Don was only half-listening as Mortu spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing Utrom legal procedures. It didn't sound that different from Earth's own legal proceedings, maybe a bit more efficient. As far as he understood, the trial itself was already underway. Donnie puzzled over the fact that his and his brothers' testimonies were seemingly overlooked.

Mortu sighed. "We already have a...substantial amount of evidence. The trial is just a formality at this point." Donnie noted the way the fingers of the exo-suit curled into a fist as his friend spoke. "With the amount of time it took to catch him, our prosecutors built up a solid case. Ch'rell maintains his…" he paused to bark out a laugh "...innocence throughout the affairs between himself and the worlds he wronged."

Mortu shook off the frustration. The sharp click of his metal heels echoed along the corridor. "Come. There is much we need to see to before you leave."

Mortu continued his tour of the medical bay, outlining the streamlined flow of procedures and how those ideas had influenced early hospitals. It was more for distraction than anything, and Don was grateful. They met with various doctors and surgeons, some of whom had worked on Raphael.

"Your brother is a stubborn one, my friend," one of them - Hau was his name? - observed. "We were able to clear the air in his pleurae and re-inflate his lung. He began breathing on his own shortly after the surgery. All he needs for now is a few days' bed rest."

Donatello nodded. "I'll keep an eye on him. How should I moderate pain medications?"

Hau sketched out the appropriate meds and their dosages, as well as how often bandages needed to be changed. "We know that you are unable to obtain the supplies you need, so we have provided you with enough to last about a month. I wish we could do more."

Donnie sighed and blinked away the watering in his eyes as his busted arm scraped the wall. It wasn't lost on him how lucky they were he had only broken one arm. That wasn't to knock the others' medical abilities - they were all decent field medics. But for long term patient-doctor relations…yeah, they were lucky. He irritably passed a hand over his face. His own injury had him at a distinct disadvantage. He would need both of his arms to change dressings and clean wounds, not to mention keep up with charts and graphs and schedules and supplies had a distinct way of running out long before they were supposed to. He sighed again, knowing he needed to release some of the internal pressure before his thoughts got too far ahead of him. "Mortu? If you don't mind, I need something to write with and some paper."

"Of course."

The Utrom let him back into his room with the necessary supplies. Don supposed he had been radiating a need for solitude as Mortu had backed out silently and locked the door behind him.

"Let's see…" It helped to think aloud as he wrote, and he was unbelievably thankful that he was ambidextrous. "I'll need charts from the Utroms, dressings and disinfectants. I suppose I'll need to chart who ate or drank what and when, as well as basic vital signs." He brought a hand up to his chin and tapped out a tune thoughtfully. What else? "I'm not going to be able to get any of our stuff from the infirmary." He frowned.

No x-rays, no ultrasounds, no MRIs. No IV drips, no EKGs, no ventilators. Nothing at the farm house he could patch together that would be even remotely helpful. He would have to track progress or decline by external means alone. He grimaced. If something went wrong, he would have no way of knowing until it was or was near being too late. He had assurances that neither he nor his family would be removed from the Utroms' care until all were stable and able to handle the trip, but still. Anything could happen after that.

He tapped the pencil impatiently against his forehead. This was going to be impossible. Not for the first time, he cursed humanity's overwhelming tendency to kill anything even remotely different from the norm, and thus indirectly kill the chance of receiving the kind of help he - they all - needed.

"Donnie?"

His gaze flew to the doorway, which had slid open without his notice. He almost laughed. April was standing there, hair a jumble, eyes wide with fear, still in the party dress from the night before and a pair of worn tennis shoes.

"You really like having an excuse to get out, don't you?" He teased, hefting himself off the floor.

She swatted his good arm then smothered him in a hug. "What can I say? I'm just a party girl, y'know."

He laughed and it felt good. He met her eyes and ran a hand through her dirt-streaked hair. She bent down and kissed him soundly on the cheek, and he felt the heat rising in his face. "Don, please, don't ever do that again."

A crooked, almost ironic grin spread across his face. "Trust me, I am in no mood to repeat it."

She settled into the crook of his good arm and sat with him as he recapped all he had learned from Mortu about his - about their - family. "I came in here to get a jump on everything that's going to have to be taken care of." He motioned to the sheet of paper and his illegible scribbles that filled half the page. "And that's about where you showed up. How'd you get up here anyway?"

He screwed up his eyes at her as she stretched.

"I...don't entirely know. Casey and I couldn't find you after the ship launched. He went to search the lair and the warehouse, and I kind of hung around my place, hoping you'd show up. When morning came, someone knocked on the door." She smiled. "I remembered Mortu from our last, er...meeting."

She knocked against him as he stifled his chuckles. "And here we are. I left Casey a note so he wouldn't freak, but knowing him, he's probably yelling at the sky like a madman."

Donatello's mirth was contagious and soon both of them were hugging their sides with laughter. "Oh, this...this is much better."

She cocked her head as a shadow passed over his face and the air of solemnity returned. "What's the matter?"

"Do you…" he hesitated. "Do you think we could use the farmhouse...again?"

"Don, stop it. You know he doesn't mind."

He looked away from her and seemed to be intent on boring a hole in the corner with his stare. "I know...it's just that…"

"...it's just that...?" She prompted, absently playing with the bandana tails draped over his shoulder.

He smacked the back of his head against the wall. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Do what?"

"THIS!" He gesticulated toward the paper that flew across the room with the sudden movement. "Piece my brothers, my father, me back together! Ugh, I'm just one person, April. You'd need like a whole team of nurses and specialists and therapists, so how much good can I really be?" He buried his face in his hand.

"Don." He didn't look at her. "Donnie! Hamato Donatello!"

The fact that April used his full name in such an irritated manner got his attention more than the name itself.

"You will do the best that you can, and you will probably give as good or better care than any doctor ever could. Besides, you'll have Casey and me and -"

"April, I can't ask you to abandon your work again because of us."

"Then don't ask. I'm still coming."

A grin tugged at his mouth. Stubborn woman. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." She pulled his head onto her shoulder, briefly allowing him to be as vulnerable as he needed. "I love you guys, and I'm going to take care of you, alright?"

"Alright," he breathed.

"So where do we start?" She almost regretted asking as the desperate, trapped looked contorted his features.

"We start with prayer and as many good luck charms as you can get."

A/N: Holy. Crap. 17 reviews in two days? I love you guys. You totally made my week. Here's another little piece of the puzzle. I do apologize for such short chapters. Hopefully, they'll get longer as the plot develops. But I felt like this was as good a place as any to stop this chapter, so here ya go! :P I still am a little uneasy about such a (seemingly) sparse writing style, so please let me know if/when it no longer appears to work. Read, review, and enjoy, my friends!