Author's Note:

I do not own the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or any of their companions, that honor belongs to Mirage (though sometimes I wonder who owns who!).

Please enjoy!

Bound
By KameTerra

Chapter 2
Simple Machines

Donatello hummed happily as he riffled through the mound of papers in the drawer of his lab desk. It was a disorderly hodgepodge of typed sheets, magazines with notes written in the margins, paper napkins full of coffee stains and hastily scribbled diagrams, notebook pages full of plans, and the occasional scrap of paper with nothing more than a few sentences written on it. There was no real order to the pile—he simply had to look through everything until he found what he was looking for. But at least he knew it would be somewhere in the stack.

Ideas and solutions often came to him at completely random, unexpected times, and he tended to grab whatever was available in order to jot things down before they left his head. But since that made it easy to lose things, and Don didn't have the time to transcribe everything, he was very careful to make sure everything at least ended up in this drawer. So it wasn't the most orderly system, but Don wasn't particularly fussy about order until it came to actually working on a specific project. That was when being organized and fastidious actually mattered.

This time at least, Don knew vaguely what he was looking for—these particular notes had actually been written on sheets of notebook paper (imagine that), and his eyes scanned rapidly across each one he encountered in the pile. Ah! There they were! He seized the sheets and held them up to the light, flipping them over to make sure there weren't more pages. He nodded happily and closed the drawer, leaving his lab and grabbing a box of tools as he proceeded to the back of the lair where the shell sleds were stowed. He set the tools down, pulled the covering off one of the sleds, and then glanced back down at the plans in his hand.

It was a lot of work to do, but he didn't mind—it wasn't like there was any rush on something like this. He had chosen to begin the improvements for the shell sleds because it fell under the category of what he considered fun and relaxing. During his afternoon break he had fiddled with his program some more, but had ended up frustrated again. By beginning these plans at least he wouldn't spend the evening hunched in front of a computer screen, and it would give his mind a break from thinking in code. Donatello furrowed his brow as that brought to mind his request for April's help the previous day, and his heart gave a little swoop at the thought.

He was worried about her, and he knew he wasn't hiding it very well. But then, why should he? They were friends—he was allowed to be concerned about her, wasn't he? Sure… but then lately, things had been different. He was good at being patient, and he tried hard to be understanding of what she was going through even though he didn't have any personal experience in that regard, but he was nevertheless slightly hurt that she didn't seem to want his help. His stomach lurched suddenly as it occurred to him that maybe she suspected he had a dual interest… but all he really wanted was for her to be happy.

Admittedly, he had never really understood what April and Casey saw in each other—or rather, what April saw in Casey—but it wasn't like he'd wanted them to break up… After all, the two had been an item from almost the very beginning. But even though he tried to silence it, a small part of him whispered that now that they had split up, once she'd had some time to recover, April might begin to see him in a different light. He allowed himself to fantasize for a moment, but then buried the thought, telling himself to take things one step at a time. Right now, his primary responsibility was just to be there for her as a friend... in the event that she needed him.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Don read over all of his plans again, and then began studying the sled to visualize exactly how he would make them work. Next he selected a screwdriver from the box to open up some panels on the sled—he needed to take some things apart first, and then he could begin making a list of materials he needed. Most of the little things—wire, screws, and other common hardware—he probably already had. For other items, he knew he'd have to scour the junkyards for weeks, and even then he'd be lucky to find exactly what he was looking for. But that was okay. Sometimes in the process of searching, he'd find other useful items that would otherwise have been overlooked. Doubtless some of the materials would have to be purchased, but since Don didn't have a job anymore he wanted to make his savings stretch as far as possible.

As he unscrewed the panels, setting each screw on the floor nearby as he freed it, he thought once again how incredible machines were. Who could ever think they were boring? Don could peer in to the complex innards of the shell sled, but for him each component of it was visualized separately—and it never ceased to amaze him that most complex machines were made by combining the six simplest ones. Those screws on the floor were one example. He chuckled a little, thinking back to the events of that morning's group training session, and he let his mind wander as he worked.

It had been a particularly good session—for him, anyway—because Master Splinter had announced they would be practicing with the bo staff. Their sensei had asked Donatello to essentially lead the group by teaching some of the more advanced attacks and how to counter them. It was always, ah, interesting when the training focused on someone's particular specialty. Everyone had their own reactions and teaching styles.

Leonardo, of course, just tried his hardest no matter what. When practicing with other weapons the only real difference, besides the reduction in skill as compared with his familiar swords, was that his face displayed an even more intense expression. If the group training was with 'chucks or sai, Mike and Raph took savage glee in defeating Leo in as many bouts as possible, never letting up and hoping to take him down a peg or two in the process. They probably expected Leo to grow frustrated or indignant, as they would have, but the turtle in blue rarely did. Don wondered if the other two would ever catch on—Leo preferred it that way. He simply didn't care about being knocked down; each failed approach was carefully catalogued in that strategic brain of his and chalked up as a lesson well-learned. One day, Don thought shrewdly, Leo might just master all the weapons. The leader's katana lessons were always hard, too, because his skill with the blades combined with his natural grace made the most difficult maneuvers look deceptively easy.

Michelangelo practiced all the other weapons with his usual superb coordination, but he never stopped lamenting how inferior they all were to his own nunchakus. When his turn to teach came around, his whole goal seemed to be to make everyone look foolish. Oh, he didn't blow it off—Master Splinter made sure of that by checking in on them occasionally—but Mikey still managed to do little things to add "color" to the lesson. For instance, he might teach them an intricate attack combination, walking them through it and praising them all for doing so well; then he would do it along with them, adding so many showy twirls and speeding up so much that he made them all look like B grade actors in some lame martial arts movie. Then to add insult to injury, he would strike his Battle Nexus Champion statue pose, earning a smack upside the head from whoever was nearest. Another time he did almost the complete opposite—he taught them a combo laden with frills and unnecessarily complex maneuvers, but then when he asked them to attack him he would disarm them deftly with the simplest of strikes, telling them to quit trying to show off just as Splinter walked in.

Raphael hated teaching—he didn't like being the center of attention, and he'd be the first to admit he just didn't have the patience for it. Therefore his sessions were more of the "do or die" variety—he didn't spend a lot of time breaking things down, but it came across fairly well once they just started sparring. Unlike Mike, Raph's technique had few unnecessary frills, and Don had to admit that it didn't need any. When Raph was fighting with a clear head, his skill with the sai was unmatched. He didn't like to waste movement, and that made his demonstrations easier to learn from. In addition, he took the lessons very seriously, neither holding back nor accepting less than everyone's best efforts. When practicing with other weapons, however, things were a bit tougher on him. He hated feeling clumsy, and he naturally became frustrated more easily if he didn't pick things up right away—something Mikey was quick to take advantage of.

For his part, Don didn't mind practicing with other weapons, but he didn't take naturally to any of them. He enjoyed teaching, however, and took a more instructional approach than any of his brothers. He would not only show them what to do, but explain to them why it should be done that way. This morning his brothers had all been teasing him, though. Mike had said, 'who fights with a lame stick of wood anyway? (oh, sorry Master Splinter…).' Don had replied that not everyone could appreciate the simple elegance of the bo staff, and he had casually swept Mikey's feet right out from under him.

Leo had commented somewhat teasingly that he found Don's choice of weapon just a bit ironic considering the complexity of all of his other prized possessions. Donatello had just smiled, saying that a weapon that merely sliced people open was a bit… coarse to those of higher intellect. But the truth was that the bo staff made perfect sense to Don—it was the simplest of simple machines. And he was good at seeing the potential in simple objects and making them part of something complex.

Suddenly Don was brought back to reality by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. He had been so immersed in his thoughts and work, he hadn't even heard anyone arrive. Peering back over his shoulder, he said, "Oh, hey Raph."

"Uh, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right. I was just planning some improvements for the sleds."

"Um, what're you doing with 'em?" Raph asked.

"Well," said Don, "when I first built them I had intended for there to be some defensive capabilities, but it was low priority so I never added anything. Then it occurred to me that while I'm at it, it might be nice to add some sort of navigation system as well, but I have to be careful with that cuz I wouldn't want anyone else to be able to find their way to the lair with it."

"Right…makes sense."

Don peered back at his brother—something in his tone sounded a little off. Sure enough, Raph did look a little tense… a lot tense, actually. And he was clenching his fists slightly, kneading his fingers as if his palms were sweaty.

"You okay, bro? You look a little hot and bothered."

"What? No… I uh, just finished my afternoon workout," he explained.

"Gotcha. Hey, wanna hand me that needle nose?"

Raph handed him the pliers, and then stood there uncomfortably. Then next time Don turned around he said, "Okay, Raph, what's up."

The turtle in red shifted his weight back and forth. "I just wanted to talk for a sec, but, um, if you're too busy or whatever, I can come back…"

Don stood up and turned around to face his brother, still holding the pliers. He couldn't resist. "Hey, no, it's no problem. You don't have to feel bad about asking—I'd be happy to give you some extra lessons with the bo staff," he smirked.

Normally a remark like that would earn Don a scowl and a sarcastic retort at the very least, but right now Raph just stared at him.

What's up with him? Don thought in amazement. Then he rolled his eyes. "That was supposed to be joke, Raph—but I guess it wasn't all that funny." He cleared his throat just to break the ensuing awkward silence. "So…what is it you wanted to talk about?"

Raph swallowed, and rubbed a forearm nervously.

"Bro? Is everything all right?" His brother's unease was starting to rub off on Don.

Looking down at his feet, Raph still hesitated.

"Raph," commanded Donatello, and he waited until his brother looked up. "It's okay—you can tell me." Then he waited quietly as Raphael scanned his face. After several seconds the turtle in red seemed to reach a decision, for he dropped his eyes again and swallowed resolutely.

"Uh, I just needed to tell you something, and it… it ain't gonna be easy…"

"C'mon, enough with the buildup already. Just cough it up!"

"Okay, well… I've kinda been…um… seeing someone."

Don was startled for a moment, but then slowly a lopsided grin spread over his face. "Why Raphie, you sly dog! So that's what this is all about!" Don didn't quite understand why his brother had chosen to divulge this information, but he couldn't help but feel somewhat pleased that Raph had told him. Then he had a sudden insight. "Is that why you've been so vague about where you've been going in your free time lately?" he asked.

"Well uh, yeah, actually…"

Still smiling, Don just shook his head. "Man, Leo's gonna be relieved to hear that…I swear, even though it's been a couple of years since Nightwatcher was retired, he still has nightmares of a resurrection whenever he doesn't know exactly what you're up to." Then he laughed jovially. "So come on, spill—who's the lucky guy?" he asked eagerly.

And Raph's lack of response to that jab was Don's first clue that something about the scenario didn't quite add up. Studying his brother's body language a bit closer, he realized that Raph was still incredibly tense, and his facial expression didn't seem to fit. He wasn't looking self-conscious, or squirming in embarrassment, or even grinning at Don's good-natured questions. In fact, he looked a bit like he was about to be sick.

"Aw shit, Raph," Don said hurriedly, "God, I'm such a jerk… I mean, it's okay if it is a guy-"

"Don, it's April," Raph broke in quietly.

Don froze—his face a mask of his previous expression. "Wh-what?" he stuttered. He felt completely numb, and when he worked his mouth it was as if it was full of cotton wool. "What… what does that mean, you're 'seeing' her?" he asked woodenly.

Raph glanced up at him briefly without saying anything, but that was all that was necessary—Don saw the truth in his eyes, and it was as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to his stomach. He didn't even notice that he still held the pliers in a white-knuckled grip, and he tried to draw a breath as his world began to fall away from him. He reached out with his free hand and grasped the nearest object—another shell sled—for support.

"H-how… how long…" Don managed, and the words came out sounding like he had just learned he had a terminal illness.

"About a month."

Don thought furiously, doing the math in his head, and his voice took on a slightly higher pitch as he said, "So, what—you two just, just hooked up the second Casey left the picture??"

Raphael did not respond, but shifted nervously. Don finally forced himself to look at his brother, and his eyes widened in sudden and nauseating understanding. "Since BEFORE??!"

"Listen, Don, I… we… didn't mean for things to happen like this…"

Raph's voice trailed on, but Donatello ceased to understand the meaning of any of the words. The shock was wearing off and the facts were beginning to sink in—along with terrifying mental images that he wished to god he could banish. At first he had felt nothing, just numbness. But now, something dark and terrifying was rising up in him, and the sound of his brother's voice was replaced by a roaring in his ears, like he was holding seashells up to them. His breath quickened and he looked up at Raphael with narrowed, glinting eyes. Suddenly he dropped the pliers, and the last sound he heard before the rushing in his head drowned everything out was himself—a noise between a roar and growl as he launched himself at his brother.

The next few minutes were a blur to Don—flashes of color and streaked movement like watching landscape rush by through a car window. He realized later that there must have been a terrible racket, but in the moment there was no sound except for the clamor of the ocean raging past his ears. He had no real sense of time, but when he became aware of something hauling him backward he nevertheless felt it was too soon because his insides were still searing like white hot metal out of a forge. He fought the restraint and broke free momentarily, but immediately he was pulled back again, and this time a twisting pain in his shoulder caused the rushing in his head to recede slightly so that he could hear outside sounds once again.

"DONATELLO! Cool it!"

Panting heavily, chest heaving, Don ceased trying to break away and began to regain some sensory perception as he shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He looked around, and saw a dazed-looking Raphael still lying on the floor in front of him, a curtain of blood streaming down the left side of his face and soaking through his mask. More blood was spattered and smeared elsewhere on his body, and some could be seen on the floor as well. Michelangelo was crouched next to him, apparently asking him if he was okay. The box of tools had been knocked over, its contents strewn about on the floor around them, and for some reason Don's eyes caught and held on a few screws on the floor nearby that were flecked with livid ruby droplets.

At that point he realized he was still being physically restrained by Leonardo, and he forced himself to relax still more so his brother would let up somewhat on the hammerlock. Leo felt Don's response immediately and loosened his hold, but he did not let go altogether.

"What the shell happened here?!" Leo demanded in a voice as cutting as the blade of a katana.

Although Donatello found he had regained some control of himself, his anger had not subsided completely but smoldered inside of him still, ready to flare up again if given proper fuel.

"Donatello! Talk to me, what's going on!" Leo insisted angrily, giving him a little shake when no answer was forthcoming. "DON-,"

"It was my fault," broke in Raphael as Mikey helped him to his feet.

Don could feel Leo's muscles twitch a little in surprise at that statement, and he could only imagine the look being given to Raph—maybe Leo thought he was more seriously injured than he looked.

Blinking blood out of one eye and fending off Mike's attempts to untie his red mask, Raph growled, "I said it was my fault! Let 'im go."

Leo held him for another second, but then he obeyed and released his hold. Don was free...but he still felt trapped.

He had never done anything like this before, had never so completely lost control, and he knew Leonardo would demand an explanation. Donatello stared at the ground in front of him, still breathing faster than normal, and he could feel Leo's eyes upon him. How could he tell his brother what had transpired when all he wanted in the world was to block it out of his mind?

"Mikey," said Leo, "why don't you go help Raph get cleaned up." Don didn't look up, but he heard departing footsteps, and Mikey's voice saying, "C'mon, bro—good thing your mask is already red…"

When they were gone, Leo stepped forward and adjusted his position slightly—a small move, quite subtle really, but it was purposefully done. Leo always moved with purpose. Even though Don was still looking down, studying the tools littering the floor, he could tell that his brother's new position happened to be blocking the most direct escape route, and that his body was now angled slightly towards Don. It was a dominant posture, assertive without being aggressive. Blocking him in. Without saying a single word, Leonardo had effectively told him, "You're not moving until I get some answers."

He knew Leo was trying to be diplomatic, giving him a chance to explain even though the evidence was pretty incriminating. The older turtle waited a moment, and Don could feel his eyes boring into him—but when no information was forthcoming, Leo spoke.

"Don, tell me what happened." It was a soft spoken command, but a command nonetheless—and although that was usually all it took to get him to comply, Don found that this time he felt no compulsion to do so. The frothing boil of his anger had been reduced to a slow, bubbling simmer, but it was enough to make him feel rebellious.

"C'mon Donny," Leo said coaxingly. "I know better than anyone how infuriating Raph can be—but you know how Master Splinter feels about fighting. And out of all of us, you're the least likely to lose your cool—something must have happened to set you off like that. Tell me, and we can work this out."

And for a moment, something in him wanted to collapse against Leo and just break down, let go, tell him everything. But then Raph's words came back to him, scrolling across his mind as if on a teleprompter. I've kinda been seeing someone…Don, it's April… About a month… it's April…and Don clenched his fists, as if by doing so he could fight off the memory. He noticed blood smeared across the knuckles of both of his hands, red and glistening much like the ensanguined screws on the floor. Simple machines.

And as he stared down at his own bespattered fists, he realized that he was not truly trapped unless he was powerless to change the situation. "I'm not doing this," he muttered to himself.

"What?" asked Leo, who hadn't been able to hear the words.

Then Don looked up at him, defiance in his usually apperceptive gaze and stubbornness etched on every feature. "I'm not doing this," he repeated, annunciating every word.

Leonardo looked back at him with a shocked expression, and for some reason this made Don's bubbling anger surge higher, overriding his customary logic. "I'm not going to stand here like a naughty child while you box me in and force me to explain things to you!" he said through clenched teeth. "Have him explain it—or not, I don't give a shit. But I'm done here." And he bumped past Leo and strode swiftly to the lair exit, grabbing his staff along the way.

As Donatello was about to exit, burning with the need to escape, he became aware of someone approaching behind him and spun around. It was Leo. Here we go, thought Don.

"Don, wait," Leonardo said as he approached, and then halted in front of him.

Bristling slightly and clutching his staff, Don prepared himself for a lecture and a battle, but his brother surprised him by simply holding out Don's shell cell to him. Don stared at the phone, and then met Leo's eyes—they didn't look angry, as he would have expected. Just pained. Don's eyes burned and a lump rose in his throat. He dropped his gaze before accepting the shell cell. Just when he thought he could predict Leonardo's every move, Leo would go and do something like this and force him to re-evaluate everything. It was part of what made his older brother an exceptional leader—he allowed his instincts to guide him when he lacked the information necessary for an analytical response

"Just…call or something, so we know you're okay," was all Leo said. Don nodded mutely, and turned to the now open door. He stepped out, but then paused when Leo spoke again.

"And Donny?" There was hesitation in his voice, but he couldn't stop himself from adding, "Be careful."

Don squeezed his eyes shut, feeling glad that Leo couldn't see his face. "Sure Leo," he said flatly. "I'll be careful. That's what's expected of me, isn't it? To be careful, and reasonable, and logical all the time? And Raph's the impulsive, hot-tempered one," he continued, his voice hardening, "which means he gets to do whatever the hell he wants and damn the consequences." Don was surprised the acidity in his voice wasn't eating away at the very air around him. He exhaled slowly. "I'm going to Leatherhead's."

He stepped the rest of the way out, and he could feel Leo's eyes upon him once more as the door was closing. Once it had, he broke into a run despite the quivering of his muscles and the wetness streaking across his vision. It was a long way to Leatherhead's from their current residence, but Don was glad of it—maybe, by the time he got there, he'd be so exhausted he wouldn't be able to feel.

Maybe, by the time he got there, he would find he'd been able to stop crying.

A/N: And a healthy dose of angst for good measure... but what else could you expect? More answers forthcoming in the next installment. Stay tuned!

-KameTerra