Chapter 48 ~Painting~

Splinter moved his brush in a careful twist, lifting the koi fish's fin so that it flowed with the water. He sighed. The painting was finished. The flower laid delicately on the water, the fish seemed almost to move below, as if it would swim out of the painting and out into the larger ocean. Their silent dance was frozen in time, a moment captured in ink and paper. Splinter allowed himself the smallest nod of satisfaction, knowing the painting was one of the best he'd done.

A faint tap on the door made his whiskers twitch as he looked up. The moments of satisfaction upon completing a painting were fleeting and precious, and he disliked being interrupted, but he stifled the irritation. He rarely refused his sons entry when they sought out his company.

"Enter."

To his surprise, the hand that pushed the screen carefully aside was not green. The delicate human fingers were soft, slender, and did not belong to any of his daughters. Splinter's breath caught as the woman was revealed. Lucille gave him a shy smile.

"Konbanwa, Splinter-san," she said softly.

"Good evening, Lucille," he responded automatically. He got to his feet, giving her a small bow of welcome. "What may I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing really." A faint flush crept up the woman's cheeks. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all."

"Oh, but you are busy," she said, her gaze landing on the painting. "I shouldn't bother you." She half-turned toward the door.

"I have finished," he said quickly. Despite his assertion to Austin, the woman's company was pleasant and welcome. "Please, Lucille-san, come in."

"If you're sure."

Splinter looked up, meeting the uncertain brown eyes. A pleasurable shock, rather like electricity, ran through him, making his fur feel as if it were rippling under his robe. The woman hesitated only a moment before moving into the room.

"I… I'm sorry to disturb you this way," she murmured. "I just… Everyone's so busy, and I didn't want to be a nuisance. I thought… well, to be honest, Splinter, I enjoy my niece's company so much, and your family's too, of course, but…" She smiled, meeting his eyes again. "Sometimes it's nice to talk to someone my own age."

Splinter nodded. "Lucille-san," he said carefully. "I will be thirty eight years old next spring."

She did a double-take, her mouth falling open in shock. "I… I'm sorry, Splinter. I thought… I mean, your boys are in their thirties, aren't they? I just assumed…"

Splinter chuckled. "It has been thirty-six years since my sons and I changed." He smiled at the confused look she gave him. "Forgive me, Lucille. Your assumption is correct. I am much older than my sons in every sense but the physical. At two, I was an adult when we were mutated, while they were infants."

"So, as a normal rat you were two years old? But the mutation seems to have given you a more human lifespan."

"Yes." Splinter nodded. "Donatello informs me I may live as long as an average human. By his estimation, my age now, if I were human, would be close to sixty years."

"It's fascinating," said Lucille. "I'm fifty-seven." Her smile was cautious as she came closer, kneeling not far from where he sat. "You and your sons are truly unique."

Splinter nodded. "The fates have been kind." Something like anxiety made his stomach squirm. It is best that she sees us for what we are. We are not human, he thought. I am not human. I must not attempt to engage her affections.

Lucille was studying him, her brown-eyed gaze steady on his face. "It seems to me," she said slowly. "That you and your sons are an enigma. You've avoided human society, yet you've established relationships, even taken wives into your family."

Splinter nodded. "We have been most fortunate," he murmured.

Her chuckle startled him. "You speak as if you are the lucky ones, Splinter," she said, smiling. "I'd say this city are the benefactors of your existence, not to mention your son's wives. Splinter, I consider myself fortunate, to have met you all. Believe me, we are the lucky ones."

"Doomo arigatoo, Lucille-san," said Splinter automatically, bowing his head.

Her fingertips brushing his wrist startled him into looking up. Luci was watching him with soft brown eyes and a faint smile. At his sharp glance, she took her hand back, a faint flush staining her cheeks.

"Where did you learn to paint?" she asked, gesturing toward the parchment still drying on the low table. "This is lovely."

"In the past year, Sierra has been teaching me new techniques, but I began by watching Tang Shen," said Splinter softly.

Lucille glanced at him, questioning.

"The love of my master Yoshi's life," he elaborated.

"I see. Hamato Yoshi." Lucille nodded. "Austin told me a bit about your past life," she said softly. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Splinter."

He nodded, acknowledging her compassion. "Thank you, Lucille-san."

"Would you… I mean, if you don't mind… can you tell me a little about them?"

Splinter looked at her. Luci was watching him curiously, a smile crinkling the corner of her eyes. "What was it like, living in Japan?" Her smile faltered. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking. Do you remember?"

Splinter nodded slowly. "I do." A faint smile tugged at his mouth. It wasn't often that anyone wanted to hear the stories of his past.

He settled himself more comfortably on the mat. "My memories of that time are… not clear," he said. Lucille nodded, watching him as if waiting for more. "I remember… hunger. Always seeking warmth, shelter, food…" He paused. "I had little thought for anything beyond survival… until I met Tang Shen."

Lucille shifted on the tatami mat, but kept silent. Splinter noticed the way her hands rested on her knees, her neatly clipped nails brushed with a soft pink color. The skin on her hands was slightly wavy, but looked smooth, soft. He repressed an urge to reach out, to run a finger across the back of her knuckles. He cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts.

"I went into the kitchen to seek nothing more than a bit of kabu," he said. "I sensed that the human cutting the vegetables was not a threat. I did not sense Mashimi's presence, until I heard the whistle of his sword. Had Tang Shen not intervened…" He let the thought trail off.

"Thank heavens she did," breathed Lucille. She gestured. "Please, continue, Splinter."

He smiled. "I will always be grateful for her kindness," he said. From then on, Tang Shen was my protector, my provider. I was with her always… her and Yoshi. He was often at her side. Those were happy times."

Lucille nodded sadly. "Austin told me how she died. I'm so sorry."

Splinter bowed his head. "Yes."

"And then you came to New York with Yoshi. Austin said he was a Guardian, but wouldn't tell me much else, just that an old rival, Oroku Saki, murdered him. Was he related to Karai Oroku? Of Oroku Industries?"

Splinter nodded. "She was his daughter," he said quietly. "She blames us for her father's destruction."

"So that's why Leonardo was so upset by Isamu's presence." Lucille nodded. "He told me he's worried about how she'd react to finding out the boy was with your family. Blood lines are so important in Japanese culture."

"Yes," said Splinter quietly. "Donatello was fascinated with the concept of adoption when he was young. He informed me once that there are fewer than 600 adoptions outside of immediate family each year in Japan. Children with living relatives are sometimes left in orphanages because even if the family cannot take them in themselves, they refuse to allow them to be raised by those who are not related by blood. Donatello wanted to know if I would ever allow him and his brothers to be adopted by humans."

Lucille chuckled. "He must have been an interesting child," she said.

"My sons were… a challenge, to raise," acknowledged Splinter dryly. "Each has their own unique abilities and presented special challenges."

"I'm sure." Lucille smiled. "They work so well as a team."

"Our survival depends upon it," he said.

Lucille looked at him. "It's easy to forget," she said slowly, "When I'm sitting here with you, that you're a warrior, by choice as well as necessity. Seeing Raphael fight those men before, it was… informative. He's so gentle with the children, and yet…"

Splinter nodded. "My sons do what they must to defend themselves and those who need protection."

The woman's eyes wandered back to the painting. "The more I get to know you, Splinter, the more I think I know so little after all. It's difficult to understand how the hand that created such beauty could be deadly."

Splinter tried to shrug off the warm glow her praise sparked in him. "The art of ninjitsu is as much knowing when not to strike as to destroy one's opponent," he said.

"'Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength,'" said Lucille. "Saint Francis."

A smile tugged at Splinter's mouth. She continually amazes me. "Lao Tzu said that 'nothing in the world is more flexible and yielding than water.'"

Lucille nodded. "'And when it attacks the firm and the strong, none can withstand it, because they have no way to change it.'"

Splinter went still, startled. "You are familiar with Lao Tzu?"

"I've read a bit of The Book of the Way," said Lucille. "He was a fascinating thinker."

"Indeed."

They sat for a moment in companionable silence.

"Do you think, perhaps, that you could teach me a bit?" Lucille asked.

"Teach you, Lucille-san?" Splinter's eyebrows rose.

"To paint." Lucille gestured toward the painting. She looked at him, her eyes searching. "That is, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Not at all, Lucille-san." Splinter smiled. "But I fear there is not time for you to learn more than a few basic strokes."

"Oh, that's all right," she said. Her eyes lit up with delight. "I love learning new things."

Splinter returned her smile. He couldn't help it, her quiet enthusiasm was infectious. He lifted parchment carefully, laying it aside, and fetched a fresh sheet from his supply.

"The ink stick must be ground upon this stone," he said, making a few careful circles. "Then a few drops of water make the powder into ink…" he demonstrated, dipping the brush carefully into the color. "If there was more time, I would teach you to mix the inks, but for now…" he moved the brush carefully across the parchment, creating the shape of a petal. Several more strokes, and a delicate flower appeared. Splinter had found, when his sons were small, that sometimes showing them the finished product lent them motivation for learning each tedious step of a new lesson.

Lucille leaned close, watching his hand move. "That's amazing."

"Perhaps you would like to try, Lucille-san?"

Splinter held out the brush. The pleasant electricity seemed to run along his arm from where her fingertips brushed his as she took the brush. She frowned in concentration. "The way you held the brush," she murmured, moving it in her hand. "I can't quite…"

"Let me help you." He took her hand in his own, positioning the brush correctly in her fingers, trying to ignore the hyper-aware sensations of her nearness, the scent of her hair as it brushed his shoulder. He guided her hand carefully. Her application was slightly clumsy, but the petals grew, and in a few strokes she'd approximated his flower.

"Well done, Lucille-san," he said quietly, falling into the old habits of teaching. Early praise encourages new growth.

"It's nothing like yours," she said softly. "I can see I need a lot of practice to get the technique right."

Splinter watched as she tried the basic stroke again. She made a short row of marks across the bottom of the parchment, getting a feel for the way the brush moved across the paper. When it grew too dry, she dipped it in the ink again, picking up far too much of the dark liquid, and frowned when her next mark was nothing but a black line.

"Oh dear. This isn't as easy as you make it look," she said ruefully.

Splinter chuckled. "Skill comes with repetition."

"I'd like to keep trying, if you don't mind," she said, glancing at him.

"Not at all, Lucille-san," he responded easily. He smiled, watching the way a slight frown of concentration creased her brow, the way her mouth quirked up at the side. She was immersed, focused on the parchment. He could feel her determination.

She is so much like Donatello when he was very young. He, too, was consumed with the task of learning new techniques in writing and in art. It did not come as naturally to him as it did to Michelangelo. Still, his determination has proven valuable. He is never easily dissuaded, a trait that has served him well.

Lucille looked up suddenly, as if she'd felt him watching her. "How's that?" she gestured toward the marks she'd made on the paper.

"You are improving already," he said, approving.

"You are a very good teacher." She smiled, an easy, natural expression. "You must think me so foolish," she said.

Splinter glanced at her, puzzled. "Why?"

"Getting so excited to learn a simple thing like painting," she said, shaking her head self-deprecatingly. Still, the smile remained. "I've always loved learning."

"'What you think you become,'" quoted Splinter. "To live is to grow, Lucille-san. When we stop learning, we stop growing. We stop living."

Luci nodded, her smile growing. She sat back, and reached up to brush a stray curl away from her forehead. Splinter caught her wrist before she could touch her face. She went still.

"Forgive me, Lucille-san," he murmured. "Your hand…"

He released her wrist, and she looked at her fingers and laughed. "Oh dear." Her finger tips were black with ink.

Splinter reached up, brushing the hair behind her ear. Lucille smiled.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"You are welcome."


A/N: The events Splinter relates when he talks about his past are from the episode Tales of Master Yoshi.