Leo sighs. "Okay, the fact that this will be the second creepiest stunt you've pulled this week says a lot."
"Relax." Donatello draws another line. "If she has a map of the foreseeable future and showed it to me, it obviously makes sense that I should answer in kind."
"But," Raphael points out, "this is the most desperate thing he's done this week."
"Zip it." He caps his pen, holding his diagram up and walking off to his newly obtained whiteboard. "Besides, it's not a comprehensive flow chart—attempting to list every possible conversation thread would be futile. It's simply a visual aid to remember the general actions I should take in any given situation." Although you have been promising to "teach him a thing or two" about plot structure one on one, a part of him thinks it appropriate to make the first move. It appears to be the gallant thing to do, anyhow.
Mikey hops over the table, following one of the paths with his finger. "How come you have a shark on this one?"
"Oh," he nods, "that's in case she decides to go to the beach and gets attacked by a shark."
"And why are there these Xs on this one?"
"That signifies the end of one of our lives."
"And the heart?"
He blushes. "I'm not answering that."
Raph shudders. "Man, this just feels gross. I can already feel the secondhand disgust."
"Raphael," Donatello sighs, "love is a complex enigma that, if not thoroughly considered and tailored, will crumble before your very eyes. I cannot and will not destroy what little relationship we have by being reckless. Besides," he scoffs, "in what other possible manner could I ask her out?"
"Hey, Y/N," Leo offers, "let's hang out."
"See, that's too pedestrian." He gestures to the poster. "Trust in the—"
You slam through the door. Donnie, apparently panicked, flips the board over with fumbling hands. "H-hey, Y/N. Hey." He stands up properly, clearing his throat. "Hey."
You point at him. "How do you feel about busting a corrupt disgrace to the title of scientist?"
"Good!" He peaks at his board, trying to steal himself. "Where are we headed?"
"A neuroscientist by the name of Rockwell got mutated." You start heading out. "Asshole in question is Victor Falco, AKA Feral Falco, AKA The Rat King if we don't haul ass. He's at Rockwell's lab."
"Awesome. Let's go." He runs after you, shooting a thumbs-up back at his brothers.
You are going to murder a man tonight. Probably. Hopefully not. Depends on how hard it is to wreck his shit. You have been stalking the Channel 6 news for about a week now, waiting for the jackass to show up, and now that he has? You are not about to let him become the monster you knew he could and would become.
"So," Donnie startles you, lost in thought, "how was your first day of class?"
"It was fine. Met Cassey, avoided Irma like the plague, all that jazz." You turn a right.
"Cassey?"
"Cassey Jones. Hockey player, real bad at math."
"A guy?" He seems interested in this subject for some reason.
"Yup." You reach into your bag, wrapping your fingers around your kitchen knife, hands already shaking. If you must kill him, you will make it quick. "My age."
"Oh." He sighed. "That's... nice."
'Can I just take him to the police? I don't have any evidence. This is breaking and entering.'
He clears his throat. "Y/N?"
"Hm?"
"We're here."
You look up at the building, sigh. "So we are."
He moved in front of you, moving to meet you at eye-level. "Is there anything I need to know before we go in?"
You take a deep breath. "The man in the lab coat is the perp. We need to take him down, first and foremost. He may act a fool, but he's accountable for the mutation of his partner. We either have to incapacitate, convict or, if necessary, kill him."
He swallows. "This guy is that bad?"
"Not yet." You start pulling the knife out properly as you push the door open with your clothed arm. "But it's best to pull a weed out from the root."
He follows you closely.
You look down at your phone to double-check that this is the offending room. "Here." You back up, gesturing to the door eccentrically, heart pounding in your chest. "This is the room."
He approaches you, brow furrowed. "Y/N," he asks cautiously, "don't take this the wrong way, but you look sick. Are you alright?"
You nod. "Nervous is all. Haven't done this sort of thing before."
He offers a reassuring smile. "Don't worry." He gives you a thumbs up. "I'll be with you every step of the way, alright?"
Your knuckles go white around the grip as you try to release some tension. 'Don't choke. That's his job.' "Yeah." You return it. "Oh, are you free tomorrow night? I still have to give you that lesson."
His face lights up. "Y-yeah! Totally!" He grins eagerly. "Should I go to your place? At what time?"
"We'll hash out the details on the way back." You look prominently to the lock. "Now, I take it you have some gadget or gizmo to help us open this bad boy?"
He kneels, pulling a device from the utility belt on his hip and sliding it into the card reader. "Of course."
The door lets out a harsh buzz, the light turning green. You pull your sleeve forward onto your hand, pushing the door open.
The room smells like metal and mold and decay, a certain lethality hanging in the air when you enter. You stay close to the wall, pulling down a lever to illuminate the harsh laboratory in an even harsher light. And there, caught frozen as he pockets a vial, is Victor Falco.
His eyes flicker towards the door.
You tackle him to the ground, shifting your weight back onto his legs, and pin his arms above his head. "Donnie," you call, stopping his struggling with a knife pressed against his neck, "would you be so kind as to find a few things for me? I can tell you where they are in the room, but I'm a bit preoccupied."
"Uh, sure." His voice sounds strange to you. Tight. Nervous? Confused? You ignore it for now.
"What is the meaning of this," the scientist bellows from underneath you. "I demand you give me an explanation!"
"Oh be quiet, traitor." You press the blade against his skin. "We both know the crime you've committed against your partner."
His eyes widen.
You keep your eyes locked on him at all times. "The first thing you're looking for is a container of mutagen. When you get to the desk, you should see 2 stacks of drawers."
You do not hear his footsteps. "Mhm."
"The bottom left drawer has a false bottom. If you pull it up, you'll find a canister of mutagen."
You hear the drawer slide open, the shuffling of papers. "Got it."
"Fantastic. Now, on the desk should be a flash drive belonging to Rockwell. Grab that."
"How could you possibly know?" You feel his wrist tense as he clenched his fist. "I was so thorough."
"I'm psychic," you lie, smiling coldly. "Be happy I met you here and not in your home."
"Anything else?"
"Whatever is in his pockets, besides car keys and a wallet. You're getting new chemicals."
The doctor does not seem to like that idea. He starts writhing underneath you.
"If you don't stop moving," you sigh, bringing the knife up and down quickly, hovering over his left eye, "you, a neuroscientist, will have the pleasure of discovering firsthand if what people say about losing your depth perception is true. See, I've always heard that it settles, but I'm more than happy to see it happen firsthand if you'll indulge me."
"You wouldn't."
"You aren't sure." You chuckle darkly, fingers wrapping tighter still around his wrists. "I don't need to be a psychic to feel your shaking."
Out of the corner of your eye, you see a green blob crouch down, pulling vials from his pockets.
"You're a child."
"And yet I'm the one holding a knife to you." 'Why am I so calm?' "You're selfish. You're prideful. You won't try anything because I know you to be cowardly, and you won't say anything," you nod, "because, if you did, you would have to admit to breaking into your missing partner's lab, and deal with the backlash regarding me and my associate bringing that hard drive to the police and letting them connect the dots." You smile sweetly. "Donnie, would you be so kind as to get some distance between you and Mr. Falco?" You do not look over at him, focused on the current task. "If he pulls anything, you need to be able to bring that to the police."
"Got it." A few seconds pass. "I'm by the door."
You slide the carving knife in that general direction. "Goodnight, Falco." You grab his hair, slamming his head against the ground once as you leap to your feet. You grab the knife, sprinting towards the door. "And that is our cue to leave."
Donatello, who is having interesting feelings about the whole thing, appears to have been snapped out of some sort of trance. He nods, and the both of you exit the scene.
--
You wipe your mouth on your sleeve, shaking as you rest your chin on the edge of the dumpster. "T-thanks," you smile shakily. "I appreciate it, really."
"Not at all." He let your locks fall from his hand. "I imagine it's hard, what with having hair and all." He helps you down from your perch on a stack of crates. "Are you feeling alright now?"
"Besides my mouth tasting like stomach acid? Never better." You sigh, rubbing your face with your hands. "Sorry. The nerves just kinda..." you trail off, cheeks dusted pink. "Well, you get the idea."
"It's alright, really." He smiles fondly. "You were really bold in there. It was really cool."
"I don't feel cool. I feel the opposite of cool." You start down the alleyway. "But at least we stopped a ton of problems in its tracks."
You hear a primal cry as a large primate lands in front of you.
You look him in the eyes, already tired of this episode. "Good evening, Dr. Rockwell."
His eyes snap to Donatello, who was already unsheathing his bo staff. You look over your shoulder at him. "Chill out. He's cool."
"He's a giant monkey!"
"Dude, he's a well-esteemed scientist." You turn to face him properly, holding his arms out to get some proper separation. "Put the effin stick down."
"But—" He stopped, sighed, sheathed the staff. "Alright. I'll trust you." He seems almost disturbed by your apparent ease.
You turn back to face him properly, smiling. "Doctor," you nod, "your partner will be of no concern to you from this point onward. Rest assured; his research has been halted." Your tone is politely respectful.
The wild eyes of the primate calm. He seems to at least sense the general sentiment. He nods once, leaping up onto the nearest rooftop and disappearing into the night.
You nod in satisfaction, looking back at the stunned Donatello.
"He calmed down so easily."
"He has a human mind, for the most part." You shrug, continuing down the alley. "Let's head back. Man, if you dad knew the kind of trouble I just got him out of." You giggle at his dumbstruck expression, walking backward to keep facing him. "Well, are you just gonna stand there lookin pretty or are you going to come with?"
His face goes red. He nods once, hurrying after you.
You two walk quietly for a little over a minute. "Hey, uh, can I ask you something?"
"Totally." You decide to bite the bullet and pull of the manhole cover. "What's up?"
"Why do you call him that?"
"Call who what?" You start climbing down.
"You know, not call him Master Splinter." He pulls the cover back on, landing beside you. "You always call him my dad or Yoshi or Mr. Hamato."
"Well," you shrug, "he's your dad, right?"
"I'm not saying it's a problem," he clarified, "or that's it's incorrect, but most people—myself included—refer to him as Master Splinter."
You start walking with him. "Don't take this the wrong way, Donnie," you sigh, "but, if I can help it, I honestly hope I never have to call him that."
"Why?" He walks beside you, eyes tracing your figure subtlety.
"Didn't I already say?" You nod back in the direction you guys came from. "You saw how I acted back there. This is only episode six or seven. The trauma I'd have to go through as a ninja here would kill me,"
"But you have the guts for it." His voice is certain. "You're strong enough, mentally, to be a ninja."
You pause, your throat catching. You wonder if he would still think so if he had seen how you had spent your nights.
He clears his throat, blushing again. "I think you are, anyway."
You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck silently. You feel him seize up under you. "Thank you," you mumble.
He slowly relaxes, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. He rests his head on top of yours gently. Slowly, he buries his hand in your hair. He is always so warm— he makes you feel oddly safe. This is only the second time you have been this physically close to him, but you don't think for a moment that he would try anything.
You back off, clearing your throat as your cheeks catch fire. "Sorry," you smile timidly. "I've just been... I'm not usually this clingy."
He blinks out of his stupor, looking down at you. "Huh? Oh, don't worry about it." He grinned giddily, almost drunk. "Y-You are all good."
You swallow. "I've gotta do an introduction type project for school, so I gotta get back home." You walk back in the direction you two came. "Come to my place at about seven tomorrow. I'll order food."
He nods, body relaxed. "Seven. Got it." He does.
You wave, walking back to the ladder. "Then I'll see you then."
He stands there, watching you leave. As soon as he hears the sliding of the manhole cover back into place, he takes a moment to celebrate the victory before starting to walk back to the lair.
'I got a date!'
--
"There is no fucking way you got a date with her." Raphael does not even look it up. "No way in hell."
"And yet the flow chart worked." He laughs from his lab, shutting off any excess equipment as to not overwork it. "It worked like a charm and she asked me to go to her place so ha."
"You didn't show her the chart, did you?"
"I did not."
"Well, there you go." Leo looks back at him from his seat on the couch. "What time?"
"Seven o'clock." He slides the door closed. "But I'm planning on being there at six fifty-five so that she knows I value her time."
"Does the sun set that early?"
"Why do you even ask?" Raph turns a page in his once periodical periodical. "You know he looked it up."
"As a matter of fact, I did. Forgive me for also valuing preparedness."
"Nobody likes a know it all."
He grins smugly. "That's where you're wrong. See, I," he gestured to himself, "have a date with a gorgeous girl tonight, one where she has already invited me into her home, and you," he gestured to Raphael, "are reading a magazine from a company that went out of business two years ago alone."
"Donnie, don't be a jerk." Leonardo looks back at the television. "Raphael brings up a valid point; you tend to act like you know everything, and the actual request wasn't for a date."
"How else can I interpret one on one time with her?"
"Well," he counters, "how do you interpret one on one time with us?"
He blinks. "Wait, so you're saying she's... how do you put it?"
"Nah, I don't think she's friendzonin 'im." Mickey looks up from his drawing. "Think she's sending signals she doesn't mean to." He sets his half-shaded piece aside. "Think about it; she said she's been all stressed out, right? She died like two weeks ago." He shrugs. "She's probably just lonely and needs the company."
"That's... actually really insightful of you."
He grins. "What can I say? I'm a modern McPherson."
Raph snickers at that. "Donnie is more of a McPher—how old is that movie, anyway? A hundred?
"Hey!" He shoots a glare at his brother. "Respect the classics."
"Not to interrupt your riveting intro to film class," Donnie interjects, losing his shit, "but I really need to know what this is before I go, and it's already fifteen 'till."
"Look, maybe she's interested, maybe she's not." Leonardo's eyes are back on the screen. "Just try to tread carefully and you'll probably be fine."
"Probably?"
"Again, Raph had a point."
He groans, walking to the entrance and exit of their home. "You guys aren't helping."
"Not our job."
Leo calls after him. "Be home before six!"
He turns the corner, cradling his head in his hands. 'I am totally and thoroughly fucked.'
--
GoodFellas.
Of all the movies in the world, that is the movie you have decided to use to explain these concepts. This is the example piece that you are going to show to the vigilante. All you know is that you had started watching the Phantom Menace and had decided against explaining the concept of racial coding and this is the only other movie that you can think of right now. You have decided to commit, and you are already regretting it, but you decide to figure it out as you go.
You set the pizza on the coffee table, throwing a bag of popcorn in the microwave to pop. You do not expect Donatello to be late, so you decided to start now so that they could get started right away. You start walking to the window, stopping at the mouth of the hallway. You look yourself over one more time in the bathroom mirror despite yourself. You do not exactly know why you care so much; this was not a date, and you had not advertised it as one. Still, impressions are important, and the last thing you need is for him to not listen to you because of it. That is what you are telling yourself, anyhow.
You hear knocking against the glass. You check your phone for the time. 'Five minutes early.' You smile softly. 'How responsible.' You open it up, smiling at your guest. "Welcome, Donatello." You take a step back. "Please, make yourself at home."
He barely makes a sound as he steps off the windowsill, looking around your apartment, fully illuminated, for the first time.
After about thirty seconds of his investigation, you clear your throat. "Donnie?"
He snaps out of it. "Huh?"
You smile gently. "You wanna sit down? I bought pizza."
"Uh, yeah." He nods, sitting down and facing the television screen. "I like your place."
"Thanks." You sit down next to him, tucking your feet under you as you flip on the television. "How do you feel about gangster movies?"
"Gangster movies?"
"Yeah." You list a couple on your fingers. "Scarface, Godfather, all that jazz."
He shook his head, brow furrowed in confusion. "How can you make gangster movies legally?"
"That is a long answer. The short version?" You lean forward, taking a slice from the box. "The police are kind to those who cooperate, and people think their stories are fascinating."
"So they're documentaries?" He mimicked you.
You shrug. "Sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. You want something to drink?" You hear the microwave beep as you stand up.
"Water?"
You nod, walking over to pull the popcorn out of the microwave and grab your drinks. "I trust the walk wasn't too bad?"
"Not at all." The small talk is torture. "Getting to your window was a bit of a challenge, but it wasn't anything too bad."
"That's good." You pour him a glass. "I'll have to get something for that; maybe a planter or something, so you have a bigger ledge."
"It's alright." He taps his fingers against his knee. "It's wide enough to stand."
"Still." You place his cup on the counter, dumping the kernels into a large plastic bowl. "I wouldn't forgive myself if one of you guys got hurt trying to come in through the window." You grab a can of soda out of the refrigerator, sitting down and handing him the glass.
He smiles slightly. "You're really sweet sometimes, you know that?"
You grin. "I try," you hum, starting to pull up the movie. "I think you're pretty cool too, Hamato."
He chuckles. "You make me sound like I'm fifty."
"Oh, totally." You nod in agreement. "You're an old soul."
He blinks. "Old soul?"
"Mature, I mean." You shrug. "I mean, handling the stuff you do with any degree of tact, to me, displays a great maturity you don't see in most teenagers, myself included."
"Is that a bad thing?"
You get back up for napkins and plates. "Not at all." You hand him one of each. "It's an admirable quality, though not one I particularly envy."
"You think?" His hands linger for a moment longer than typical as he took them.
"Yeah. You want me to turn down the lights for the movie while I'm up?"
His face goes red. "I-I mean," he stutters, "if you want to."
"Then I will; shows the image better when it's dark." You walk to the wall, flicking off the lights and sitting down next to him, setting your slice on your plate as you turn on the movie.
Your reactions to it are different.
He does not seem what you would call disturbed, but he gets grossly invested in the story extremely quickly. He is noticeably more interested in watching you watch the movie, but he studies the plot intently, noting the more domestic plotline between the lead and his wife in particular. His reaction to the violence is strange to you; he is not aloof, so to speak, but he does not flinch much until the fighting is between Henry and Karen.
You have seen this movie what feels like a thousand times. Whenever you think it applicable, you lean over and whisper to him about the directing, the script, the plot—it is supposed to be a lesson, after all. But you realize that your attention, every so often, shifts to the bed, to your pillow with the knife underneath it. The violence of the movie makes you edgier than you are used to.
About halfway through the movie, you move closer to the boy sitting beside you. You lean your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you listen for cues for comments. You don't notice his reaction, but you do notice how his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You do not object; you were the one who initiated, after all.
"Here's a psychology relationship thingy you can tell your family about." You cringe at that poor little girl standing in the hallway. "'That's all in your head' is classic gaslighting. I dunno if that's really your area or not."
"Oh, yeah, I see what you mean." He fiddles with the cloth of your jacket absentmindedly. "It's kinda hard for me to wrap my head around, people staying like that. I mean," he clarifies, "I get way, but—"
You both tense up as a young man on screen is shot dead by Joe Pesci's character.
You exhale. "Yeah, I get what you mean." You shrug. "But folks get scared, ya know? In her case, she doesn't want to break the family apart, and she's really into him."
"What? No way."
"Yes way." You look up at him. "What can I say? We fall into infatuation so fast with bad people who say what we want to hear."
"Don't you mean fall in love?"
You watch as Lorraine Bracco holds a gun to her husband's face. "Nope. Love is entirely different."
"Yeah?" He glanced down at you.
"Apples and oranges." You gesture to the television. "Love is supplementary, a beautifully imperfect connection between people." Your voice becomes smoother, airier. "It's a bond built on trust and respect. Infatuation is more of an addiction than anything." You sigh as Liota meets to discuss his relationship with Sorvino. "At least I think so. That's why love at first sight is a bunch of bullshit; you can't have that kind of profound trust with someone you just met." You shrug, looking back up at him. "Then again, what do I know? I'm an inexperienced, fifteen-year-old girl."
"That makes a lot of sense, actually." He looks back down at you. "I get what familial love is, but whenever Master Splinter talks about his wife, he has a hard time putting what he means into words."
You hear their guilty verdict. "Totally get that. Articulation is not easy to do."
A few minutes go by.
"May I be frank?"
"Please."
You watch as a man drags his wife out of a Christmas party. "This movie is exactly why I don't ever want to learn how to do the stuff you do. It changes you, all that violence; desensitizes you." You bring your knees to your chest. "Especially Raphael. I swear, that shift was as dramatic as his, at least at this point in the flick."
He pauses. "Please, tell me you're kidding."
You close your eyes, breathing slowly. "I'm going to try my best," you swear, "do everything in my power, to see to it that you guys don't experience more than you have to."
You mean it. He can tell.
You two are quiet for the rest of the movie. You explain why certain directing choices were made, connect the beginning with the end, talk about the theme, all while you two watched their fall from grace. When the movie ends, you realize how tangled up in him you are; your head on his chest, legs draped over his with his arms around your waist. You feel the icy air against you, as if his skin attracted it to you. You push the hair out of your face. "So," you stretch, turning the light back on, "do you wanna see another movie, or do you have a curfew?"
He pauses. "I should honestly probably get home," he sighs. "If I'm not home early they'll start getting ideas."
"Oh, yeah." You nod, completely understanding the reasoning. "You can take the leftover pizza home if you want; the guys'll probably eat it before I do."
"Mikey'll be on cloud nine." He picks the box off the coffee table. "Thanks."
"Any time." You stand at the window, opening it for him.
He climbs onto the windowsill, looking down at you from his perch. "I had a good time." His face flushed. "We should do this again."
You nod in agreement. "Definitely." You rub the back of your neck. "I'll pick a lighter movie next time."
"Alright. It's a plan." He gives you a thumbs up.
You steal yourself, cupping one side of his face and kissing him gently on the cheek. "Goodnight, Donnie." You smile. "See ya tomorrow."
You are a bit concerned he's going to fall off the windowsill. "Y-Yeah," he grinned, words slurred. "See ya later, Y/N." He waved, climbing up and out of your window.
You smile softly, sigh. You flop back on the bed, rolling over. You have not been this at ease since you died.
'I really like that guy.' You close your eyes. 'I really, honestly do.'
You drift off to sleep, dreamless for the first time in too long.