"C'mon, why are you doing this?" Mike asked, trying to wriggle away from Donatello's grip on his wrist.
"Just hold still," Don said in an exasperated tone.
He'd been trying to take Mike's pulse for the better part of five minutes and the moody turtle's efforts to stop him had been more than merely annoying. He still had a few more things to check out on Mike, partly out of the desire to see how he was faring, but mostly out of the need to get him out of his room - so Raphael could do what needed to be done there. Donatello felt guilty about it, but it had been his idea to do the examination in order to provide the needed spying time.
So far Mike was doing pretty well - physically at any rate. Mentally he was still on the edge, floating somewhere between the waking and dreaming worlds. The problem was that he preferred to dream his life now, living as if it didn't matter if he woke up. That was beginning to hurt his brothers deeply, but not so much as the fact that they could find no way to help him out of the pit. Don hated thinking of that one possibility, the one that spoke of Mike doing this to himself.
He's not that kind, Don repeated to himself. Mike's smart, he knows better...
"How does your skin feel today?" he asked, touching the spots on Mike's head that had been burned the worst the day before.
Mike swatted his hand away. "Fine, fine... I'm good. Hey, I'm hungry... am I allowed to eat, boss?"
Donatello looked up towards the door and saw Raphael standing there, his arms folded across his chest.
"Yeah, you can eat," Don said, backing away.
Mike jumped off the table and saluted Donatello, laughing as he walked towards the door. Raph stepped aside, letting his brother pass.
"Well?" Don asked when Mike was gone.
Raph looked out the door and then shut it. "Nothing," he said, pulling himself up onto the examination bed. "I tore his room apart. There's nothing in there."
Donatello let out a relieved sigh. "See, I told you."
"I told you," Raph said. He let his eyes scan the floor. "But... I dunno..."
"What?"
"You know... I hate to say it, but I was... I almost hoped that... I mean, at least if that had been what was wrong it was something we could have controlled. I mean, we could have stopped him, done something for him."
"I know," Don said, leaning against the bed and copying his brother's floor-staring. "But now we have to look for other possibilities."
"Like your permanent neural damage theory?"
He nodded. "One of a few."
"How did his exam go?"
"His pulse is fast, his eyes are having difficulty focusing, his skin is still hot from his shower last night..."
"...And?"
"And I have no idea what is wrong with him."
Raph put his hand on Donatello's shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll be able to figure it out. You're the smart one, remember?"
Don looked at the small smile on his brother's face and smiled back. That same statement had angered him a couple weeks before but now it was strangely comforting. Raphael meant it this time, he knew that if anyone could divine a solution it would be Donatello. Don only wished that he could be so sure himself.
-
Mike walked into the bathroom and shut the sheet that Leo had hung in the place of the smashed door. He looked at the tiny flowers against the stark white cotton and half-grinned.
So masculine, he thought, giggling.
He lifted the top of the toilet tank and pulled out what he had left there the night before and looked it over, thankful that the zip-locked bag had not leaked. That hadn't been the best place to put it and for most of the day he had been trying to remember where, exactly, he had hidden it. It had finally occurred to him when Don was checking out the burns on his head.
Burns? He didn't feel any burns. He touched the top of his head and shrugged, peeking out from behind the sheet before heading to his room. He shoved the bundle and needle back under his mattress - where he would remember it next time.
Next time? he thought. He pulled the objects back out and stared at them a for a few seconds. He was running low, running out. That was okay, he wouldn't need it much longer, he'd give it up as soon as he didn't have any left. Then he'd be fine. He began to chew on his thumb. Maybe, though... maybe he could find a place to get some more - just in case he needed it. He wouldn't need it, but if he did... yes, he was sure he could find a place to get some more.
And if he did that meant that he wouldn't have to worry about using it all up - he could have some now, that way he wouldn't have to worry about the pain showing up when he wasn't ready for it. It did that sometimes, showed up when he was eating or doing something else and it would make him angry. His brothers got mad at him when he did that - he didn't want them to be mad at him. He'd do it for them, so they wouldn't get mad. That would make them happy...
