Chapter Text
New York is the same as it’s always been, loud and full of noise and traffic, but for one long moment, with her ears ringing loud enough to block out the sound, Molly can hear nothing but silence.
She stands there on the sidewalk in front of an upscale restaurant for what feels like hours, but in reality was only a couple of long, panic-filled minutes.
Deep breaths she thinks. Take deep breaths. You have to calm down.
But god was it hard.
Calvin had said, “This is too much for me Molly. You had to know that this would be too much. I’m young. I’m making good money. I’m allowed to be selfish.”
Angry tears pricked the corners of Molly’s eyes as she remembered the words.
Fucking selfish.
That was what Calvin had called abandoning their unborn child. A selfish phase.
She lays her hand on her incredibly swollen stomach, and a little flutter of a kick seems to respond to the touch.
Molly didn’t give a flying fuck if Calvin didn’t want to be with her (though it hurt still- to be sure) but to just walk away from their child ?
He’d been the one to encourage her not to have an abortion. He’d been the one to assure her that “you and me and a baby makes three! ” He’d been the one that told her he would be there for her every step of the way.
But five months in and he’d stopped going to doctors appointments. He’d stopped coming by her flat to see her, had stopped making love to her.
“You’re just getting so big,” he’d commented when she brought it up. “It’ll be better once all the extra pounds are gone.”
And then there had been even less contact. The first month of her third trimester and Molly hadn’t seen or heard from Calvin once. Messages left on his cellphone and with his secretary went unanswered. Texts were never returned. He’d even avoided her when she had shown up at the law firm to try and confront him in person- the pretty blonde receptionist smirking as she told Molly that he was gone for the day.
So here she was- a week away from her due date, standing on the curb and having a breakdown. Calvin had finally texted her, asking to meet so they could discuss the future.
Molly had been so stupid. She’d let the anger fade enough to feel excited about seeing his unfairly handsome face. She’d cooed down at her belly that daddy was finally coming around. She’d even put on a slimming black maternity dress and kitten heels. Kitten heels . Her feet were already swollen beyond belief- and she smashed them into kitten heels.
“I’ll of course set up a fund for the two of you. You and the child will never need to worry about money. It can go to the best schools. Though, Molly, if you think it might be too much, I could also set up a private adoption.”
She’d slapped him. Had told him she didn’t want a cent from him. Then she’d stuffed that fancy bread they’d left on the table into her bag and stormed out.
She didn’t want to be here when Calvin left the restaurant- didn’t want him to see her crying by the valet check.
So she walks, needing the air, needing the distance. Her heart hurts, along with her stomach and lower back. A few shoulders knock into her on the sidewalk, jostling her and making her take paths less worn with traffic. She barely registers that she’s in Central Park- just sits on a bench and pulls off her heels, rubbing her feet awkwardly- her round middle making it harder than ever.
The sun sets, and Molly goes back and forth between emotions- sadness and anger on each side of the teetering scale- a million other feelings spanning in between. She rubs her belly. She takes deep breaths. She wipes away tears.
She can do this. Maybe.
Probably.
And what choice did she have anyway? She’s attached to the little bean inside her. Little Marie or Mikey (which she isn’t sure- she’d wanted to be surprised) was a part of her, and Molly knows that the moment he or she is born she’ll love them more than she already does (though how it would be possible, she isn’t sure).
Molly is far from her apartment, but her phone is nearly dead and she can’t exactly afford a cab right now. Walking sounds like agony on her feet and legs, but she reasons that she can walk a few blocks more and hail a cab a bit closer to her residence- the fare cheaper the closer she was.
She was going barefoot though. She didn’t think her feet would be able to fit back into the heels.
It is as Molly stands that there is a sudden rush of water that pours from between her legs, a splash hitting the asphalt by her feet.
Had she spilled her water?
She didn’t have water.
Molly's stomach tightens.
Oh.
Oh…
Leo isn’t sulking. No matter what his brothers say, he’s not sulking. It’s his birthday for fucks sake. In an hour he’s meeting his family at a little Yokai bar and they’re getting drunk and doing karaoke. He and Donnie will get cake and presents and free drinks, and tomorrow the two of them will have a hangover the size of his twin's forehead.
It’ll be great.
But 29? He’s turning 29?!
It doesn’t even look or sound like a real number. Never mind that next year he’ll be 30.
30.
Who the hell invented that age? What sadist thought you should count your years past 26?
And the alternative to not aging was death- Leo knew that. But still it seemed impossible.
One day he’d be 40. Then 50.
One day he’d be old.
But Leo isn’t sulking.
…
Well, maybe a little. But he had his reasons! Even Donatello wasn’t exactly a paragon of excitement for this particular birthday.
If Leo’s honest with himself (and he almost always is) he can pinpoint the very reason he’s having a hard time. It’s not as though it’s a very difficult thing to do. Splinter is getting older- and while aging wasn’t exactly a negative thing, it was when your mind began to slip. When things got less and less familiar. When there were times that you looked at your sons and didn’t recognize them.
Alzheimer’s. It was a word he’s heard more in the last two years than the entirety of his life. Leo would like to take Donnie’s flamethrower to the word- just like the number 29. What ridiculous little life shattering utterances.
‘You’re turning 29 and this morning your dad looked at you and asked who you were. Will he even be here when you turn 30?’
Donatello, at least, was being productive. Leo might be the team medic, but his knowledge did end past a certain stage. It was Donnie who was experimenting with cures, who spent days shut up in his lab while he created and reassessed and created some more. Leo had seen the trial and error. He’d seen the little mice and rats and birds that Donatello had tested on (though he wished he hadn’t). Leo saw the bags under his brother's eyes that matched his own, the way his brother looked like a rubber band ready to snap at any moment.
It was like looking into a less handsome mirror.
April had insisted on a night out. She’d threatened them with force. Draxum was keeping an eye on Splinter for the night, and if the rest of the family didn’t get out of the lair and pretend to have a normal life for a few hours, April was going to set their rooms on fire.
Dramatic. Kind, but dramatic.
So before he has to go and socialize, Leo is taking a walk. He’s clearing his mind.
He’s getting all the sulking out of his system.
Street lamps line the sidewalk that winds through Central Park, and benches are spread every few feet. Ahead he notices a woman, bathed in lamp light, who seems to look panic stricken at the emptiness around her. She’s sitting on one of the benches, one hand splayed across a very pregnant stomach while the other grips the back of the bench.
She’s crying.
Leo jogs the rest of the way to her, and when she sees him her eyes alight in relief.
“Please help!”
“What’s wrong?!”
Leo skids to a halt in front of her, tucking his head back into his hoodie, hoping his baseball cap will hide his features well enough.
“Water broke,” the woman pants, and Leo feels his eyes go wide.
On the ground at her feet is a puddle of wet that hasn’t yet dried, mixed with a swirling of blood.
“O-oh. Oh. Oh no.”
The woman before him breathes (is this Lamaze, Leo wonders?) and nods in clear distress that she’s attempting to keep at bay.
“Need to get a cab to… to Presbytery,” she gasps the last part, her breath getting lost in pain.
“A cab? Not… not an ambulance?”
She shakes her head.
“This isn’t considered an emergency.”
Leo feels his brow ridge raise high.
“You’re about to give birth in the park, how is that not an emergency?!”
“Listen Bronx,” she snaps, wiping away a tear with her shoulder. “It’s been a fucking day. I am not anywhere near pushing this baby out, I just need to get to a cab. My phone’s dead, and the guy who walked by before you told me to stop being a wimp. Just… just please help me get to the street, and hail a cab.”
Leo feels himself nodding, a little in shock.
It takes a moment for her to stand, and when she does he can’t help but yelp a bit when more fluid hits the ground by his feet.
He’s going to deliver a baby tonight. On his birthday.
“Happy birthday and no the fuck you aren’t,” the woman hisses, and Leo realizes he’s said his thoughts out loud.
It takes a minute once he gets her upright to get moving. She has a few moments of nausea, gripping his forearm while the world seems to spin, and while she waits for it to pass he reaches down to grab her purse. It is then that he notices her bare (and very swollen) feet.
“Your shoes?”
“Threw… threw them into a bush.”
Leo decides not to ask why.
“Want me to find them?”
“If you go get those heels I’ll stab you with the fuckers.”
“Yep, got it. No shoes it is.”
They aren’t exactly far into the park, but it’s slow moving up the hill to the street. She’s clearly in pain and uncomfortable, and five minutes into the journey they have to stop, her nails digging into his skin as she cries out.
Leo hears her try to breathe through the pain of an obvious contraction (he’s seen movies- he knows what’s happening) but she loses the ability when after a good twenty seconds the pain doesn’t subside. Awkwardly, Leo rubs her shoulder, ignoring how his arm starts to smart from the way her fingers dig into him.
She’s got a fucking vice grip.
It takes over a minute for the pain to die down, and Leo is close to panicking.
“I can call an ambulan-“
“Just… just help me with the last bit. I’ll… I’ll be okay.”
She catches his dubious look but says nothing, and Leo wars internally over how important it really is to keep his identity a secret. They’re standing close together. There’s no way she hasn’t seen his face, hasn’t noticed the green of his skin. He could just portal her to the hospital…
“Should I call your husband, at least?”
“No husband.”
“Oh. Uh… y-your partner?”
She scowls up at him, eyes narrowing. “No other parent to call, Bronx. After today I’ll be in the single parent club.”
Leo gives a little nod. “That’s okay. My dad was in the single parent club most of my life, and he did pretty great.”
Her eyes, for the very first time, soften.
“Y-yeah. Yeah, it’ll be fine.”
They only take a few more steps before Leo’s decision is made for him. It's been four minutes and they are stopping again, her knees bending as she’s overcome with pain, and she grabs him hard enough that her nails break his skin.
“Woah!”
She isn’t exactly heavy, but he’s scrambling to hold her up with the way her knees have given out, an arm trying to steady her shoulders.
Leo doesn’t know much about childbirth, but contractions that are four minutes apart are really close. Really, really close.
“ I’m gonna… Okay don’t freak out but I’m a mutant-”
“No shit, Bronx.”
“- and I can get you to the hospital, like, now. If… if that’s okay?”
She eyes him, sweat rolling down her temples from her brow line.
Finally she nods, and while still holding her steady with one hand, Leo grabs one of his katanas with the other.
“Presbytery, right?”
She nods again, and she must be in a lot of pain, he thinks, if she doesn’t even react to someone unsheathing a fucking sword and slicing a portal into thin air.
She does hesitate once the portal is there in front of her, and Leo gives her a gentle smile, hoping it looks reassuring.
They step though.
“Come on, Dad! Let’s get you prepped for the delivery room!”
Leo tries to tell the nurse that, no- he is not the father. He’s a fucking turtle- he definitely can’t have kids. But the woman is crying out (that contraction was only three minutes from the last one- shit, they’re getting closer) and Leo’s protests are drowned out.
They are separated as she’s corralled into a wheelchair and whisked through a set of quick sliding doors, Leo taken through the same entry but into a small room where a pair of scrubs, face mask, and hair net is thrust into his arms.
“Hurry and put those on over your clothes. From the looks of it she’s going to be delivering fast!”
Leo is left alone.
He could, and arguably should, just portal the hell out of there. Go straight to the bar- his family is sure to be there- and regale them with this story. They probably wouldn’t believe him. No way in hell did Leon have to help a pregnant woman get to a hospital on his birthday.
But she was alone.
She was in pain and alone and there was no one to hold her hand. And it was such a simple thing, to let someone hold your hand.
Leo puts on the scrubs over his jeans and sleeveless hoodie. He ties the face mask around his head and slips off his ball cap, putting it in his back pocket and replacing it with the ridiculous hospital cap. There’s a full length mirror in the room, and Leo takes a moment to take a picture of himself giving a peace sign.
In the group chat there is a wall of texts asking if he is on his way. Leo sends the selfie, then adds; gonna go help deliver a baby. I’ll try to be there later.
He silences his phone, takes a steadying breath, and squares his shoulders.
He can do this. Maybe.
Probably.
“Oh Molly he’s beautiful, look at all that hair!”
The nurse coos down at her, a gooey baby crying on Molly’s chest.
Green eyes catch her own from behind a blue mask.
“Good job, Molly. He’s a handsome boy.”
The nurse titters, happily moving away to give them some privacy.
“Sorry you got roped into this,” Molly rasps, eyes flying back to her son. He’s so small.
“Hey, this is way cooler than spending my birthday at a bar.”
Molly grins and can’t help her nod of agreement.
They both just look at the squalling baby, then he’s scooped up and away, taken across the room by a nurse to be cleaned and weighed.
Molly wipes away tears.
“I… I never got your name.”
She can tell he’s smiling from the way his eyes crinkle.
“Leo,” he murmurs.
“Just Leo?”
“Well, Leonardo, actually. But everyone just usually calls me Leo. Or Leon. Or, uh, Bronx.”
Molly snorts. “Sorry about that. It was the first thing I noticed.”
Leo shrugged at her. “It’s no problemo, mamacita! You can take the Bronx out of the turtle, but you can't take the turtle out of the Bronx. … Or something like that.”
They watch as the little screaming child is weighed, both seemingly enraptured with the idea that where before there was only a swollen stomach, there is now a wailing baby- intent on making his unhappiness concerning the entire situation well known.
A nurse sideles next to the bed, and without warning he is pushing on Molly’s stomach. Hard.
“Hey! What the hell!”
“Placentas' gotta go,” he informs her, still pressing down on her abdomen.
“Warn a girl, jesus!”
Molly is back to gripping Leo’s hand, and it isn’t until there is a decidedly wet splat- clearly the sound of the placenta hitting an awaiting tray, that she realizes that the man who stands next to her has known her for all of an hour- maybe less.
“Wanna see it?” the nurse asks, and Molly frowns.
“Fucking no, of course I don’t.”
He shrugs, leaving to do god knows what with the leftover viscera, and Molly goes a little red.
“You should… you should go to that party,” she tells him, unwinding his three fingered hand from her own.
“I don’t mind staying if you need me,” he replies, and with a look up at him, Molly finds that she doesn’t see disgust and an eagerness to leave on the mutant's face.
Just eyes that crinkle with a smile, and a voice that is earnest.
But the baby is being placed back into her arms again, wrapped in a hospital blanket and still voicing his unhappiness with little wails, and Molly is being told that she needs to breastfeed.
She frowns.
“Yeah, time for you to go, Bronx.”
He chuckles and nods. “Got it. I uh… I left you my number? Text and let me know you guys get outta here okay, okay?”
She nods, ignoring the scandalized look a nurse throws to the both of them.
Leo reaches down and coos at the baby, one large green finger grazing his chubby cheek.
“Happy birthday, little man. Don’t give your mom too much trouble, alright?”
The baby just cries.
Molly is left alone again, eventually carted off to her own room and given tylenol she is sure will cost a hefty price with hospital markups. Someone finds her a phone charger, and when it’s past 2% she turns it on- hovering over Clavin’s name.
She should call him… text him, maybe?
But he’s in his selfish phase, she reminds herself. And she doesn’t want to hear his voice or see his name in her texts. If he even responded in the first place. She doubted he would.
Instead she adds a new contact- Leo’s name and number punched into her phone (his number scrawled in ink over the hospital's stationary).
Hey Bronx, thanks for the help today.
She sends a picture of the sleeping baby in her arms.
She doesn’t see any of his responding messages, because once the baby was asleep in his rolling bassinet, Molly was out too. For an hour, at least- until his cries are waking her and she’s struggling to get him to latch.
“What are you going to name him?” a nurse is asking her, replacing her IV with a new bag of saline and taking her blood pressure readings.
Molly frowns.
Mikey was the name Calvin had thought of.
She knows she has time to think about it. A name is an important thing, and there's no need to rush. The paperwork for his birth certificate won’t be presented to her until tomorrow. She can decide on a name in the interim, take her time and think about it.
But she already knew, she realized. She’d known the moment Leonardo had told her his name.
She should probably ask. She should probably send him a text and tell him, make sure it was okay.
But Molly reasoned that she’d probably not see the hulking form of the mutant ever again. And what better name than one of a man, a complete stranger, who had been selfless and kind. Who had taken the time to make sure she was safe, who had held her hand while she pushed.
“I was thinking… I was thinking Leo.”