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Little Moments	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 1174 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, its characters, or any songs/movies/etc Referenced; no money is made by this story. I only own my original characters...and two very fat cats with very bad breath.

Chapter List
- 1-Little Moments
- 1
A/N: This is the FULL VERSION of this fic—it includes all the explicit bits you WON'T find in the version I posted on my other two sites.This version is AFFO. If you prefer NOT to read this explicit version, follow the links in my profile to my FFnet or DeviantArt pages—the version posted there is a very weak M, maybe even a high T. Kinda stepping out of my box, here, so any and all feedback would be totally awesome, especially regarding keeping the guys 'in character.' Hopefully this exercise was a success, and they're at least somewhat IC. Enjoy, and take care, y'all!
WARNINGS: strong language, established relationship, alcohol, brassy women, 2003-verse mixed with 2014-verse, adult brothers, and explicit lemon.
Suggested Listening, in order of relationship focus:
Maggie/Mikey: Lady Antebellum, "Our Kind of Love"
Leo/Marcie: Kansas, "The Wall"
Don/Alesha: Counting Crows, "Accidentally In Love"
Raph/Vega: Alice Cooper, "Bed of Nails"

Little Moments
North Hampton, the Jones Family Farm
It was good to be back on the farm, Michelangelo thought warmly as he watched clouds roll in. It had been several months since their last visit—several months since they'd been able to enjoy the afternoon sunlight without worrying about being seen. Worse yet, he admitted to himself, it had been several months since he'd had a chance to see…her. He glanced further west, china blue eyes locking on a big red barn less than a mile away, and the grey ranch house nearby. Even a mile away, he knew without a doubt that the house was surrounded by scratching guinea hens, the wash was fluttering on the line, and a sweet young redhead was waiting for him.
Magnolia. He smiled fondly, reminiscing on her riotous red hair, wide, excited eyes blue as an October sky, and the ever-present ear-to-ear grin that set his heart thumping. Maggie and her sister Marcie's family had been neighbors of Casey's grandma, and they'd grown up seeing him as a sort of older brother. They'd spent many childhood summers together chasing fireflies, roasting marshmallows, and roughhousing when he visited the farm. When Marcie and Maggie were ages twenty and seventeen, their parents decided to return to the Midwest, but Marcie and Maggie stayed behind, purchasing the property from their parents for what turned out to be a pittance. The next year, Marcie enlisted in the Navy, only to receive an honorable discharge a year later; she rarely spoke of her short service, and never of what had led to its end.
The girls hadn't been meant to find out about Casey's 'unusual friends,' but an unusually stupid bunch of Purple Dragons had mistaken the Willow ranch for Casey's farmhouse the year Marcie returned unexpectedly. It was pure luck that Casey had gone by to borrow their trailer and discovered the two sisters at gunpoint. Once the punks were dealt with, though, the guys had needed to hide until Casey could lure the girls out to the trailer. Mikey had decided to hide in the hall closet, silently congratulating himself on his super-stealthy choice even as he propped himself up against the ceiling of the tiny nook. He'd never have expected the girls to keep their keys hung in the hall closet, though; next thing he knew, a short redhead was staring up at him in shock.
Thinking back on it, he wasn't surprised that she'd fainted when he handed over her keys, grinning sheepishly. He was still surprised that the girls had become so fond of his family, though. His eyes fixed wistfully on the ranch house again; doubt niggled at his thoughts. Was she home? Was she waiting for him? They hadn't been able to get out to the farm for several months, and he hadn't been able to call her for an entire week. After two years of calling at least weekly, and usually nightly, he was sure she'd be annoyed at his sudden silence. Still, asking to use someone else's phone would have meant admitting that he'd accidentally dropped his in sewage and decided against fishing it out. He'd prefer to avoid that conversation for a while longer—at least until Donnie wasn’t so stressed out over the latest lair upgrades.
A cleared throat at his left drew his attention; Leo seemed unsurprised by his distraction, or what had distracted him. "Sorry, Bruh," Mikey grinned. "Been a while since we've been here, huh?" Leo smiled knowingly; the sisters had been on his mind as well…or, rather, the elder sister had been on his mind. He forcibly cleared his mind before his thoughts could carry him away.
"The others will understand, Mikey. Get going already...If you see…her…." Mikey grinned at his brother's telling blush.
"Knowing Marcie, she's probably on her way over already," he quipped. "She's probably been watching the driveway since our last visit." Leo hesitated, glancing nervously at the red barn.
"She's probably busy, Mikey," he muttered. "Deer season's starting soon—she and that Maverick guy are probably planning another hunting trip." Mikey shook his head with a wry smile; he'd told Leo that Maverick wasn't even interested in Marcie, but he'd shut him down before he could finish. Leo was intimidated by Marcie's best friend—her gay best friend—and wouldn't believe that she only had eyes for him. Mikey laughed under his breath at the irony.
"I'll let her know you're here, if I see her." he teased; as Leo began sputtering in embarrassment, he took off jogging toward the property line. He loved Maggie—had loved her since he was only seventeen, and she loved him in return. It was time to quit worrying, and go see his girl. "Bye, Leo—Smell ya later!"

Manhattan, the Nightlife Resort
Two women stared each other down over a folding card table, both willing the other to break. The first, a tall, athletic woman with olive toned skin narrowed her grey eyes suspiciously at her opponent's cards; she'd once again bet all her winnings, on this last round. The curvy Latina grinned smugly, taking a long sip of her espresso-laced coffee as the other woman stewed.
"You know, Vega," she grinned, adjusting her faded green John Deere ball cap. "You could just fold."
"Fuck off, Al," Vega spat, chucking her bet on top of the kitty. "Folding's for pussies. I'll see your toffee and raise you a gummy worm," she added in a peeved grumble.
"OOH," Alesha retorted, dark brown eyes flashing with mischief. "I'm so scared." Glancing coolly from her hand to Vega's sharp glare, she settled on a course of action. "Cards on the table, Chuckles." Agreeing to the call, Vega tossed her hand onto the scratched wood. Alesha took measure of Vega's confident smirk, then inspected the cards she'd laid out. The brim of her hat hid everything but her wide grin as she stared at her own cards; her shoulders shook with barely suppressed laughter.
"You're kidding me, right?" Vega groused, her sharp features pinched in a grimace. With a shit-eating grin, Alesha laid her cards out for Vega to see; the taller woman slumped, her posture as limp as her short black hair. "You fucking twat," she deadpanned. Alesha burst out laughing, shoving the pile toward Vega shamelessly.
"You win," she laughed. "You have to wash the dishes!" Vega snorted, flinging a peppermint at her friend.
"Yeah, well you suck, so you have to cook and take out the trash. Quit losing on purpose." Alesha shrugged shamelessly.
"What? I'm a decent cook, but you've got those manly muscles—dishes ain't got nothin' on you!" Vega's retort was cut off by a knock at the breakroom door. "WHAT?!" A short, spindly man peered nervously around the door, as though he expected to find the two flat-mates engaged in some form of debauchery on the sofa. Seeing them simply lounging around a table full of cards and penny candy, he frowned, visibly disappointed.
"509 got wasted, busted his head on the sink, and bled all over the place," the concierge explained curtly. "Housekeeping fainted; backup vomited, then fainted. Get it cleaned up." Alesha glared icily at the small man from under the brim of her hat.
"I'm MAINT'NANCE, Dick-wad," she pointed out sourly. "Not housekeeping. Unless he broke the sink when he fainted on it, call housekeeping an' get back to your brown-nosing."
"Now, Woods," Dick spat. "And take off that ridiculous hat." Without another word, he swept out the door, never noticing that both women had flipped him the bird in unison.
"Can we bury him in the basement?" Vega grumbled. "I'm gettin' sick of his snooty bitching…not to mention acting like we're perpetually fucking just because we live together."
"I've about had it with his lazy ass, too," Alesha replied, then teased, "Don't begrudge him his delusional lesbian fantasies, though…With THAT attitude, we're probably the only action he'll EVER GET." Vega shot her a sharp, warning glare.
"Kiss me an' I'll kick your ass."
"Likewise, Asshat—you're too soft an' squishy for me. Don't s'pose you feel like sushi tonight?" she teased as she buckled her tool belt back on. "Food poisonin' might get me a day off." She tugged her hat off, fixed a longing gaze on the faded, worn, green denim, and finally handed it to her friend. "Keep Jonny safe for me, or I'll bury you in the basement." Vega accepted the ballcap, but Alesha held on tightly, visibly hesitating.
"It's just blood and barf," Vega snarked. "You're not sending the damn thing off to war." Her friend sighed melodramatically, finally releasing the fabric.
"Goodbye, sweet hat," she said mournfully. "Hello, blood and barf. ICK. "

North Hampton, the Ranch next door
The big red barn echoed with rustling and mumbling. Up in the hayloft, Maggie swept the last bits of moldy straw over the edge, carefully avoiding the fresh bales stacked by the ladder. The barn roof had sprung a leak during the last big storm; their few remaining livestock had been safe, and they'd nailed a tarp over the roof as soon as they discovered the leak, but everything in the loft had gotten pretty wet. Straw, hay, feed, you name it—it was all ruined. Marcie, and Maverick and his husband Sheldon had gotten the repairs finished, but until the last of the moldy hay was gone and replaced with fresh, it made no sense to bring the animals back in. Naturally, since Marcie had gone to check the perimeter fences and planned to stop by the Jones' farm on the way back, the job was left to her.
Joy. A particularly vicious swipe sent a wad of fuzzy green-spotted hay careening toward the barn door. Fortunately the loft was still structurally sound, and from the look of it, not even water damaged. Finally certain she'd gotten everything out, she lowered herself to the floor, perching on the edge of the loft. She loved living in the country, but it could be so lonely sometimes. She tugged a battered flip phone out of her jeans pocket, checking the display hopefully. It had been a whole week since Michelangelo's last phone call…Worry that he'd been hurt, or worse yet, killed, was driving her mad.
As though on cue, the barn door creaked slightly; she snapped to attention, peering through the dimly lit room at the open door. Tears sprung to her eyes at the tall orange-clad figure standing in the doorway, grinning at her. "MIKEY!" she squealed, launching herself off the platform at him. He effortlessly caught her, laughing loudly and spinning in place before landing on his back in a pile of speckled straw.
"Missed me?" he grinned, picking pieces of straw out of her short, messy hair. She socked him in the arm.
"You scared the livin' PITS out'a me!" she scolded; he chuckled at the familiar euphemism. Her parents were highly intolerant of profanity, and even with them living several states away, she still substituted silly phrases for cursing. "Why didn't you call me?" He cringed; she'd been worried?
"I just wanted to surprise my girl, Mags," he explained, rubbing her back. "andIlostmyphone." She giggled, shoving off of him.
"The truth comes out," she teased, sauntering toward the nearest bale of straw. "Well, I'll forgive you for worrying me…on one condition." He waited; she plopped down on the square bale. "Help me stock the loft?"

The Jones Family Farm
From the moment he stepped foot in the farmhouse, Leonardo knew without a doubt that Mikey had been right about Marcie watching for them. Casey's laughter drowned out all other sound, but he could smell her everywhere—hay, cut grass, and Irish Spring weren't common scents in places that usually stank of smoke, Pinesol, and feet. At first he considered walking back out the door and just waiting until the woman left. Then April ducked into the kitchen and tugged him along behind her with a grin.
Sure enough, there they were, all crowded around the back porch. A woman with short, impossibly neat brown hair and guarded blue eyes perched tensely on the porch rail, a tall glass of iced tea in one hand and her hackles tense in ever-present caution. He cringed when her eyes shot right to his; so much for sneaking out. Even as accomplished as he was, he couldn't sneak past her; she even surpassed him in hypervigilance. Not for the first time, he considered that the one responsible was lucky he'd never find them; he didn't know just what event led to her discharge, but he'd considered numerous possibilities, each worse than the last. Her eyes solemn, Marcie nodded and raised her glass in greeting before taking a small, controlled sip. Resolving himself to another awkward encounter with the woman that didn't love him back, he settled on the back step, clutching his bent knee tensely.
"Leo, Man!" Casey grinned. "Ya just in time! Mahsee's got news fer us!" She smiled weakly, but he saw the nervousness in her eyes plainly; Casey was always too loud for her tastes.
"We're moving," she stated without preamble, taking another sip of her tea. "Once we've sold the last of the livestock and settled on the land, we're relocating to New York." Short, simple, and straight to the point, he thought wryly; she hadn't changed a bit in the long absence. The thought both cheered and saddened him at the same time.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Donatello launched into a rapid-fire argument about the ever-increasing cost of living rate, skyrocketing rent rates, overpopulation of the city they lived in, and the still fluctuating crime wave that they'd never stopped fighting. Raph, thinking Marcie was being ridiculous, laughed, teasingly asking where they'd found a closet for rent. Casey swore up and down to chase off whatever hooligans were pressuring them to leave, and vowed to support them to the bitter end. Only he, April, and Marcie remained silent, the two women exchanging an uncomfortable glance.
Marcie's fingers tightened on the glass in a white knuckle grip, and from the looks of it, she was focusing unusually hard on her breathing. It was times like this that made Leo curse the situation that left her broken inside. Her fear of big men and loud noises, yelling in particular, made being around large, loud men like her childhood friend Casey very, very difficult. He knew she was fighting an impending panic attack—knew by her sharply different breathing patterns and nervous, darting eyes—and he'd be damned if he stood by and did nothing.
"Quiet!" Leo barked at his brothers and Casey. "One at a time, please, before you…" he trailed off, realizing that even if he was worried the racket would trigger the woman's fight-or-flight response, pointing it out aloud would likely tick her off. "…give me a headache," he finished weakly. Sure enough, Marcie saw right through the cop-out, but she seemed thankful rather than annoyed.
"Actually, just don't," she contradicted just the same, in true Marcie fashion. "It's already a done deal—nothing you all say will make a difference. We're moving, and that's final…it's for the best." Her eyes dropped to her tea, seemingly searching for answers in it. "We'll be better off there than here, and we'll not be so far away. Maggie will be happier, too, and that's enough for me."
"Ya movin' ta the city so those nuts can be closer tagetha?" Raph stated dubiously. "Dat's an expensive gesture, Marse. Ya'll be broke in a week."
"I've got a job there." The room fell silent; Leo searched her expression for something, anything that would explain her feelings on the matter, but found nothing. "My commanding officer retired this year, and he's started a security company; last month, he offered me a guard job—Manhattan, the resort our friend Al works Maintenance at. Another friend, Vega, is looking around for hiring opportunities for Maggie, too. It'll be more than enough to get us by."
Manhattan, Leo thought worriedly, mentally mapping out the terrain and isolating blocks with fancy resorts on them. Depending on which resort she was talking about, they might still live several miles or more from the lair—that would be several miles distance between himself and Marcie. It wasn't as far as North Hampton, but maybe he could still manage if he had warning before she came by; he could always meditate in the Dojo until she was gone.
Realizing the direction his thoughts had taken him, he scowled darkly. Marcie didn’t love him—couldn't love him—but he had no business avoiding her just because the nearness was painful to him. Why, why had he fallen for her in the first place? Why had he not told her his feelings before fall arrived, before she started scheduling hunting trips with that handsome blond neighbor of hers? Maverick…he couldn't begrudge the man his good fortune, but it didn't make the hurt any weaker.
"Leo?" Marcie asked softly, hesitantly. "Are you…okay?" Steeling his resolve, he met her eyes, pasting on a smile that was barely skin-deep.
"Congratulations on the job, Miss Willow," he answered. "And good luck with the move." If he stayed any longer, his heart was going to break, and he was going to do something he'd regret. Without another word, he rose from the steps, wandering around the house toward the tree line.
He settled on a mossy fallen tree, burying his face in his hands, reminiscing on the day they'd met. Once he and his brothers had chased off the Purple Dragons who'd broken into the Willows' home he'd found himself cornered against the front porch by a terrified woman with stormy blue eyes and a double barrel shotgun. From the moment she chose to believe that his family had protected hers, had clicked the safety back on and let him go, he'd somehow known she was no danger to anything but his heart.
'Funny,' he thought wryly. 'Usually Raph's the one running away from his problems.'

The Ranch Next Door
Mikey and Maggie lounged on the straw-covered platform, cuddling. They'd accomplished their chore quickly, with Mikey hurling the bales and bags up to Maggie, who distributed them as needed. Now the ledge was covered in fresh, fragrant straw, and a pile of clean horse blankets had been laid out beneath them. Maggie was attentively listening as he recounted the many adventures his family had seen since their last visit to the farmhouse, and he was fighting to stay focused on said stories. It had been so long since they'd seen one another, but she seemed to have only become more beautiful to him. Only halfway focused on what he was saying, he admired the freckles spattered across her cheeks and nose, wondering if she'd found any new ones lately.
Suddenly, it occurred to him that they were very much alone in the barn, and no one had come looking for either of them. He flushed, his eyes locking on her lips. Had the loft gotten warmer, or was it just him? As she traced the lines of his newest tattoo—a stylized magnolia blossom on his right bicep that was still tender in some places—he began to feel too big for his shell, in a way that didn't involve too much pizza and too little training. At his shoulder, Maggie smiled softly at the design, knowing without a doubt he'd gotten it because of her—Kerenza Magnolia Willow. Even when they were separate, the magnolia on his arm made sure she was still with him, even if only in spirit.
"So what've you been up to lately, Babe?" he asked, hoping for a distraction. She shrugged, nestling into the crook of his shoulder.
"Not much," she admitted. "I've been taking a few classes online…and we sold the last of the cows. Looking for a buyer for the donkey and guineas. Oh, and that dunder-dog at the feed store hit on me again."
"Dunder-dog?" he laughed, ruffling her hair. "That's a new one!"
"He's been such a pain, I've had to make up a whole new vocabulary for him," she retorted. "I tried telling him I was dating a hot ninja who'd kick his keister if he didn't leave me alone. He thinks I'm joking." Mikey grinned.
"A hot ninja, huh?" he teased. "Do I know him?"
"Soak your head an' spare me your ego." He grinned at the dark blush that had her cheeks almost matching her hair. He reached out, catching a lock of her carrot orange hair in his fingers and admiring the color. It always thrilled him that she wore his color every day—as though her bright orange hair marked her as his, for all who saw her. Shy sky blue eyes met his own; his heart thundered a drumroll, and his lungs counted down. Sure enough, she tackled him, leaving him flat on his back on the straw-covered floor. As he gazed up at the petite woman pinning him down with a shameless grin, he found himself breathless with wonder.
"Mags," he murmured, brushing his cloth-wrapped knuckles along her cheekbone as she settled atop him. "I missed you, Girl."
"I missed you, Mikey," she answered seriously, leaning down for a breathless kiss. "You've been gone too long again," she murmured between kisses. "It's driving me crazy…never knowing when you're coming back…never knowing how long you'll be gone…." She pulled away, her eyes nervous. "We're moving soon…moving to the City."
"WHAT?!" he squawked, lurching upward and nearly knocking her off his lap. "Why? You love it here—you hate citylife!" She brushed soothing caresses along his shoulders and neck.
"I love you more than the house." Her eyes were serious, he realized, stunned; she meant every word. "I love you more than I hate the city, and the distance has been hard on Marcie, too…she never gets to see Leo unless y'all come by. Being ignored is better than being miles away, really."
"He thinks Maverick's crushing on her," Mikey smirked. "He's jealous of a gay guy."
"A MARRIED gay guy," Maggie added. "She and Rick haven't been getting along well, lately, either…the drama's driving him nuts, and she's getting bitter. As it is, we've friends in New York, and Marcie's former commanding officer offered her a guard position in Manhattan." Mikey shivered at the soft fingers trailing distractedly down his neck. "…and we'll be closer to you guys there, too."
"Are you sure you want to move, Babe?" he asked. "It's a big change…and the living's cost is through the roof…or whatever Donnie's been complaining about, at least. You can't even get a pizza for less than twenty bucks anymore! How're you gonna make it?" She smiled reassuringly.
"We'll find a way. It'll be worth it to be near you. We've already been getting offers for the ranch and land for years. I'm sure, Michelangelo...I've never been more sure." He held her closely, considering the news. If Maggie and Marcie moved to the city, he'd see her more often. They could be together—have movie nights, long romantic walks through abandoned subway tunnels, share pizza with his family…maybe it wasn't a bad idea after all. Resigning himself to the oncoming change, he pulled her in closer, showing his support with his kiss. She trembled, pressing tighter against him and holding him like a lifeline.
"You know," he commented with a sly grin. "The city's got some downsides…there's no hay bales in the city. No straw, either."
"That's a bad thing?" she asked dubiously. Gentle with her as always, he lowered her to the bed of straw, hovering intently over her. Recognizing the gleam in his eyes, she welcomed him, tucking her legs along his sides, and her arms around his neck.
"You okay?" he asked quietly. "We could go inside…if this is…too…" Pulling him down to her level, she silenced him with a kiss, pressing up against him.
"Marcie'll be gone a while yet, and this hay was made for rolling in," she joked, arching against him. He grinned shamelessly, gathering her in his strong arms.
"Starting to wish I'd suggested it sooner." Gently lowering her to the blankets they'd laid out, he set to work on her marvelously snug jeans and tee shirt, and his worn, faded diving pants and hoodie. In what seemed like no time at all, the hidden side of her only he'd seen was bared to his eyes again as she lay back with welcoming eyes. Reminding himself to be gentle, to be careful, he covered her body with his own, stroking her thighs softly as he peppered her neck and shoulders with nips and kisses. She was so small—not even five feet tall—and he was so much bigger, so much taller, so much heavier than her; it wouldn't be hard to accidentally hurt her. He had to be careful, because he'd never forgive himself if he wasn't. "Maggie," he mumbled, pausing to pay his respects to her small, pert breasts. "My sweet, sweet Magnolia…"
"Plea—" Her request was cut off in a gasp as he latched onto a dusky pink nipple; she clutched him closely, digging her nails into his scalp with every sweep of his tongue. "Mikey! Mocha mambas, MIKEY!" He chuckled against her breast, his breath teasing the damp skin.
"So impatient, Mags," he teased as he trailed southward.
"I've been patient for MONTHS!" she snapped half-heartedly. "Don't MAKE me come OVER—" She trailed off in a loud moan when he reached his target, his lapping, flicking tongue leaving her mind a complete blank. "—there," she finished feebly, her calves twitching helplessly. Settling himself between her freckled thighs, Mikey drew her legs up over his shoulders, cupping her plump behind in one massive three fingered hand as the other cupped her soft thigh, one thick finger pressing inside her. Her soft cries spurred him on, urging him to move faster, stroke deeper, clutch tighter to the woman he loved.
"Come on, Baby," he urged between draws on her taught nerves. "Come for me…come on…" She shook her head deliriously, alternately yanking him closer by his mask tails and pushing at his shoulders, whimpering his name in a disjointed mantra. He nipped roughly, his eyes smug at her surprised cry; she was all but gone. She was still so tight, though, he thought anxiously as he slipped another finger inside her. Even a year after she first welcomed him into her body, she was still painfully tight. Was it because she was so small? Or because so much time passed between their visits?
She shuddered, bucking frantically and gasping his name; he knew without a doubt he'd found the elusive hidden patch of nerves he'd sought. Almost desperate to see her fall apart before his very eyes, he attacked them mercilessly with curling, flicking fingertips, suckling her even more roughly than before. Sure enough, moments later, her legs clamped around his neck, and she sobbed his name to the empty barn, quaking in his arms. "That's it, Angelcakes," he purred, stroking her insides softly and discreetly wiping his mouth on her thighs. "That's my girl…my Maggie…"
"Y…yours," she agreed breathlessly, eyes shining, full lips parted in heavy breaths. "Only yours." Rising to his knees and sitting back on his heels, he drew her into his arms, holding her tightly against him.
"I'm yours, too, you know," he said softly, rubbing his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss. "Only yours, forever yours."
"Forever?" she whispered hopefully, relaxing in his lap as her legs draped loosely over his hips. "Promise?" He nodded, pressing her right hand palm-first to his plastron, right over his heart.
"You can't feel it through all this awesomeness," he pointed out, gesturing to his plastron with a cheesy smile. "but my heart only beats for you. I promise, Maggie…Forever." Tears sprung to her blue, blue eyes, and she buried her face in his armored chest; though she couldn't feel his heartbeat, she could hear it, and it was beautiful. When she met his gaze again, her eyes were dark with desire, and warm with love.
"Forever," she agreed wholeheartedly. "Starting now?" He shifted, sighing in relief as he finally slipped free from his shell; she gasped, startled, but not frightened—never frightened.
"…and ending never," he affirmed, lifting her and spreading his knees. A moment of fumbling later, he sank in with a deep groan, holding her trembling body against his. Gentle, he reminded himself silently, gripping her soft hips for leverage. Gentle, careful, can't be too rough with her. Latching onto his shoulders, digging her nails into his tough skin, she rocked against him, crying out with an abandon that never ceased to humble him. His puka shell beads clacked noisily with every movement, punctuating fervent whispers and soft cries.
In that moment, Michelangelo finally felt like he was more than the labels he lived by. He wasn't just a screw-up—he wasn't just a ninja. He was more than the youngest of four brothers, more than a hyperactive prankster, more than a guy in a giant foam head who catered birthday parties for an entire nightmarish year. In that moment, he was just a man…a very lucky man who would do anything for the woman he loved, and would lay down his very life to keep her safe.
Maggie buried her face in the crook of his neck, clawing at the edge of his shell like it was the only thing keeping her from falling to her death. Falling? He studied her hazy eyes intently. No, she wasn't falling…she was flying, and trying to take him with her. He stilled momentarily, catching her gaze with his own. "Hang on, Sweetheart." With speed and grace born of years of training, he rolled onto his back, leaving her perched above him. She whimpered above him, her fingers in a death grip on his shoulders; the angle always drove her insane, and never ceased to take her by surprise. "Come on," he reassured her, his hands at her hips urging her to rock against him. "Let it go…I'll be here to catch ya."
"Mike," she whined, bucking stiffly. "Mikey! Please!" Her wide eyes were wild, he thought wistfully as they moved together. He'd never seen the ocean rage like her eyes were raging, he'd never felt fire as hot as her skin burned, and he'd never worn bindings as tight as she'd become. She was losing momentum—losing control as she passed the point of no return. "You won't…you won't hurt me, Mikey…" If he turned them—took her from above—he could hurt her if he was too rough. Could he hold back? He stared, silently considering the risks and committing the sight of her to memory. Wild, tangled hair, flashing eyes, galaxies of freckles spattered over her damp, flushed skin, his name a plea at her lips….
Without warning, Maggie found herself on her back, staring up at eyes as blue as chicory blooms. Nodding in delirious encouragement, she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her level, moaning into frantic kisses. Mikey braced himself on his elbows, keeping the brunt of his weight off of her, even as her legs wrapped around his own. Still fighting a losing battle to pace himself, he froze, burying his face in her neck as he adjusted to the change, shaking from head to tail.
Finally, when everything within reach had been thoroughly kissed, and everything from her bright eyes to her warm, genuine smile had been praised in soft murmurs, he retreated. She gasped at his return, tensing as he nestled himself in the cradle of her thighs like it had been formed just for him. Then again, it may well have been made for him. She was his first, his only, and he was hers, as well…an honor he had never expected to receive.
"Maggie," he grunted lowly, sliding one arm behind her back, helping her arch into him. She shuddered at the change, rocking into his thrusts; her voice finally failed, escaping in hoarse shouts and whimpers that spurred him on. "I…I can't…" He fought to keep control, even as he claimed her, even as she cried out wordless praises. "Oh, God!"
"Let it…go," she whispered, echoing his words even as she nipped at his parted lips. "I'm here…right here…with you…." Time seemed to freeze as she tensed around him, clamping him in a vicelike grip. Never letting go of his Maggie, Mikey let himself be swept under, a hoarse, gutteral churr ripping from his lungs as she sobbed his name to the empty walls.
As the storm calmed and their hearts slowed, she clung to him like a lifeline on a roiling sea. No longer sure his arms would hold him, he rolled to his back, leaving her draped across him. Sleepy, satisfied eyes met his; small pink lips tenderly danced with his own. There in the dim hayloft, on scratchy blankets and crunchy straw, they swore their love, vowing to let nothing come between them—just as they'd sworn and vowed every time before.
Not far from the barn, the small flock of guinea hens scattered with squawked protests at the loud occupants, eyeing the barn in condemnation. Off in the distance, the concussion of a gun firing broke the uneasy silence.

The ranch next door, Marcie's range
At first Leo had been worried by the gunshots. Now, though, he was torn between anger and sorrow. Marcie stood straight and steady, peering through the small scope of her 22 caliber rifle at a distant straw bale pinned with a pair of printed targets. Lining up the shot, she inhaled, filling her lungs, then slowly released the breath and squeezed the trigger. Another shot rang out, Leo flinching at the loud concussion. Mid-reload, she paused, glancing out of the corner of her eye, seemingly disinterested in his presence. She made no move to pull off the protective gear over her ears and eyes, or face him.
"What." Without another word, she took another shot, going through the motions, but with more force. Though Leo's face remained carefully blank, he was cringing on the inside. He knew it was for the best, but it didn't make it any easier.
"I'm sorry." Somehow, she heard him through the muffs; stunned, she paused to set the safety and pull them loose before turning to visually assess him, her expression betraying no emotion.
"Oh?" she asked simply. He avoided her steely eyes.
"Yes."
"Why?" Finally, he locked her in an equally stern stare.
"That's what I'd like to know," he answered lowly. "I left you alone—I gave you space, but you're still angry at me."
"Don't flatter yourself," she scoffed, pulling her gear back in place.
"You're a crack shot, Careen Marcella. You don't come out here in the middle of the day for practice—you come to calm down, get some peace and quiet, and get yourself under control." Never taking his eyes off her own, he reached to the pouch attached to his belt, fished out a kunai, and sent it sailing toward the target she'd been aiming at. He didn't need to see it—he knew the narrow blade had hit exactly where he'd wanted it to. " We've always had that in common." She snorted, lining up the next target over.
"Muck off," she grumbled, sorely tempted to curse and rage at him, but certain it would do no good. "The plans aren't changing."
"I'm not trying to change your mind!" he argued loudly, finally losing his cool. "I just don't understand why you're angry at me, when I did everything I could to stay out of your way!"
He'd never seen her miss the target before, he realized with a start; the last shot, though, had gone wide—VERY WIDE—and lodged itself in a tree no less than twenty feet from the straw bale, flushing out a cloud of starlings. Her eyes flashed with rage as she emptied the remaining shot onto the ground; if he hadn't been worried before, he was now. She'd never be able to use the discarded bullets without risking damage to her 22, and she normally wasn't one to waste anything. Leaving the bolt wide open, Marcie set the rifle down on the nearest stump and stormed toward him, yanking her gear off in a fury. "What did I do wrong?" he asked again as her muffs sent up a cloud of dirt, no longer caring that he was making her angry.
"You wouldn't listen!" she snapped. "I never said a word about wanting to be left alone—never told you to stay away—but you acted like I'd shut you out! Ever since that blasted hunting trip, you've avoided me like a bloody leper!"
"I didn't want to get in the way!" he insisted coldly. "You and Maverick—"
"Seriously?!" she snapped. "This whole thing's about Rick?! You have got to be kidding me!" She raked her fingers roughly through her hair, scowling darkly at Leo. "You didn't strike me as homophobic, Leo."
Suddenly, the storm raging in his mind vanished, leaving nothing but an empty, silent blankness. "Homo—What?" Equally confused by his confusion, Marcie calmed.
"You didn't know?" she asked, stunned. "You really didn't know?" He shook his head in a daze; no words came to mind. "Maverick's gay…and married…to a guy, who's also gay." Leo looked back over his memories of the cookout he'd witnessed. Maverick hadn't been the only man there—there'd also been a tall black man napping in a nearby hammock. Marcie had laughing teased that 'Sheldon' snored like a freight train, and Maverick had grinned slyly, uttering an unheard remark that had made her blush darkly.
"Sheldon," Leo said softly as the pieces finally fell into place. "He's married to your friend Sheldon." Marcie nodded solemnly. Suddenly his legs wouldn't hold his weight, and he plopped down right there in the grass.
"They've been together longer than I've known them," Marcie added. Leo rubbed his neck, struggling under the realization that he'd been very, very foolish.
'Mikey was right,' he thought wryly. 'I ran off over someone who wasn't even a concern—and I never even talked it over with her, first…I must be channeling Raph to have let this happen.' He stared at a sow bug lumbering through the dirt, thinking over all the time that they'd lost. Of everything going through his mind, one thing was bluntly obvious. "I screwed up," he mumbled. Marcie laughed—she LAUGHED!—and strode over to him, patting him on the shoulder.
"Sure did," she smirked.
"And I totally blew it, too…didn't I."
"Depends." He turned to meet her eyes; for the first time, he realized that the nervousness he'd always sensed in her was nowhere to be seen. She'd always been tense and nervous when his brothers or Casey were around, but for once she was completely at ease. She felt safe with him…after he'd gone to such lengths to push her away, he was stunned that she felt safe enough around him to drop her guard.
"On…?"
"You gonna blow me off every time you start overthinking things, and start the whole mess all over again? Or are you gonna nut up, shut up, and hit me with your best shot?" He answered her smug grin with a smirk of his own; he glanced pointedly at the kunai he'd lodged in the target.
"You gonna hit me if I do?" he teased. "I'm a crack shot, too, you know." She laughed, dropping to the grass beside him.
"Relax, it's not a contest." She smiled awkwardly, shyly avoiding his eyes as she picked at the dry, brown turf. "Besides…life's too short to hold a grudge. If you want another chance, you've got one." When she tentatively met his eyes, he finally saw what he'd been missing the whole time…attraction. She saw him as an equal, a kindred spirit, and to his surprise, she was attracted to him.
His pulse raced, his eyes darting to her lips, then back to her eyes. Finally sure he wasn't making a monumental mistake, he tugged her to sit sideways in his lap. Her eyes betrayed no sign of offense. As he brushed his knuckles along her jawline, she smiled tenderly at him, tracing a distracted fingertip over his lips.
After years of pulling away, pushing away, and refusing to take a risk, the brief, electrifying kiss felt like coming home.

Several months later, in New York City
Mikey and Maggie stifled giggles at the sight before them. The sisters had moved into their new apartment as planned, and the group were finishing up the last of the moving boxes. Marcie reclined along the faded couch, checking out Leo with an up-to-no-good smirk as he hung a multitude of framed photos on the opposite wall.
"Dang," Marcie whispered as he bent to retrieve another frame from the box at his feet. "Hon?" she called out; he smirked knowingly over his shoulder, feeling mischievous. "That one goes on the mantle. Next?" He chuckled at the obvious interest in her eyes, and obligingly slowly crouched down to the stack of frames, pausing to inspect the box's contents. "Lord of mercy," she mumbled, tugging at the collar of her tee shirt. "Forgive me, Father, 'cause I'm gonna sin…LOTS. —A little further North on that one," she added loudly; he chuckled in reply stretching obligingly.
At that moment, Donatello emerged from the kitchen scanning over a list projected from his arm display. So far, he was right on schedule with his security system installations. The sound of muffled giggling drew his attention from the display, and he fought a grin. Maggie and Mikey had no doubt been noticed by Leo, but as rapt as her attention was on his brother's barely visible derriere and much more visible thighs and biceps, he was pretty sure Marcie wouldn't have noticed them even if they'd been break-dancing on the coffee table. Chuckling under his breath, he grabbed Mikey by his mask tails and Maggie by her shirt collar, and pulled them away from the living room.
"Come on, you two," he smirked, herding them toward the kitchen. "Let's give Mom and Dad a break, okay?" The troublemakers giggled shamelessly, but followed regardless. Down the hallway, Don heard Casey and Raph cursing at the new king sized head board that didn't want to fit through a doorway properly, and April uttering sharp warnings of "Careful!" and "Watch the trim!" followed by Raph shouting, "Dammit, Case, dat's not gonna work!" and Casey cursing in pain.
Rolling his eyes at the ruckus, Don led his hostages into the kitchen, only to stare in dismay at the fridge that was still making a loud grating sound. He'd thought it had been quieter earlier, but now it was almost deafening! He really wanted to take it apart, but Marcie had argued that doing so would earn her months of grief from their notorious friend "Al." After all, Al had always been on speed-dial for repairs of any sort, and the sisters enjoyed catching up over drinks once the mess was cleaned up. As he silently considered the growling appliance, he once again wondered about this "Al," and how his mechanical prowess could match up to his own. After all, Al worked a maintenance job at a resort—Donatello was likely much more qualified for emergency repairs.
The fight down the hall was interrupted by a loud rapping on the front door. "Who ordered pizza?!" April shouted accusingly. No one answered; Raph and Leo hid, but the group in the kitchen heard nothing over the growling appliance. April's pasted on smile fell off completely at the pair of women standing outside the door laden with to go cups of coffee, a twelve-pack of mixed beer bottles, a large, heavy toolbox, and a bottle of Marcie's favorite whiskey.
"Hiya!" the tall Latina grinned, shaking April's hand enthusiastically. "Guess Marcie called someone else first, the hag." Stunned, April just stared as Alesha and Vega invited themselves in, unloading everything onto the nearest table. "Marse, ya ol' bat," Alesha teased as she swept into the room like hell on wheels. "Ya never said ya brought other folks…I feel like I should complain, but I'm not really in the mood. Where's the fridge?"
Pale at the realization that she'd forgotten to warn the others about asking Alesha over to check on the appliance, Marcie glanced warily around the room, scanning for out-of-place feet and shells. A little confused by her friend's silence, the other woman shrugged and followed the rattling right to the source, never noticing Donatello halfway in the pantry, or Mikey crouched behind the counter.
Not wasting a moment, she wrenched the plug loose, emptied the packed contents into a pair of coolers Maggie had left out, and in what seemed like no time at all, she had the back panel out of the freezer and was clucking disapprovingly at the solid block of ice forming around the grating fan. "Figured as much," she muttered. "Mags, need a hairdryer an' a rump-load of towels." Maggie startled, then rushed off for the bathroom. Just as she returned to the kitchen, Donatello wandered out of the pantry, checking things off his list and mumbling to himself about a wobbly shelf that needed stabilizing. Maggie froze in the doorway, gaping in horror as Alesha and Donnie ran smack into each other, both winding up flat on their backs, staring in befuddlement.
Donatello just KNEW he was blushing. The woman he'd run into wasn't much shorter than him, had espresso brown eyes, a quirky, crooked smile, and a lovely curvy figure with plenty of extra padding. Her dusky brown skin seemed soft and smooth, and the waist-length dark brown ponytail hanging out the back of her lopsided green ballcap took the cake. She was beautiful, he realized, swallowing noisily…and he was dead. To his surprise, the woman smirked at him, stood and dusted her seat off, and offered him a hand up.
"You're new," she grinned. "Guess ol' Marcie's been pretty busy lately. Constanza Alesha Woods. I'm a Repairs and Maint'nance worker with an affinity for mechanics and an aversion to bullshit." He flickered between nervous smile and terrified stare a few times.
"You're Donatello. I'm pretty—I mean…" He muttered under his breath, blushing hotly as she grinned at his stammering. "I'm sorry…for…for knocking you down." She laughed, aiming a flippant gesture at him as she accepted the towels from Maggie's slackened grip.
"Pfft," she snorted as she laid out the piles of towels to soak up the melting ice. "No worries—I got plenty of padding back there—didn't feel a thing." He choked, searching frantically for an escape as Vega poured a heavy splash of whiskey into her coffee and started chugging it, grumbling 'I don't get paid enough for this.' Shocked by Alesha's reaction—or lack-thereof—Maggie rushed over to her, swiping her ball cap and long parted bangs out of the way and inspecting her friend's eyes.
"Are you drunk?!" she squawked, digging through the brunette's pants pockets for anything that might impair judgement. She found nothing of the sort, but did turn out half a dozen peppermints, and twice as many empty wrappers.
"Depends," Alesha smirked, plugging in the hairdryer and aiming it at the ice blockage. "Is there a six-some-odd foot talking turtle staring at me, or is he a dweeb in a costume?" Before Maggie could answer, Vega interrupted.
"Yup," she grinned slyly. "Wearing a bo staff and tortoise-shell glasses, no less. Kinda sadistic, if ya ask me."
"Oh for the love of," Don grumbled shooting a harsh look at Vega. "They're plastic! I'm not the sort to walk around wearing an ancestor's body parts on my face!"
"Leave him, be, Asshat," Alesha scolded Vega, quirking a grin at him. "They're probably bake-lite—you don't find actual tortoiseshell frames outside Britain. Either way, the decision stands. Since I'm apparently not seeing heffalumps and woozles, I'm totally sober. Shame, really." She turned an impatient glare to the ice, but grinned back at him. "So how's David doin'? Haven't seen him in a blue moon—HA! Get it? Blue moon?" She bent double, laughing loudly; Don just stared, confused, but Vega chucked a handy potholder at her.
"That was awful," she grimaced. "You should be ashamed."
"How come I'm not?" Not even noticing that the kitchen was slowly filling up, she beckoned Donnie closer. "Hey, Bo-dacious, wanna help a gal out? Hold the hairdryer while I chip off the melting spots. This model's prone to freezing over if ya over-stuff it, but a little thawin' does the trick."
"Thaw the ice?" he repeated dubiously, glancing back and forth between the ice and Maggie's tiny pink hairdryer in dismay. "That'll take forever." Suddenly an idea occurred to him; he grinned, setting the hair dryer on the countertop. He began fiddling with the display on his tech pad. "Back up—check this out." The moment everyone was out of range, the LED work light stationed by his right shoulder started humming, the innermost bulbs glowing red. Right before their eyes, the block of ice started melting, soaking the towels.
"Why's he got a layza on his pack?" Raphael muttered.
"Why's he carry a pigeon puppet?" Mikey pointed out, shrugging. "Or a tranq gun? Or half the things he carries? He's Donnie, Bruh—our last hope for the Zombie apocalypse! OW!" he added when Raph responded with a timely brain-duster. Noticing that Vega was looking him over curiously, Raph glared back defiantly; clearly unimpressed by his attitude, she rolled her eyes and sloshed more whiskey into her coffee. With the largest bits of ice a mere puddle in the freezer, Donnie switched off the laser and turned a smug grin to Alesha.
"Sweet!" she grinned, rushing forward to knock loose the last small bits of ice. "Marcie, can we keep him?"
"No," Vega snarked. "David's jealous enough of me, and we're straight—adding a guy'll blow his fuzzy mind."
"David?" Maggie groaned. "Of course! No wonder you're not freaking out…" The brothers turned questioningly to her. "Her step-cousin David's a werewolf. No joking."
"We don't know any werewolves, Ma'am," Don explained, recalling that she'd asked how 'David' was. "Much less any ones named David."
"Ma'am? God, now I feel old." Alesha grimaced, mopping up the last of the water before reattaching the back paneling. "Better schedule a Diablo 3 marathon with Thomas before I go grey. You game, Mags?" Maggie shrugged.
"Why not? Can Mikey join?" Before Leo could interrupt about exposing Mikey to humans, she added, "His cousin is a werewolf, after all. After twenty years of David going fuzzy whenever the full moon hits, I'm pretty sure nothin'll phase Thomas." Mikey turned pleading eyes to Leo, who rolled his and uttered, "Maybe."
"Awesome sauce. So…" Alesha turned to Marcie, clapping her hands together eagerly. "Any other broken shit I can fix? 'Actual name' Dick keeps giving me housekeeping jobs—He's too lazy to figure out the phone extensions, an' Maint'nance is right next door."
"Nothing I've noticed. Couldn't hurt to check, though." Grabbing up her toolbox, Alesha strolled purposefully toward the living room. Curious to learn more about the oddly intense mechanically minded woman he'd just met, Donatello followed her to the living room, tailed by Maggie and Mikey.
"She's a little much," Leo remarked lowly.
"No shit," Raph agreed. Vega shot him a glare, and handed the half-emtpy whiskey bottle to Marcie.
"Well, we brought you a housewarming gift," Her smirk faltered. "I'll bring you another next week—Needed some Irish in my coffee, what with the talking turtles. David's weird enough, what with his crush on his friggin' step-cousin."
"No need to replace the whiskey," Marcie teased, smacking her on the back. "Buy lunch and we'll call it even." Vega groaned; she wouldn't get paid again for another week, and she'd paid the electric that month.
"Al!" she shouted sarcastically toward the living room. "Tell me you brought your wallet!" A surprised cry erupted from the living room, accompanied by a random object crashing to the floor.
"What?!" Donnie squeaked. "Al's a girl?!"

Five months later, the Lair
Donatello paced the floor of his lab, his shoulders tight with stress. A lot had happened since Maggie and Marcie moved to the city.
Mikey and Maggie had gotten Splinter's consent, and had taken part in what she'd called a 'commitment ceremony'—a way of sealing their commitment to one another, even though they technically couldn't marry. The week of the celebration, the couple had convinced Donnie to dig out the tattoo gun he'd modified for their tough skin. Mikey requested a small addition to his magnolia—the year he and Maggie met, on one leaf, and that year on the other. Once Don had made necessary changes to his equipment, Maggie opted for a small, discreet marking around her left ring finger: a ribbon as orange as Mikey's mask, curled into the symbol for infinity, wrapping around her finger like a ring. Marcie had been dubious about the idea of her little sister getting a tattoo, what with their religious upbringing, but had finally decided that it really wasn't her call—An actual ring would likely be too expensive, and what with the couple's rough-and-tumble personalities, would probably be MIA or battered beyond recognition within a year. At least the ink wasn't likely to suffer such abuse, she teased at the celebration.
Maggie now spent more time in the lair than at home, which left Marcie alone with Leo anytime he visited; they had yet to complain. Marcie and Leo were finally serious about one another, and were considering the future. Raphael and Vega were hanging out a lot, and were always either fighting like cats and dogs, or hanging all over each other. The rest of the family had a betting pool going about whether they'd commit or kill each other. Marcie, Maggie, and Vega had begun dropping by a few times a week for training, but only Vega continually left uninjured. Being a personal trainer and MMA aficionado had its perks, after all.
Summer arrived with yet another spike in Purple Dragon activity. The girls were advised that they wouldn't be able to train if they came by, and movie nights were indefinitely canceled. During a showdown with some particularly heavily armed Dragons the Battle Shell received heavy damage, and Donnie had to practically rebuild the engine. Between repairs, training, patrol, and all the other tasks he juggled on a daily basis, his lack of sleep began to get to him. When Mikey found him asleep face-first in a cup of coffee, enough was enough. Hours later, Don woke up to find Alesha buried up to the shoulders under the hood, her ever-present hat backward, her arms streaked liberally with black grease, and her delightfully plump backside bent over the bumper, mocking him.
Ever since, he'd begun calling her by whenever his workload became heavier than usual, when he was more tired than usual, and even when he just felt like tormenting himself with her presence. Recently, he'd begun to wonder if he was sick. Every time she came by, he felt shaky, jittery, and kept breaking out in cold sweats. Every time he talked to her, he started stuttering, and his voice got cracked and squeaky. He felt weak when he thought of her, felt sick when he saw her, and couldn’t sleep for dreaming about her. The only thing that he could even remotely explain was the awkward swelling, but even that brought more questions than answers. How could he have been exposed to Hobo Spider venom, so far out of the arachnid's natural range? SURELY he wasn't suffering from something as irrational as an attraction to her! With no idea where to turn, he'd asked his younger brother for advice. Now, he was wishing he'd asked their master instead.
In love with her?! Preposterous! No way, not possible, not—He paused the mental rant, thinking back over their interactions, and comparing them to interactions he'd witnessed between Leo and Marcie, and Mikey and Maggie. No matter how frightening the possibility was, he couldn't rule it out. How could he know for certain, though? How could he be sure, without a doubt, that she felt the way he felt, whether it was love or not? The lab door creaked open, startling him; Maggie stood in the doorway, watching him knowingly. He knew right then and there that Mikey had snitched.
"You know," she pointed out softly. "Vega just got here, so Al's home alone…probably ticked that Vega blew off football night for movie night, too."
"Football night?" he asked dubiously. "It's Saturday."
"Not NFL—College. She's a Notre Dame fan." Hoping for an excuse, Don glanced nervously over at one of the monitors he'd hooked up to the many security cameras he had around town. As though his own security system were mocking him, one monitor briefly flashed to a view of Alesha and Vega's living room window; behind the glass, she sat staring at their TV, her eyes solemn, her lips unsmiling. He wasn't crazy about football… "If you never try, you'll never know." He turned to Maggie again, contemplating a course of action. Maggie smiled reassuringly. "She likes Italian…especially tiramisu. And Vega says they hadn't eaten before she left." Finally, he smiled, his mind running ninety miles a minute forming a plan, even as he thanked Maggie and powered down all unnecessary portions of his workstation.

Vega and Alesha's Flat
Alesha sighed for what had to be the fiftieth time. The game was almost sad, really…the competition was embarrassing. At this rate, the Fighting Irish were just beating a dead horse. A VERY dead horse. As in 'zombie-hit-by-a-steamroller' dead horse. A sudden rapping at the living room window startled her; straightening her navy jeans and jersey, she padded over to let Donatello in, smiling warmly at him.
"Hey," she grinned. "What's up?"
"Nothing much," he answered nervously, glancing out the window at the fire escape; he'd hate for any bugs or birds to find what he'd left out there. "Been pretty busy lately, so—" She cut him off, clearly disappointed but trying not to let on.
"Ah, got it. Lemme get changed an' grab my toolbox, and we can get going."
"No, it's okay! I just…" He fumbled for words, avoiding the dark brown eyes that made speech so difficult. "I…heard you didn't have a game buddy…and figured…we could…both use a break." He finally met her eyes with a sheepish smile.
'Cuteness overload,' she thought with a grin. "Sure, why not? Come on in—I just made Iced Tea this morning, if you like that, an' I can order in." He reached back out the open window for the stack of boxes he'd left on the fire escape.
"No need—I brought dinner. Lasagna, breadsticks…and Tiramisu." Her eyes lit up at the last, and with a grin, she showed him into the kitchen for plates. Not long after, they lounged on the couch, full from dinner. As the game played out, she filled him in on the plays and rulings specific to college leagues, and he watched her intently. To her excitement, the opposing team had finally gottem their butts in gear, and the competition was neck-and-neck. He'd never really cared much for sports—felt most of them to be a waste of energy and a pointless display of testosterone—but he actually enjoyed watching football that night. Or, rather, watching her get worked up over unfavorable calls, lean forward excitedly while waiting for the refs to announce them, and, of course, the ridiculous seated victory dance and high eight at every touchdown. He'd learned so much about her during the visit—especially during commercials—most of which he'd never have expected.
She was adopted—orphaned when her mother had died of Heroin overdose, no evidence of her father but her Latino blood, and though she'd grown up in the Missouri Ozarks, her family had moved to New York during her senior year. According to what she'd been told, her mother had actually been Scottish and Anglo-Saxon, born to an old family whose ancestors had helped settle the Branson area. Her adoptive parents—a man of German blood and a woman of Jewish descent—had taught her from an early age that blood and heritage were only one part of a person, and that everyone had a choice in whether to let them define it, or let it define them. Don went quiet after that, mulling over the words; he was sure many would take it as offensive, oppressive, but to him, it made sense. He was a turtle, but his species was only part of him, and he'd chosen not to let it define who he was.
Over halftime, they traded funny anecdotes about their families. He told of the time Mikey had fed a hot dog to their friend Usagi—a RABBIT. She countered with one about her adoptive father greeting a new boyfriend armed with a rifle, shovel, and pre-written alibi. He followed with an example of exactly why Leo was forbidden from using kitchen appliances. Between snickers, she related a childhood incident where her adopted brother Thomas and his cousin David spent an entire hour debating whether the "circle, circle, dot, dot" method actually kept them from getting cooties. Once they'd laughed it off, he recounted Mikey's latest attempt to combine sushi, noodles, and pizza into one dish that wouldn't make everyone sick for a week.
Her eyes glittered mischievously as she followed up, telling him of her mother trying out a new recipe from a book about her home state's wild edibles—Poke Salad—simultaneously landing them all in the ER and getting banned from the kitchen for a month. "Pokeweed's toxic," she scoffed, taking a long pull from her chilled IPA. "It kills people, and livestock, and people who eat said livestock. Seriously, what led to people try eating it?" Somehow managing to keep a semi-straight face, she spoke aloud thoughtfully. "That plant jus' gave tha cow a fatal case'a tha shits," she drawled in a voice halfway between John Wayne and Colonel Flag. "I think I'll feed it ta tha kids. Dammit, now I wanna watch 'M*A*S*H.'" Though he normally found needless cursing rather repellant, he was still laughing when the game came back on.
At the end of the third quarter, they finally broke open the chilled dessert box; he couldn't help chuckling at her teary-eyed grin, melodramatic sniffle, and whispered, 'It's…so beautiful…" upon receiving a heaped plate. Hearing his amusement, she sheepishly joked that the dessert combined her 'three favorite food groups,' as she put it. "Coffee, sugar, an' booze—proof that mankind aren't completely worthless, even if the latter does cook out." Even after her passionate declaration of the dessert being made with "stardust, angel feathers, and unicorn tears," he feared she was exaggerating her appreciation to make him laugh. Her first bite dashed that thought completely.
'Did she...seriously...?' His fork froze halfway to its destination when the occurrence repeated. Completely oblivious to anything beyond espresso, cocoa, and the myriad of other flavors that made the dessert so delectable, she uttered a soft, barely audible moan as she savored it. Riveted, blushing, Don never noticed the protesting plop of the bite falling from his fork. She had a trace of zabaglione filling left on her upper lip, taunting him….
When she noticed his stare out of the corner of her eye, she blushed, mumbling an apology behind her hand and nervously fumbling for a napkin with the other. Before she could reach the tissue box, he caught her by the wrist, summoning up his courage. For a moment, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her parted lips. In what seemed a Herculean act of courage, he pulled her across his lap, cupping her cheek tenderly. Combing his fingers through her long, dark ponytail, he tentatively stole away the small trace of filling, only to be dragged back for one coffee-flavored kiss after another. Drugged by the combination of the tiramisu, his sweet iced tea, and the strong ale she'd been savoring, he never expected himself to tug her waist-length hair loose from its tie and tangle his fingers in it with abandon. Nor did he expect her to shift, straddle his lap, and damn near attack his lips with equal fervor.
As the night wore on and the last walls of the friend-zone crumbled without a fight, neither cared that the game had ended without their notice, that Don's plate had landed dessert-down on the clean carpet, or that the awkward swelling had returned in full force, without a single spider bite. 'Mikey, you're a genius,' Donatello thought humbly as he paid his respects to her bare neck and the soft, curvy hips and rear that had taunted him mercilessly. 'Attraction...affection...dare I think it...? …Love...? Maybe...Maybe it's not so preposterous—so impossible, after all.' A soft whimper broke his thoughts, and he reluctantly released the ear he'd been torturing.
"Alesha?" he asked softly, flushing at the husky tone his voice had taken. "Are...Are you…." After several months of awkward encounters in the lab, the garage, her apartment, and even a few on the roof and in the Mezzanine at the resort she worked for, she knew he'd be quickly filling the silence with increasingly self-deprecating rambling. Cutting him off with a kiss, she settled in his lap, pressing tighter to an area that wasn't quite as soft and cushy as before. Her breath caught; she broke the kiss to fix a warm, tender gaze on him.
"Call me Al?" she murmured, nuzzling his nose with her own. "I can call you Donnie...an' you can call me Al." He grinned, recognizing the reference easily.
"I'll be your bodyguard," he teased. "And you can be my long-lost pal...and yeah, I'll call you Al." Giggles turned to snickers, snickers turned to laughter; when his characteristic nasal snort broke through, she grinned.
"That's it," she teased, poking him soundly in the plastron. "You're taken, no more dating for you." It took him a moment, but he sobered, searching her face for answers. She faltered, adding with a chagrined smile. "....if that's...okay...?" Finding exactly what he was looking for, he traced his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips.
"You're taken now, too, right?" 'OHMIGOD, I'm gonna cry!' she thought with a watery smile. 'Sorry, Shakespeare, but there's not been philosopher yet who could bear so many warm-an-fuzzies!'
Outside the window, Maggie and Mikey perched on the metal lattice of the fire escape grinning as the two cuddled, oblivious to anything beyond the couch. Finally sure they had nothing to worry about, and that their scheming had been successful, their audience crept up the steps to the roof and exchanged a congratulatory high-eight. With his lady, his Maggie clinging to his back, gasping excitedly at every death-defying leap, Michelangelo took off across the rooftops, heading for home.
It was tough being a family of adult mutant ninja turtles in a city full of humans, and it seemed to only get tougher. The world as a whole may never really accept them, and they still had a long journey ahead of them, but they knew it would be worth it, if only for the little moments. A cool breeze on your skin, a light rain on your face, an embrace from a loved one or a kiss from a lover…it's the little moments that really, truly, make a life worth living.

Ending note: If you've read any of my "Elementals/Moments in Time" oneshots, you may have recognized some of these original characters from them. This spinoff portrays those characters WITHOUT the Elemental oddities that they otherwise boast, and thus, other qualities and traits based in those oddities. IE, Alesha isn't quite as emo, because most of the bullshit her Elemental self was subjected to never happened. For the most part, I had little difficulty making them more 'normal'...other than Marcie. Marcie was very, very difficult to write, here, because her Elemental nature and the paranormal were so deeply ingrained in her character.
She joined the Navy because she was most comfortable nearest her element: WATER. Despite it, she was still in hiding. When her crew responded to a call for backup, she had to come out of hiding to defend her company from an attacker that wouldn't have existed in canon TMNT. ( I think...?) Because her actions resulted in fear, distrust, and several attacks from her comrades, and PTSD in herself, she was granted honorable discharge. Rewriting Marcie required much, much more alteration and gutting than any of the others, and I'm not quite happy with how she turned out here.
Either way, I hope y'all enjoyed the story, and that y'all have a great week.
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Little Moments