"So, like, as a result of this, I'm gonna inevitably end up in drag," Michelangelo decided he probably ought to prewarn his easily-alarmed brother as the two of them watched the kids head back to the dojo after lunch. "Cause I totally can't help myself, but it'll probably just be once. Cool?"
Donnie gave a short, hard sigh that surely compressed his spine by an inch or so. "I think I knew that was coming."
"Should I have the same black hair?" the Orange Turtle mused aloud.
"Of course not. The Michelangelo whom I grew up with could be nothing other than a blonde, probably with tight hoop curls all the way down to his midshell, and shockingly green eye-shadow; and probably wearing a bright, flame-orange, salsa dress."
"...Wow. Ya know, sometimes it scares me how much you totally know me, bro. So you won't freak out or anything?" Just to be sure!
"Of course not. In fact, when you flounce into the room to show off your radiant beauty to Leo and Raph, I'll be following behind with a camera to get pictures of their faces." He rubbed his chin. "We ought to make sure the two of them arguing at the time, so that this counts as some kind of deserved psychological punishment..."
"Awww yesss!" The two youngest brothers grinned at one another, shared a hi-three, butted their fists together, and thus agreed to what would probably amount to their best prank of the year.
Having hair for a day again had been kinda neat and, as the day drew to a close, Sandro was almost sad to remove his 'costume.' At least two additional pairs of hands made the process faster; They had to make sure no spots of peach cream remained anywhere in the entire lair, much less on his face or clothing. It might have made more sense to shower it all off, but being mobbed by a sibling and two uncles armed with makeup-remover and cotton balls was sort of funny, so he didn't stop them. Maybe he privately liked the attention.
Afterwards, he and Anastasia carefully enumerated and packed away her things, though Donatello offered to store the cosmetics for them so that she need not haul them back and forth every day. They found a drip of foundation to clean up, and Sandro elected to employ a vacuum to clear the premises of residual powders, just to be a perfectionist about the matter. Mikey teased him. Donnie sassed Leo would barely notice if a hippopotamus was in the house, much less such minuscule details.
At the door, at four AM, Sandro hugged her farewell. 'Just in case,' he said, leaned over so his forehead brushed hers. Her previously swollen eye looked much better now, and certainly hadn't impacted her ability to throw sharp implements at him. She waved as she went. See you tomorrow, Yang.
He glance back to where Donatello was preparing dinner, and smiled to himself. Then he hurried into his room, and pulled out his laptop to sit it upon the desk. 'Authentic Supplies,' showed up amidst his neatly sorted favorites, and he clicked upon it and quickly browsed away from weapons and darts and into joint stabilizers, wraps, clothing articles, period costumes, and footwear. Click, click, and click.
Leonardo did not comment that the energy of his family had been different over the last few days. Sandro's mirth and energy was the most obvious, of course. Donatello looked calm and serene in a way that typically signaled a system was newly understood and a plan had been set into motion, and so now all that remained ahead was the labor to see it through. Michelangelo hid the difference best, which in Leo's experience meant that he wasn't afraid of getting in trouble.
After dinner, he dressed down out of clothing appropriate for the city, and changed into heavier, oriental cottons. He glanced to Sandro's closed bedroom door, but then went to the dojo alone. Sticks of fresh incense had been lit for Splinter, and Leo add one to it before setting about to water and prune his bonsais. Each one was different. Some occasionally tried to go moldy on him; others seemed intent on dehydrating, but all of them would flourish if he stuck with them long enough.
A nagging feeling tugged at him. He settled down to meditate, to feel the dojo and the lives of the plants and fish within, and to feel the energy of the spaces beyond. But no, it seemed the subject of his troubles was nearby. It lingered, like a charged scent on the air. Eyes cracked open slowly. Leonardo considered the sakura tree over the bridge of his fingers. Then he turned in place, and looked behind himself.
Ah. He reached back, and from the dark crease between floorboards, he picked up a long, black strand of hair.
Leo stood. He walked slowly across the floor, eyes down, though he was not looking for black this time. He smoothed his toes over each rug, and then finally felt it: the lighter color hidden against gold and burnt umber. He squatted down, and carefully picked up a strand of curled blonde. He twirled it between his fingers. This solved one problem and revealed another:
Right under my nose, Donatello? He narrowed eyes toward the hallway, and shook his head. I see.
"I think we need to start stocking the pantry with fresh fruit and snacks," Sandro greeted sleepily. Leonardo, who had been regarding the kitchen's new demotivational posters with dismay, turned to see his nephew was up unexpectedly early.
"I am sorry if I woke you."
"You're not that loud, uncle," Sandro quipped as he went to fill and turn on the electric kettle. Leo was flustered at his own helplessness; what sort of grand-master ninja couldn't even make his own breakfast? "Did you not sleep well last night?" Sandro asked as he went to find the coffee grinds, presumably for Donatello, and that did make it all seem a little more fair.
"I may have risen somewhat early for my morning routine," Leonardo admitted. "Do you still wish to go fishing sometime this week?" Sandro's motions slowed. Leo quickly absolved him: "It's fine. I only though it might be an opportunity to leave the lair and relax or, if you were so inclined, to speak about whatever weighs on you. I know I am not as approachable as Donnie or Mikey, at least not outside the context of ninjitsu. And I do not spend enough casual time with you."
Sandro glanced back hesitantly as he prepared the coffee filter. "I enjoy my morning lessons, uncle. You are the head of the family and it's protector, and you work hard."
"Not that one would know it from how everyone is behaving," Leonardo mused, narrowing his eyes at the demotivational posters. Sandro's sympathetic and amused snicker drew him back to the present. "Perhaps I could delegate patrol duties better. Donatello mentioned you were having some problems, but I did not want you to feel obligated or pressed to answer. I merely wanted you to know you could confide in me, if desired, and I would listen without judgement."
Sandro finished with the coffee machine and turned it on. He was quiet for a brief moment, and the energy around him was nervous. "I hid that I was going topside." Ah, the boy was already fishing without need for rod or line. "I couldn't have talked to anyone about that. About why."
"Oh? You think so? We all knew that when we started permitting you to roam the sewers unsupervised, you'd steal up top once or twice. We knew why because we'd suffered it ourselves: It grows stifling down here. We just did not expect you to go topside at every opportunity and play Nightwatcher."
The boy winced. "So the sanctity of your confidence only lasts until you decide something's gone beyond a threshold, after which you will take whatever action you deem appropriate?" Sandro put bread in the toaster, and then went to get the marmalade. "Sorry uncle, it's just that doesn't sound 'without judgement,' it sounds normal."
Leonardo lifted his chin, and narrowed eyes down at this still very young turtle. "That is something you crave? To divulge your thoughts in full to someone, without consequence, with their hands bound to help?" Sandro grew a little sullen. "Or perhaps, rather, in the hopes of receiving counsel?" That is the role of a—Oh! Leo sat back on his heels, stricken. "Hnn. I will meditate on that." And read. But it was time for a change in topic before that glum expression settled: "Would you perhaps like to get an early start in the dojo after breakfast? I have though of a few maneuvers for smaller combatants that you might find useful in sparring with us, and against which you should know the correct parries—for the future."
Let Sandro make of that what he would: something to show off to Raphael, or a clue, or both.
"So what's in the box?" Le Tiny Chick inquired as they walked, with the little creature she called a 'sugar glider' sitting alert upon the top of her head.
"Dunno! Didn't order it," Mikey shrugged. "Parcel delivery service doesn't reach down here, so we have a pick-up address."
"Makes sense." Pause. "I'm sorry for crying all over you the other day," she mentioned.
Michelangelo laughed. "Naw, it's fine. Everyone gets charged sometimes." He reached down to ruffle her hair. "Raph needs to punch something, Donnie stalks off to calibrate something, Leo hides in the dojo..."
"There's a difference between reaching out to your family and comforting a near-stranger," she disagreed matter-of-factly. "I immediately got the impression you've thought of having kids of your own. Have you?"
"That I- what?" he slowed. "Donnie would kill you for putting ideas in my head, yo!"
She peered slyly up at him. "Do your brothers not consider you to be an adult? You handled me incredibly well, as if you could quite literally have an infant show up on your porch tomorrow and go 'yup, that's mine now' and it would make perfect sense.'"
Michelangelo wasn't sure what to make of that. He felt his face coloring.
"Well for whatever it's worth, I think you'd be a great dad," she commented. "You should consider adopting if nothing else works out."
It took a moment for Mikey to realize he'd stopped walking. "H-how would you...? Why would you say that to me?" He turned about to look down at her with a furrowed brow.
She withdrew in surprise. "Did I do something wrong? I didn't mean to be hurtful."
"No, I-" he laughed, or maybe choked, "I've never... ever... said anything like that to anyone, not even close to it. I've never even... formulated the thought with words in my head. And you just sense it? Immediately?"
She considered, brows peaked, before saying: "The oxytocin-replete hugs were a bit of a giveaway." Mikey suspected Donatello would know what that meant. Suddenly Le Tiny Chick grinned haughtily and lifted her chin. "I think you need a Lady Friend, too."
Mikey might have exploded with laughter (Oh that's all, huh, a girlfriend and some kids?) but instead he blurted, "So there's this Pizza Lady." Pause. "And she hates me."
Le Tiny Chick's face went slack. "Ho-ly chalupa."
Sandro saw that Mikey had the box, and so hurried eagerly over to take it. "They don't kid about that 'one-day shipping, do they?"
"Sandro!" Wildcard greeted as she hopped up and down while removing her shoes at the door. "I brought Mumu to visit! See?" And she pushed the animal onto his shoulder.
Sandro blinked at his hitchhiker ('She brought what?' Donnie asked from the kitchen) and then grinned wryly. "Ah we meet again señor Mumu." He sauntered over and settled down the box upon the kitchen table. "I see you have once more been shanghaied into service as her trusty animal side-kick. My condolences."
"Is that a mouse?"
"Of course not, he is a flying possum," Sandro lectured his elder uncle as if such presumptions were absurd. "All the same, someone should probably keep him away from the snakes, lest his owner become convinced he requires their tender loving hugs..."
"Hint taken," Wildcard joined him and thanked Donnie for the granola he'd set out for her. She scooped up a bowl and fed a banana chip to Mumu. "What did you order?"
"It's for you, actually," Sandro grinned as he popped the tape on each side. "Would you like to open it, or should I?"
"You bought me a present?" Wildcard straightened incredulously and replaced her granola safely on the table. "Really? You have eerily impeccable timing." She pulled out her switchblade and leaned over to help him cut the tape down the center.
"How so?"
"My birthday's coming up this month," Wildcard explained as the two of them folded open the box. "Not this weekend, but next Saturday."
Sandro grabbed her shoulder. Mikey, who to Donatello's intense disgust had been trying to drink some milk straight from the gallon, suddenly lost a great deal of it out his nose. Donatello only failed to comment because he was too busy squealing about the nose-milk all over their pantry floor. "September twenty-second?" the boy asked.
Wildcard perked up. "Uh. Yeah?"
"That's S-sandro's birthday," Mikey sputtered through lactose-induced sinus pain.
"We share a birthday!?" Wildcard looked astonished between Mikey, Donatello, Mumu (as if surely he had all the answers), and lastly Sandro. "Well," she determined at last, "I'd say that this should definitively disprove astrology for all involved parties, but then I remember that your uncles were quadruplets and so probably never operated under any such illusions to begin with." Her gaze grew long. "Oh shell, I need to get a present for you."
Sandro cleared his throat, because this timing really had been eerie. "Speaking of presents." Wild recalled the existence of the box and then dug downward through a wholly unconscionable amount of foam beads (which stuck all over her), and at last pulled out two dark, leathery pieces of footware from within. "They're called jika-tabi." ('I hope you are cleaning that up,' one turtle reproached another in the background.)
"You bought me ninja boots!?" she demanded. (And in the background: 'I thought I wasn't allowed to use a mop anymore,' the younger uncle asked. 'Ya know, after last time.')
"Size four, right? We didn't have any hand-me-downs that tiny," Sandro drawled. ('See, this is why it isn't your kitchen' 'You take that back, it's so mine!' 'Oh? Do you want mold in your kitchen? Is that it, Barbarian-chan?' 'Wait, am I allowed to use a mop again? Iunno, you're not being consistent, I might get in trouble.' 'Mikey. Milk. On the floor. Fix. Now.')
"SSSsssqueeeee!" Instead of punching him for the height joke, Wildcard threw her arms (and two tabi, and a live pocket knife, and some foam) around Sandro and hugged him tightly. A sugar glider was nearly squished in the process. "I laaahhhvvvv themmmm soo muucchhh!"
"We'll start talking to them about April and Raphael after the weekend," Donatello laid out how the next phase of their plan would work. "For now, you're right: Studies show unstructured play helps children learn to manage stress, and watching these two slowly unpack their social bonding into a new environment is giving me some glaring insights into how differently Sandro acts when he feels he has control over his situation."
"Bro, are you tellin me you need scientific papers to tell you kids need play-time?" Michelangelo was skeptical that even Donatello could be that out-of-touch with the obvious.
"Well, no," Donatello stammered, "but if he wanted me to play with him, I'd design activities for us to do. I'd assume I ought to, so as not to be boring. I wouldn't think to let him lead me around doing whatever ideas came to him."
"Pssh. That's why you have me, bro. Teamwork!"
Donnie sighed but gave him the hi-five he was fishing for. "I'm still concerned. Have you noticed he always says goodbye like it might be last time he ever sees her? I'm just not sure whether it's best to address it now or later, seeing as it will segue into a topic about his parents."
"Naw, don't let it segue, bro. Sometimes stuff's gotta get repeated till it sticks: remind him she'll still be there t'morrow. Brains gotta steep in ideas, yo. They're like tea."
"Like tea?" Pause. "Well, I suppose someone had to stand in for Leo. Speaking of which, I am scheduled for patrol. Stick to the plan."
"Okay! I promise not to burn the house down while you're gone!"
"Why. Why would you feel the need to specify that. Why, Mikey."
Michelangelo peeked into the dojo to find the kids had just finished putting on protective gear, and that Sandro was making sure Le Tiny Chick wrapped her feet securely until the new tabi had broken in. "Hey, um," he called to them. "Can I watch?"
"Sure!" a chorus greeted him, and he hurried in and settled himself down on his knees to watch, the way he would have when he and his bros had been children.
"Okay," Sandro stood, "make sure you test the grips before you start doing anything particularly—"
She rocketed past him, squealing 'Wee!' and dove into a series of handsprings and jumps before slipping and falling with a crash.
"—exciting..." He shook his head and started stretching his wrists and shoulders.
The girl snickered and wiggled her toes. Then she casually pushed herself up into a bridge—something no turtle could really do—and arched her spine with a stretch that crackled. Sandro called her a 'show-off' as he warmed for practice. 'Boring-pants!' she ribbed back, before kicking off the ground and rising into a handstand. She balanced on one hand, and then jumped to the other hand. Then she put both hands down and arched her back and weight from side to side, respecting her center of balance.
"You ever heard of calisthenics?" Sandro asked as she teetered and he stretched more conventionally (boringly). "The plainer forms are what my everyone has me doing instead of weightlifting. The premise is training only with your own body weight, but I thought it might suit you because street-art has come up with some pretty show-offy moves."
"Given how you resemble a high school starting quarterback, I'll start stalking 'calisthenics' on Youtube just as soon as I figure out how to spell it."
"Well, here's something: could you do a push-up like that?" Sandro was doing far more conventional push-ups at the moment, but he was doing them with just one hand.
"What, vertically? I'm not sure." Her voice grew suspicious. "Are you trying to get me to fall?"
"Aw, are you afraid? Don't worry, I'll patch up your bloody nose if you face-plant, princess." (Princess!)
"Oh-ho! You're on, sweet damsel!" A shaky, slow, hesitant descent followed. Woops!
"You have to slide your balance forward," Mikey piped up. "Elbows fold back—yeah, like that!"
She situated her weight and, arms shaking, pushed herself slowly back upright. Michelangelo and Sandro were both impressed, and the former clapped excitedly. "Oh, that burns. Ha! Dank oo, Mikey...!"
"Yo, go easy! One for now, two for later!" He whispered questioningly to Sandro: "How strong is she?"
"Strong," Sandro admitted quietly. "It's just hard to tell 'cause we're so different. But this is her thing as much as it is ours. Really."
"Can I show off in front of Mikey?" Wildcard asked. "Before we get to my training, since I'm a complete newb."
Sandro retrieved his tonfa and gave them a twirl. "Now we're talking. Are you going to make me break a sweat, or go easy on me like last time." He tossed her the bundle of throwing stars, and she grinned fiendishly and counted off a small handful.
"Oh-ho! I'mma hit you hard, and I'mma only take four to do it. Watch me."
Sandro slide into a defensive stance and ordered with a smirk: "Throw then, cocky loudmouth."
"Lesssss dooo deeesss!" she agreed with a clap, gathering herself up and stepping back. She smeared her feet over the ground as if testing traction. Then she spun about like a ballerina, with stars that whistled through the air like silver feathers, and no sooner had they left her fingers than she curved diagonally backwards, jumped onto one hand and then the other, and brought her legs around like a slingshot with a fourth start clutched between the tabi's toes. Flick! She rocked, pushed, and leaped back up to her feet.
Clack-clack-click-THUCK. "Ow!" Sandro laughed, grinning at the blade of silver embedded in his wrist-guard. "Yes! I even knew it was coming, and still-!"
"Wahoo! Booya! Victory dannncee! I told you! Ha!"
"Time out!" Mikey exploded in alarm, startling them both. "Emergency intervention! That is the worst dancing I have ever seen, yo! You need moves!" He was halfway into standing up before pausing. "Wait, am I allowed to do that? Donnie told me not to steal playtime from you."
"By all means, save us!" Wildcard gestured rapidly that he should come out and join them. "It's not just me either, have you seen him?!"
"Hold a second, we are great at Dance Dance Revolution," Sandro countered.
"Newb, that is like being great at Guitar Hero vs. knowing how to shred with Aerosmith!" Wildcard shouted. "Suck it up, you're my new dance class partner princess, let's do this!"
"Were you injured practicing the kata we worked on this morning?" Leo asked with concern, once morning had dawned and Anastasia had again been sent on her way. Sandro blinked up from where he'd been massaging a sore wrist. Donatello frowned. Sandro laughed.
"No. Mikey is teaching me how to break-dance," he explained. "And my shell is fine for spinning on, but my arms are not used to that."
Leo blinked at him. "Is he also teaching you how to beat-box?"
"No," Donatello intoned prohibitively, as if forestalling some event rather than answering the question.
Leo sighed and looked plaintively to Sandro. "This one," he jerked a thumb at Donatello, "never knows how to have fun anymore."
Donatello, looking absolutely stricken by who had made this accusation, picked up his Bo, and lunged.
A fight of epic proportions and loud insults broke out across the kitchen, from which Leo just barely managed to save his dinner from feeding the floor by sending it to skid harmlessly across the table with the lightest of tosses.
Sandro sat back in his chair, temporarily flabbergasted by the fact that all of his uncles had been crazy, over-energetic, crime-fighting ninja teenagers once upon a time and so, yes, they all did know how to break-dance, and beat-box, and they probably all had favorite pop music stars. It was sort of strange the things they'd remembered to pass on to the next generation, contrasted against all the things that had gone forgotten.
[Author's Note] I feel like this chapter almost needed a recap so many things happened. Mikey has planned a drag prank, Sandro and Wild share a birthday—Wait, what was that about a Pizza Lady!? And what exactly *does* Leo know about the kids? QUICK MIX UP THE COLORS TO SHOW INTERDEPENDENCE, Mikey likes Blueberry and Leo likes Marmalade (made with oranges), which must mean Raph likes Grape and Donnie likes Strawberry!