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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
- 58
- 59
- 60
For most of this story, some vital questions have been repeatedly raised but remained unanswered: Did Amber and Donatello truly experience a shared-dream state as children? If so, is this Donnie the same one Amber dreamed of? Lastly – and most importantly – "We already know those answers, what's keepin' those two from fessin' up?! Feels, here, they're kickin' us in'em!"
Well. If that last question has been reverberating in your brain, then fear not! This chapter, my lovelies, is the MOMENT of TRUTH! …hence the title. From the Survivor song. (Okay, I'm done.)

Linkin Park "New Divide," The Righteous Brothers "Unchained Melody," Adam Lambert "Hourglass," Survivor "The Search is Over" and "The Moment of Truth," Ludovico Einaudi "Nuvole Bianche"
Also, a worthy mention and story-wide theme for Donnie and Amber's beginning:
Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness –"Rainy Girl"

58: The Moment of Truth
Willsdale, Missouri – Aaron's shed
Once Leonardo got past the 'interdimensional travel by secret ninjitsu technique' bit, he promptly began over-analyzing everything as usual. The seals were meant to be inscribed in a temporary manner – preferably with chalk or charcoal – so the ninjas using them could vanish without a trace. Scrawling them on a wall in bright orange spray paint was appalling. After a long drawn-out rant on that, Leo moved onto other topics – the cluttered state of the shelter-shed they appeared in, the lumpy mattress lying right on the dirty floor instead of proper sleeping rolls, the obvious need of a good dusting and sweeping – only five minutes in his world, and already, Aaron wanted to strangle the uptight mutant.
One step outside the shed and all Aaron's irritation at Leo vanished—everything to do with ninjas, mutant or otherwise, was gone. Poof. Kaput. Erased from his memory. Who's Leo? To Aaron Willis, the tall redhead scrunched up on his rickety back steps was much more interesting. "Kimber?" he called out; the other-worlder startled, noticed him frozen in the doorway of his storm shelter, and stood to make her way over with a crooked grin.
"I figured ya had to cut an' run," she greeted as Splinter and Leo cautiously crept out into the dim sunlight. Aaron fumbled for words as he led the two mutants inside. Something about her voice - or maybe it was the smoggy, slightly nasal accent? - made it hard for him to find his own. Still, he managed.
"What're ya doin' here, Kim?" The nickname startled her but a slow, shy smile softened her painted lips. "Somethin' happen?"
"Yeah." She shrugged. "A certain farmhand didn't show up fer work an' Bawss Englert came ta bitch at tha pub. Ya missed two shifts on tha poultry farm, Willis; Bawss ain't happy." Aaron swore, slapping his palm over his eyes so hard his glasses went askew. "I told 'im ya had a family emergency so ya ain't fired but ya better call 'im." She hesitated, eyeing the two mutants in his living room. "So what happened?"
It took about half an hour to get all the blanks filled – from Amber nearly dying in her sleep and their frantic retreat to Donnie's world, to Aaron's eventual return, there was a lot to cover. Especially, he considered as Kimber silently processed Donnie's theory, the whole part about other-worlders dying after four days in their home reality. "It's just a theory for now," Leo reminded dryly, "but Don believes if any of you spend too long in your home realities—three days or more—it will kill you. He's not too eager to prove that theory, though, not if it means risking anyone's life."
"Ya mean…?" Kimber couldn't finish. Leo nodded gravely.
"This technique gave Amber and Mercy a chance to see their loved ones again, but it could also kill them. Better to cut ties than risk their lives." Leo stayed a moment longer, suspicious eyes pinned to Kimber, then retreated with the excuse of packing up the couple's belongings. Splinter and Aaron broke away as well, venturing next door to the ruins of Amber's old home. In the dark, lonely, dusty parlor, Kimber sat on Aaron's lumpy sofa, brooding.
There were many things about this 'Amber' person she wasn't altogether fond of—they were too different to get along and too alike to even tolerate one another—but in a way, Kimber admired the other woman's guts. After all, Kimber left a helluva mess in her old life. Amber, from the sound of it, not only survived it, she worked it out, gained allies, accomplished Kimber's failed mission, and moved on with her life. Kimber's hand lifted, fingers idly tangling in the beaded metal chain around her neck, thumb tracing the engraving of the dog-tags she wore. She never wanted another chance at life and, even after hearing that she could go back to see her loved ones, she refused to consider it. Dead is dead…but…still… Her eyes hardened—her fingers clenched around the tags, the roughened edges cutting into her skin—she lurched upward and bolted out the back door in pursuit of Splinter.
"Take me with ya." The rat and his human companion turned to face Kimber, the blond holding a small black cat with bright yellow eyes. Before a demand for answers could make it past his gaping lips, she elaborated. "A theory's just a teory 'til it's proven or disproven, yeah?" Kimber added. "Well, tha only way ta do that is ta try again with someone else—I'll do it."
"Wait, hold the phone," Aaron argued passing Kirk to a rather bemused Splinter; the cat blinked in surprise, gave the rat's ear a cursory sniff, then flopped down on his 'favorite shoulder.' "When Amber offered to bring ya back for a visit, ya tore her a new one—somethin' about screwin' up the natural order or somethin'—now that ya know it could kill ya, yer all for it?" He flung his arms wide in a 'what's up with that?' gesture. "Do ya hate livin' that much?"
"It ain't fer me, Willis," Kimber retorted and crossed her arms in defense. "She can't come back unless there's a way it won't kill her—someone's gotta confirm Dahnnie's theory or she's never gawnna see her family again." Aaron and Splinter said nothing—they just looked at her, one bewildered and one closed off, and both waiting for an explanation. She held out as long as possible, every second of silence crawling down her spine like an unseen spider, but finally, she caved. "Mista Splinta, ya know what a mess I made out'a my old life—I don't really like tha bawdy-snatcher much…but I know what she went t'rough in my skin. Tha messes I left behind—she had ta deal with 'em, an' she's been cleanin'em up this whole time…but even after all'a that…"
She trailed off, keenly remembering the last time she saw Amber. After all the rude things Kimber said to her in Aaron's parlor, the two counterparts wound up sitting on the hood of her car and staring up at the stars in an almost companionable silence. Kimber broke down—cried like a weakling over something that didn't really matter—she bristled and threw accusations and insults, and all-but stuck her breasts in the other's face just to start a fight…and after all was said and done Amber encouraged her, comforted her, and offered her help. Kimber's throat locked up. Amber went through Hell because of her mistakes and never once blamed her for it; what manner of person would she be if she refused to help the other woman when she had the ability to do so? "I gotta at least try," she settled for.
"Not going to happen." Kimber jerked around to face the speaker; when did Leo turn up? He followed her?! "You've done enough damage to my family already, Kimberly," he elaborated, looking down on her literally and figuratively. As always, the use of her real name set her hackles bristling; after everything she did to ensure that her old self died, why did people always have to remind her she was still alive? "Now you have the gall to make demands and claim you want to help us?! I won't stand by and watch you tear—"
"Leonardo." He silenced, blue eyes warily rolling to meet Splinter's; how could his father always manage to rebuke him so thoroughly with only his name? His eyes narrowed, his lips flattening and pursing into a more irritable version of his infamous 'why me?' face. "Miss Bryant's actions have caused much trouble for our family and others, there is no doubt of that, but she has suffered from them as well. Would you deny her the chance to reclaim her honor?"
"But—but she has no honor!" Leo was torn between speaking the truth and contradicting his master. "She's just a punk—just a Purple Dragon punk! How can anyone with honor be willing to subject themselves to that sort of lifestyle?!"
"She wishes to help your brother and his partner," Splinter amended lowly, "to make right her mistakes. Would it be unreasonable to allow her that chance?" Leo flustered, his skin darkening in an angry flush and the skin of his lips tightening. Pale blue eyes pinned Kimber in place like a bug on a foam display board. She made no move to defend herself, he noticed with a begrudging respect, but nor did she agree with his accusations—she held her tongue completely. Finally, after a long, tense moment of considering his sensei's words, Leo had his answer. He sucked in a steadying breath between his bared teeth, sighed it back out his nose, and scowled down at her like she was some nasty insect he ached to squish.
"You offered to confirm Donnie's theory," he reminded in a clipped tone. "You have one chance to get this right—only one." She nodded shortly, her apparent lack of fear and humility grating Leo's last nerve. "You're to stay away from Raphael while you're in our home—you've already done enough damage." Finally, there was the leverage he needed: she flinched so harshly one might have thought he slapped her. "We'll return in a week—that'll be two weeks, here—be ready or we're leaving without you." Kimber gave a shaky nod and fled the scene before the tears in her eyes made it to her cheeks. Without another word, already dreading the upcoming visit from the Jersey Nutjob—the woman directly responsible for Raphael's broken heart and ongoing guilt—Leo stalked back to Aaron's shed to finish packing up.
"Well," Aaron mumbled to Splinter. "That could'a gone worse." He couldn't tell, but it looked like the rat was smirking behind his whiskers. "Getting back to Kirk—"
"He is clearly well-tempered," Splinter volunteered before Aaron could finish. "You mentioned he is skilled at dispatching pests?" The blond nodded, digging his fingers into his poofy curls.
"Mice, crickets, other nasties," he added, "you name it, if it don't belong, he'll either kill it or chase it off. If Ross is growin' veggies for the family, there's gonna be bugs an' rodents comin' after the harvest—Kirk'll be worth 'is weight in gold." He sighed and reached out to scratch behind the cat's ears. "He was always Amber's cat, really," he added soberly as Kirk's purring hitched then grew louder. "I could never keep 'im around when she was here…now that she's gone…" He couldn't finish, and just shook his head in defeat.
"An owner can choose their pet," Splinter confirmed, easily feeling Kirk's ribs through his fur, "but unless the pet chooses them in return, neither will ever be fully content." Aaron heaved a sigh, halfway between morose and resigned; he reached out to scratch Kirk's cheeks.
"Go figure you'd dump yer Daddy fer the gal who gave ya a sissy name."
Less than an hour after their arrival, Leo and Splinter made their way to the shed to make their departure. Just outside, Aaron held Kirk cradled on his back—harness, leash, and all—giving him a send-off fit for a mother sending her child off to war. Splinter was amused. Leo was impatient. Kirk was entirely unimpressed and Aaron was studiously ignoring the cat's stink-eye glare. "You be good fer yer Mama, ya hear?" Aaron's mumblings, carrying into the shed, made Leo shake his head in defeat. "Catch 'er lots'a bugs an' mice an' earn yer keep. Don't go runnin' off like ya did here. Give Mama lots of snuggles, ya know she needs 'em. Don't bite the brainiac, he's not food." A sniffle followed the last order.
"Are we supposed to just—" Leo's frustrated whisper fell off into a yelp at the sting of a tail-swat to his Achilles tendon.
"Yes."
Finally, with a final order – "An' if Raph makes Ross cry, poop in his shoes—if he don't wear shoes piss on his bed" – Aaron stalked around the corner to wait for the other two, only to freeze in the doorway. "…you heard every word'a that didn't ya?" he deadpanned. Their silence told him everything, and that everything sent blood rushing to his cheeks. "Animals ain't stupid," he insisted gruffly passing Kirk to Splinter. "They can't talk but that don't make 'em stupid—they understand more'n we'd ever expect 'em to. They—" Mid-sentence, he went silent, cringed, and face-palmed. "I'm tellin' a pair'a mutant animals that animals ain't stupid. Brilliant."
The Lair, about 9:00
The moment Leo and Splinter stepped through the portal into their hallway, the younger ninja instantly knew something was different. The Lair was quiet—too quiet—and unless he was mistaken, he smelled wet dog. Even stronger than the stink of dog was the perfume of a much-favored shampoo scented with ylang ylang, eucalyptus, and patchouli. Beverly. He stopped only to deposit Donnie and Amber's luggage outside their bedroom door and followed his nose to the kitchen.
Sure enough, Bev, Bree, and Mikey were gathered around the kitchen table and Bosco sprawled out at his owner's feet, tail thumping and tongue lolling in a toothy grin. Even after the stress of running into Kimber at Aaron's house—and, of course, the power struggle that led to—the mere sight of his lover and her family soothed his nerves. To his surprise, Kirk was already loose, unharnessed, and curled up on Bosco's back, looking for all intents and purposes like he was dozing. Splinter worked even faster than his son expected. "Huh," Leo muttered crouching down to greet Bosco and stare down the whistle-snoring cat. "I thought Aaron said you don't like dogs."
"That cat doesn't like dogs?" Bree retorted leaning down parallel to the table to stare sideways at Kirk, her curls dangling humorously from the position. "He seems pretty dog-friendly to me."
"To be clear," Splinter reminded from the parlor, "the boy never stated that the cat doesn't like dogs—his claim was 'Kirk once tried to eat a pug.'" Bree blinked in surprise, and turned to glare at the now entirely awake cat, still leaning sideways.
"Bosco…friend," she warned pointing at Bosco. "Friend, not food. Got that?" Kirk blinked—answer enough for her—and she straightened back up at the table, wild brown curls flopping back into place with the movement. "So you went to Amber's world and brought home a cat. Got everything you need for it?" Leo's blank look, unfortunately, told her everything. "Apparently not," she sighed and screeched her chair back from the table. "Don't worry, I've got this."
Once Bree and Mikey left for 'new pet shopping,' tension filled the kitchen. Leo leaned back against the row of worn cabinets, eyes locked with Beverly's in an intense stare-off. Both waited for the other to crack first, reveling in the minute steps to their little silent game. One smiled—the other raised a teasing eyebrow—the first upped the ante with a pointed glance toward the catwalk above the living room—finally, Beverly rolled her eyes, stood, and led the way, left arm out at waist-level to detect stumble-hazards. The moment the bedroom door closed a pair of powerful arms hauled her up to eye-level, their owner carefully wedging her between his plastron and his bedroom wall.
For a time, no words were spoken—their lips, after all, were otherwise engaged. Finally, Leo reluctantly pulled back to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers; most of her weight rested on his right thigh and the heat there was mind-melting. "I take it Mikey told you what happened," he murmured.
"He sang like a canary," she teased. "I didn't even have to try worming the answers out of him this time." He dropped his eyes to the floor, sure she was hurt that he didn't call the moment Amber showed up bleeding to death. "Is everyone alright?" Wait…what? He mentally replayed the conversation thus far, from his question to Beverly's, unsure how they got from the expected indignation to worry. As so often before, she easily recognized his confusion and pinpointed the source of it, all without a word from him. "He and your master told us Amber was taken to the hospital for emergency care," Beverly explained, her face free of censure. "Something about a sudden manifestation of the injury which killed her before, if I understood correctly. I heard two distinct snoring patterns coming from Donatello's room, so I'm assuming she's home now."
Leo shook himself from his thoughts and backed them toward his bed. "That's it exactly." He carefully sat down and eased Bev closer to straddle his lap. "She's fine. She's pretty tired from the ruckus and Donnie's sleep schedule's been off for a while so Sensei sent them to bed early." Beverly hemmed curiously and trailed her fingertips down the middle of his plastron—from the hollow of his throat all the way to pluck at the upper-most of his twin belts—then smirked at how his Adam's Apple bobbed at her teasing.
"What about you?" she pressed as though she wasn't silently torturing him. "Are you well? How have you handled this…crisis?"
Now, he understood where she was coming from. Donatello wasn't the only one feeling trapped at the hospital. The whole time they waited for word from April, Leo was lost in memories. The day he met Beverly—times he snuck into the hospital to check on her—nights when he perched on the roof of the parking garage and watched the window of her room for any sign of activity, hopeful and fearful to the point where he couldn't sit still—all those memories and more were fresh on his mind. This time Donnie was the one pacing like a caged lion and Leo couldn't find the words to reassure him. Words would never have reassured him when Beverly was dying, so what could he possibly say to comfort the genius? Words were never his strong point…nor were emotions…
"It was…" He faltered, shook his head, and tucked her under his chin with a frustrated sigh. "This whole day's been rough…and the nearest hospital was the one in Brooklyn…the one you…" No, shut down that line of thought—that's a road that doesn't need following. To block out the uncertainty in his thoughts, he focused on more tactile feelings—the fuzziness of her black cable-knit sweater vest, the lean firmness of her shoulders beneath her navy turtle-neck top, the humid warmth of her breath on his collarbone—slowly, these feelings silenced his fears with reminders that the present was more than he ever hoped for.
"I understand why you couldn't reach us this time," Beverly told him between nuzzles. "It was an emergency, and your other friends arrived faster than we could have. You have nothing to apologize for." Leo sighed into her hair, his eyes focused far beyond his bedroom door.
"How do you always know what I'm feeling?" he asked weakly. He couldn't bear to bring up the threat of Kimber coming back to tear Raphael apart again. "Even when I don't yet know it myself, you always see it…you always know just what to say." His arms tightened around her; he fooled himself he could feel her heart beating right up against his, though he knew it wasn't anatomically possible.
"I do work primarily with teenagers," Bev teased, one elegant black eyebrow arched. "Even after the high school laid me off, most students I tutored were in their teens, and the trend continues. As a breed, they're completely inept when it comes to effective communication. Anyone foolish enough to willingly make their living teaching teens must be skilled enough to read the unreadable." Leo gave a wordless sound of understanding—she waited, lips curling in a sly smile—he startled and turned offended eyes on her.
"Did you just compare me to a teenager?" he demanded as she giggled into her fist. A 'yes,' then. Without warning, he pitched them both to the side and rolled with the landing. One moment she had all the power; the next he pinned her to his mattress, his arms braced on either side of her head and one massive knee supporting his weight between her thighs. Finally, he realized with no small amount of arrogance, he caught her off-guard. "Who's laughing now, huh?"
As other information vied for his attention his teasing grin sobered. Sleek, wavy black hair spilled over his pillows like spun silk—wide espresso-dark eyes gleaming at him over her glasses, more eager than afraid—anticipatory breaths heaved in her lungs, her lightly-painted lips parted and her moderate bust rising and falling with every one. She was… "…beautiful," he murmured lifting one of those ink-black locks of hair to soak in the scent of her. "You're so very beautiful, Koibito."•
"Is that…your…professional opinion?" she asked breathlessly—inclined to tease, as always, but for the moment incapable of keeping up the appearance. A broad, gentle smile split his lips.
"Indeed," Leo answered nuzzling at the pulse throbbing in her neck. Before he could lose himself further he backed away a pace and stretched out alongside her. Her eyes shot all manner of insults at him for cutting the teasing short but he couldn't find it within himself to disagree—not while drunk on her scent. He was growing bolder with time but Bev's responses to his advances always withered his control; it was for her well-being that he backed down when the less civilized parts of himself insisted on stepping up.
"I'm not the easiest person to live with." Beverly said nothing, only propped herself up on one lean arm; it took every ounce of self-control he had to not contemplate how the pose emphasized her moderate bust. "I'm not intuitive like Mikey, smart like Donnie, or confident like Raph…I tend to push people away and forget what really matters…" He sighed, shook his head, and cut off that line of thought. "If the time ever comes when I start shutting you out again—if I ever start to forget just how much—how much you mean to me…" He trailed off, unable to finish the request.
A teasing smile splitting her lips, Beverly latched onto the tails of his mask and tugged him back down to her level. For a while, there were no doubts or worries, no obligations or fears, only the slow, sultry dance of lips and teeth. At a familiar sensation—work-roughened fingers diving into her hair—she broke away with a final teasing nip and sealed his lips with a fingertip over them. "If the day ever comes," she promised, eyebrows arched in jest, "I'll be sure to remind you."
If. If ever Leonardo doubted Beverly was good for him, that one sentence would confirm it; it took her only one word to tell him she trusted him with all her heart. Once he would have responded with disbelief. This time, instead, he nipped the fingertip at his lips and chased her breathy laughter right back to her lungs.
November 16th
The next few nights were uneventful, thankfully. Once Donatello's sleep schedule was again nocturnal the brothers went on a long-overdue patrol of a few high-risk areas in the Bronx and a skeevy neighborhood Downtown. Mercy and Amber worked their shifts by day then worked off their frustration and worries in the garden until dinner.
The garden was coming along very nicely, complete with a few Donnie-exclusive 'greenhouse' enclosures and a heated 'hot-house' for seedlings. The lights and heaters were hooked up with timers even before the structures were complete and having the irrigation system – built from salvaged fire sprinkler parts – cut Mercy's work in half. If anyone had any doubt Mercy could make the garden work, now, the answer was clear every time she brought home another update about the vegetable crops for Spring.
Thanks to Kirk's recent arrival there was already a significant impact on the number of trapped rodents and the amount of bug damage. Unfortunately, the little bundle of sass was already on Raphael's bad side. Apparently, the massive mutant didn't quite appreciate the cat's offering of a dead cricket…on his pillow…while he slept…okay, maybe Raph's grievance was justified.
As busy as life in the Lair became post-Willsdale, Donnie and Amber had little time alone. For that reason, it was rather suspicious when the rest of the family suddenly had other places to be on a Wednesday night. Leo and Mikey left to visit Beverly and Bree. Raph and Mercy left early intent on "catching a game" but as no one in the vicinity played Wednesdays in November, Amber had a feeling they really intended to sneak into a theater for some gory action movie. Splinter, too, was absent from view, though she suspected he was simply enjoying the solitude of his room off the dojo. Even Donatello was out of reach—most likely still barricaded in his Lab to finish the vitals monitor he designed for Kimber's upcoming visit.
Despite the oddly evasive behavior of those she shared the Lair with—or perhaps because of it?—Amber sat alone in the kitchen, staring down her latest bottle of cheap Scotch whisky. It was unopened and she intended it to stay so for a time. Still, she stared it down with all the sobriety of a mother considering her child's imminent flight from the nest.
Ever since the day she first awoke in this new reality, she'd had little time to simply sit and reflect—little opportunity to examine her new life between crises. Now she finally had time but she wasn't too keen on doing so. Home was never far from her mind before she made it back; after that trip came close to killing her it was still on her mind but balanced out by other topics. Lessons—obligations—dreams—love—loss—all were demanding her attention in this time of peace but she couldn't make up her mind which breadcrumb-trail to follow first. A chill ran down her spine, almost like a sensation of someone breathing down her neck; in the silence of the kitchen, she fancied she could hear the faint ticking of a distant legion of clocks.
A tapping at the doorway startled her from her thoughts; Donatello seemed nervous, one hand still raised from the knock. "Hey, Hon." Her greeting had an immediate effect—a mild tilt to lips she couldn't tear her eyes from. Her timing ever inappropriate, she recalled vividly just how those lips tasted that morning…and where they were when she woke up. Crud. Hello, gutter. Been a while, huh?
"Something wrong?" he asked glancing pointedly at the unopened bottle instead of acknowledging the scent of her. Amber gave an unconcerned, lopsided shrug.
"I need a nip," she answered bluntly. She, too, felt indisposed to confront the horny elephant in the room. Just nope.
"You haven't poured one yet." Hazel eyes scanned the table curiously for some reason behind it. Inwardly, Amber felt giddy that he recognized the term for what it meant. She was wearing off on him. "Why?"
"I haven't poured a drink," Amber answered with a quiet, wry laugh, "'cause I don't want one, I need one." Donnie blinked at her, visibly lost. "Wantin' a drink an' needin' a drink are two very different things, Darlin'," she explained patiently. "If I drank every time I needed a drink, I'd be an even bigger mess than Mercy's ma—I only drink when I wanna, never when life drives me to it." Perhaps he was comforted by the explanation—proof that she wasn't quite as 'lost to drink' as she might seem—because he responded with a lazy smirk.
"So, what then?" he teased. "You're just going to stare at the bottle until you want a drink?"
"Heck naw," Amber laughed pushing the bottle toward him. "I'm tryin'a convince myself bribin' Uncle Bart to send me a case of my favorite blend is a bad idea." An amused snort burst up Donnie's throat and broadened her grin. "He always got the best Scotch fer that pub'a his," she recounted fondly, "said it made the place more authentic. —as if his patrons cared whether it was a UK pub or a Hicksville waterin' hole. Compared to what he stocked, this blended stuff is rotgut."
Donnie responded with a wordless sound of consideration—he neither agreed nor disagreed Amber noticed gleefully—and made his way over to her. "Follow me," he urged stashing the scotch bottle on the far counter. "I've got something to show you."
His request was odd enough; for him to lead her to the dojo, of all places, was even more curious. Still, she didn't confront him; she just let him lead her through the beaded curtain, past the padded mats, and up to the long wall decked with racks of weapons. At a grouping of weapons she never saw in use, he faltered and glanced at her as if in need of reassurance. Perhaps he found it because he sucked in a deep, steadying breath, lifted a pair of old wooden short-staves from their pegs, and carried them over to her.
A second glance revealed they weren't staves at all; each was about a hand over the length of her forearm with a thick handle protruding from the side. Amber accepted the offered weapons as though in a trance, a lifetime of memories flashing behind her eyes. Torn between anticipation and dread, she scoured the faded wooden surface of each for carvings long-worn off. "Do you know what those are?" The question jolted her back to the present.
"They're—they're tonfa," Amber replied nervously, eyes quickly locking onto the oiled wood again. Why would this moment make her nervous? Why, after a lifetime of hoping, dreaming, and longing for this moment, would she fear it when it finally came? "Yours?" A work-roughened hand cupped her chin and lifted her eyes to his. Sweet, slightly chapped lips tasting of too-sweet coffee stole hers in a kiss halfway between steadying and desperate. When the lip-lock was broken, Donnie's eyes met hers, determined.
"Clayton…Gregory." Two words—he only said two words but those two words were a name—a name that made Amber's blood subsequently run cold in dread then warm with longing. Logic dictated she needed to confirm what he was asking her.
"Wha?" Amber, unfortunately, couldn't string enough words together to answer the call of logic. Go figure. "Uhh…"
"Clayton Gregory," the genius insisted, "he was a business student at Glenville University and your classmate. Tell me about him." Now, Amber realized with a shaky laugh creaking up her throat, there was no doubt what he was asking. Her eyes darted every which way as if searching for an escape.
"You told me about him once," Donnie reminded gently trailing his fingers from her jaw back into her loosely braided hair; this close, the sweet smell of coconut filled his lungs and soothed his equally frazzled nerves. "You worried we'd forget so we shared secrets—you told me about your classmate—the student killed by the same drunk driver who clipped you—and I told you about those." He glanced pointedly down at the twin tonfa in Amber's trembling hands. "This is your chance, Amber…I told you why I don't use those anymore. Why?"
Amber forcibly swallowed. Timid green eyes lifted from the faded wood to his. After nearly a year, the moment of truth was finally come.
When Splinter first detected voices in the dojo, he was unconcerned. If his presence was needed, after all, the responsible party would surely come pounding on his door in no time. So far it seemed he was safe—safe to enjoy his book and peace—and the newest member of the family still slept undisturbed in his lap. That a cat would routinely seek out the company of a mutant rat was irony of the strangest sort.
"This is your chance, Amber." The voices in the dojo were loud enough to be overheard, now, and the words they spoke piqued Splinter's interest. Why would Donatello be showing Miss O'Brien the weapons he was first trained with? "I told you why I don't use those anymore. Why?"
"You…ya kept hurtin' yerself," Amber answered thickly, softly, nervously. "Ya even concussed yerself a few times. Tha's how Splinter found out yer far—"
With a sudden rustling the explanation devolved into a squawk, then a whine; someone, Splinter realized with a cringe, was being (as Amber would put it) "snogged senseless." Kirk, displeased with the racket, snorted and glared up at Splinter. "Do not look at me with such irritation," he chided the grumpy cat. "I have been nothing but considerate to you." Kirk, unimpressed, stood, circled around, then flopped back onto his side with his rear now facing the lap's owner.
'I see the saying is true…you are no one until you have been 'dissed' by a cat.'
After a lifetime of dreams and nearly a year of doubt, the truth was out: the dreams were shared. Donnie always held Amber without hesitation—so tightly he seemed to fear someone would rip her from his arms—and now was no different. With his snout buried in her hair and her hands clutching his shoulders, the couple swayed in place as the revelation soaked in.
The genius was the first to regain his voice. "It was you," he breathed and brushed his lips over her hair in insistent nuzzles and kisses. "It really was you…all this time, you were really there…" Amber choked and nodded. "You were—we were—" Words failed him and he was left shaking his head in disbelief.
"We were a'thin',"• Amber finished between cracks in her voice. "Ah thought—I thought ya—"
"I forgot you." The bitter admission came with an even more bitter smile. "I don't know how, or why, but I forgot everything about those dreams…I only started remembering when we found you in the station...over the last few months, it's all come back to me." He ducked to brush a lock of still-violet hair out of her eyes—watery eyes turned up to his in wonder. "I remember now…all those dreams we had are coming back—some I've remembered and some I've dreamed again." His smile cracked, weakened. "In every dream, you beg me to remember…I guess I just…" He fell short, unable to meet her eyes.
Ne'er underestimate th' ability ay a broken heart tae break th' mind.
Despite Glen Devon's thick accent, his point was clear enough. Donatello 'blocked oot' Amber's memory entirely, whether consciously or unconsciously, but how could he explain that? How could he possibly tell her that he not only forgot her, he mentally repressed everything to do with her? "I guess I just…couldn't handle watching you fall apart…when I couldn't do anything to help you," he settled for, finally looking up again. "I—" The sobriety in her eyes cut his impending apology off at the pass.
"If the words I'm sorry pass your lips," Amber warned, one grey-shot eyebrow arched, "so help me, I'll tell Raph ya ordered praying mantis egg cases for the garden."
"Seriously?" he muttered, glaring but fighting a smile trying to break through. "Mercy bullied me into that—how can you be so heartless?"
"Don't be sorry an' I won't have to be." Soft, small hands framed his face, thumbs tracing the pale edges of his muzzle, the teasing fading into affection and her speech gradually thickening. "We both knew the plan, we both had opportunity to ask what needed askin', an' of the two of us, you're the one 'oo had the coorage ta do it." Amber gave a harsh, deprecating laugh. "All tha' talk of findin' ya, an' Ah was too feart ta e'en try. If onybody deserves a sorry, it's you, ye selly bawheid."• A moment later she realized he looked a tad perplexed - perpelexed and, dare she say, a little intrigued? She rolled her eyes. "I'm the one who's sorry," she translated. "You're brave. I'm a chicken. Cluck."
It was at that very moment that Donatello realized a long-sought truth: his life with Amber was thus far one disaster after another, but someday, the endless storms would be over and done with. Now the clouds were parting—long-sought sunlight was breaking through and drying up the rain, promising a future full of endless blue skies. The two star-crossed souls stood in silence, content for the moment to simply breathe one another in. They were both too lost in one another to register another heartbeat throbbing eerily close by—a heartbeat impossibly present and timed to the ticking of an invisible legion of clocks—and the unseen entity it heralded.
'Finally, we're getting to the good stuff!' Unseen, unheard, the entity fled to Her own realm in a flurry of impossible cosmic dust, never realizing She caught the notice of a shrewd hazel eye.

UP NEXT: Kimber returns, and it's awkward for everyone in A Matter of Honor

Glossary
• Koibito – Japanese, roughly lover, sweetheart, etc.
• A'thing / A'thin' – everything
• Of the two of us, you're the one 'oo had the coorage ta do it. - We both knew the plan and we both had opportunity to [initiate the "Hey, I think ya forgot me!" measures] but you're the only one who had the courage to [follow through.]
• All tha' talk of findin' ya, an' Ah was too feart ta e'en try. If onybody deserves a sorry, it's you, ye selly bawheid. – After all that talking I did about finding you [in reality someday] I was too afraid to even try [to verify that you were my Dream Donnie.] If anybody deserves an apology, it's you, you silly [bald-head.]
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A New Lease on Life