Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

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
- 54
- 55
- 56
Next-to-last chapter of Absolutes. LOTS. OF. SCOTS! Some improvement to it as well. Hit the Glossary if you get lost.
Suggested Listening: Red "Yours Again," Our Lady Peace "Somewhere out There," Survivor "I Never Stopped Loving You"

54: Absolutes 3
Parallel Worlds Do Not Collide
When Donatello opened his eyes, what they saw made no sense. Not long ago, he was in his own bedroom, crawling into his lumpy cold bed purely to get Leonardo off his back about resting. Now he stood in a familiar alley – from the looks of it, the dark alley behind April's apartment building – with no recollection how he got there. Stranger still, the sun was high and the sky clear, but for the first time in his lifetime, the city was silent. New York was never quiet…this made no sense.
Struggling to catch his bearings and understand what couldn't be possible, he crept toward the mouth of the alley, careful to keep to the grimy shadowed walls. At the very end of the darkness, he found proof he wasn't alone in that illogically empty neighborhood: a young woman, perhaps about his age, leaned back against the filthy brickwork, beaming up at the sky as though her wildest dreams were all coming true.
Taking advantage of the shadows concealing him, Donnie studied the stranger. She was petite—a good head shorter than he was—and somewhere between curvy and voluptuous. The hair pulled into a messy ponytail was an unnatural shade of red - surely dyed - and her clothes were comfortably sloppy. Though rather plain, to him, she was lovely—lovely, and, at least outside of dreams, out of reach. Silently contemplating the human female before him, he wracked his brain for an explanation. Despite her unfamiliar appearance, something about her seemed very much familiar—something tickled from the deepest recesses of Donnie's memory like a favorite song long forgotten. Surely he was mistaken, though; the only human female he knew in person was April, and April looked nothing like this woman.
A surprised gasp tore him from his thoughts. The bottom fell straight out of his stomach…he was seen. Despite his expectation, the strange woman grinned up at him like he was an old friend. "Dunnie!" She shoved off from the wall and, in a manner all-too-familiar, launched herself into his arms. Stunned at the sudden tackle-hug, he found himself unable to do anything more than stand there, arms feebly outstretched at his sides, and wide eyes locked on the top of her head; lost for a purpose, his hands reflexively clenched and flexed mid-air, unable to pull his attacker closer or push her away. Why would he pull her closer?!
"Donnie, I did it, I found ya, I really found ya!" As she rattled off her excited proclamation and the equally rapid-fire explanation following, he gingerly settled his hands on her shoulders in preparation to push her away. "Ya told me we'd find each other someday, an' we did! I died, granted, but I found ya, I really found ya in real life!"
Confused, partly by her words and partly by his inexplicable reluctance to push her away, he, craned his neck to meet her eyes. Perhaps something in his eyes worried her because the smile fell away from her face and she backed away. "You…found me?" he asked with a forced smile.
"Just today..." Her previous excitement faded right before his eyes. "Well, technically, you found me, but you didn't recognize me…you brought me home with you." She shook her head in confusion, a small, hopeful smile tilting her lips. "Don't you remember? You and your brothers found me in the subway—you took me to April—you saved my life, Dee!" No…when did…he didn't remember ever meeting this woman before, much less taking her to April! Still, it made no sense—something told him he knew this—this person—knew her from the fine specks of grey in her eyes to the smallest and most hidden pattern of freckles on her skin. He couldn't know her, though, this was only a dream—just a strange dream!
Her expression twisted in hurt, in dismay, but why would she be hurt or dismayed? "You forgot me." She sighed. "I knew it—I knew one of us would forget." Visibly steeling herself, she reached up to his face and cupped his cheek in a gesture that, despite being unexpected, felt entirely accepted. Against his own better judgment, Donatello's hand drifted upward to cover hers, his thick fingers lacing awkwardly with the four narrower digits curving along his jaw.
"Remember what we agreed on, Dee," the stranger insisted even as he struggled to understand the conflicting signals he received—familiar and unfamiliar, old and new, accepted and dubious—the whirlwind of worry and wonder left him speechless, struggling for air. "Remember the secrets we shared—you told me why you were assigned the bo and that you started out with tonfa, and I—" Finally, he found his tongue.
"Why would I tell you anything of the sort?" he demanded. Though it made his gut twist in protest, he pried her hand away from his face and backed a safer pace away. "Who are you? Why am I dreaming about you?" The woman winced but steadied herself.
"My name is Amber Jean O'Brien." Before, her tone was excited bordering on bubbly, and her face expressive; now she was quiet and dull, and her eyes were dim. "We first met in dreams as children, and we've been meeting here ever since. The last several dreams, you've been confused and lost, so I guess it's not too surprising you've forgotten me completely." She turned a bitter smile to the distant skyline; overhead, the sunlight dimmed, rain clouds building on the horizon. "I don't understand why our timelines aren't meeting up, but maybe it's got to do with why I aged faster than you…maybe there's still a chance you may remember me in time."
A sharp glance cut off his impending protest. "On January 23rd, 2016, you'll find a half-starkers lunatic in hoochie-boots lost in the underground—freezing to death in an abandoned subway station. You'll take her to April, Casey will be an arse, then you'll decide to bring her home. I'm gonna be a mess, Darlin', but I know it'll get better in time…and once you remember me, I can tell you what I couldn't tell you in the alley today…then you'll understand."
"Wh—What you couldn't tell me? What can't you tell me?"
"Hawd yer fashin', ya silly braw speccy,"• she reprimanded solemnly, then grinned when he blinked back in silent confusion. That...felt familiar...why? She smiled at some secret thought, then shook it away and turned pleading eyes to him. "Dee, you've got to remember—ya gotta remember, and when you do, ask me about Clayton Gregory."

Willsdale, Missouri – The Staggering Rat Pub
Day 3
"As you can see this is the heart of Willsdale proper – the Town Square and what passes fer Downtown Willsdale. Funny, huh? Like this place actually has an Uptown or something." All around Amber, passersby shot her scornful glances and rolled their eyes. Of course, she couldn't really blame them too much – she was the one wandering around outside a local bar with a Bluetooth headset clipped to her ear and her phone in the air like some delusional tourist shooting their pathetic vacation. What the good people of Willsdale couldn't realize, however, was that she wasn't just shooting a video—she was live-streaming it to Donnie's phone, introducing him to places and people he could never see in person…starting with her uncle Bart's pub.
"Unusual name for an establishment," Donnie remarked from his end of the call, the butter-smoothness of his voice sending goosebumps down her bare arms. "You said your uncle owns it? Was the name perhaps chosen in the old European standard of choosing names that could be illustrated for the illiterate?"
"Not exactly, ya cannie-fanny," she teased, gleefully visualizing the slight flush surely blooming in his cheeks if he mistook the playful barb for a compliment. Aaron would consider smartass a compliment but Donnie... "It's a pun – the rat's staggerin' 'cuz it got rat-arsed. -it's blackout drunk," she amended when she recalled her audience. A low chuckle echoed through the headset, sending even more chills down her spine; she could practically feel it along her skin—just like she felt it this morning when she woke up to find him curiously mapping out her vertebrae through the tender skin of her back and mumbling the terminology and such to himself. Criminy…if he kept up being brilliant and curious around her, he was liable to find himself tackled the moment she got back to Aaron's trailer, witnesses or no witnesses.
Right—her family was waiting. "Well," she muttered turning the camera to her face to offer Donnie a somewhat nervous smile. "On with the show. You're gonna love what he's done with the place!" The moment she crossed the threshold, she found herself swept up in a bear hug, courtesy of her much taller and leaner uncle.
"Yew really thought yew were foolin' me, Lil' Burd?"• Bart teased with a lopsided grin that seemed all upper teeth. That crooked and misaligned grin was one common to every Devon Amber ever met, and at one time, it embarrassed her to pieces; now, it was just more proof that she was finally home. "I wasnae born yesterdee,"• Bart reminded shooing her over to the bar. At the old formica-topped counter, her family gathered, finally unified again, and a fresh tumbler of her favorite fine Scotch whisky waited for her. "Now," the white-haired Scot-expat grinned as she settled on her stool, "how aboot yew fill us in before the lunch crowd hits?"
Over an hour later, the Devon family and Amber's father were disbanded; Amber and Aaron remained at the bar catching up while Bart looked on, seemingly waiting for something to happen. He always seemed a bit flighty before—long-haired head permanently in the clouds and pale grey eyes always focusing on sights no one else could see. Now Amber couldn't help but wonder if they all misjudged him. Other than Aaron, he was the only person to recognize her in her new shape. Perhaps Bart wasn't just daydreaming or hallucinating all these years…perhaps he was actually seeing things his family could never see or believe. Her family would never believe even half the lunacy Amber now knew to be fact…perhaps she and her endearingly awkward uncle had more in common now.
All around her, familiar sights, sounds, and smells tugged at her senses. Over the classic rock playing low in the background and between Aaron's updates on their hometown, Amber heard the clack of resin on resin—her father was shearing another local over the pool table. Bart's prematurely faded hair, as always bound in a loose tail, shone clean and white in the unnaturally bright lights over the bar. The tang of stale beer and spirits hung in the air, countered by the smoky perfume of her scotch—scotch she still, after over an hour, had barely touched. Separately, those sounds, sights, and smells meant little; taken together, they meant everything. Be it ever so humble, Amber realized with a faint smile, distractedly tracing the rim of her glass, it was good to be home. Wait…did she get that wrong? Oh, who cared—the company was good and the whisky better, so what could possibly matter?
Wait. There it was again – a slight prickling of the hair at the back of her neck. Eyes fixed on her glass in determination, Amber drew on everything Donatello taught her in hopes of ferreting out the answer. Though unseen, there were eyes on her—she could practically feel the gaze of another crawling down her spine. Aaron, bless his heart, didn't pick up on her sudden silence or her tense posture and went on about her being "a fancy-pants city-biddy now." Of course, Aaron tended to miss any social cues that weren't delivered with a sledgehammer. Oblivious to her growing discomfort, he prattled on about things that should matter to her—the many changes the town went through, the vast differences between this town and what she was now used to, and a slew of other, equally familiar comments.
Her eyes darted upward and, over the brim of her glass, the cause became clear—the waitress, Kimber, hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen, bottle-green eyes uncertain and painted lips locked in a slight frown. Amber met that stare for a while, hoping a good, long, hard stare would deter Kimber from confronting her, but eventually, she faltered. In the time between Amber looking to Aaron for comfort and returning to the staring contest, the other woman vanished among the bodies oozing through the front door.
Without warning, Amber shoved her stool back from the bar and lurched to her feet, startling Aaron. "I'll be right back," she told him with a weak smile. "I gotta hit the ladies'…keep an eye on that waitress." Before he could question the odd order or get out one of his usual quips—for instance 'Don't ya mean hit on the ladies?' or 'Call me if ya want me to shake it for ya!'—Amber bustled to the back of the pub. With every step, the feeling of being watched intensified…and so did the already overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
Footsteps behind her—her pursuer tackles her, shoving her through an open door. An unfamiliar face in the mirror—she's never seen the woman before, so why does she seem familiar?
"Ya hussy! T'a fuck're ya doin' in my bawdy?!"
Kimber. Amber shuddered at the realization and quickened her step; sure enough, the footsteps behind quickened as well. Her dream about Donnie and Aaron in Aaron's backyard played out differently, though, so maybe the dream of Kimber could be changed too… Determined to not fall into that trap, Amber put on an extra burst of speed, darted past the door to the women's room, and ducked into the men's room instead. Sure enough, the footsteps outside paused, their owner hesitating—hesitating long enough for Amber to prepare herself to meet her counterpart.
The sound of a familiar tune startled Donnie from his ruminations, drawing his eyes from the notebook page to his cell phone. Amber. Shaking off his stupor he checked the message. Gran'da left, he read silently scrolling down the screen with a distracted thumb. Only Aaron & me now. Will probably be back early. See you soon, Darlin.' How soon? He shook his head. Not for the first time he wished Amber was better at communicating, or that he was better at reading between the lines. Either way, he wouldn't find answers staring at his phone.
The distraction set aside, he stared down at the worn notebook splayed open across his lap. Overall, Amber seemed to have forgotten her journal, or else she simply stopped writing in it. Perhaps in her mind there was no longer a need for it? No matter. It had a new purpose—a different person was scrawling out their problems and struggles in its worn pages, starting from the back and working forward.
'Specky' – where have I heard that name before? Obviously from Amber, but she's the only one I've ever heard use it – why did it feel familiar the first time she used that name? Even stranger, why does the Amber I dream about use that name? Surely it's only a coincidence. Then there's 'The Crazy Celt' – it's not the sort of nickname I'd come up with but at the time, it fit. Then to hear Mercy use it – AFTER I used it on Amber! – and claim it was a common nickname in her previous life – how is that possible? Then there's the Amber in my dreams again, bragging about how 'the Crazy Celt' outdrank another victim…this makes no sense!
Even nicknames aside, there's too much to ignore. "Here I thought you grew from spores like a mushroom." To hear that in person after hearing it in a dream…is it just an Amber-ism, is it coincidence, what? Physical appearances – Kimber's hair is more brown than red, but if the photos in Aaron's album are to be believed, Amber's hair was almost auburn. The Amber in my dreams has the same color hair! This can't be possible—it's completely illogical!
Realizing his scribblings were becoming more and more frantic, Donnie paused, slowing his breathing and stretching the crick from his neck.
No matter how I may agonize over the questions, I won't get any answers just thinking about them. There's only one thing I can do at this point – I have to hunt down answers, confirm a few things I've noticed regarding the Amber in my dreams. Did the real Amber have braces as a child? I know she had back trouble and fused vertebrae from the accident, but did the scars on her back stretch vertically or horizontally? Perhaps A.W. has some photos in his album that might confirm or deny this. What about that birthmark – 'dream Amber' has a blotchy brown birthmark just above her left glute, shaped somewhat like a half-deflated football. Did the real Amber have a birthmark like that?
…okay, maybe that's not the best question to ask. I need answers, not a knuckle sandwich. This is getting out of hand…
With a frustrated sigh, he dropped his pen to the couch cushions and flipped back a few pages. Ah, yes…there it was. The mere sight was enough to bring a small quirk to his lips. The first time he found the poem – scribbled on a wrinkled sheet of paper lost between his nightstand and the wall – he was sure the verses were remembered and copied. Now he knew the truth – they were original, written by the confusing woman he now called his own. Transcribed to the notebook by his own hand, now, he studied anew the riddles hidden between the lines.
I met my lover in a dream. Why hide ye in the night? The shadows are my right. He was never very good at this sort of thing…perhaps that was why Amber felt confident enough to put the words down. Shaking off the realization, he trailed down to the second half of the poem.
The dream is done but he is here –
I've met my lover 'gain.
My life is over, a'thin's changed,
and how much, I dinnae ken.•
"Why must a'thin' change," I asked?
"Why must a'thin' end?"
"Because it must," I realized.
"Just smile and be his friend."
Friends…well, that would explain why she kept pushing him away. Still…Amber never spoke like that aloud—at least not when he was around, or when she wasn't furious beyond measure. Clearly, she was imitating someone—hiding her words behind the style of another, hoping he'd be fooled. She underestimated him. "The dream is done," he muttered aloud, flipping back to his notes and scribbling out another. "She references dreams a lot in this, and in her journal…maybe there's a connection?"
Mibbe someday he will see –
Someday the truth I'll tell.
What truth? Was there something beyond what she confessed that May? Something even more unbelievable than his family being fiction in her world?
...In dreams…
...I fell…
...in dreams…
He slumped back into the over-stuffed sofa with a sigh and tugged at the tension in his neck. Perhaps he was wrong…perhaps he was misreading the signs given him…but if he was wrong…if they really did know one another from years before...why hadn't Amber brought it up before now? If she dreamed of him and he of her, why did she still maintain silence about it? If their roles were reversed – if he was granted a new chance at life in her world after dreaming of her – he would have brought it up before now…wouldn't he?
Now my lover watches me
His eyes as hard as stane.
The love we knew in dreams is through…
My lover-friend is gane.
Her lover-friend…if he was reading this right - if she somehow knew him before he knew her - how she must have suffered for hiding it from him…
The back door creaked open in the kitchen, and a moment later, clicked shut. Donnie stashed the journal under the sofa and dug out the photo album, feigning interest in its contents. "Hey, Hon," he called out. As he waited for Amber and Aaron to make their way intoto the paror, he thumbed through the album's crackling pages for any photos which might show Amber's backside...or at least a birthmark above it. Finding a photo would be less dangerous than asking about it. "How'd it go?"
"So yer the one she's hidin'." Donnie's heart-rate went through the roof—a stranger stood in the doorway, amused blue eyes fixed on him. Of course, that amusement might be more due to finding himself face-to-face with a ninja armed with an ugly, dusty table lamp. In the hands of a master of ninjitsu, anything could be a weapon…unfortunately, Donnie was no master, so he probably just looked silly. Frozen in place, lamp at the ready, Donnie scrutinized the unfamiliar man blocking the doorway to the kitchen.
The stranger was tall – almost taller than Donnie himself! – and though he was now visibly frail, he had an air that implied he was strong and sturdy in his youth. Clear grey-blue eyes, a shade or two clearer than Mercy's and several shades murkier than Mikey's, stared right through him. His hair was overlong and curly—dark brown between the grey and white spread like patchwork across his scalp—and his thick greyed beard, sideburns, mustache, and mutton-chops were trimmed short. Despite sneaking up on him, the elder strode confidently into the living room and lowered himself into Aaron's recliner with a pained grunt. "How did you get in here?" Donnie asked when the other volunteered no explanation.
"It's a small toon."• the elder replied thickly with a disaffected shrug. "Naebody locks their doors when they're home; some fowk ne'er lock them e'en when they're gain."• The mutant stared back, blinking in confusion and struggling to decipher what he heard. The stranger was difficult to understand, but then again, so was Amber when she got angry…and angry Amber sounded a great deal like the stranger before him if a bit more understandable. Something about not locking doors...? "We've never met – Ah'm—"
"Glen Devon," Donnie finished for him. "Amber calls you Grahn'Dah." Sure enough, Glen grinned at him, baring a glimpse of familiarly misaligned upper teeth. Huh…a crooked overbite was a family trait, then, maybe?
"An' yoo're the cannie speccy she waited fur," Glen acknowledged gruffly, "The one 'oo brooght 'er haem tae us, an' pit 'at sparkle back intae 'er een"• Despite the thick accent coloring the elder's words, the meaning was somewhat clear—it was a confirmation, a compliment, or maybe a mix of both. Donnie ducked his head to hide an awkward smile.
For a time, the two simply compared notes, both surprised the conversation was as easy as it was, culture clash and language barrier aside. After all, it wasn't exactly normal for someone in Glen Devon's world to find themselves chatting with a mutant turtle, let alone the mutant turtle dating his not-really-dead granddaughter. "I'm surprised you're taking this so well," Donnie remarked after a time. "Normally when my family first meets someone, there's screaming and stammering, or at least fainting. Some people even wet themselves."
"Mah yoongest has seen thin's fur years, Lad."• Glen smirked, though his facial hair almost hid it. "He sees things naebody else ever sees, but things 'at soond awfa familiar an' fictional. Compared tae what he's told us aboot, yoo're pure dead tame. If ye want a bodie tae faint, yoo'll hae tae meet mah dotter."• Donnie wasn't sure what to say about that—partly because he couldn't understand even half of it!—and held his tongue. "Ah'm grateful tae ye, Son. ye brooght mah Amber haem, yoo've taken guid care of 'er, an' Ah'm sure ye mean 'er nae harm, but Ah need a promise. Ah need yer word 'at ye only want th' best fur 'er - 'at ye willnae hurt 'er."•
It took a moment of bewildered staring on Donnie's end for Glen to realize the other didn't understand a word he said. The frustrated elder tried again, slowing down and enunciating more clearly; that careful enunciation, however, resulted in some oddly warped pronunciation that didn't quite work out. Again, Donnie was reminded of Amber; she, too, sounded incredibly fake when she tried to speak 'clearly,' and her why can't people just understand me? face was almost identical, sans facial hair. "Sway-er tae me...ye willnae—will no'...hoo-urt Ahmber," the elder summed up between pauses. "Sway-er...tae me....ye'll dae right by'er."• Promise you won't hurt her—promise you'll take care of her - that much, Donnie could understand.
"I wouldn't dream of doing anything otherwise...I want only the best for her." He avoided Glen's eyes, though not out of guilt or embarassment. "She means the world to me. But...I can't promise I'll never hurt her…I…I kinda…already did." To his surprise, Glen didn't automatically jump all over him for the confession; instead, the elder leaned back into the recliner's plush backrest, crossed his hairy arms, and waited for explanation.
It took a bit to get out the whole story, from first finding Amber in the subway to their long feud and all the way to the present day—the juicy bits censored out, of course. So far, Glen seemed almost comfortable with him being a mutant, but should Donnie let slip that he and Amber were intimate…EEK. His family might never find all the pieces of him. "I love her, Sir," Donnie finished, "and there's little I wouldn't do to make her happy. We've made amends and moved on from that fight, but I—I'm afraid I've done something else—something even worse than not trusting her."
Glen waited for him to elaborate but to no avail. "Whi—what hae ye dain—done—then?" he asked, and winced each time he had to correct himself. Donnie turned back to him, looking much like a kicked puppy.
"I forgot her," the mutant confessed, gaze dropping to the photo album again.
"Forgot 'er?" Glen repeated, grizzled brows pinching in disbelief. "Hoow cood ye hae forgotten 'er? She's bin wi' ye thes whole time, yes? Hoow cood ye forgit 'er when she's reit under yer beak?"• How could he forget her when she was always with him? Even with Glen's thick accent (apparently being understood was now less pressing than demanding answers) the question was clear, but the answer was far from it.
From the moment Donnie first found Amber, freezing to death in the underground, she seemed familiar; he was sure he'd never seen her before, but something tugged at him from the depths of his memory. That tugging only grew stronger over their first few months with her, months peppered with hints and secrets seeping from the past and into the present in the form of remembered dreams and deja vu. Then came the day he thought sure would be their last together—the night she dreamed of Kimber demanding answers, the night he first showed her his heart, first explored her through touch and taste, and the night before they faced down Hun and Northpaw for her freedom. That night, the slow trickle of memories swelled to a tsunami—memories of dreams long forgotten, some recalled in the light, others relived in the night, and most featuring an older, wearier version of the Amber he knew now. It took a few weeks to realize he'd been remembering all along - that the Amber in his dreams was trying to tell him so - but the overload of remembered dreams nearly drowned him.
"It sounds too far-fetched to be true," he summed up still afraid – ashamed, angry, frustrated – and unable to meet Glen's eyes. "Logic indicates shared dreams are impossible, based in fiction, but I've seen logic proven faulty many a time, often by my sensei—a master of ninjitsu and the wisest man I know. Not to mention this inter-dimensional travel bit," he added under his breath. "So much makes me wonder if these dreams of Amber…if they're another instance of logic being overruled by reality." He heaved a sigh, tugging at the back of his neck and struggling to center himself despite his thoughts skittering every which way. "If…if we really did - crazy as it sounds - experience a shared dream-state throughout our lives, then how could I forget her? She means the world to me…how could I possibly forget someone so important to me—someone who wasted her entire life waiting for me, who even died waiting for me?" Before he could launch even further into self-deprecating stammering, Glen spoke up.
"Ne'er underestimate th' ability ay a broken heart tae break th' mind," he warned as he crossed his long legs. "If ye truly forgot 'er, why did she seem familiar?" Donnie blinked in surprise; it never even occurred to him to wonder that. "It soonds like ye blocked oot 'er memory, Son, mebbe oot ay sorraw. 'er lahst few years she was jist a sheel ay herself - wur li' Jeanie-burd wiz fallin' apart. It broke wur hearts seein' it frae th' distance she kept us at; Ah cannae imagine hoow much it wood hae hurt tae see it up close."•
Amidst the perplexing explanation, a few words stuck out that made sense. Blocked and memory, sorrow, falling apart, and hurt, and, although he may have misunderstood, it broke our hearts. Donnie was sure there was more to the explanation but the bit he understood was clear enough. Could he have been so broken-hearted over watching Amber fall apart that his own mind tried to spare him from it? Could his brain, in self-defense, have stricken those dreams from his memory, declared her a fantasy and dismissed her for his own well-being?
Donnie wasn't sure what to say to that. What could he say? It hurt watching her wasting away her life, even now long after the fact when all he had were echoes of dreams past; surely, in the moment it must have been even more painful to see it. Nervously, he looked up to meet the eyes of the elder—the grandfather Amber mourned more than anyone else in her world. "Did…did she d-dream…" He faltered, losing his nerve and turning away in embarrassment.
"Ah cannae deny or confirm 'at," Glen warned. "If ye want answers, if ye want tae ken—agh—tae knuw—if yer dreams waur only yoors, 'en yoo'll hae tae ask 'er yerself. Ah hae nae answers fur ye."• Glen studied the other, searching for any reason to distrust or doubt the strange being before him; he found none. "Ah hae a question fur yew, noow. Will she be able tae come back again? Is thes th' only chance we'll hae tae say goodbye?"•
Donnie startled from his ruminations. "Can she come back again?" he repeated to ensure he didn't misunderstand the other's words, then upon receiving a nod, answered with a shrug, "I don't see why not. We used a portal technique to get here—a spell of sorts meant for travelling to other dimensions for ninjitsu training. The technique is easy enough to manage, timeline variance aside." That timeline variance, of course, being two years gone by in Amber's world for less than a year in his world. He shook off the realization; it wouldn't help his case any, but the elder deserved to know. "We should be able to come by once in a while but I can't guarantee it'll be regular or frequent – she's been in my world less than a year, but Aaron Willis told us she's been gone from yours for two years."
"Did ye truly expect defferent worlds tae march tae th' sam drumbeat?" Glen chided with a grin. "Yer warld an' wurs cannae ever cross, sae whit wood be th' point ay them keepin' time together?"• Donnie stared back at him, struggling to grasp the other's point; failing that, he searched instead for what he wasn't hearing or seeing and still failed.
"You really aren't disturbed by any of this?" the genius muttered disregarding his confusion for the moment. "Your granddaughter is dating a mutant turtle and came back from the dead, but you're not the slightest bit disturbed?"
"Disturbed?" Glen parroted back with a smirk. "Entirely. Gonnae lose mah heed? Naw. If it'll comfort ye, I'll be sure tae faint tha' morn."•
One moment Amber O'Brien was being chased down by a counterpart demanding answers; the next she held that counterpart pinned to the age-speckled navy tiles of the men's room wall, faithful Buck knife at the other's throat. "Lemme guess," the braided other-worlder remarked with a calm she didn't at all feel even after the fact. "I'm Kimber Bryant, what're ya doin' in my body, have a knuckle sandwich."
"Ya don't have ta do this." Without any sign of aggresssion, Kimber reached up to the shaky hand at her throat and eased it—and her favorite knife—aside. "I don't mean ya no harm…I jus' want answers."
Hours later, Amber still wondered if she should have fought harder—should have insisted more and refused to trust the woman whose corpse she wore like a fugly Christmas sweater. Hours later, though, she was alive and unharmed, and so was Kimber Bryant…and come sundown, the Jersey Nutjob would meet Amber, Aaron, and Donatello in Aaron's home for a long overdue talk.
Kimber claimed she only wanted answers—swore up and down that she had no intention of causing trouble—but after seeing the disaster the younger woman made of her life before dying, Amber was reluctant to believe that. "This could be a trap," she muttered; she hugged herself, unable to tear her eyes from the blind-shaded window. Gentle hands at her shoulders turned her about, one migrating to tip her chin up; sure enough, hazel eyes, veering brown in the dark parlor, met hers.
"It might be," Donnie conceded enfolding her in his arms. "Then again," he added into her hair, "it could also be she made the request at face value. It could be she really just wants answers."
"…and it could be she wants 'er body back," Amber snorted into his shoulder. "Not sure how the heck that could work. At least the world didn't blow up when she touched my hand." He craned his neck back to shoot her a bewildered glance. "Doctor Who. Doc took Rose back in time to see'er Da before he died, she ended up creatin' a paradox, then 'er parents blew time to Hell an' back by makin 'er hold 'erself." Donnie blinked; Amber winced. "Okay, that sounded way dirtier than it was meant to."
"Something you're trying to tell me?" His expression was entirely innocent but Amber knew otherwise—a callused thumb hooked in one of her belt-loops and the rest of the massive hand cupped the curve of her rump with a playful squeeze. God forbid she even contemplate what the other hand was occupied with—she needed her sanity intact.
"You're really distracting, ya know that?" she groused but she smiled all the wider.
"I'm happy to oblige." For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something—like something wore heavy on his mind—but that moment passed. Instead, he nuzzled into the warm crook of her neck and shoulder. A gentle pinch of teeth at her pulse - a firm squeeze at her hip - who cared that Amber would face down her psychotic counterpart in half an hour? The present, spent with her brilliant, remarkable, impossible lover was far more pleasant a distraction than worrying over what she couldn't change.
Whatever would be, would be.

UP NEXT: Amber goes for a Darwin Award in The Dead Do Not Rise
Glossary
• Hawd yer fashin' – Stop your fussing
• Braw - handsome
• I wasnae born yesterdee – I wasn't born yesterday
• I dinnae ken – I don't know
• It's a small toon. Naebody locks their doors when they're home; some fowk ne'er lock them e'en when they're gain - It's a small town. nobody locks their doors when they're home; some folks don't even when they're gone.
• An' yoo're the cannie speccy she waited fur - the one 'oo brooght 'er haem tae us, an' pit 'at sparkle back intae 'er een - And you're the clever boy she waited for...the one who brought her home to us and put the sparkle back in her eyes.
• Mah yoongest has seen thin's fur years, Lad; things naebody else ever sees, but things 'at soond awfa familiar an' fictional - My youngest child has seen things for years; things nobody else ever sees which sound awfully familiar and fictional.
• Compared tae what he's told us aboot, yoo're pure dead tame. If ye want a bodie tae faint, yoo'll hae tae meet mah dotter - Compared to what he's mentioned, you're nothing impressive. If you want fainting and conniptions, meet my daughter.
• Ah'm grateful tae ye, Son. Ye brooght mah Amber haem, yoo've taken guid care of 'er, an' Ah'm sure ye mean 'er nae harm ... Ah need yer word 'at ye only want th' best fur 'er - 'at ye willnae hurt 'er - I'm grateful to you. You've brought my Amber home and taken good care of her, and I'm sure you mean her no harm ... I need your word you only want the best for her and won't hurt her.
• Hoow cood ye hae forgotten 'er? She's bin wi' ye thes whole time, yes? Hoow cood ye forgit 'er when she's reit under yer beak? - She's been with you this whole time. How could you forget her when she's right under your nose?
• Ne'er underestimate th' ability ay a broken heart tae break th' mind. ... It soonds like ye blocked oot 'er memory, Son, mebbe oot ay sorraw - Never undersestimate the ability of a broken heart to break the mind. ... It sounds like you blocked out her memory, maybe from sorrow.
• 'er lahst few years she was jist a sheel ay herself - wur li' Jeanie-burd wiz fallin' apart. It broke wur hearts seein' it frae th' distance she kept us at; Ah cannae imagine hoow much it wood hae hurt tae see it up close - Her last few years she was just a shell of herself - she was falling apart. It broke our hearts seeing it from the distance she kept us at; I can't imagine how it would have hurt to see it up close.
• Ah cannae deny or confirm 'at. If ye want answers, if ye want tae ken if yer dreams waur only yoors, 'en yoo'll hae tae ask 'er yerself. Ah hae nae answers fur ye - I can't deny or confirm that. If you want to know if your dreams were shared or yours alone, you'll have to ask her yourself. I have no answers for you.
• Ah hae a question fur yew, noow. Will she be able tae come back again? Is thes th' only chance we'll hae tae say goodbye? - I have a question for you now. Will she be able to come back again? Is this the only chance we'll have to say goodbye?
• Did ye truly expect defferent worlds tae march tae th' sam drumbeat? Yer warld an' wurs cannae ever cross, sae whit wood be th' point ay them keepin' time together? - Did you really expect otherwise? Your world and ours can never cross so what would be the point in them keeping time together?
• Disturbed? Entirely. Gonnae lose mah heed? Naw. If it'll comfort ye, I'll be sure tae faint tha' morn - Am I disturbed? Oh fuck yes. Am I going to lose my head? Nope. If it'll make you feel better, I'll be sure to faint sometime tomorrow. Smartass.
- 54
- 55
- 56
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A New Lease on Life