I do not own anything that was created by Eastman and Laird, nor Alice in Wonderland.

I only own this plot.

Michelangelo's Memory: Cookies

Donatello sat hunched over the computer, pretty much contented with looking like an immortalized stone-gargoyle, guarding the glowing monitor. He was enthralled by the latest findings posted inside of an online engineering magazine, and thought what the researchers felt when they found out that their work was being published in the unnecessarily glossed over pages. Then he found himself dreaming of having his work and theories idolized in the 'book of scientists'. Without adieu, he quickly dismissed the thought because it was deemed an unrealistic goal, in his situation. He scoffed at their limited inferences and inferior research methods. Not to mention their lack of respect for the laws of physics and other data that would have served as a buffer for the gaps in their published work.

I could do better than this. He had discovered his newest project. He snapped his fingers, stretched his hands forward, and cracked his fingers in the process. That was when he noticed just how quiet the lair was. The silence was deafening; that was until he cracked his knuckles and interrupted the soundless air. Weird. He immediately turned in his chair to look for his family members who were supposed to be around. The only time they're ever quiet is when they were absent, or meditating with Master Splinter.

His brown eyes sought out and found the mutated rat, and his most committed student, Leonardo. The two were engrossed in books and sat opposite one another in the living room area. Or what served as their living room in their home. Ease swept over him when he saw that those two were actually enjoying some down time. Things were quite hairy lately with all the gang activities, and the recent near miss they had with a bank robbery. Things turned ugly that night, when one of the men somehow managed to impale himself on Leonardo's katana. Donatello shuddered, as he remembered the details clearly.

He then turned to look for the other two turtles that were missing from his vantage point. The red-masked ninja was nowhere to be seen; most likely in the garage working on his bike. He was determined to have the five hundred pound vehicle in the best working condition before taking it out on the road again. His Bo-staff wielding brother would have been assisting him, but Donatello felt that Raphael was in his general antisocial mood today. He had made that clear to him when Klunk made a mistake and rubbed against his foot, which resulted in a very loud; "No, go bother someone else!"

Poor cat. The purple-masked turtle had laughed at the scene, and watched his brother stalk off towards the dojo. Now the only other person unaccounted was the infamous Michelangelo. What that particular warrior was up to? He had no clue. He did however, have a feeling that he was a bit too quiet on this particular day. There was this rising sensation that the silence wasn't going to last for long. The feeling deepened and Donatello turned around in time to hear the turtle in question's voice bellow from above.

"Guys!" Michelangelo jumped from his perch on the upper level of the lair, and did a back flip before he alighted on both feet on the ground. He stuck the landing and smirked mischievously. "Why are we still here?" He walked towards Leonardo and Splinter who kept their heads buried in their books to deliberately ignore the terrapin. He nudged Leonardo's foot with his toe, "Dude, why are we still here?" he waved his hand about and turned to look at Donatello.

Donatello grimaced, and turned his back on him. He honestly did not want to know what idea Mike came up with. Every year on this date, the constantly cheerful turtle would have an epiphany and suggest the same thing for them to do. For the past few years he was shut down, like a saucer being blown out of the sky by a rifle.

"Donny, we should be out there, up top, where all the action is," he stated boisterously.

Just ignore him. Just ignore him. Just ignore him. Don chanted in his mind to numb out Michelangelo's voice.

"Just this once. Come on guys. It'll be fun. This will be our last chance to enjoy our youth like we used to. For the sake of tradition, let's just go okay. Please, I'm begging you," the orange-masked turtle turned his body back and forth between Donatello and Leonardo, staring at them imploringly. The purple-masked turtle didn't need to see his brother to guess what he looked like at the moment, and leaned his face closer to the computer screen to pretend that he was lost to the outside world. No matter how much he imagined himself being pulled into the cyber world, his sibling's rants kept him firmly planted in reality.

Splinter's ears twitched as he slowly lowered the book and gently placed it in his lap. "Michelangelo, your brothers do not wish to go out tonight, and I forbid you from going on your own just for this night. However, I suggest you find something more constructive to occupy yourself with, perhaps some katas maybe," he opened his paw at the turtle as an invitation to take up the task.

His son's body stiffened at the suggestion, and he stifled the verbal protest that automatically wanted to fly from his mouth. "Er...no thanks Sensei. I only brought it up because I remembered when you took us out a couple times to this one place. A Mrs. Johnson, was it?"

"Yes, Mrs. Gloria Sanchez-Johnson," Splinter nodded and confirmed the name, before he stood up; indicating that he had given up trying to read his book.

That name. Donatello's attention perked up when he heard it. He remembered her. Not much, but their sliver of interactions with her was enough not to forget. Her voice, the smell and warmth of her home came flooding back to Donatello as if he was reliving the experience. It was the first time they ever came into contact with a human being, and actually saw what it was like in a home other than their own. Their senses were taken to a whole new level with the drastic change of environment. He remembered the smell of homemade cookies.

He turned just in time to see Leonardo lower his book and look up at Michelangelo with a confused expression. "Isn't that the lady we used to go trick-or-treating by?"

"Yeah," the other ninja quickly replied; his face lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. "I was thinking, maybe we could pass by tonight. You know, for old time's sake. She was always so nice to us in the past. Giving us tons of homemade goodies; inviting us in, telling us stories that I don't remember at all. It's a shame that we forgot about her. She's probably pretty old by now...what if she's -" Michelangelo's eyes narrowed for a moment before they fell on Master Splinter's careful gaze. "Nah, she's probably just pretty old by now, 'cause Master Splinter's still here," the turtle blurted out without a thought.

Donatello and Leonardo winced at his words, and witnessed the wooden cane's impact on the orange clad ninja's head.

"Ouch, sorry. I didn't mean it that way!" Their brother protested, nursing the top of his head.

Master Splinter regarded the younger mutant with a weary look, and shook his head. "I know you didn't," he supplied coolly, "but I don't think it is wise for you to go and 'visit' her after all these years. The last time she saw you, you were but three feet in height, and adorable by her standards. Now you're much older and larger; too old for trick-or-treating. You'll scare the poor woman. Besides, although it is nice of you to keep an old friend in mind, Michelangelo, she may not even remember you. To her, you all were nothing but neighborhood trick-or-treaters who showed up at her doorsteps for a few minutes each year. That ended when you were seven; therefore I have reason to believe that you all were long forgotten. Just as you four had forgotten about her." The finality in his voice meant that he didn't want to pursue the discussion with the orange-masked turtle, and he excused himself from the room.

Donatello, along with his other two siblings; watched silently as their father left the area before starting up the conversation again. He knew that the mutant rat was bothered by the subject, since he broke one of his golden rules for Halloween in those seven years of their existence. Also, the feeling was probably complimented by the fact that Mrs. Johnson was in every way a dear friend of his, whom he was forced to abandon due to unprecedented circumstances. Too many dangers existed on the surface.

"Bros, come on. It's Halloween for crying out loud. The only day in the year we get to roam the streets freely, and walk on the surface like all the humans do. One day, no actually it's one night. We skipped the last two years, so we could afford to go up this year. Besides, we're only doing it to say hi to that sweet little old lady," Mikey pleaded his case with conviction, looking down at an uninterested blue-masked terrapin.

Donatello rolled his eyes at his persistent brother and returned to his thesis. He felt that his input was not worth the effort on that particular turtle.

"Mikey, I agree with Master Splinter. I don't think that we should go up there just to drop by Mrs. Johnson. It's too dangerous, plus we've got a lot of enemies. Can't take the chance of risking her safety over one of your whimsical ideas," Leonardo pointed out, and ducked his head back into his book.

Michelangelo let out a frustrated growl, and immediately switched his voice back to his positive chipper, "You know, we may get some of her wonderful homemade cookies." He resorted to bribery to get his brother's to yield to his requests. It was something that initiated the annual outings to the surface; under the guise as costumed humans.

Donatello couldn't take it anymore and interjected his two cents worth on the subject matter, "Is she even still alive?" His voice was seethed in exasperation as he spoke. He also spun his chair around to face his orange-masked brother, "Even if she was still alive, how would you know if she still lived there. She could have moved to a retirement home when age caught up with her."

The orange-masked turtle raised an eye ridge at Donatello, "Seriously, what have we got to lose? If she's there, we'll get all that warm delicious homemade stuff that's making my mouth water just by thinking about them. I hope she remembers me, I mean who could forget a green face like this?" he flashed a broad grin. "So, who's up for paying her a visit?" the turtle's hand shot straight up into the air, as he waited for his other supporters.

Their little 'court room' got overturned when a particular individual entered the area. "I am. I have no idea what you're talking about, but I definitely heard the words 'warm', 'delicious', and 'homemade'. I'm there," Raph sauntered into the room carrying an old filter that he had replaced. Some mucky black substance transferred to his thick fingers as he rotated the device in his hands. He was unconcerned with the trouble he stirred up by making that statement.

Joy erupted from Michelangelo when he heard that Raphael was actually agreeing to do something with him; especially on a night like this. "Awesome! Thanks bro. I'm sure Mrs. Johnson would appreciate you doing this," his joy bubbled out like lava threatening to scorch the group. Donatello palmed his face, and Raph blanched when he realized what he did.

"What? Whoa-whoa, hold up. I thought you were talking about April. Who the heck is Mrs. Johnson?" a baffled Raph dropped the clogged filter on the floor as Michelangelo pushed him towards the exit.

"No, Master Splinter said that you can't go Michelangelo," Leonardo jumped up from the couch and walked towards the pair.

"Au contraire, Leonardo. He said that I can't go on my own, but Raph here agreed to go with me. So you and Donny can stay home doing nothing all night, while Raph and I eat our hearts out," the turtle corrected his brother with a smirk on his face. Leonardo frowned and stepped back from him.

"Who the hell is Mrs. Johnson, and why is she going to feed us?" Raph asked yanking the orange-masked turtle's hand off his shell.

Mikey latched back on to it with his other hand and pushed the red-masked ninja through the elevator doors, "Remember when we were little kids and Master Splinter used to take us up to the surface every Halloween?"

Raph stared at his brother Mike blankly, so the turtle carried on. "Well, the only house we used to visit was Mrs. Johnson's place," he explained as the elevator doors closed on them.

"You mean she's still alive!" the red-masked ninja scrunched up his face in disbelief, and stared Michelangelo as if he had lost it.

"That's what I said," Donatello chuckled and waved at a wide eyed Raphael from the outside of the closing doors. Suddenly they were stopped by Leonardo's foot. The genius grimaced in fear, anticipating the next set of orders his brother was about to deal out. Rolling his neck, he groaned in protest at the katana wielding warrior, "Leo, no."

"Get in Donatello, we're going too," he asserted.

"I knew you couldn't resist!" Michelangelo did a fist pump, and received a smack upside the head for it. He flinched and took a side step away from his assaulter.

"No. We're going to keep you out of trouble. There will absolutely be no trick-or-treating or whatsoever tonight, Mikey. I mean it. We're going to that woman's house, say hello and find ourselves back here. Got it?" Leonardo directed at Mike, and waited patiently for Donatello to enter the elevator.

I hate you all. Don scowled at the blue-masked ninja; half wanting to make a dash for it; but his code of honor prevented it. He was bound to his brothers by loyalty, and he also knew that his orange-masked sibling was a ticking time bomb, just set to go off the moment he hit the surface and saw the activities of the cursed holiday. He'd disappear from them in a flash; drawn to the affair of soliciting candy like a moth hypnotized by a candle flame.

Michelangelo folded his arms across his plastron and scoffed at Leo's remark, while Don stood there deciding if he should seal his fate with them.

"We'll see," came Mike's response.

Frustration crossed Leonardo's face as he chose to ignore Michelangelo, and he narrowed his eyes at the reluctant purple-clad ninja, "Don, come on."

"Donny, get your ass in here now. If I'm gonna be stuck all by myself with these two for the rest of the night, then I'll make sure that your experiments find a new home down at the bottom of the Hudson," Raphael threatened with a semi-hidden, yet beseeching look in his eyes.

Conceding to his brothers' wishes; Donatello begrudgingly stepped into the elevator; which marked the beginning of a very long, nerve rattling night. "I'd like to see you try, Raph. Just try," he warned the red-masked turtle through clenched teeth, but it was received by an all too smug turtle.

"Heh," Raphael snorted and slapped him on the shoulder. "If I'm going to be tortured, then so are you," he poked Donatello in the plastron, which Don batted away in irritation.

Yeah you keep smiling Raph. Keep smiling. When Michelangelo's done, you're not going to have that stupid smug written on your face.

"Oh come on guys. It'll be great. I promise!" Michelangelo piped, grinning as wide as the Cheshire cat from 'Alice in Wonderland'. Donatello glanced at the turtle that was definitely in a Wonderland that only existed inside of his enigma of a brain.