Hotline
By Shahrezad1
Summary: As one of RooTTech's many Tech Support drones, Donatello gets all kinds of calls. But when Donny gets phoned by a wrong number on the edge, will he be able to keep her from toeing the line? Intermixed events and various pairings as one turtle's choice affects the entire team.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for fond childhood memories of watching turtle cartoons on Saturday mornings.
Quick Author Note: Donatello's nickname will be written as "Donny" rather than "Donnie" in this, as determined by the subtitles of the live action films. I wasn't sure which spelling to go with, but that little detail became the deciding factor. :)
~/~/~
Chapter 7: Safe and Free
"Closed off from love
I didn't need the pain
Once or twice was enough
And it was all in vain
Time starts to pass
Before you know it you're frozen
But something happened
For the very first time with you
My heart melts into the ground
Found something true
And everyone's looking round
Thinking I'm going crazy"
-Leona Lewis, "Bleeding Love"
He scratched at his face and with it came a nice dollop of saliva—the side effect of having fallen asleep sitting at his computer desk again, the usual slump aided by gravity in sending him leaning forward against the much-abused plastic and metal.
Donatello groaned. He hoped that he hadn't short-circuited anything this time.
Stretching carefully and pushing at the space halfway down his carapace until his back managed to crack—a true feat for any of the terrapins given the way that they were shaped—he took stock of the day and tried to make sense of what led him to crash in his lab. There were no unfinished projects sitting on the tables and no blueprints drawn up, he acknowledged with bleary eyes, so what…?
The nearest computer screen blinked at him with a single photo and list of data. It was from middle school database, if the braces were anything to go by, and the girl in the image…
Joi Roberts.
Some light in his brain flicked on. Yes, it said to him, this image is correct. He wasn't sure how he knew it, but confirmation called out to him as though through bad radio static…
Crap. It was too early for this.
Coffee. He needed coffee.
Stumbling to the kitchen—and completely disregarding Mikey at the stove, who was humming some cartoon theme song to himself and bobbing around merrily—Donatello filled a large Batman mug-worth of the thick, dark liquid. Only after he'd inhaled two thirds of the contents did he pause to process the day before.
Honestly, it was like powering up a supercomputer belonging to NASA. But with it came several epiphanies and remembered conversations. He straightened in his seat, finally registering the terrible orange-Formica table in front of him in blooming Technicolor, among other visual details…
Joi. They'd saved her.
Brought her home. Stitched her up.
Leo'd been angry, Splinter disapproving…ish. He wasn't to participate in any missions…or junk runs, for that matter. Not without Joi going with him.
And April…
~/~/~
"She finally nodded off," the woman explained shortly, arms crossed after having closed the door to the infirmary. One hand held a camera in her grip.
His own shoulders dropping and tired down to the soles of his feet, he almost didn't notice it.
Almost.
But then again, he always was a sucker for the details.
"What's that for?"
She blinked, then glanced at her hand, "oh. Documentation. If we want any case against Roberts then we have to have something to go by. Of course, I had to get her permission first."
He dragged a kitchen chair over, collapsing into it, "and did she give it?"
"Yes, but it took a lot of convincing. Her father really did a number on her, let me tell you. Even knowing what he did, she defended him. I read somewhere that victims of abuse are loyal, even when those they are loyal to are undeserving. It's a self-defense mechanism—she's still worried that he's going to punish her for saying anything," April explained, half to herself. Her eyes looked heavy and bruised, as though she hadn't been sleeping well, and with anyone else he might have said that the experience had aged them. As it was her shoulders were hunched in almost defensively, deeper thoughts internalized.
"I think you did a news story on victims of abuse about two years after we met you," Donatello filled in for her quietly. Just like that her gaze focused on him yet again, moving from the past to the present.
She blinked at him and smiled, "you're right. You know, it's surprising that you'd remember something like that."
"Must've stuck me is all," he responded, hiding behind the white lie.
The truth being that he remembered all of her news reports, big and small—it was hard not to. All part and parcel of the double-edged sword which was his brain. And his heart.
He'd always had a difficult time letting go.
"If what I remember is correct, we're going to have to show her that she can trust us and that she's protected. We're also going to have to deal with personality quirks," she said, interrupting his thought process as she spoke out loud.
Donatello blinked in surprise, then frowned, "sure, but I don't want her treated like she's some sort of foreign specimen, and that the only reason we're helping her is because she's sick."
The reporter gave him an odd look, "of course not, Don. I'm just saying that there are certain things are going to set her off and we're going to have to take them as they come. Things like fear of abandonment and of large groups of people. Sometimes it'll appear when we least expect it, and you might not be able to get her to talk to you like she did before."
He folded his arms defensively, already strung nerves pulled even tighter in irritation, "well, why wouldn't she?"
"Hold on there, Donny, I am not the enemy. I'm merely saying…" the older woman paused, took a deep breath, and tried again, "look. Usually when you save someone, hey, look, Ta-da! They're saved. But it's not going to be that way with Joi. She was abused, and has been for what was probably at least a couple of years. It sounds like she was fine talking to you when you didn't know about it, but if she's had any bad experiences in the past in which people didn't believe her then it's likely that she's going to think that you're out to judge her, too."
He drew back slightly, remembering their last conversation with sudden and stark clarity.
"So she's not going to say much. She may even withdraw into her shell, proverbially speaking," April added with some irony, "at least until she feels that it's emotionally safe to come out. Especially if she's dealing with Post-Traumatic Stress. Do you understand?"
He sighed roughly, running a hand over the back of his neck—it was knotted with the temper he'd developed, "yeah, I get it. Sorry, April, I'm just a little…" he made a back and forth motion, like a teeter-totter, with his hand.
"It's understandable. After a night like tonight we're all a little…" she echoed the motion.
There was a second's pause as they both processed the conversation before she went on, to his surprise.
"On that note, I think that it might be best if we remove all the mirrors in the lair," April murmured, rubbing the back of her head.
Donatello blinked, "what, why?"
She sighed and propped her hip against the ratty couch, looking for the best way to say it, "Donny, Joi…she's got a lot of problems. But before we can do anything for her emotional wellbeing, I have a feeling that we're going to have to focus on her physical health. She's anorexic—she might be thin naturally, but this is extreme. And one aspect of Anorexia is having an inaccurate body image. If we remove all the mirrors—not that there are many down here—then she's less likely—."
"To realize that her weight and health are changing, especially if we start focusing on changing her diet to one that's healthier," he finished the thought for her, nodding, "that makes sense. I'll remove them before she gets a chance to realize that they were even there."
"It's not as if anyone but me used them anyway," she mentioned slightly under her breath.
He smirked, "I dunno. I'm pretty sure that Casey used them a time or two."
The redhead rolled her eyes, "flexing one's muscles in front of a mirror does not count as 'using them.' Only as an excuse to stall for time in an experiment to see how long it takes before pissing Raph off so that he breaks down the door."
"So that's what happened," he snorted, "now I know who to charge for those new door hinges."
"…didn't you scrounge those from the dump?"
His shrug was eloquent, "Casey doesn't have to know that."
~/~/~
So that conversation had gone well—mostly. Which left him with the unpleasant task of talking to Joi about what she wished to do, as well as informing his brothers of his future absence on the 'force.'
Tired even at the thought of those tasks, he opted to go for the easier of the two. Or at least, the less volatile of the two options. He could face his brothers later on in the day, followed by enough time for them to "cool down." Leonardo would be smug without being "smug"—kind of a lofty, silent, "I told you so" expression that went without saying; it was just the way he was when Master Splinter reaffirmed some decision that he'd made. As for Raphael, he'd probably try to pick a fight with a resisting Leo, then would head out to blow of some steam with Casey—at least in this case Donny knew that his brother would be on his side, for once.
It had something to do with the emotion in Raph's eyes as they initially landed on Joi, the girl cowering in the corner with pained hands blocking their view of her. As though she was a leper and didn't want to be looked at.
Mikey would probably rally around Joi and be disappointed that he, Donatello, wasn't going to be there as they made their rounds. More often than not they ended up pairing off, stuck as spectators to the ongoing Leo-Raph battle. With him gone they'd be a man down and Michelangelo would likely be stuck as the odd turtle out. He couldn't help but wonder how the dynamic was going to change while he was stuck at home.
Well, at least this way he didn't have to deal with the drama and petty immaturity, was the thought which was came before he downed the dregs of his drink and rinsed out his mug in preparation for later cleaning. Tired at the thought of his next task, Donny trudged toward the door.
Mikey blinked halfway through his theme song, cutting off the words, "I will eat everything without likes or dislikes, TEE—."
"Yo, where're you off to, Brah? Eggs are almost done."
Donny's shoulders dipped minutely, "I…have to go talk to Joi about something. Sensei's orders."
His brother's response was surprising, the normally easygoing turtle stiffening and falling silent. Then Mike merely nodded, dropping his eyes and scraping at the pan—theme song entirely forgotten, "'kay, cool Bro. See you after."
Donatello hesitated with one hand on the doorknob, torn between what he needed to do and Michelangelo's obvious discomfiture. The desire to leave the room, getting a difficult task done and over with, was met with his natural inclination to care for the medical and emotional needs of his brothers—especially as sometimes their life literally depended on it. And what he'd just seen, top to bottom, was an indication that the other turtle was anything but okay.
He sighed, turning back to place a three-fingered hand on the cook's shoulder.
"Okay, Mikey. What's wrong?"
"Huh?" the nunchaku-wielding warrior looked up only absently, "oh, it's…it's nuthin.'"
"C'mon, Mike. Don't give me that—I know you."
For just a moment Donny could tell that he was actually thinking about saying something, eye ridges uncharacteristically bunched together and mouth opened to speak. Until the sound of Raphael and Leonardo at odds in the hallway made him stiffen. Then he shrugged lightly, "don't worry about it, dude. You've got more important things to worry about."
Donatello frowned, "you're sure?"
His younger brother put up a brave face, smiling tightly in a ghost of his usual boisterousness, "yeah, 'm good. You should go and take care of your princess before she ends up in another castle or something."
Don hesitated a moment at Mikey's words, looking back, "you…you do know that she's not my girlfriend or anything, right? We're just friends."
The orange-banded turtle blinked. Then grinned, "hey, I wasn't even thinking that, bro—you were the one who said it. You got something to share with the class?"
Donatello's expression was withering. Still, Michelangelo continued.
"What was that from the other day about Freud-man's slip?"
"Your eggs are burning," he declared flatly. Then shut the door behind him. Firmly.
~/~/~
Entering the infirmary felt almost like tiptoeing through the frontlines, his nerves on end and eyes alert for bombs going off. Normally lit by either an open door or one of the many lamps he had strewn about the place, the darkness felt almost like an alternate universe as he entered the familiar area. Odd-shaped objects became hulking shadows and edges here and there were thrown in relief by the light he was letting in.
Because he wasn't stressed enough already.
Swallowing harshly, Donatello tried to clear his throat as he reminded himself that this was just Joi, his friend. They'd talked for hours on end, so how was speaking to her now any different?
Because you finally know what she's been hiding from you, came the dry reply of his internal monologue.
Heaving in a chest full of oxygen, he tiptoed forward toward the bundle on the cot.
"Um…Joi? Can I talk to you?"
Silence was his reply.
"Joi? Are you…are you awake?"
Still nothing. Heart in his throat, Donatello switched on the lamp, spilling light on to her bed. Where a carefully folded purple and green blanket sat, its edges precise. She'd even placed her pillow on top of it, like a hospital ward that had been newly cleaned after the death of its patient.
He blinked at the sight, brain not computing. Then it was processing at a mile a minute, dashing from the room.
Leonardo. He better not have done what I think he did…
The thought was frantic and waspish all in one. He opened the training room door with more force than was necessary, startling Leo out of his meditation.
"Where's Joi?" Donatello demanded.
His brother blinked his eyes open. Then frowned.
"I think we've covered the fact that she's not my responsibility. Although I wouldn't be surprised if she was hiding."
Donny scowled. Well, at least he knew that Leo hadn't played a part in kicking her out, which meant that she must be somewhere in the Lair…
Closing his eyes again as though his presence didn't matter, his older brother continued loftily, "if you're that worried about her why don't you just check the perimeter? That's what the cameras are there for, aren't they?"
The subtle dig on one of Donny's foremost projects—one that took time and constant upkeep—made him want to knock some sense into the other turtle. But he resisted, mostly in the knowledge that 1. Leonardo was just looking for an opportunity to give him the beat down and 2. 'Fearless,' as Raphael so rudely called him, could unfortunately wipe the floor with him.
He left and made his way to his lab. The light was still on, the way he'd left it lit made it a good thing that the electric bill was in his name now rather than April's, never mind the fact that it came by way of a "Ghost" address. But the computer wasn't on the page he remembered it being—instead there was an image of Joi from a middle-school Poetry Jam, the tiny stick-thin girl's eyes just barely showing above the shoulder of a much brawnier girl.
He moved forward to investigate, frowning until the chair jerked abruptly. Then turned slightly.
Donny gulped, "J-Joi? What are you doing—?!"
'—touching my computer?' was the second, instinctive part of the question. No one touched his computer, with the exclusion of April and sometimes Leo.
Emotion overrode practicality on the way out, however, his heart informing his brain that there were more important things to worry about. Like the fact that she'd caught him reading up on her. Admittedly it was after the fact, but…
Well, so much for respecting her privacy, Chivalry remarked dryly. He winced.
She rose and the movement was stiff, aided by the fact that her leg was encased in plaster—well, a Cortex cast created by 3-D printer, allowing for breathability while also cutting out the need for outside medical assistance…anyway. The fact that the screens backlit her skeletal form, revealing jutting ribs and sharp shoulder blades made him feel even worse.
"You said that you'd never looked me up before."
Her remark, emotionless, cut to the quick.
"Well, I hadn't," he answered softly, the urge to pull her away from his computers rising, "not until last night, anyway…"
She turned to look at him thoughtfully, profile sharp and angular, "that's an awful lot of info for just one night."
"I…didn't go to bed," he admitted in a mutter. Then crossed his arms and huffed, "look, can you just turn around so I can…I can talk to you? It's important."
"You can talk to my back," she said flatly, "it's the same thing as going behind it."
Donatello gaped, hurt, and in his silence Joi finally faced him. He could see the remorse being born as she registered his expression. Almost defensively she curled in on herself, folding her long limbs into his turtle-ergonomic computer chair. All except the one leg, which stuck out like an orange spider-web (plastic material courtesy of Michelangelo's last major break). The other was bent so that her arms could lock around it.
How did she get all the way over her in that, anyway?
"I'm…I'm so-sorry," Joi finally whispered, head ducked down so that all he could see from behind her arms was large, light eyes, "I just…I mean, we talked yesterday, but I woke up this morning and I…" she pulled in a hiccupping breath, "I didn't know where I was and then it justallc-cameback. And, and…I didn't know what to do! To think, or feel. And, I mean I got saved by giant human-like turtles. And my best friend is one, so…so I'm just trying to-to adjust, you know?"
His entire form collapsed in on itself with his sigh, "Joi, I understand that it's a lot to take in—."
"No, you don't u-understand, Donny! You don't understand what it's l-like staying at school for as long as you can so that you don't have to go h-home! And-and having dinner ready before you do anything or Da—or he'll beat you. Or being afraid to s-sleep because he'll come into your room," she cut herself off, "Don, you don't understand what it's like," tears had started dripping down her face unchecked, and he realized for the first time that the shirt they'd brought her in wearing had been replaced with one of April's old things. It was soft from wear and comfortable on the redhead—on Joi it practically drowned her, starting to slip off of the one shoulder. But the rich blue added some color to the otherwise pallid, waifish young woman.
Donny sighed, "you're right, Joi, I don't have any experiences remotely similar to that, but…"
What could he say?
The young woman looked up at him through pained doe's eyes, "he was my dad, Donny? How could…why did he do that to me? Dad's are supposed to love you a-and take care of you!"
The desire to offer physical comfort—the kind of comfort he might have provided for one of his brothers, although who knew what that might have translated into with her—made him unconsciously moved forward a step. But she flinched back into her chair, instinctive fear showing in the whites of her eyes.
The turtle's outstretched hand was dropped. No. The situation wouldn't be solved by a clap on the shoulder or even a hug. Joi wasn't Mikey, she wasn't even April or Master Splinter. It went much deeper than that.
Rubbing the back of his neck and thinking of a way to respond, Don moved toward the beanbag chair he kept in the corner for nights when he couldn't quite stumble to bed—it was too bad that he hadn't made it even that far last night.
Letting himself down with a groan, the techie thought that at least this way he wasn't standing and thus less of a threat to her. From there perhaps the conversation could go down more positive venues.
And across from him, gaze as alert as prey facing off with a predator, Joi did seem to relax. Somewhat. Which was always…good.
Donatello took that as his cue to start, "Joi. I don't have an answer for what he did. And I don't know why he did it, either. I just know…that not all men are like that. Meaning…" he sighed tiredly, "most men aren't like that. 98% give or take. And especially not myself, my brothers…or my father."
He tried to say the word gently, but even son she winced. Don's shoulders dropped further—April was right, this was going to be an uphill battle.
The turtle went on, running three large fingers over his face, "look, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."
Her scrutiny, currently aimed at the cement floor, rose up to him, unblinking. The vigilante took that as a sign of her attention.
"Master Splinter—my father—he…"boy, how to summarize, he wondered, " he believes in agency—that every being has the right to choose for themselves. And…and I know that we brought you down here. To protect you, I mean, but," he gulped in a breath, "to make sure that you don't feel trapped—and that it's by your own will and choice. He asked me…to ask you…if you wanted to stay?"
Her shock was palpable, jaw dropping and arced back becoming rod-straight. It was anything but what she'd expected from him and Donatello could almost see the mental reevaluation going on within her mind.
"I mean, we saved you, yes, but that still means that you are under no obligation to stick around," he continued swiftly, "we do ask that you keep kind of on the…on the down-low about everything, I mean. And we're friends—I'm going to assume that we're friends, based on…what you said," he muttered, "but you're right—essentially I'm a giant turtle," his laugh was awkward, self-deprecating. He clasped his odd-shaped digits tightly together and tried to forget in this instance just how much they didn't fit in the world they lived in, but it didn't work.
"I know how weird this is, trust me. I've heard enough screams to understand. And with your injury healing, it wouldn't surprise me at all if you wanted to recuperate anywhere other than a sewer. So what I'm trying to say is that…if you have anywhere else you can go, then we'll take you there. And…and you're not our prisoner or anything."
Donny hesitated a moment, forcing the sincerity and empathy he was feeling into his expression, "additionally, I'm sorry for what you've gone through. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to help you sooner. But I'm not like…like Mr. Roberts. I'm not that guy. And none of us here would force you to do anything you wouldn't wish to do. Which is why…why," he frowned, licking his lips to wet them, and forced the words, "if you want to break off contact—you know, never see my ugly face again—I won't stop you. Okay?"
During his impromptu speech—definitely not his best work—Joi went through varying stages of posture and emotional expression, some as bright and open as a camera flash while other were more subtle. Finally the young woman had settled for guarded neutrality, a kind of thoughtfulness removing the stiffness from her limbs.
Finally, in the vacuum of stillness left in the wake of his discourse, Joi murmured, "Donny, I told you not to call yourself ugly. Stop saying that."
The terrapin blinked.
"And," she rested her cheek against her folded arms, long, swan-like neck an almost perfect curve, "I mean…"
The human girl straightened, nibbling her lower lip, "there's no one. I mean, if there was…but there's not. I…"
She curled up tighter, voice tiny and self-conscious, "Dad—Mr. Roberts wouldn't let me spend time with anyone else. So there isn't really anybody to, you know, turn to."
Ignoring his leaping heart-rate—completely inappropriate given what additional information she'd just revealed—Donatello forced himself to remain casual, despite the hope nipping at his limbs, "so, there's no teachers you can talk to? I remember a Miss Dobson, and you mentioned your Principal once…?"
"They don't have time for me—I don't want to be a bother," Joi whispered, "there are other kids that need their help more than I do."
Oh, he very much doubted that.
Her regard was aimed back at him, "so you're my only choice."
The turtle held his breath, feeling alternately happy and terrible that he was rejoicing in her lack of options. But he couldn't help the way his pulse was picking up in anticipation, fingers and toes nearly wiggling with their desire to act. It was the same way he felt when about to start a new project or fix something which had been broken—
Splinter's voice rose, unbidden, into his mind.
"…she is not a new puzzle to solve, or a toy to fix…"
"I'll…I would like to stay."
Ignoring the guilt which came with it, his whole form lit up like New Years Eve at Times Square, "brilliant! I mean…that's great. I'll just, we'll just. Ah. Um. I'll go get a room ready for you and inform my father. And brothers."
He nodded and left the room, trying to ignore the look of trepidation on her face.
~/~/~
AN: The theme song Mikey is humming in the kitchen is the modified one from TV movie "Teen Titans: Trouble in Tokyo" originally by Puffy AmiYumi (but modified for the purposes of bad Karaoke). Because I say so. And because Beast Boy and Mikey would probably be bros—just sayin'. (Look up, "Beast Boy sings translated Karaoke," on youtube.)
If you think this chapter was unnecessary let me clue you in on something: Joi was in shock in Chapter 5. Ta-da! Now she's had time to process things and is freaking out some. :) Plus their conversation got cut off by Leo previously… But a lot of important things were said this time around, which will lead to a foundation of trust for future interactions. :D
Important Author Note for future chapters:
Number One: Most of the side-effects of abuse last for years—but I don't have that long to work with. Especially in a situation where Donny isn't allowed to leave the Lair.
Number Two: Also, I have a bit of a confession to make. When I started this it was in the expectation that this would remain a one-shot or maybe a two-shot and that no one would actually take any interest in it. Because I'm going to be leaving for a fulltime religious proselyting mission as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints on the 20th of August (to Japan, yay!).
But that means that I have very, very little time in which to write this story.
So this might not got finished. :S
To avoid that fate, I'm going to go ahead and do what I've planned on doing from the very start.
Instead of long, linear chapters, each one is going to have smaller scenes involving multiple characters. This way at least the readers get a general idea of what is happening to each set.
To My Guest Reviewers:
Guest: Thank you for quoting the good ol' Cap! :D He's my favorite of the bunch, and for your awesomeness I'll try and fit in some more references in the future. ;-)
The Potato One: 1. Your username is awesome. 2. Thank you! 3. And you live in Utah ("happy valley")? I do, too! :D Only I'm in SLC, by way of Logan. 3 4. I'm glad that you enjoyed Donny's adorableness—I definitely enjoy writing it. :3 As for your guess on the references, you're right on the money! :D
In my personal opinion nearly every comic book or TV show reference set in New York overlaps one another. :D Take that comment as you will. :3 But if we happen to run into a crime novelist by the name of "Richard" then you'll know why. ;)
Guest: Glad that you caught on—Detective Maza's a great character. :D And at least it's not a bad theme song, right? ^^ As for reasons why I included her, see the note above!
