"Curiouser and Curiouser"

She stares at him, as he tries to spark a fire with just a pile of twigs, a magnifying glass, and the rays from the sun. And, as she stares, she tries to figure out why she suddenly and inexplicably wants to jump his bones.

The physical part isn't a question. He's wicked cute. Nice smile, nice eyes, boyish dimples. The well-defined ninja musculature sure doesn't hurt, either. But he is so totally not her type. Like, not even a little bit. He's got that whole brainy thing going on, and he's kinda on the quiet side. And she's no dummy--even if Lord Simultaneous says so whenever she accidentally breaks one of his precious antiques--but she's much more of a generalist, while he's a specialist. As for the "quiet" thing ... well, Renet's a lot of things. Some good, some bad, some not to be mentioned within the Triceraton territories. But quiet? Is not one of those things.

So it puzzles her, this random and ridiculous crush. It really does.

Suddenly, when the sad little collection of twigs flares up into a small but unmistakably real fire, he lets out a loud whoop of triumph. With a broad smile and dancing eyes, he looks around the campground excitedly. "Guys! Hey, guys! It ... it shouldn't have been possible, but ... " He chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. "I made fire."

"Oh?" Leo glances over for a moment and blinks. Then he returns to his stiff-stanced survey of the horizon, ever alert for impending and mostly nonexistent dinosaur attacks. "Good work, Don."

Raph just gives a brief but appreciative nod. "Was gettin' tired of all the 'sushi.' Thanks, bro."

Michelangelo is too far away to hear, riding Zog bareback while singing "The Yellow Rose of Texas" at the top of his lungs, and, consequently, doesn't answer at all.

Meanwhile, Renet kneels and squints into the small flames and wispy smoke. To create fire out of nothing but light and glass ... it's magic. There's no other word for it. It is magic. She glances back up just in time to notice Don holding his hands over the fire experimentally, his face scrunched up in concentration, a tiny sliver of pink tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. She giggles, at the fire and at Don.

As soon as she does, his head jerks up in surprise. He's still smiling, but it's not quite as broad. His eyes aren't quite as shiny. She smiles back.

I get it, Renet tries to silently tell him, as his face brightens, just a bit. I get you.

And she would get him too. She is, after all, a blonde with some hefty bazongas. That's not all she is, but she's not above using that to hook him--and using the rest of her, not so flashy, not so readily recognized, not so readily understood, to reel him the rest of the way in.

Author's Notes:It just recently occurred to me that all of these fics have been written from the vantage point of, "What might Don see in Renet?" It never occurred to me to ask, "What might Renet see in Don?"--because, well, my own love for Donatello approaches the unhealthy--so I decided to finally ask that question. Here's one of the answers I came up with.