Disclaimer, 'nuff said.

Leonardo was picking at his dinner. Leo never picked at his dinner. Michelangelo watched with concern as his oldest brother moved the grains of plain white rice around in his bowl. There was so much wrong with this picture. For one thing, none of the turtles were disposed to wasting food, the harsh winters of their childhood had taught them well that anything edible was precious. Secondly, Leo had been eating less and less as of late. Even Casey had noticed the last time he was over, as the lack of food and intense training regimen the leader maintained had started to result in weight loss. Thirdly, even though Leo's favourite foods were usually traditional Japanese fare and pizza, he had a soft spot for a good chili, so Mikey had made a large pot in the hopes of tempting his big brother to eat more. But when the family had dished out their own portions, all Leo had taken was a bowl of the rice set aside for mixing with the spicy stew.

A further cause for concern was the fact the Leo seemed completely oblivious to the worried looks being exchanged across the table. Finally he heaved a sigh like a man condemned, visibly braced himself and shovelled the rice into his mouth. His beaked twisted in a grimace, "If you'll excuse me," he muttered as he left the table.

Raph summed it up for the rest of them. "Okay, what the shell was that?"

Leo hurried to his room with as much dignity as he could, shutting the door behind him, sliding down to the floor. The pain in his belly was worsening. The ant-acids he had slipped earlier doing nothing to relieve the near constant heart burn and roiling guts that had been plaguing him for weeks. The usual post-meal heartburn was kicking in, like a worm made of slimy lava climbing up his gullet. Repeated swallowing of the saliva building up in his mouth did nothing to help, neither did water nor milk. Sleeping lying down had become near impossible. He was starting to get desperate for relief. He knew he shouldn't have hidden his distress for so long, if any of his brothers did the same he'd read them the riot act. The problem was that he just didn't have time to be sick.

Preparations for winter were in full swing, stocking up food and medicines, repairing warm clothes and getting the alarm systems in the surrounding tunnels in peak condition so as to minimize trips outside the Lair into the cold so dangerous for reptiles. April and Casey were moving, as a public works project had led to the city forcibly purchasing their property, so the brothers were helping them move as quickly as they could. The most stressful matters of all though, were Leo's duties as leader. Splinter had upped his training, and was using every decision, every action as an opportunity to teach Leo a lesson. The rat's age had begun to tell, and as Leo was now in his mid-twenties, he was certain Splinter was preparing to hand the reigns of the Clan over and begin his "retirement".

All of this meant that the eldest turtle was far busier than usual, so he'd tried to hold on until winter took hold. Once the bitter cold set in, life for the turtles slowed down. They didn't enter full hibernation as their natural forms would have, but a definite lethargy gripped them from early winter until spring. Splinter didn't expect much from them during this time, so mostly they exercised enough to keep in shape and lounged around the Lair. Leo had planned to use this time to go to their resident doctor and recover from the mystery illness that was slowly dragging him down. His body had other ideas though.

The pain was getting worse, he had virtually no appetite, he was losing weight and getting deathly pale. Sitting on the floor, just inside his room, dark eyes closed behind of band of blue. I can't wait any longer. I've gotta deal with this now. Slowly he leveraged himself up and turned to go in search of Donatello, only to bolt out and into the bathroom. He threw himself to the floor in front of the toilet just in time for the lava worm to leap from his mouth. Heaving and choking at the liquid fire in the back of his nose, Leo prayed for it to end. I had half a bowl of rice? What could be left? Shouts of alarm on the edge of his awareness alerted him to his family racing up the stairs to his aid. With trained ninjas in the house, loud vomiting couldn't be missed.

His bandana tails were lifted away, safe from the torrent, as two gentle sets of hands supported his weight and rubbed soothingly against his shell. Finally, his stomach stopped turning inside out and the supporting hands eased him back against a solid plastron, by the size it had to be Raph. The fuzzy paws of his father bathed his face with a washcloth, removing sweat, vomit and drool. Distress in his baby brother's voice forced his eyes open. "Uh… Donnie?!"

Everyone followed his crystal gaze to the mess in the bowl, only it wasn't what any of them expected.

"My son, is that blood?"