Disclaimer: TMNT don't belong to me.

A/N: I first want to thank everyone who has reviewed, followed, favorited, and read this story. It means a lot to me! This installment takes place shortly after "Showdown", the Season 1 finale, and before "The Mutation Situation" the first episode of Season 2.

Pride

Ever since his boys were small, Splinter had tried to instill in his sons a sense of humility; to teach them that pride impairs one's judgment and makes one blind to possible dangers which may lurk in the shadows. They sometimes forgot this, and were reminded the hard way that it is never a wise choice to let down ones guard…but they were young and had not yet fully gained what experience offered to teach. Their youthful minds were excitable and overconfident at times, each victory reinforcing that mindset deeper into their adolescent psychies. Splinter dreaded the day when this mentality would backfire on his boys like an overpowered engine with a blocked exhaust. Yet he also knew something he found himself repeating to them like a personal mantra: with experience, comes wisdom.

They had been carrying on like this for days now, their exuberant young voices carrying through the lair with the energy of a puppy on caffeine. He loved his sons, but even this excess was beginning to grate on his nerves like nails on chalkboard. One ear twitched in annoyance as he attempted to take a deep, calming breath to resume his meditation, his lungs filling with the spicy scent of the incense he had burning at the moment. His hands rested upon his crossed legs, his eyes closed gently. However with every shout, every crash emanating from the den, his lids squeezed tight and his teeth gritted in irritation. He could feel his hands clenching into fists, his breathing exercises no longer having the soothing effect on his nerves he desired. He slammed both fists onto the ground then grabbed his walking stick tightly in his right hand as he rose abruptly to his feet all in one graceful, yet angry motion.

He stalked to the exit, each clawed foot peaking from under his robe as they advanced forward in succession. His staff clicked upon the ground with each step, the rhythmic clacking seeming to give voice to his otherwise silent vexation. The ninja master let out a sharp exhalation of air before reaching the arched opening to the dojo which led into the den. His son's voices became clearer the closer to the exit he became. One voice in particular caused him to pause, the animated rise and fall of its tone going straight to the mutant rat's heart and freezing him in his tracks.

"Donatello…" he breathed.

"You know the best part, guys? The best part?" Donatello gushed, the gusto filling his words seeming to buzz through the air.

"Dude!" Michelangelo interjected. "What best part? All of our epic-ness was the best part!"

"Totally!" Raphael's deeper voice rose above the youngest turtle's. "'Cuz we are just that awesome!"

"Hmmhmm!" Leonardo hummed in agreement. "We are heroes in a half shell!"

Raphael's snort of amusement carried to their father's ears. "I thought we were turtles, Chief, since when did we become oysters?"

"Well…" Leo began, fumbling awkwardly for a response to something he obviously thought sounded cool.

"No, no, no," Donatello admonished, as if speaking to a gathering of children. "It was April guys…April!" He sighed dreamily. "She called me her hero…me! Did you hear?"

Splinter knew his hot-headed son was rolling his eyes. "Uh, right, Donnie, cuz we had so much time to listen when we were running for our lives!"

"Whatever, Raph, I'm her hero, and that's all that matters," the genius finished, his words filled with his self-imposed pride.

Splinter placed a hand upon the wall, his brow furrowing in thought, his whiskers twitching. He shifted his gaze to a shelf on the wall and rested upon a picture displayed upon it. His expression softened, growing wistful and laced with sorrow.

He worried for his son Donatello at times more than his other sons, for how deeply his genius of a son was falling for the human. He knew it would probably lead to heartache in the end, and most likely by no fault of his purple masked son, but simply by the hand the boy was dealt in life. Donatello needed to learn to play the cards given to him. It would be a hard, painful lesson, but not one Splinter could ever teach his son on his own.

Splinter sighed deeply as his eyes remained on the picture, locked on the image of the beautiful young woman encased forever in the frame.

"Tang Shen…" he spoke in a pained whisper. "What should I do…?"

His mind flashed images of his dead wife, the emotions reaching from the depths and squeezing painfully around his heart. He remembered the way she made him feel, the depths of his love for her, as deep and fathomless as the sea: like he could accomplish anything, like he was born to be with her alone. Her laugh, her smile, the way her eyes twinkled when he told her he loved her, the pride with which she gazed down at their daughter…

Splinter eyes snapped shut as he ripped his head away sharply from the picture, defensive walls building themselves in his mind against the memories. His hand left the wall and softly fell to his side. He turned his gaze to the floor, taking a drawn-out, languid breath, and willing his raging emotions into submission. In a way, he understood more of what his son felt than he had ever spoken to him of. Maybe he would sometime, just to let his son know that he did understand; he empathized with him.

He turned and headed sluggishly back to his spot under the tree, every step feeling heavy and labored. His tapered tail dragged upon the ground, his original purpose of heading to the den pushed aside for the time being. He would have some words with them eventually…and with Donatello…but for now…for tonight…he would let Don revel in his pride.

A/N: I didn't plan on this turning into a Splinter piece, but it did!