarely spoke anymore of 'when she felt better' and the distant 'Beverly's healed' day, not since the day he promised to wait for her. Perhaps…could his feelings have changed? Could he, perhaps, be so enamored of taking care of her, of being the strength to her weakness, that he no longer considered that she would heal someday? Had his feelings changed—had he changed his mind?
Bosco whined for attention nearby—nudged her knee and pawed her pant leg. "Bosco," Beverly asked softly, relenting to his demands for attention with neck and head scratches, "would Leo still love me if he didn't have to take care of me? Will he still care if I'm not dying?" El Bosco Hardy, service training washout and mostly-inept seeing eye dog, had no answers for her; instead, his expressive ears flattened against his skull and his mismatched eyes widened. As his owner made her way down the hall and up to the Roof Access door, he quietly tagged along behind her only to find the door shut and himself on the wrong side of it. The loft was silent but for the sound of Bosco frantically pawing at the door, hoping his mistress would hear him and let him follow.
Beverly's vision was clearer than usual, but in that moment as the smog-scented breeze rustled her half-bound hair, she missed her 'blind spot' more than ever.

UP NEXT: Bev and Leo get straightened out in Blind Spots
- 43
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- 45
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A New Lease on Life