This was one of my beta's favorite chapters. Also one of my favorites to write. Just sayin'.

No ownership here. Sadness. But no suing-ness here, either. Which is probably okay.

Enjoy!

"This is getting old, Leo!" Raph shouted, slamming a fist into a governmental agent and throwing him into two more down the hall.

"I know," Leonardo called back between strikes, "but we have to be close. This is the most heavily-guarded area yet!"

Raph snorted, not bothering to give a real reply as he cleared a few more guards out of their way. They'd gone awfully far into Bishop's hideout before being discovered, and indeed, it had devolved into a running fight while they tried to keep ahead of their worst fears. The fear that they might already be too late, or that their intrusion had caused Bishop to do something…unforgivable. With rage, he demolished the remaining guards in the corridor, nearly lost in what he would have called anger and never have admitted was fear.

"Look!" Leo's shout broke into the angriest turtle's thoughts and he turned to his brother in the sudden quiet of a deserted hallway. "That door!" It wasn't particularly remarkable – it looked quite like every other door they'd seen in the last 15 minutes.

Except this one was locked with a piece of alien technology.

Thankfully, alien technology was still no match for the strength and precision of Leonardo's katana; a moment later and they were inside what was undoubtedly a lab. A table took up the middle of the room, with a few stains on it the red-banded turtle didn't want to look at too closely, and banks of computers lined both walls to either side. There was an awful smell of disinfectant and other drugs that crinkled Raph's nose. Leonardo had stepped into the room, not bothering to close the door, with his brother at his heels, when suddenly the eldest of the turtles stopped as though he'd run into an invisible wall. Raph nearly crashed into Leo's shell, but before he could voice his complaints, his eyes wandered ahead and a wholly new emotion replaced his anger and irritation.

Cold. Raph couldn't help but feel absolutely chilled inside.

Before them, Donatello floated in a cylindrical container, eyes closed, hooked up to a face-mask and a bunch of electrodes all over his body. His bandana was gone, but his belt and pads were intact. There wasn't much that looked physically wrong with him from what Raphael could make out through the bluish fluid that filled the tank, but there was something in the slack expression on what he could see of Don's face that made Raph shiver.

"Hang on, Donnie. We're coming!" Leo declared.

"Any idea how we open that thing?" The red-banded turtle looked around for some kind of lever or obvious On/Off switch, but nothing presented itself. This was a scientific lab – definitely not his specialty.

"Well…this is more Don's thing," Leo hesitated. A shout behind them heralded the arrival of yet more goons, apparently intent on stopping them from doing exactly what they planned to do. Leonardo gave his brother a significant nod in Don's direction and turned to deal with the new enemies. Then he shrugged and drew both katana. "But I'm not too picky."

"Now you're talkin'!" With relish, Raph stepped forward, his sai reversed in his hand so the knuckle was facing forward, the perfect striking weapon. Normally he'd just have flung the sai to impale the container, but without knowing how strong it was or how much force to use, he didn't want to risk accidentally impaling his brother. In one fluid motion, he launched himself forward, striking with every inch of muscle he could summon, the force of his fierce heart behind the blow.

The giant test-tube cracked from the point of impact, droplets and streams of blue liquid streaming out. Sprayed with whatever it was, Raph felt how incredibly cold it was, cold enough to make him draw back instinctively, cold enough to almost burn. Enraged that Donatello was floating in something that cold, when cold was a serious problem for the turtles anyway, Raph struck again, viciously, crashing the sai into the same crack he'd created. A spurt of fluid gushed forward, and he had to dodge to one side to avoid being drenched. A few more strikes later, the blue water was everywhere but the container, and Raph had a hole big enough to pull his brother out.

Raphael set Donatello down on a section of the floor that wasn't wet and tore off the breathing mask and electrodes that he'd simply slashed free to get him out of the tube. There was a terrifying, awful silence when he wasn't sure Don was breathing, but a moment later he felt the chest beneath his hand rise very slightly. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that Don's breathing was so shallow, and the breaths so very far apart. His hands were ice-cold, still dripping with whatever liquid had been in the chamber with him. Raphael suddenly had an overpowering need to see his brother open his eyes, to have him move or talk or laugh – anything that wasn't this eerie, freezing stillness. He shook the limp shoulders gently.

"Come on, bro. We gotcha now, we pulled ya out. It's time to wake up. Please, Don."

But eyes stayed closed, hands stayed still, laughter stayed silent.

A spot of purple caught his eye and Raphael turned to see a familiar mask, lying discarded beneath the table in the room. Something about it, about the way it had been obviously cut from his brother's head, sickened him. What on earth had been done to his brother in this room? He shook Donatello again, more forcefully, willing him to respond in some way, but the olive-skinned turtle remained completely motionless.

"Leo!" Raph called to where the blue-banded turtle was holding off all comers from the only door in or out of the lab. Panic began to seep into the corners of his chest where his anger usually lived. This was wrong, very wrong. He knew it. "Leo, he ain't wakin' up!"

"Just grab him, then!" Leonardo shouted back. "Mikey and Master Splinter are waiting for us!"

"But…"

"Come on!"

The command in the eldest turtle's voice was absolute, and Raphael decided to let it stand. After all, he was probably the least-qualified person to do anything about Donatello's condition. Before the unconscious brother in his arms had taken over their medical care, it had always been their father who looked after their hurts and soothed their chills. Even Leo had more medical know-how than Raph. He cursed under his breath as he hefted Donnie into a fireman's carry, suddenly aware of exactly how cold his brother was, and how limp. He pushed the anxiety aside as best he could, trying to replace it with his trademark gruffness. Anything else was too much.

"I ain't a genius, but cold ain't good," he muttered to himself as he jogged to Leo's side, making the tiniest of detours to stop and scoop up the purple bandana from the floor. It just didn't seem right to leave it with Bishop, so he tucked it into his belt instead.

"I'll clear the way," the blue-banded turtle said, shoving hard against the lead attacker to give himself room to enter the hallway. He took a breath to say something else, but decided against it. Reminding Raph that an unconscious Donatello could neither defend himself nor keep himself from being banged around on his brother's shoulder would just antagonize the hot-head unnecessarily. But stealing a glance at the limp form he carried, Leo felt his own rage rise, and his own worry. Don looked dead. He really looked as if he were dead. Even as Leonardo cut down another agent and forced his way along the corridor, he brushed one sword-wielding hand against an arm that dangled, shocked at how cold it felt to the touch. "Be okay, Donnie. Please be okay," his heart whispered.

-==OOO==-

"Well, this is becoming less fun!" Michelangelo yelled to nobody in particular. He executed a backflip to give himself a little more space, taking stock of the situation. The docking bay was still surprisingly sparsely populated, not more than a dozen or so agents crowding along the edge of the water. But it didn't matter how many there were – the problem was with what they were doing.

"Let's hope we keep that tractor beam out of commission or this is gonna be a real short trip," he said to himself. Star Wars or otherwise, their situation was similar – the manual release for the bay doors was the only strategic thing of importance at present, and if any of Bishop's goons reached it, their way out would be a lot more complicated. Splinter had taken up a position guarding the appropriate panel, leaving Michelangelo to handle everybody else. And they were doing all right, but a few agents had arrived with tranquilizer guns in their hands, so Mikey was starting to wonder how much longer before they really were overrun.

"Mikey!"

The orange-clad ninja turned, grateful to hear the voice shouting his name. A moment later, Leonardo burst through the doorway, taking out two men as he did so, with Raphael on his heels. Don hung limply over Raph's shoulder, and Mikey sucked in his breath in sudden panic. The next moment was a blur as he simply removed whatever stood between him and his brothers, not even completely cognizant of how many opponents he took out in the process. He skidded to Raph's side.

"Raph! Leo! Is he…?" but he couldn't finish the question. He just couldn't.

"He's alive," Raphael said, but there was weight in his voice. Fear.

"Mikey, it's time – let's go!" Leo ordered. Suddenly clumsy, Michelangelo fumbled at his belt, his fingers oddly numb with cold that was not his own. He pulled out a handful of smoke-pellets, which he flung across the room, feeling a familiar sense of security wash over him as they obscured the brothers from sight. Engulfed in the thick cloud, he fitted a breather securely over Donatello's beak, aghast at how frigid and still his brother was.

"My sons," Splinter whispered softly, rejoining them. They could hear the confusion in the obscurity, and over it all a loudspeaker crackling to life from which Bishop was giving orders, apparently shouting as he ran. "The way is clear. Retreat at once!"

"Take good care of 'im," Raph said roughly, shifting the limp weight in his arms. The little group made their way to the dock's edge, where the red-clad turtle soundlessly slid Donatello's body into the water. Michelangelo affixed his own mask, then moved into the water himself. The fact that the chilly river was warmer than his brother's skin worried him, but he didn't have time to be worried.

"Use this," Leo murmured, handing over a rope he'd brought along. Mikey quickly tied one end around Don's waist, lashing the clammy body to his own tightly. Without waiting for the others, he dove, making as much speed as he could for the open door below. His brothers and father would follow, he knew, but his responsibility was clear.

"Hang on, Donnie. I'll get you out of here," he breathed. Don's dead weight – no, not dead! – hampered him in the water somewhat. He could use his arms and legs freely with his brother tied to his shell, but he was as maneuverable as a barge. In the darkness of the water, he spotted the hatch to freedom, thankfully still standing wide open. With a burst of paranoid panic he shot through it, then began looping around to the south, as if he were heading for the open sea. Hopefully this would confuse any pursuers.

Behind him, Michelangelo became aware of three forms catching up to him – he knew by instinct that they were Leo, Raph, and their father, rather than more of Bishop's goons. Mikey shuddered enough to interrupt a stroke, quickly compensating with a sharp kick. He couldn't help it. He knew, knew for sure, that Bishop would be right behind them with subs and boats and guns and everything else, his brother was really, really unconscious, not to mention colder than ice, and who knew what that meant anyway, and he was moving with all the speed of traffic on a Friday afternoon at rush hour.

A sudden tug from behind him and a release of weight told the orange-banded turtle that one of his brothers, probably Leo, had grabbed onto Don to help him. Without even looking, Michelangelo adjusted his rhythms, swimming with his heartbeat, feeling his older brother settle into the pattern at once. On one side, Raph flanked them, his face darker than usual as he peered backwards now and again for danger. On the other Master Splinter swam along, the least skilled in the water of them all. He did not fail to keep up with his sons, but he had less energy to spare.

Sound traveled well underwater, so Raphael's sudden muttered "oh, shell" was heard by them all. The angriest turtle stopped swimming and turned in place, sais in hand. The weight returned to Mikey's shell as Leo turned to join him. Apparently their getaway had been too easy. Michelangelo longed to look back, to see what their odds were, to help, but he knew he couldn't. His job was to get Donatello to safety, no matter what. Their sensei was simply not built to carry a full-grown mutant ninja turtle all the way back to the lair. His brothers were not more skilled, but they were angrier in their ways, and Mikey was the fastest.

He redoubled his efforts, cutting through the water with new abandon, fighting a current as he started to head for the shore. With Don this much out of commission, there was no way they'd make it all the way to Staten Island, even if it was a good retreat. But if he could get into the sewers of Manhattan, no matter where they landed, he could get them home. He knew he could. He'd have to.

Something whizzed by Mikey close enough to push him off course, and he looked back. Divers had crowded around his brothers, armed with what looked like combinations between harpoons and regular firearms. Also nets.

"Nets? Really?" he asked, both unimpressed and worried. Even though net-throwing was the Saturday morning cartoon version of bad-guy behavior, if Bishop was looking to recapture them, especially Don, that was not a good sign.

Splinter's hand cut across his vision as the rat gestured. Not far, hidden in the shadows, was what looked like an old sewer runoff. It wasn't as nice as their access-way had been once, but it looked like it might lead somewhere, anywhere. And anywhere was better than the water! Mikey dove for it.

And then he was tumbling head over feet, thrown wildly off-balance without knowing why. When he righted himself, there was blood in the water. But he didn't feel hurt…

"Donatello!" Master Splinter's voice, even muffled by the breather and enhanced by the water, was tight with pain. "Quickly!"

Michelangelo couldn't see what had happened, but he didn't want to know. He wanted to get his brother to safety. Now. He kicked with all the strength he had, hitting the runoff hard enough to almost jam himself against the metal grate that supposedly closed it off. But before he could even draw his weapons, a katana was beside him, slicing the way free. Mikey turned back to see the others beside him, neither Raph nor Leo looking hurt, but their eyes were wide with fear as they looked at a point behind his head. There was still blood in the water.

-==OOO==-

Bishop slammed a fist into the nearest console as he directed the search for the escaped turtles. Confound those turtles! It never seemed to matter how well-concealed his base was or how well-guarded – they always managed to breach the perimeter, and they always got away. Even as he sent his fourth team down into the sewers after the escaped group, he knew perfectly well he wouldn't be able to retrieve Donatello that way. The turtles and the rat were too skilled, and they knew the sewers too well. They could vanish into the labyrinth beneath the city and be completely off Bishop's radar if they wished. Which he would have to do as well, now that his base was, once again, compromised.

"It shouldn't be a total loss, however," he said to himself, eyes glancing over various monitors that had recorded every instant of the entry, retrieval, and escape. "There's a few places close to hand that should suit my purposes. And I did cover the evidence."

Even as he smirked with triumph, a part of Bishop was concerned. That shot he'd taken to the back of Donatello's head was a gamble, for sure; he'd just barely joined the assault team in time to get into a position from which he could fire at the retreating forms. On the one hand, it would hide any evidence of his work, hide it so well that the amateurs that served as allies to the turtles would never find what he had done. But on the other, there was a slight risk of his project being damaged as a result. After all, a blow to the head was not precisely in line with his needs for Donatello's brain. But he was a gambling man, after all, and confident his outcome would be within acceptable parameters one way or another.

"Call it off," he ordered curtly into a mic, signaling all of the teams to retreat. The turtles had been out of visual range for an hour – he'd never locate them now. But it didn't matter.

"They'll resurface eventually. And when they do, I'll reclaim my experiment and continue. And in the meantime, I have plenty of samples to keep me busy."

-==OOO==-

The HEAT-Seeker cut through the waves with somewhat less than breakneck speed. Everybody who wasn't steering had been banished from the pilot house after driving Monique to distraction with their nervousness. Mendel had gone below to keep working on the turtle-tracker device, but Elsie and Randy joined Nick at the bow.

"Definitely not faster than a speeding bullet," the red-head sighed. The temporary repairs Randy had completed kept the boat afloat, but he'd had to sacrifice speed for basic functionality.

"Better late than never," Randy replied.

"Let's hope so," Nick said. In his heart he was swimming with Godzilla, somewhere far beneath them and to the south where the hunting was good – the lizard definitely needed to regain some strength after everything he'd been through lately. But in his mind he wanted to be right with their new friends, springing Donatello from a mad scientist who barely passed muster as a government agent.

"They'll be fine," Elsie patted his shoulder. "They're tough. And they've got several hours' head start on us. By the time we get home, they'll be eating dinner and watching the news."

"I know, I just have a feeling…" Nick was interrupted by the chirping of his cell phone. It was a text, and though he was glad to know, he didn't feel much tension drain from him at the update.

"Got Don safe but out cold. Heading home. Will call if need help. Thanks."

"See, jefe?" Randy smiled. "All taken care of."

"Yeah. Now maybe I can get some answers about…" Nick trailed off, unsure. But the two beside him knew him too well. Elsie put a hand on his wrist, just in case the far-off look in his eyes was Godzilla intruding on his mind and not a side-effect of being lost in thought.

"What is it?" she asked. Nick took a breath, and decided that keeping it from HEAT wouldn't help even one bit. He had already sketched out to the team the mental journey he'd undertaken with Donatello to try to save Godzilla's mind. The scientist figured he might as well fill them in on the rest.

"When Godzilla was recovering," he explained, "something happened. He connected to Donatello somehow, and brought me a message. I guess Don thought he might not get out in one piece and had to pass something important to me, but I don't know what it means."

"What kind of message?" Randy wanted to know. The fact that the two coolest mutants ever were having tea in their minds didn't interest him nearly as much as it probably should have, all things considered.

"He told me that Godzilla's eggs were hatching."

"Eggs?" Elsie repeated. "But Godzilla can't breed. We know that."

"So does Donnie," Nick nodded. "It's got to be code for something."

"Well, you are talking about transmitting knowledge mind-to-mind, and one of those minds is Godzilla's," the red-head considered. "You've always said his understanding is limited, even though he's intelligent."

"Right."

"What kind of language do you communicate in? Klingon?" Randy asked. At the glare from Nick, he coughed awkwardly. "Joking aside, languages count. You have to know what computer language you're working with to hack it completely. If it's a code, you have to know what language it started in before you can decrypt it."

"Well, Godzilla mostly communicates in images. Feelings. Not words, not often, and then only words with really concrete meaning behind them." Nick thought about what Randy had said – it was a good point. "The message itself wasn't in words, just sensations."

"So maybe Don gave him a message he knew could be relayed to you," Elsie said excitedly. "Like speaking a foreign language with your mind. He gave it to Godzilla in a form he could understand to pass to you."

"So what would Don be saying that he would distill down to 'eggs' then?" Nick asked aloud, the wheels in his own head turning.

"It actually could be a computer language," Randy suggested. "Sometimes we call distribution modules in code 'eggs.'" At the blank looks, he explained, "They're ways of breaking up the programming into pieces that can run alongside the main program. Like offshoots of the main one. You know, like real eggs."

"Godzilla doesn't have programming," Elsie pointed out, though her voice was thoughtful. "And he doesn't have offspring."

"But laying eggs isn't the only way to reproduce something from a source," Nick said, realization dawning. "Godzilla might not lay eggs himself, but that doesn't mean he couldn't be copied, smaller versions produced artificially."

"You're talking about cloning." Elsie frowned. Nobody could be ambitious and yet thoughtless enough to want more than one Godzilla in the world. He was almost more than the world could take all on his own.

"Little versions of the G-man running around? Hello higher insurance prices," Randy quipped.

"It's got to be that. Bishop is cloning Godzilla, and Donatello wanted to warn us." Nick gripped the rail and looked out over the water, newly aware of his charge in his mind. He resolved to talk to Donatello as soon as the turtle was well again. If somebody as dangerous as Agent Bishop had his hands on Godzilla's DNA, if he had the means to produce even one more giant mutant, nothing good could come of it. The scientist cast his mind down to the giant creature that lived beside his thoughts. He wasn't sure he could protect Godzilla from Bishop at all, especially if Bishop came equipped with a giant mutant of his own for a sidekick.

-==OOO==-

He was warm. Comfy. With a lazy sigh, he shifted slightly, curling more tightly into the softness around him. Drowsily, he pushed an eye open, recognizing his pillow by its purple tint and that one ink stain that never seemed to wash out. He let his eye close again, indulging the desire to snuggle even deeper into the warm around him. It was absolutely heavenly after…

After…?

Donatello's eyes flew open as events rushed back. Godzilla, the island, the lab, Bishop.

"Bishop!" he gasped. The turtle rocked up to his knees, pushing himself from where he'd been lying on his plastron in a sudden panic as he readied himself to either fight or run. He looked around in confusion as a pile of blankets pooled around his waist. His pillow. His bed.

"Calm down, Donnie. You're safe now," Leo said gently. Don blinked. The lights of his room were out, but a few candles lit the space enough to be identifiable. Near the bed, his eldest brother was sitting on the floor. His position suggested meditation, but the look in Leonardo's eyes indicated that the turtle hadn't been able to meditate – that he had, in fact, been watching Donatello sleep.

"Leo? What happened?" His voice was sticky, groggy, and he coughed on a strangely-familiar scent in the back of his throat. A sudden, dull pain in his head, probably from sitting up too fast, made things swim before him, and Don decided it might be wise to lie back down. He tipped forward slowly, noticing that his bed had a whole lot of extra blankets and pillows on it. His brother stood, helping to ease him back into the nest he had vacated.

"Careful, Donnie. You got a nasty blow to the head, so it's no wonder you're dizzy. Take it easy." Leonardo put a hand on his brother's shoulder, sensing a certain amount of calm settle over the younger turtle. "You're home. We got you."

"What happened?" Don repeated. He could feel bandages at the base of his skull, and the familiar pain of what were probably stitches.

"What do you think? We came after you as soon as the deal was done. Don," and Leo's voice shifted, from the gentle answering tone to the sharper voice all the brothers associated with a steady wind-up into a lecture, "you shouldn't have done that."

"I know," he sighed.

"You could have been killed! As it is, we have no idea what Bishop did to you. And it's a miracle we found you at all! Are you taking lessons from Raph on giving me heart attacks or what?" Now the blue-banded turtle had left his side and was pacing in the small space.

"We didn't have a choice," Donatello replied softly. Really, being lectured right after coming to was not his favorite thing ever. Far from.

"There's always a choice. You taught me that." The elder turtle stopped pacing and met Don's eyes unflinchingly. There was the burden of leadership there, for sure, but more than that, there was fear and loss and guilt. "The whole thing was a disaster. There you were, hundreds of miles from us, and in trouble. It took us two hours to get to you, the longest two hours since…"

"Since I mutated with the outbreak virus," Don finished for him. Leo swallowed hard and nodded.

"And then we finally get there and there's Bishop and Godzilla's going crazy, and we didn't even get the chance to see you! You were gone before we even knew if you were really okay."

"Master Splinter saw me. He knew I was fine."

"True," Leo conceded, "but it's not the same and you know it. And you…you traded yourself to Bishop! How could you do that? What if we couldn't get to you in time? How could you take that risk?"

To Leonardo's surprise, his brother smiled, propping himself up on one elbow. "I knew you'd come for me."

"Don," Leo dropped to his knees beside the bed. "We could have lost you. I…I'd have lost you and it was all my fault."

"You can't take all our burdens, bro. Even if you want to. I made my choice, and I accepted the consequences of it. You can't put us on a pedestal where we do no wrong and you are responsible for everything. You just can't. You've got to trust me to make the call when I have to. You always do."

"You…I probably trust you more than anybody, Donnie," Leo leaned his head on his brother's forearm and breathed out gallons of worry and fear. "You're the one I know will find a way out of something, a way none of us could find without you. Of all of us, you're the one I actually think could get away from Bishop all on your own, because you'd outsmart him. But I don't want you to have to do that. I want to make sure you don't have to…"

"You trust me, Leo," Don said gently, leaning his own forehead on his brother's shoulder. "Keep trusting me. I trusted you. I knew you'd tear the world apart to find me, and I knew you'd be in time. I knew it. You'd never let me down."

"But without you, how did you think I was going to find you?"

"Well," Don pointed out, "you obviously did find me. I assumed you'd get help from our friends or you'd have HEAT track either Bishop or me depending on who you asked. You should trust them, too," he said. "They've got a ton of knowledge and skills even I don't have. If something happened to me…"

"I won't let it," and Leo's voice was as fiery as it had been afraid.

"I know. But if it did, those guys would be able to help you where April or Leatherhead can't. They're as good as me, better, and they'd take care of things. I…"

"That's why you made friends with them," the blue-clad turtle realized, meeting Don's eyes. "In case we ever needed them. You were making a contingency plan for us."

"Well," he squirmed, then nodded. "Yeah."

Leonardo closed his eyes. He briefly considered shaking his brother, smacking the sense into him that was so clear to himself. They couldn't, couldn't lose Donnie any more than they could lose anybody else. They were all they had in life. How could Donatello quietly lay plans that included the possibility of his absence? And yet, Leo couldn't blame him. Not only was it sensible and logical and scientific, but it was also compassionate, showing a wide view of his family's needs. It was Don all over.

"Donatello," Leo shook his head, putting a hand in his brother's and gripping it firmly. "Thank you for being you. For looking out for us, for trusting us, for taking those risks for our sake. Thank you for being you. Don't ever stop that." Then a wicked gleam crept into his eyes and smile.

"But…?" Don asked, hearing the silent continuation in his brother's voice.

"But if you ever do anything like that again, I'll let Mikey into your lab and tell him you hide chocolate in your computers."

"You wouldn't!" Don sat up, aghast.

"Try me." With an even wider grin, the eldest turtle turned to call over his shoulder, "Hey guys! Don's awake!"

Moments later, two more turtles were crowding into the room, teasing and admonishing and smacking each other, only to be disciplined by Leo, and trying to pile on his bed without hurting him, and again being disciplined by Leo, only to have all three shooed from the space by Master Splinter. But not before Raphael managed to push something into Don's hands – his mask, torn, but there with him again.

"My son? Do you feel all right?" the sensei asked, looking at the wetness in Don's eyes as he watched his brothers leave.

"Yeah." He smiled and breathed deeply, fingering the ruined material. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."