Chapter 25: Room For One More

"Are you ready to order dessert?"

Leonardo took a quick glance at the dessert menu of the café that had become his and Lotus' favorite place to stop for lunch after an afternoon of shopping. "Ummm, I'll have vanilla ice cream with caramel and chocolate sauce," he decided. "Or, as the French say, crème glacée."

He grinned as he passed the waiter his menu, then looked at his wife, who was smiling at him as she sipped a small glass of wine. "You have been in rare form today," she noted. "Not to mention last night."

His cheeks warmed at her bringing that up out here—but more from pride than embarrassment. Settling back in his wrought iron chair, his eyes wandered the patio as he waited for his dessert. He was starting to recognize the faces of the other regulars—especially the cute mother-daughter duo that was here the first time.

They were down to the last few bites of their lunch, playfully pretending to steal forkfuls from the other's plate and giggling. Leonardo watched them for a while, a faint smile on his face—and before he realized what was coming out of his mouth, he said, "Bet you'd like to be in her shoes someday, huh?"

He cringed as soon as the words were spoken—where did that come from?—and cringed harder as Lotus gave both him and the happy mother in question a strange look. Not surprisingly, she went back to her wine without comment.

Leonardo felt like kicking himself. Lotus didn't know anything about his abrupt urge to have a family, and he didn't plan on telling her, either. It would only make her feel bad...or maybe, she wouldn't care at all. It was obvious that being a mother didn't spark her interest. Not that it mattered either way. Parenthood wasn't in their future. He couldn't help feeling bad about it, even if she wasn't concerned about it right now...because there was always the possibility she might change her mind someday.

Looking at her now, he knew that day was a long way off. She had been the picture of happiness ever since their wedding day. For the very first time, her life felt full and whole to her—complete. She was content with what she had—with what they both had. Their being together had brought an end to her loneliness, and her mind was focused only on the here and now, enjoying what they shared together. And Leonardo knew he should be doing the same.

Pushing his thoughts away and smiling, he took his wife's hand and kissed it tenderly. "Where to after this?"

"It does not matter," said Lotus, her eyes loving. "As long as I have you with me."

"W-wait," Michelangelo called desperately. "Kitty, wait!"

He tried to chase after her, but the mutated feline was awfully nimble, running on all fours and expertly weaving in and out of the rooms like she already knew the place. By the time he caught up to her, she had already found Splinter's room.

The large rodent had been meditating quietly, his eyes closed; he opened them curiously when he heard the rapid patter of footsteps coming into his room—and was cut off mid-yelp as Rebecca tackled him.

"No! Bad kitty!" Michelangelo scolded, tripping over the rim of the doorway as he rushed to pull her away. Panting, he hastily made a grab for the large feline as she snuffled the astonished rodent she was sitting on—hopefully getting her away before the snuffling graduated to gnawing. But just as his fingers snatched for her bushy tail, she made a happy sound and jumped off. Purring now, she bounded over to and crouched by a nearby table, snatched up the box of sushi there and started stuffing a piece into her mouth.

Splinter sat up slowly, looking a little dazed. "Michelangelo, what in the world—"

"Donatello came home with her," the sheepish turtle fumbled to explain. "He said some lab over in Europe made her by accident."

A look of displeasure in his dark eyes, Splinter studied the cat-creature as she licked the last of his breakfast from her slender fingers. "And he means for her to stay with us from now on?"

"I, um, guess so," Michelangelo mumbled, fidgeting.

After a long silence, Splinter gathered himself up, smoothed his kimono, and picked up his walking stick. "I believe I would like some air."

He breezed out of the room. Sighing, the orange-clad turtle turned to Rebecca. "See what you did?"

The mutant kitten stopped cleaning herself and cocked her head at him, periwinkle eyes inquisitive. It was an expression so innocent, it made his annoyance evaporate. "Never mind. Just stay out of trouble from now on, okay?"

Her round eyes blinked, her head cocking the other way. "O-kay?" she repeated, her voice high and childish. It sounded like she was testing the word out and probably didn't know what it meant.

"Guess we've got a lot to teach you," he mused.

It was a task so big it was a little scary to think about—especially if her mind was as undeveloped as Donatello suggested earlier. As he watched her roam around on all fours for a while, inspecting everything in sight like all of it was brand new to her eyes, he soon concluded that she probably didn't know or understand much more than a human baby would.

Kind of funny since she, like the four of them when they first mutated, already had the body of someone in their very early teens. They were going to have to teach her not to prowl around with her butt in the air like that, because from the looks of her she was only going to get curvier as time went on.

The rest of his afternoon was spent chasing their new sewermate around and keeping her out of mischief. She wasn't deliberately bad; she just wanted to touch anything and everything she could get her new hands on. By nightfall, Michelangelo was worn out and ready for a nap.

It was almost dinnertime when Raphael came strolling in, whistling cheerfully. He yelped in surprise a second later as Rebecca bounded up and pounced on him, hands on his shoulders and shell to the wall as she sniffed him curiously.

"Hey, easy, lady—I've got a girlfriend."

Michelangelo snorted. "Give it a rest," he muttered. "She's just a kitten."

Feeling protective all of a sudden, he coaxed Rebecca away and nudged her in the direction of the couch. "Go on; go play with a cushion or something. That's a girl."

With a delighted giggle, the kitten pounced the nearest throw pillow and happily rolled onto her back, tossing the pillow up and catching it. Raphael watched for a minute, a funny look on his face. "I take it she's the one Donatello said he was bringing home," he noted. "This is going to take a little getting used to."

As if summoned by his comment, the purple-clad turtle came into the living room with a yawn and a stretch. Looking well-rested, he said, "I trust everything went smoothly this afternoon."

"Nothing broken," Michelangelo said dryly. "Not permanently, anyway."

Ignoring the meaningful look his brother shot him, Donatello went and leaned over the back of the couch. "Hey, Becky. Have you been a good girl?"

Her eyes lighting up with recognition, Rebecca dropped the pillow and hopped up, hugging the turtle around the neck happily. "Don-nie," she purred.

While she rubbed her furry cheek against the edge of his shell and Donatello petted her mane of purple hair, Michelangelo's ears suddenly picked up a funny clacking sound outside the lair. It was funny because most people didn't walk around down here in spiked heels. As he listened in mild disbelief, they came unmistakably closer, as if their owner knew exactly where their home was.

Just as he was wondering if it was someone they knew trying out a new kind of footwear, a blond woman he didn't recognize stepped into the room. Both he and Raphael hopped back in surprise. "Who—"

"It's okay," Donatello told them, "she's a friend of mine."

They both relaxed, though Michelangelo watched in curiosity at the stranger breezed past them, as if there was nothing unusual about the location or its occupants. She was pretty, if a little crisp in her black skirt and white blouse. Her face was slim, her cheekbones high and her lips full, and the gray eyes behind her glasses were sharp and bright.

Rebecca was bouncing up and down on the couch, her face alight with joy. "Ma-ma!"

The woman gave a warm smile as she drew her hand over the mutant kitten's head. Her expression quickly turned businesslike as she faced Donatello. "How was she today?"

"I'm not really sure," the reptilian scientist replied, his tone sheepish. "I just woke up."

"I got to be the cat-sitter," Michelangelo put in, not bothering to hide his pout.

"Don't be angry," the blond woman told him, her warm smile returning. "I also had to rest or else I would have been here to help you. It will take a little while for the two of us to adjust to the new time zone."

When she put it that way, it was easy to forget why he was annoyed in the first place. Still smiling, she held out her hand. "I'm Dr. Morris."

They exchanged a brief handshake before she returned her attention to her fellow scientist. "Based on the observations we made during the flight, I would say that while her mind is still in a relative state of infancy, her capacity to learn is well beyond that. Her mind is developed and ready for knowledge; she simply needs to learn. It shouldn't be that difficult to teach her."

"Should we get a collar and spray bottle until she learns not to claw the furniture?" Raphael joked.

Dr. Morris frowned at him, her eyes frosty. "Considering that her mind has the potential to be as capable as my own, that would be highly inappropriate."

Raphael made a face and went into the kitchen. Michelangelo stayed, watching as the doctor set the bag she was carrying on a table and opened it. She started pulling out basic child learning tools: wooden blocks carved with colorful letters and numbers, flash cards with pictures of animals, a mini chalkboard.

"I have plenty of comics," he offered.

Dr. Morris pursed her lips. "I think these will better stimulate her mind right now. She still needs to learn the basics, like colors, numbers, and the alphabet. She knows a few words already, but beyond our names she doesn't know what any of them mean yet."

Raphael came back into the room carrying cans of soda; he passed one to Michelangelo before parking himself in front of the TV. Only he didn't stay there long, since Dr. Morris crisply informed him that television would be too distracting for Rebecca right now.

"I only brought the essentials tonight," she noted, continuing to dig through her bag. "I imagine she would enjoy some picture books."

"I don't think we have any," said Michelangelo, tone apologetic.

"That's all right. I'll bring some with me tomorrow. For now, just keep her fed and she shouldn't be much trouble."

"I'm pretty sure she likes sushi," the orange-clad turtle told her, as she withdrew a thermos from her bag.

Dr. Morris gave a nod. "Fish," she murmured to herself. "I figured as much."

She took out a can of cat food and popped the lid off before turning to Rebecca. The mutant kitten stopped chewing on the throw pillow she'd picked back up and took several sniffs of the can being held out to her. Her pink nose wrinkled in distaste; she went back to chewing.

"I had a feeling she might react that way," Dr. Morris noted, her smile wry. "I'll make sure to bring her sushi when I come back with her books."

She unscrewed the cap off the thermos and held it out; this time Rebecca sniffed with interest. She grabbed the thermos with both hands and started lapping at the top...but then she paused, her eyes on Michelangelo. Or rather, he realized as he smiled between sips of soda, on how he was holding his drink. She sat on the floor, adjusted how she was holding the thermos and started imitating how he was sipping from the can. Only a few drops of milk spilled in the process; Rebecca licked her lips and went on sipping, looking pleased with herself.

"Fast learner," he commented, impressed.

"I'll be staying for now," said Dr. Morris. "She's the most comfortable with me, so I ought to be the one to start teaching her. None of you should be afraid to tutor her when I'm not around, however."

She smiled down at Rebecca, who had finished her milk and was cleaning the spilled drops off her fur. Michelangelo watched as she twisted to lick her own shoulder and wrinkled his nose. "I don't suppose you, uh, have any spare clothes for her?"

Dr. Morris looked at him in surprise. "What for? She already has a fully functional fur coat."

"True," said Donatello, "but she also has a human body now."

"So do you," Dr. Morris pointed out, sounding like she didn't see what the issue was. "And none of you are wearing anything worth mentioning."

Looking embarrassed now, the reptilian scientist shifted from one foot to the other. "Yes, but...we have shells, not..."

"Curves," Michelangelo finished, equally embarrassed.

Looking surprised again, Dr. Morris glanced at Rebecca, who had curled up on the rug and was purring in contentment. "I see. Since each of you are reptiles I hadn't foreseen that being a problem."

"It's not," Donatello said quickly. "It would just be a good idea to teach her modesty once she has her letters and numbers down."

Arms folded and thumb tapping against her bottom lip, Dr. Morris gave a nod of understanding. "If that's the case, it's fortunate that she didn't turn out curvier...or perhaps she might yet, if she grows any further as she ages. The function of the formula is to mutate anything organic that touches it to the form of whatever it was last in contact with, correct? She was most likely last in contact with me."

Donatello gave her slim figure a quick glance, brow furrowed. "But you're not that..."

He quickly shut his mouth, cheeks reddening. Michelangelo was tempted to make a crack about him needing a little seasoning to go with the foot he'd almost put in his mouth...but he wasn't anxious to jump into this particular conversation.

Dr. Morris was lifting her pale eyebrows, frosty eyes focused on the purple-garbed ninja. "Have you ever seen me naked?"

"Of course not!" Donatello cried, turning redder than Raphael's bandana.

"Then you wouldn't know that under my regular clothes I always wear a leotard in addition to my other underclothes. You aren't the only ones distracted by curves. My fellow scientists need to keep their minds on their work."

Smirking now, she went to grab her bag off the table. Donatello was busy staring at his toes and imitating a tomato.

"At this point I doubt she would understand what clothes are for or how to dress herself, so I'll wait at least a few months before I broach the idea to her."

With that, she sat down with Rebecca and spent the rest of the evening showing her flash cards and other nursery school tools, starting with teaching her the ABCs. Rebecca thought it was all a game and kept laughing in delight. She had a pretty cute laugh, Michelangelo noted to himself.

The rest of them kept out of the way and let the female scientist work. She was just about ready to wrap it up for the night when Splinter came home, a box of sushi in hand. He casually passed it to Donatello. "For the young lady," he said, before heading to his room. Rebecca eyed him with obvious interest, but she didn't move away from her 'mama'.

"Don't worry," said Dr. Morris, after noticing their uneasy expressions. "When housed together domestically, felines and rodents get along better than most people realize. Rebecca was born around lab rodents, so she views them as playthings, not food."

"As long as she doesn't try to play with her teeth," said Raphael doubtfully, as he watched the playful kitten gnaw on a wooden block.

Dr. Morris took it from her gently. "It's only instinct. Once she understands what is and isn't food, the chewing will stop. Correct her firmly, but always be gentle; don't yell. She's really quite sensitive."

After checking her watch, she stood and shouldered her bag. "It's time for me to go. I'll be back just as soon as I can."

When Rebecca figured out she was leaving, she started to cry. "Ma-ma," she pleaded, sniffling pitifully as she clung to her, her furry cheeks quickly growing damp.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Morris said with a sad smile, "but I need to go to work now."

It took some coaxing, but Rebecca eventually let go and watched, sniffling, as the pretty scientist left. Her interest in food or toys gone, the sad kitten curled up on the couch and drifted tearfully off to sleep. Michelangelo placed a blanket over her before tiptoeing to the kitchen with his brothers; he put Rebecca's sushi in the fridge before helping start on a late dinner. Splinter came in just as they were sitting down to eat.

"We weren't like that at that stage, were we?" Raphael asked as the aging rodent put a teakettle on the stove.

Michelangelo almost kicked him under the table. "You just had to ask that," he groaned.

Splinter merely chuckled, his smile loaded with amusement, as he gladly launched a series of tales from their time as newly mutated turtles.