No Longer Responsible

TMNT Fan Fic by teh Vilsy

A/N: Peter Laird, Kevin Eastman, Mirage Studios… talk to them if you wanna know who's responsible for these lovable green fellows. Not me of course.

Thanks for the reviews and apologies that it took me long to get this chapter together. I apologize to any who find the characters to be, well, out of character. I've taken liberties to say the least. Hey, you go live in the jungle for a couple years and not come back a little crazy. Er, I've said too much. Enjoy. OH YEAH. This has a naughty word in it.


Chapter 2

Sleep was neither blissful nor plentiful for Michelangelo; merely a few hours had passed before the ritualistic rude awakenings commenced. Leonardo, in all of his superior stealth maneuvering, slipped into his smaller brother's sanctuary without so much as a creak from the door or a shuffle from his footfalls. Michelangelo had taken to sleeping in a hammock on his back, and his loud, rhythmic snoring was enough to mask any sound an intruder might make. Leonardo prowled to the corner of the dark room, eyes glinting as he observed his slumbering sibling who clutched a stuffed panda bear under one arm. Leonardo's right hand reached up and his fingers closed around the hilt of one of his swords. The soft metallic scraping sound of steel being unsheathed from its scabbard was still not enough to elicit so much as a twitch from Michelangelo. It was as Leonardo feared and expected. Half a second later, the surgically sharp edge of a ninjato was poised on Michelangelo's collarbone and an unforgiving hand had grasped his forehead and wrenched his head back against his pillow to expose the sensitive flesh of his neck. Michelangelo jolted awake, blue eyes electrified with shock and instant fear. The strain on his neck muscles prevented any panicked sounds from reaching his mouth and his heart pounded ferociously as he felt cold steel press against the base of his jaw bone.

"Make a sound and you're dead," a cold, tinny voice hissed close to his ear.

Michelangelo recognized it to be Leonardo's well-practiced villain voice, but this did not bring him any relief. It was another test... it was always a test with Leonardo now. Michelangelo should have known it would be coming this morning. His mouth was dry from snoring and he wished he could swallow, but the blade was balanced so perfectly against his skin that any sudden movement would give him a nasty cut, tough dermal constitution or not. This is how Leonardo reprimanded him when he had exhibited a particularly disappointing feat of undisciplined behavior-- or so the blue-clad turtle had presumed from Michelangelo's false confession the night before. He had to make a quick, intelligent decision after being rudely awakened or Leonardo would declare him "dead" for the day. Michelangelo hated that with a passion. Should he not pass the test, his brothers would be asked, if not ordered, to ignore the orange-clad turtle's presence for the entire day. Severe punishment for one who so loves attention. Even Master Splinter would play along, thinking it a fitting exercise to improve Michelangelo's disciplinary awareness. Michelangelo abhorred it. But with lack of sleep, it was difficult for him to think quickly or accurately, despite normally being quite resourceful. His mind was still in a dream-state and the frightening reality of having a blade at his jugular was hard to calmly combat, even for a trained ninja. Worst of all, he vaguely remembered that his weapons were probably still lodged within the cushions of the couch. Suddenly, Michelangelo did the only thing that instantly came to mind.

"Shit!" he blurted out with some strain.

Leonardo's eye twitched. Ten seconds had passed- the limit- and Michelangelo did not so much as lift a finger, but simply spat out a dirty word. He dexterously flipped the blade around and gave Michelangelo an unpleasant push against the neck with the blunt side of the sword. He leaned down with narrowed eyes and whispered through gritted teeth. "You're dead, Michelangelo." He lifted the imposing sword and stood to his full height, turning to leave.

"No! Dude, that's not fair, Leo! I was totally baggin' some serious Z's. I was tired, bro!" Michelangelo wheezed as he struggled to sit up in the wobbly hammock. His voice cracked from exhaustion and lingering shock. To his further surprise, Leonardo had instantly whirled around and was up in his face.

"Not fair? What's fair about an intruder breaking into someone's home, holding them at gun point and shooting them after they steal their valuables?"

"Uh...?"

"Fair? What's fair about the Foot Clan sneaking into the lair and slitting your throat while you're 'baggin' some Z's'?"

"But..."

Leonardo's forefinger pressed sharply against Michelangelo's plastron and jabbed into it several times. "The Foot Ninja won't care how damn tired you are, Michelangelo, when they kill you. It's your own fault for staying up late and not being a master of your body or mind. You've got to learn that life isn't a game anymore."

"Dude, Leo, I know that but--"

"You're dead today, Michelangelo. Sorry."

"But!"

Before he could further protest, Leonardo had glided to the door and left to give his next complimentary wake-up call.

"Aww man!" Michelangelo groaned as he dropped his fist to his pillow. Mistakenly, he socked the plush panda square in its cute button nose. With a short gasp, Michelangelo fumbled to pick up the stuffed animal and hugged it gently. "Sorry Mr. P, didn't mean to clobber ya. Man, Donnie owes me big time!"


The soft whirring of servers was almost like a sweet lullaby to Donatello. He had, as he often did, fallen dead asleep with his head resting on his desk next to one of his many computer keyboards. The steady humming sound of the machinery was comforting after a long night's work, and sometimes it was enough to lull him to sleep without the need of a soft pillow or warm blanket. This was one of those nights; Donatello had returned his lab to a state of cleanliness and it had taken him the best part of an hour. Afterwards, he had sat at his desk to reflect on his conversation with Michelangelo and his general destructive actions, and had fallen asleep where he sat. His face was nuzzled snugly against his folded arms; his bruised right hand rested against his left elbow. The glowing green numbers on a nearby digital clock read "4:59".

Suddenly, there was a thunderous pounding on the door of the laboratory. Donatello jumped awake with a start and nearly fell out of the chair as his sudden movement caused it to roll backwards. "Donatello, are you in there?" a muffled voice inquired from the other side of the portal. Donatello's eyes were heavy with sleep and his muscles were equally resistant. He fumbled about until he could grab the edge of the desk and steady himself. "I'm coming in," the voice declared, much like a mother before barging in on her son desperately trying to hide dirty magazines before he got caught.

Though this was not the case with Donatello, it still brought him no joy to hear the lab door swing open. Though it was pitch dark save the blinking server lights, Donatello could sense the commanding presence of Leonardo in the doorway, much as he had stood a few hours before. He turned the chair around to face the doorway and stared in the direction of his brother.

"You're still in here?" Leonardo's voice came again, disturbing the pleasant and constant sound of the server hums. Donatello tried to speak but his voice had not quite caught up with his body and an exhausted wheeze was all that could escape his throat. "Well, come on," Leonardo continued. His voice was clear and he was obviously alert and attentive despite the hour. "Breakfast's on the table. We have to get moving if we want to keep on schedule."

Schedule, he says, Donatello thought as he squinted contritely at the clock. It was clearly a whole hour and a half earlier than he usually barged into their rooms to wake them. "Leonardo, it's 5am," he finally managed to whisper while rubbing his eyes.

Leonardo had already turned and dismissively raised a hand as he slipped back into the hallway. "Michelangelo is dead."

"WHAT?!" Donatello spat, making to stand up but the grogginess had not completely worn off and he stumbled clumsily after his brother, heart pounding frantically. "LEONARDO!" he cried in a strained and frightened voice, grabbing the door frame, wrenching his torso through the portal to glare at his brother's back.

"He failed the test for the day. Hurry up, we're five minutes behind."

Donatello's heart squirmed its way back down his throat and he heaved a sigh as he regained clarity. Leonardo's stupid "tests". Donatello was rarely the object of the leader's new sadistic wake-up calls-- mostly Raphael and Michelangelo suffered his "you lack discipline" moods. His mild-mannered, "go with the flow" nature tended to get him overlooked in matters of disciplinary action under Leonardo's new regime. Suddenly, Donatello's heart sank further than it was supposed to-- he realized that by all rights he deserved Michelangelo's punishment. The thought made him lose his appetite.


"Gee, it is really quiet around here without Mikey," Raphael announced in an airy voice between mouthfuls of breakfast cereal. "How very, very sad," he added with a grin over his spoon as Michelangelo shot him an annoyed smirk.

"Yes, his cheerful smile and unyielding energy will be greatly missed," Splinter mused, nodding his head down to mournfully sip at his cup of tea. Michelangelo perked up and crossed his arms over his plastron with a glimmer of pride. "It is however, deeply unfortunate that those qualities did him no service against a much more skilled and disciplined enemy."

"What!?" Michelangelo blurted out, momentarily forgetting the rule that he was not to speak. He nearly toppled over in his chair, taken off guard that his father would be so critical about his "demise".

"Shh, did'ja hear that? It's almost like ya can still hear his obnoxious voice on the wind," Raphael added whimsically, choking back a snicker.

Leonardo's expression was a strange mixture of pleasure and resonating disappointment as he fingered his cereal spoon impatiently. "I'm certain his spirit is in a better place. I suppose we can finally throw away all those comic books he insisted on wasting his time with."

Michelangelo looked as though he would explode, but he bit his lip at the comment.

Donatello poked at his granola muffin with little interest in taking part in the ceremonial jeering. During previous occasions when Michelangelo was "dead", they recited heartfelt, though overly dramatic eulogies about their dearly departed brother at the breakfast table, as though he was really dead and gone. The guilt of seeing his brothers broken by his "death" usually inspired Michelangelo to "do better". Now it seemed more like a free bullying session with extra pot shots. Most of it just futility bounced off of Michelangelo with no real lesson being learned from it as he impatiently waited for the day to be over. The injustice of it all was becoming more than Donatello could bear.

"Lay off, guys, he's not dead. This is ridiculous."

All heads turned to Donatello and he was given gazes of the utmost awe. Leonardo seemed the most put off by the statement and he angled an eye ridge testily. "It won't do any good to be in denial, Donatello. I know you cared about Mikey."

Donatello made a sound something like a horse snorting as he pawed at a few crumbs that had broken off from his pastry. He glared seriously at Leonardo. "Oh, and you don't?"

"Donatello," Splinter said softly, reaching a hand towards his brainy son. He was unsure of what to say for once in a very long time. Donatello was unresponsive to his father's outreach and continued to burn his gaze into Leonardo's eyes. Splinter thought better of intervening in the conversation, but his sharp eyes caught glimpse of damaged skin on his son's knuckles. It was unlike Donatello to keep an injury, however insignificant, untended to.

Raphael seemed perplexed as well. Normally, Donatello went along with the "exercise" without a hitch, and usually with a smile on his face after making a particularly difficult-for-the-average-person-to-understand joke at Michelangelo's expense. Lately, though, Donatello had been less enthusiastic about getting on Michelangelo's case. Raphael did not entirely approve.

The biggest sign of disapproval, however, came from Leonardo himself. "Fine," he declared suddenly, dropping his spoon and rising up from his chair abruptly. "There's no point in getting overly emotional."

Michelangelo's face curled into a pout-- he felt his death should be at least somewhat emotional... and that they could at least drop a few more compliments here and there.

"But I was just gettin' warmed up," Raphael insisted while pointing his spoon at Michelangelo in protest, as though taunting him was some sort of an entitlement.

Leonardo ignored this comment and straightened himself to his full height to look down at Donatello imposingly. "If he had been more responsible in his training, he might still be here. Now, into the dojo," he commanded.

Donatello's eye ridge quirked as he continued to gage Leonardo. The way his brother had spoken almost seemed like a direct challenge more so than a "got to keep on schedule" proclamation. And that word again... "Responsible". It burned him up inside.

Splinter looked from one son to the next, silently reading into the situation. He wanted to speak on the hostility he sensed between Donatello and Leonardo, but before he could finally interject, Leonardo had rallied his brothers, minus Michelangelo, to get up from the breakfast table. Raphael gave Michelangelo a smirk as he followed Leonardo's lead toward the dojo. Donatello begrudgingly complied with the daily routine and left his uneaten muffin behind. As he passed, he gave Michelangelo an apologetic look and mouthed, "I'm sorry." Splinter was left alone with the "ghost" who was sulking heavily in the seat next to him. The wizened old rat turned to Michelangelo and lifted a paw, as if to ask a question, but remembered his usually cheerful son was quite "dead". Michelangelo turned to him sullenly and just grimaced pitifully. Splinter looked back down at the table top with a sigh and stood up to begin clearing the table. He had left all further duty of training in Leonardo's capable hands, and would not interfere with or undermine the authority he had granted his son. That was the arrangement—the agreement. Yet, something did feel amiss.


"Weapons out."

"What happened to Kata?"

"We've wasted too much time. We're moving directly to sparring."

"Sounds good to me!" The sound of Raphael's sais unsheathing from his belt immediately followed.

The three "living" brothers had convened in the dojo which was dimly lit by candlelight. Donatello and Raphael stood side by side while Leonardo paced before them like a drill sergeant. Though Raphael was enthusiastic about skipping the technical stuff, Donatello did not like the glint in Leonardo's eyes as he slid each of his ninjato from their sheaths. It was not like Leonardo to skip the "basics".

Something seemed very surreal to Donatello- the vibes coming from the turtle next to him- Raphael- seemed so different from what he had felt only weeks ago. It was like Raphael had transformed in spirit. To some degree, it made Donatello sick deep in some small pit of his stomach. Raphael grinned gleefully beside him with his sais crossed in front of his face in anticipation, staring intently at Leonardo and awaiting further direction. Just over a month ago Raphael could hardly utter their blue-clad leader's name without a sneer of distaste, but now the two had forged an intense camaraderie that positively boggled Donatello's mind. In Leonardo's absence, Donatello could not convince Raphael to pass the salt at dinner, let alone control him in any way. Raphael had been so hostile and unresponsive, even violent and threatening at times toward him, and even more often than usual toward Michelangelo. Even following the recent incidents when they had all seemingly made amends, Raphael had never offered him nor Michelangelo so much as an apology for his treatment or behavior over the last year. It had been one of the most frustrating times Donatello could remember enduring outside of the hell the Shredder and the Foot Clan had put them through.

Of course, that was what this new rigorous training was all about-- the Foot Clan.

"Come on, weapon out, Donatello," Leonardo repeated in a voice as steely as the two ninjato clutched tightly in his hands.

That overwhelming obstinate feeling was consuming Donatello again as he thought about Michelangelo-- how the orange-clad turtle was suffering for his own anger that he had bottled up. All he had wanted to do was help and look where he was now. Being treated like a child when he should be with his brothers. "Michelangelo should be training with us," he suddenly said just under his breath.

Leonardo's eyes narrowed in disbelief that Donatello was still questioning his methods of teaching Michelangelo some much needed discipline.

"What's the hold-up, Poindexter? We ain't got all day," Raphael's scathing voice came. He had not heard Donatello's hushed comment and was, as usual, itching to brawl.

A moment of silence washed over the three of them, and Donatello belligerently stood before Leonardo, waiting for a response regarding Michelangelo's inclusion.

"All right," Leonardo began slowly, lowering his weapons ever so briefly. "If you refuse to draw, then I'll make you!"

Like blue lightning, Leonardo's blades jabbed forward straight toward his brother's chest. Donatello's eyes widened and he barely had the time to shift his weight to the side, swinging his body in an arc to narrowly dodge the point of the swords. If it was not for his quick mind, he would most likely have garnered some nasty scratches to his plastron, or worse. Instinctively he grabbed for his bo and pulled it up and out of his belt, positioning it defensively in front of his chest.

Raphael shifted out of the way, not expecting Leonardo's sudden attack either. He looked between his brothers and spun one of his sais around a finger. "Heh, maybe you should sit the first round out, Donnie. Ya seem a little slow this mornin'."

"We're not doing pairs today, Raphael," Leonardo suddenly interjected, angling his swords at Donatello's raised staff. "With Michelangelo dead," he added, and it seemed to get the reaction he wanted out of Donatello who tensed noticeably. "This morning's session will be free-for-all."

Raphael grinned even wider and he crouched lower to the ground. "Music to my ears."


Michelangelo watched as his sensei hobbled back and forth from their makeshift kitchen to the breakfast table, carrying one item at a time each return trip. This perturbed Michelangelo as he did not quite understand why Splinter was doing it. Was it to insight guilt? Michelangelo knew that Splinter could move quickly and dexterously when he needed to, and yet he shambled around like, well, an old man. It seemed unfair that his sensei demanded such maturity from him when the rat himself sometimes settled into what almost seemed like "playing pretend". Or maybe sensei really was getting old. Michelangelo banished the thoughts from his head and pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. He was not supposed to interact or speak with any of his family members, and that even included disturbing items around the lair while he was a "ghost". Nevertheless, he moved to where Leonardo and Raphael had been sitting and scooped up the dishes they had left behind. In his mind, being helpful was a less severe punishment than sitting around doing nothing. Splinter hobbled back out from the kitchen and looked up at Michelangelo in surprise.

"Ooooh, pay no attention... to the mysterious floating silverware..." Michelangelo crooned in his best haunted mansion-like voice. "Or the ghastly levitating cereal bowls... ooooohhh..." He tip-toed in a ridiculous fashion around Splinter and waggled the dishes around in the air. "For it is only I, the ghost of breakfast past! Ooooooh!" As he slipped toward the doorway to the kitchen, Michelangelo waited for the reprimand for violating the "rules" of being "dead". But to his surprise, it did not come.

Splinter merely nodded and offered a small but serious smile. "Thank you for your gracious assistance, oh ghost of breakfast past. It is truly honorable, that even in death, such a spirit would take time to aid an old rat."

"No prob, sensei," Michelangelo blurted out cheerily. He suddenly bit his lip and looked guilty. "Oops, I mean, the ghost of breakfast past says noooo prob, dude! Oooooooh spooky."

Something was wrong. They were ganging up on him. They had to be. This was the fifth time he found himself on his shell, reeling on the cold hard floor. When he would rush into the fray, Leonardo would out-maneuver him, and subsequently, Raphael would deliver a punishing blow to leave him vulnerable on his back. No time to think. His staff thrust upward and perpendicular to the length of his body. It collided with sharp steel and a sickening cracking noise burst forth. His muscles loosened and the pressure from his brother's immense upper body strength came barreling down on him. The splintering wood of his bo staff lightly touched the skin of his nose and both it and the blade became a blur in his vision. If he pushed back, he knew his weapon would snap in half. Where was Raphael? Standing aside in the distance? Was he laughing? No. Suddenly in a blur of green and red, the force bearing down on Donatello was lifted. Raphael's foot connected with Leonardo's side and sent him skidding across the dojo floor. Wincing, Donatello hastily threw his staff upward, swung his legs back for momentum, and pushed off of the floor with both hands. He launched himself back to his feet and held out his hands to catch his weapon, but Raphael's sai suddenly snapped at the air in front of him and his staff bounced to the floor a few yards away. Before Donatello could even curse under his breath, the wind was instantly knocked out of him by a powerful thrust kick to his plastron. The force sent him hurdling backward into the brick wall. The impact jarred his entire body and he felt himself become woozy. This was not shaping up well. They had not free-for-all brawled with this much ferocity since before Leonardo had gone away. Donatello was weary from lack of sleep and his brothers' attacks were relentless, oppressive, and seemingly chained against him. His defensive style was not holding up against it and his weapon had endured too many strong impacts. Ahead of him, Raphael's face glinted with a satisfied grin before he whirled around to clash weapons with Leonardo who had come at him from behind. This could, and would, go on forever, he thought. If he kept getting up, they would continue to knock him down. Experience said a three man free-for-all almost always resulted in two against one during each bout, and yet Leonardo and Raphael only seemed interested in getting Donatello out of the way so they could go at each other. Unfortunately for Donatello, if this was their intention, they were succeeding. To test his theory, he slowly pulled himself up from the dusty brick wall and shuffled laboriously toward his staff. Leonardo and Raphael were matching strength as they executed a sort of tug of war with their entangled weapons. Donatello reached down and picked up his bo staff and held it gently as he watched Raphael suddenly drop his weight downward, fall onto his back and use the leverage of his and Leonardo's locked weapons and a swift thrust with his foot to toss the blue-clad turtle over his head. He watched them scuffle for a few more moments, trading trash talk as they often did, and then he inspected his staff. It was bowing slightly in the middle and had a noticeable gash where Leonardo's ninjato had born into it. The splintering wood on the opposite side was a clear sign of its delicate condition. He considered leaving the dojo-- they probably would not notice. He would repair his weapon and perhaps even have time for a nap before the two of them were done with their sparring. He leaned his staff lightly against his right shoulder and called out, "I fold."

Then something unexpected happened. Leonardo froze for a fraction of a second, sidestepped Raphael's well-aimed jab with his sai, executed a perfect roundhouse kick to send the unsuspecting terrapin careening to the floor, and practically, to Donatello's eyes, teleported right into his face. The violet-clad turtle blinked as he was thrust against the nearby wall by the pressure of Leonardo's right forearm to his collarbone. "What did you say?" he demanded as if Donatello had just insulted every fiber of his being.

Donatello choked out an answer hastily. "I said... I fold! My... staff is... about to break--"

In the next instant, Leonardo drew up his left hand and pinned his fist and the butt of his sword against his right wrist, locking his hold against his brother's torso. The added leverage against Donatello's collarbone practically paralyzed the unsuspecting turtle. "Do you think the Foot Ninja would care? Do you think they would just let you walk away because you broke your weapon? Do you? Would it stop them from striking you down where you stand?" Leonardo's voice was dire, but Donatello could not help but sense a strange mania behind it, as if his fearless leader was simultaneously playing out some horrific scene in his mind while he barked out these rhetorical questions.

"Eh... what's goin' on?" Raphael inquired from the other side of the room, having just recovered to his feet from Leonardo's unexpected kick.

"Stop talking like you're out of your mind, Leo!" Donatello spat, struggling to budge from under his brother's overbearing hold. His staff was precariously wedged between his shoulder blade and Leonardo's locked arms. It was a natural reaction, but it occurred to him that the wood would shatter for certain if he tried to use it to jostle his brother off of him.

"Out of my mind?" Leonardo repeated in what sounded like amusement. He bore down even harder against Donatello's neck. "Seems like I'm the only one connected to reality here. I'm just trying to look out for you, to make you stronger. But I don't think that you're taking this seriously. I wonder if you ever do, Donatello. Somebody has got to take responsibility in our training."

Something sparked in the pit of Donatello's empty stomach. It was not hunger, nor was it that sickening feeling he got when he thought of how turncoat Raphael's behavior had been. It was something closer to the spark he felt late the night before. A seething anger that had been welling up at the base of his stomach and suddenly raged up. It was the spark that made him pick up his beloved electronic handiwork, chuck it against the wall and watch it shatter into pieces. The spark that gave him sudden clarity against his stronger and more muscular brother Leonardo in that next moment. Just as abruptly as Leonardo had pinned him to the wall, Donatello grasped the lower half of his bo staff with his right hand, and without hesitation, wrenched his arm upward. The worn weapon snapped in half instantly, and Donatello knew it would. Leonardo heard the sound, but could not process what was occurring quickly enough. A half second later, Donatello had struck him hard across the back of the head with the broken bottom half of his bo. Leonardo let out a groan as he reeled from the hit, his arms pulling away from Donatello's chest. With newfound fury, Donatello whipped his freed left arm around to grab the top half of his staff before it could slip to the floor. In a blinding motion, he swung the shortened weapon in a back-hand motion across Leonardo's face. The larger brother was knocked violently to the side, taken so off guard that he had not even time to steady himself before Donatello delivered one final blow—a swift and solid thrust kick to his chest that sent Leonardo sliding onto his back.

The two seconds that transpired afterward seemed to be frozen in time. Raphael stood in the center of the dojo, jaw slightly agape and eyes fixed on Donatello and Leonardo. It was not so much the severe blows Donatello had dished out from seemingly nowhere that had Raphael astounded, but the fact that his smaller brother was now straddling Leonardo with two splintering halves of his staff crossed at their leader's throat. Donatello was heaving deep breaths and his muscles were shaking and fighting to keep tense; the frustration and energy he had put forth had been taxing to say the least. Leonardo was disoriented for a moment, but soon regained awareness of the situation. Calmly, he looked up at Donatello with intense eyes, noticing the stuttering pieces of wood to either side of his neck. To Donatello's dismay, Leonardo simply offered him a smile. "That was good, Donatello," came his patronizing approval. Donatello wheezed out another breath, as though the dark, tumultuous thunderheads that clouded his anger-filled mind were being brushed away daintily by Leonardo's voice. As if a trick to break his guard, the lapse in Donatello's fury allowed Leonardo push his brother's weight from his chest. Donatello lifted the broken pieces of his staff unwillingly to catch his balance, and it was enough for Leonardo to roll to the side and get back on his feet. The dexterous turtle even had the grace and timing to sheathe his swords, then reach down and grab Donatello's wrist and haul him up before he in turn tumbled to the floor. The violet-clad turtle was in a daze; a moment ago Leonardo was at his throat yelling at him, and in the next moment he was patting him on the shoulder and rewarding him with idle praise.

Raphael had finally torn himself from his shock to march over to his brothers with an intrigue look on his face. "What was that all about? You get a second wind or somethin', Donnie?" Donatello gazed over at his red-clad brother with all the clarity of a mud puddle. "Well come on then," Raphael encouraged, whipping his sais up in a threatening position. "Show me what else ya got, bro."

"No," Leonardo said simply, releasing Donatello's shoulder and straightening his belt.

"Wha? No what?"

"That's enough. We're ten minutes over."

"What!?" Raphael's voice was full of disappointment and surprise that Leonardo would cut sparring short so abruptly, especially when it was getting interesting.

Donatello's eyes narrowed as he watched Leonardo dismissively stride towards the exit, as if nothing had happened at all. A soft but audible growl of frustration bubbled up from his throat, but his intense concentration was halted by a bump to the side by Raphael's elbow. "That's a'ight, kid. I'll getcha tomorrow, eh?" he mused as he slipped his sias into his belt and obediently followed after Leonardo to the next phase of their morning routine. Donatello glanced back at the two halves of his weapon which lay uselessly on the ground a few paces away.

"Yeah, tomorrow…"