"I'm fine."

I said it, I had repeated it many times. I only wished I could believe it.

I relaxed my arched back, my chin hovering above the bin, a new trash bag awaiting my next regurgitation that wouldn't come. The dry heaves had been plaguing me for two days now, but this morning I thought they'd ebbed.

My knees were weak as I suddenly rose from the couch, and I felt Leo's hands support my body as I stood.

"You feeling any better, Love?" he asked softly.

"Yeah. Much." Lies.

"We don't have to go." His voice lulled me, soothed me, made me want to curl into his warmth and never leave him. "Donnie said he could handle things just fine--"

"No. I'm fine." I smiled weakly, wrapping my pancho tighter around me and reaching for my scarf at the edge of the couch. "I made soup. I don't want to waste it. I've never felt better."

He regarded me with a dubious look, cupping my face so that I was forced to look into his eyes.

I remembered when he used to brush back my hair, pull it away from my eyes, play with the ends, attempt to braid it.

Now all he had was the wool beanie that was covering my balding scalp.

"Please don't lie to me, Love. We can stay if you want."

"I told you, I'm fine." I took a deep inhale, hoping my three times of scrubbing with my tooth brush had at least lessoned the intensity of my putrid breath. "I made soup."

"So I've gathered." He rose while I shuffled toward the bowl on the counter. 

"I hope D/G likes tomato. It was the only kind I had time to make."

"I'm not sure D/G will care much about the flavor of the soup."

I turned to him with a frown, eyes flicking between my boyfriend and the fruits of my labor. 

"She has more things to be concerned with than the taste of the soup," he explained.

"So I've gathered," I replied, acknowledging that I'd indeed heard his late night calls to his brothers, that I'd heard what he'd been trying to hide from me, the bad news he'd been wanting to spare me from.

I was weak, in body, in spirit. But I was not something that needed protection, especially when I was not the one the bad news was about.

"And anyway, I'm sure it's the thought that counts," Leo continued awkwardly.

"Let's hope not." I turned back to the sheet of cellophane spread tight over the bowl's lid. "If it's the thought that counts, I don't think D/G would want to eat something I made while trying not to puke."

"My point is, she'd appreciate it if we brought her a box of rocks, let alone a bowl of delicious soup. She just needs support." I felt his arm go around my waist. "But she'd also understand if you weren't feeling well enough to visit her."

I felt his fingers trace over my hip, follow the line of my spine up my torso. I used to have a body I was proud to have him caress. I used to long for his touch.

Now I knew his fingers were bumping over a shell of my former self, with an emaciated frame and a missing breast.

"I'm fine. I can cope," I assured, taking the bowl in my arms and slipping into my fluffy boots; the ones I only used to wear around the house, but had now become my everyday shoes. The others in my closet made my feet hurt.

At least he knew when to stop pleading with me to stay. Leo flicked off the apartment's lights, the only light now being the moon filtering in through the blinds. His hand instinctively reached for the keys, atop my old school books, collecting dust on our hallway side table.

No words were exchanged while we made the short climb to the roof. The moon was bright, and bathed the New York rooftops in soft light, like fresh milk poured over the could concrete jungle. I said nothing as Leo lifted me, adjusted my pancho to insulate my frail body, and took off.

The house keys jangled on his belt with his every step, and my head thudded a bit uncomfortably against his plastron every time he'd jump across the gap in the roofs, but I focused on his breathing, his rhythmic pulse. I distracted myself from the impending vertigo, from the dizziness beginning to shroud my brain.

I'm fine.

Before I knew it, we were on the roof of another apartment. Donnie's apartment. The building that housed the tiny flat the couple had managed to snag. Wherein there was a baby's room, vacant, with a new rocking chair in the corner; a new gift from Leo and I.

I recalled with envy their ecstasy, their fantasy-come-true of a little one. I remembered the uncontainable smiles I could practically hear through the phone when Donnie had called and told us that yes, he was going to be a father; yes, things were on the up and up, and he was already in love with this thing that hadn't even born yet.

I stumbled as I clambered down from Leo's arms, my enveloping thoughts and quick-approaching nausea momentarily clouding my depth perception.

"You okay?" He asked worriedly, gripping me a bit tighter.

"Yep, I'm good." Lies.

We made our way down the fire escape, stepping cautiously down the skeleton of metal clinging to the apartment building. Leo made sure my balance had returned to me fully before turning and rapping his knuckles against the window.

A minute later, a green hand pulled back the curtain, a weary and depressed smile greeting us, a smile devoid of any soul behind it.

The purple mask did nothing to hide the insomnia in Donnie's russet eyes, as he helped me in and Leo followed me into the living room. 

Mikey and M/G were at the table, nursing their hot cocoa and trying to keep their eyes from darting to the instruction packet splayed out in front of them; instructions for putting together a baby crib.

Raph stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his eyes downcast, his mouth a thin line. R/G sat on the couch, her eyes on the news station someone had turned on to drown out the pall over the group.

"You look good, Y/ N," Mikey commented with a half hearted smile. It seemed even the most innocent of us was capable of fibbing.

"Thanks," I said anyways, giving him a small thumbs-up. "One chemo session to go, and then I'm cancer free, so they say."

"Good," M/G piped up, before turning back to watching the bubbles swirling in her cocoa. "That's good."

"How's the hotel?" I turned to Raph, who was still glaring at the floor. My eyes flitted to R/G, who seemed more receptive of conversation. "How's your mom? She's back, right?"

"The hotel's good." Raph stopped any prospect for small talk with his blunt response, and R/G followed his lead, her eyes becoming glued to the hardwood.

"I brought soup," I declared, tears gathering while I looked to Donnie. "For D/G."

He took the bowl with shaking hands and an even wobblier grimace. "Thank you."

"Where is she?" Mikey asked meekly.

"Baby's room." The words fell from Donnie's mouth like lead weights, hoping for someone else to help him with the burden of carrying them.

"How is she?" Leo questioned, holding me close and wordlessly comforting me.

"Not good." Donnie leaned on the windowsill, rubbing his eyes with one hand, sniffling in the slightest.

"How are you?" My boyfriend furthered, his lips barely moving, like he wished he could've restrained that question from leaving his mouth.

Donatello looked up, eyes red, and he didn't try to conceal the tear falling down his cheek. 

"Not good," he said without emotion, though his face said everything for him.

At least one person was being honest among us.

A shame, that that honesty spawned from so much heartbreak, from not being able to obscure the truth any longer.