I have to confess, this was one of my favorite chapters to write. I like-y the angst!

Still don't own the TMNT or GTS and its crew. Sorry guys.

Enjoy!

Nick studied the barrels before him. The sandbar was again deserted, and looking by and large like any other sandbar in the ocean, but the scientist couldn't forget that feet below was a base of some kind, a military installation crawling with agents whom, he felt quite harshly, apparently had no moral compass. They'd set the barrels on the sand and disappeared, not one showing any remorse, any feelings at all. They just delivered the goods. They didn't care about Nick or Godzilla or...

"It feels like blood money to you, doesn't it?"

Nick turned to see Leonardo standing near. His gaze went back to the chemicals, then to where Godzilla was lying on the sand. The tiny dose of antidote had not reversed what had been done, but it seemed to have helped calm him. Well, that and the dozen tranquilizers Bishop's men had pumped into him just before the fight ended.

"Yeah," he replied heavily. "It's exactly what we need. It might have taken days for us to get our hands on this much. These aren't compounds you can get at the corner store, even in New York. But…"

"I know," Leo moved to stand beside him. "I bet it's hard to be glad you've got them when you know what they cost." The turtle said the words sympathetically, but he certainly didn't share in the sentiment the same way. He wasn't glad for having the cure, even knowing that it would save the giant mutant sleeping nearby. He was a lot more concerned about another mutant, one much dearer to him.

"Godzilla's important," Nick felt his throat tighten at a hundred unspoken possibilities. "In more ways than one, I'm not sure how we'd manage without him." He looked sharply to the turtle to see if the hidden meaning behind his words had been recognized, but Leo's expression didn't change. "And if you'd asked me to trade myself for this, I probably would have. But I would never have let Don give himself up like that if I'd known. It wasn't his fight."

"Donnie has very odd ideas about what his fights are," the eldest turtle sighed. "He's always been that way. Actually, knowing him, I'd guess Don figured that the problem with Bishop was his fight, not yours, and blamed himself for putting you in the middle of it. He thinks that he has an obligation to protect everybody, not just us. Me, I worry a lot more about our family than I do about the world at large, though I'll do my part to look after the city and all. But I'm not interested in being a hero, not the way Mikey is. And I don't have to mete out justice with every breath the way Raph does. Don isn't like them, either. He wouldn't fight if he didn't have to. But he'd step in front of a train for anybody, any time."

"I noticed." Nick recounted for the turtle how Donatello had saved Mendel from Godzilla's rage only a few hours prior. When he mentioned the chemical in the water, and how shaken Don had looked when he'd asked to be tested, the narrowing of Leonardo's eyes was downright frightening. Nick decided he was really sure he didn't want to be on this ninja's bad side.

"Don," Leo breathed when the doctor finished, as though admonishing the absent turtle. "Sometimes you're as bad as Raph." Something was twisting in Leonardo's face, and it made Nick suddenly rush to fill in the quiet that had settled.

"I didn't really thank him for it. I didn't thank him for helping me, either. What he did, and I still don't know exactly what it was, it's the reason we can help Godzilla at all. He gave us the cure, he helped me deal with the big guy, and I didn't even get the chance to say anything, and now it's too late to…"

"You will." The turtle cut off Nick's ramble and his eyes, and that focused, angry, eerie glint was back times ten. "We're not going to leave him with Bishop, no matter what. And if Bishop hurts him, he'll be sorry. I'll make him sorry he ever took Donnie away."

Fury built inside, and for a moment the turtle had the urge to strike, to hurt something, anything. The image of Don's face filled him, and Leo alternately wanted nothing more than to see him safe and to exact painful and lasting revenge for this situation, for whatever danger his brother now faced. But before his anger built, he breathed out slowly, remembering his training. He would not be able to protect his family if he could not master himself. Then Leonardo returned to himself and he looked at Nick with less venom.

"Doctor, please, take this stuff and use it. The sooner Godzilla's cured, the sooner we can move. Bishop said he wouldn't bother us, but I don't like being here anyway."

Leo's legendary self-control kept him cool and calm when he spoke, but his mind was still racing, though more productively. Bishop had traded the cure for Godzilla for Donatello, but he had also, according to Nick, been the deliberate and intentional cause of Godzilla's mutation. That told the ninja that this whole scenario had been some kind of trap. But to what end? If Godzilla had been the bait, was Don the intended victim, or was the turtle's capture an accidental victory? Either way, there were secrets and plans all around them, and the sooner they could leave and begin to search for Donatello, the sooner they could unravel them.

"Leo," Nick broke the turtle out of his thoughts, "thank you. Thanks for everything."

"I haven't done anything yet. But I will. And then you can thank Donnie."

-==OOO==-

"Shell!"

Raphael's fist thudded into the metal storage crate hard enough that, had the crate been alive, its bones would have shattered. Glaring at it as though it were the cause of his every raging impulse, he struck again and again, sometimes mixing kicks in with the punches. When a knuckle split and blood appeared on the next strike, he only swung harder. Fury blinded him, there was only the next blow, the next exhale of breath and strength. His mind quieted, leaving only the violence.

When sweat rolled down his plastron and his fists were bloody smears, the red-banded turtle finally stopped. He stood, nearly shaking, staring at the dents and droplets that were evidence of his anger. The feelings and thoughts he had blocked out rushed back, and in one baleful move he drew a sai and threw it as hard as he could into the very center of the ruined mess that had been his substitute punching bag.

"You are lucky we do not require that crate," came a voice from across the room. Raph wheeled, instinctively falling into a fighting posture. Monique moved towards him, and though his stance softened minutely, his face hardened.

"You got a problem?"

"Evidence suggests I am not the one with the, as you say, problem," she replied, not even nodding at the wrecked crate.

"Get lost. I ain't lookin' for company," the turtle growled.

"Your brother warned me to leave you alone," Monique replied easily, "but it is not in my nature to take orders from one who is not my superior."

"Yeah, I bet," and Raph allowed himself to smirk very slightly.

"For what it is worth," the Frenchwoman said, shifting the conversation bluntly back to her purpose, "I am sorry I did not better protect my people and Donatello upon the arrival of Bishop."

"Don't be," the turtle cut her off before she could say more. "First of all, it ain't your job to protect us – we're supposed to protect each other. Second of all, Donnie ain't a lightweight. He can fight as good as any of us, shell, better than us when he has a chance to plan. This wasn't your fault. This was Bishop doing what he does best – messing with my family."

Monique watched the angriest turtle as he spoke. In spite of her cool and stand-offish nature, she was a keen study of emotion, and she read between the lines far better than most people expected. She could almost see him tearing at himself inside, lashing himself with anger and blame as much as he had the metal crate, though he spoke not a word of it aloud. She realized he would never admit his own weakness to her, but he felt all too deeply this perceived failure. The fury she saw in him was familiar – even without being prone to it, Monique could be roused to similar sentiments, especially when those she claimed as her own were threatened. Though nothing showed outwardly, her will turned to steel, as did her resolve.

"Donatello proved himself to be worthy of the friendship the others offered him," she said. "He acted bravely when Dr Craven was in danger, and he risked himself to save them all when placed in an impossible situation. His honor will not be in vain. If I can assist you in retrieving him and seeking retribution, I will."

Raphael shrugged at her. He had no way of knowing how much she was saying, how hard-won that trust and respect had been, how rare it was for Monique to accept someone new into her circle. And frankly, he didn't care. Sure, the idea was nice, and having help to spring Donnie would be good, but none of it made up for what his brother might be experiencing right that minute.

None of it made up for the fact that he hadn't even known when Don made the deal to surrender himself for them all, hadn't been there to stop him, save him, or at least promise him that they'd come for him.

None of it made up for having to consider that they might not get to him in time.

-==OOO==-

"I don't know! Just mix it up yourself!"

Mendel felt his eyes get wide with surprise as Elsie stalked out of the lab in a huff, her sudden outburst at his, in his opinion, relatively harmless query. Where had that explosion come from?

"Way to strike out with the ladies," Randy commented from where he sat on a counter. "You should be world champ of the Foot-in-Mouth 500."

"Dude, she's like Raph, only she uses more words," Michelangelo said. Since his whole family had scattered in the quiet aftermath of the fight, the orange-clad turtle had simply followed Randy, who had wanted to release some of his own tension via his favorite exercise: heckling Dr Craven.

"Yeah, Elsie's all right, but when she gets mad, you're better off being on the G-man's hit list than hers." Randy smiled hopefully at the turtle, trying to raise his spirits. When the sub carrying Donatello and Bishop away had vanished, the three remaining turtles had seemed to deflate, as if their shells, or their guilt, had become too heavy for them. Raphael had stormed off, and Leonardo had vanished, but this turtle, so it seemed, had been left directionless.

"If you two don't have anything better to do, could you go…be yourselves elsewhere?" Craven asked out of nowhere as he turned back to the bench. "Unless you want a giant mutant to eat us for lunch, I need to take care of this." His voice was testier than usual.

"Is…there anything we can do to help?" Mikey asked suddenly. Both men turned to look at him and he shrugged. "It was what Don was working on, right? And he…well, it seems like he really wanted Godzilla cured from what you guys have told me. So the least I can do is help, right?"

"You're tight with Donnie, aren't you?" Randy asked gently.

"Yeah," and the heaviness in the turtle's voice almost hurt to hear. "He's smart, he looks out for me, and he even sticks up for me when I'm being dumb. Sometimes. Well, more than Raph does. He watches movies with me, and he fixes my game systems when I…when something happens to them. He's calmer than Raph, and he asks the questions Leo needs him to ask and he always needs somebody to make him laugh, especially when he's working too hard. He's my older brother. You know?"

"Not really," Mendel replied without looking up. "I'm an only child."

"Yeah, child is right," Randy retorted. Then, he winked at the turtle conspiratorially. "You definitely don't remind me at all of somebody who gets grumpy when working too hard. You know, that whole 'all work and no play makes Mendel an annoying boy' thing."

Michelangelo looked between them and smiled.

"Yeah, something like that. So is there anything we can do to help?" he asked again, a little more cheerfully. He missed his brother – he'd absolutely hated losing Donnie to the outbreak virus and he hated this a thousand times more. He was too old to cry, and a ninja besides, but sometimes, like when his best friend and older brother and protector and video-game partner was a monster, or even worse, was in the hands of a monster, he sure felt like it. But here was somebody who reminded him of Don, maybe an extra-cranky and not-as-cool Don, and somebody who was like himself, though not quite as cool as himself, either. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but it did help.

"If you insist," Mendel sighed dramatically. However, he didn't turn around, and he was glad neither of the goof-offs across the room could see his face.

For all the teasing he got from Randy, and occasionally everyone else, Mendel did know what the HEAT group had become, he did recognize that they were more than teammates or colleagues – they were friends. Maybe even family. And Donatello had given himself up to save them. For as long as he lived, Dr Craven wasn't sure he'd ever see something as brave as that. What the turtle had said, that he was sure he would be dissected, had chilled the roboticist to his core. And yet he walked out without hesitation, accepting the fate as a trade for something else, something important enough that he would die for it. If Mendel couldn't have stopped Donatello, if he couldn't have saved him, at least he could try to comfort the family left behind.

"What do you need?" Randy asked, genuinely interested.

"Neither of you is much good with this part," he indicated the lab, "but Randy, get on the laptop and fire up the program Don wrote earlier. I think I can go faster if I have his notes there."

"What about me?"

Mendel regarded the youngest turtle, seeing so much expressed in his eyes. He remembered how Donatello had lamented at his brothers' lack of technical or scientific expertise, but he also remembered what virtues had been described instead.

"If you're up for dealing with the galley, I could really use something to eat," he admitted, smiling as the turtle's face split into a grin.

"One order of Mikey's Famous Scientist's Snack coming right up!" he announced before practically sprinting out the door. Craven turned back to his table, feeling a little better himself.

"Hey doc?"

"Yes?" Dr Craven sighed, waiting for whatever new barb Randy had prepared for him.

"That was cool." Randy didn't look up, but he was smiling and his voice was sincere.

"Thanks."

-==OOO==-

"Are you all right?"

Elsie turned from her view of the ocean to the gentle voice that had spoken beside her and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It took a breath before she could convince herself that the giant rat next to her was not something to flee. She just didn't like rats. However, this one was somewhat different from the type that invaded the docks and streets, and once, her kitchen. Still, their introduction had not gone precisely as smoothly as they would have liked.

She had just handed the bo to Raphael and had actually taken a step back from Leonardo's fury when she bumped into someone. Turning, she found herself face-to-face with a giant rat. Well, maybe more like sternum to face, given the height differential. Later, she would feel bad, but in the moment, letting out a shriek and jumping halfway across the deck so she was behind everybody else had seemed a perfectly reasonable course of action.

"My son," Master Splinter's voice startled the HEAT team as he emerged from behind her. The heaviness in it was lost in the general reaction of the humans to the figure standing there.

"Whoa! Who is this?" Craven's eyes went wide, and he pulled out a tissue to hold to his nose. He also considered fainting, but he'd seen too many strange things in his time with HEAT to really follow through on it. Besides, he'd be the butt of Randy's jokes for a month.

"This is our sensei," Leonardo made the introduction without turning around.

"Forgive our intrusion and rudeness. Our concern for Donatello has overridden our better manners." He bowed. "I am Hamato Splinter. I believe you already know my sons."

"You're…a rat?" Randy asked. He didn't react with Elsie's fear or Mendel's discomfort, but he was certainly confused.

"Ain't you a genius?" Raph snarled.

"Raphael!" and the turtle's shoulders fell at the snap in his sensei's voice. "This anger will not help Donatello. And neither will yours, Leonardo."

"Yes, father," the blue-banded turtle replied automatically, letting a long breath out as he sheathed his katana.

"Wait, he's your father? How does that even work?" Mendel found his voice again.

"It's a really long story," Michelangelo put in.

"Which I totally want to hear!" the return of cheerfulness in Randy's voice seemed strangely out of place.

"Later, Randy," Nick's order cut across the ship. "For now, somebody flag down Monique. We need to talk."

"Dr Chapman?" Splinter asked again politely.

"Yeah, sure. I just needed some air," Elsie replied. But there was a hitch in her voice, a waver in the calm she was trying to portray. She peeked at the mutant out of the corner of her eye – his intent, focused expression told her she wasn't fooling him one bit.

"If there is some assistance I can render," he said, "it is the least I can do."

"No, I don't think so. Unless you're a better scientist than me."

"I am not. Unfortunately, we have all depended upon Donatello for such wisdom," and the father in him emerged. Elsie could see it happen. As Splinter looked out across the water, he suddenly seemed frail, small, withered. Not in body, but in soul.

"It's my fault, you know," she said in a guilty rush. "I should have stopped him. I should have done something."

"From what we have been told, Bishop left you very few options. I am not upset with you, Dr Chapman. But I am very worried about my son."

"I don't know if I can understand, but I…can relate." When Splinter cocked his head a bit to one side, looking at her, she sighed. "Let's just say I know what it feels like to watch somebody you really care about be taken away, and no matter what you do, you feel helpless to get them back." Her words started spilling out before she even really knew what she was saying. "And when you get them back, they're not the same. You walk on eggshells, 'cause you're not sure if you make a wrong move it'll make everything worse. You can't really understand what happened to them, but it happened and you can't go back to before, either. And then you try to help, and you do help, but there's a part of their mind you can't ever reach. Something shut off forever, because it's different than it was, and you just hold on for the ride."

Elsie stopped herself, not quite blushing. She hadn't meant to say all that. Her eyes made their way to Godzilla, lounging asleep on the sand, more in the water than out of it, and the man who was rolling a barrel towards the HEAT-Seeker. Being bonded to Godzilla, being connected to him in a way she couldn't even imagine, it had changed Nick forever. Before everything, she had wondered if there was a place in his life for her that didn't involve mutants – now, even if she had a place, it would never be mutant-free. And she could live with that, but she still didn't know if he could.

"Yes, I know this feeling." The rat turned to her, and after a moment, placed a hand on her arm. Elsie expected to shudder, but his palm was soft, and there was a serenity and warmth in the contact, as though someone had turned up the sun. She was surprised to find tears in the corners of her eyes.

"I don't know Donnie well," she said, trying to get back to the point of the conversation, "but I still feel like it's my fault that he's gone. I mean, in trouble." She bit her lip. Way to remind him that his son might already be dead.

"I know. But, as with your own situation, this happened beyond anyone's control. The man responsible is to blame, not you. And as soon as it can be done, we will seek him out and retrieve Donatello. I will not lose one of my sons," and strength, the kind of solid power that Elsie usually associated with gravity, crept smoothly into his voice. She saw none of the rage in him that Raphael obviously carried, none of the coldness of Leonardo; he was a father, and a warrior, and it showed.

"I just hate that there isn't more I can do," she admitted.

"Not all are meant for every path," Splinter replied. "My family are ninja, and we have our own ways. You are not, but that does not mean there is not something you can do. You have to find your strength within, and set that against this problem."

"Don told me that, too," Elsie said softly.

"Then my son believed that your strength was of value. As do I." The father of the turtles released her arm and, as easily as breathing, leapt to the roof of the pilot house, smiling very slightly at her expression. "It is my time to use a strength of my own to help my son. I ask you to do the same." He settled into lotus position and closed his eyes.

Elsie felt her heart thump once loudly, then suddenly settle, and inspiration began to blossom in her mind. She nodded at Splinter with renewed confidence, somehow certain he could see her even without looking.

"I will." Then she moved briskly to the side Nick was on. She managed not to get in the way of Leonardo, who was easily helping to load the barrels onto the Seeker. "Hey, Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"I've got an idea."

-==OOO==-

"By the way, your hospitality stinks," Donatello grimaced.

"I assure you, this is absolutely necessary," Bishop replied easily. He smiled with great satisfaction as he packed away the blood sample beside his already-acquired skin and shell samples in a small, sealed container. "This is a far simpler procedure when you are a willing participant."

"Oh, I wouldn't call it willing," the turtle retorted, but there was no fire in his words. Don swallowed another lump of fear, but he was still managing to keep to his promise. At least he wasn't tied to a table this time – he'd given his word of honor, and since Bishop believed him, he'd permitted the turtle a certain amount of leverage. A few hidden cameras on the disguised base had been proof enough that the ransom was paid, so Donatello was playing the agent's game. For now.

"Indeed. And that is why we must resort to this," Bishop said without even turning around. On cue, what seemed like a whole squad jumped on Donatello, wrenching him out of the chair and dragging him forward. Instinctively, the turtle fought back, but he swiftly remembered the promise he'd given and stopped struggling with a sigh. The government agents hauled him up some stairs and then shoved him forward unexpectedly. Don landed easily, but not before they had sealed the hatch over his head. He was in one of Bishop's holding containers, like a sample in a test tube. Exactly like that, in fact.

"I can't thank you enough for your help, Donatello," Bishop said, that disturbing sincerity dripping from his voice now. "Thanks to your work, the samples I was able to acquire of Godzilla's blood are now much easier to integrate with human DNA, and therefore I am one step closer to my ultimate goal of an army that can defend this planet against whatever threats may arise."

"You infected Godzilla just so you could get me to give him my blood?"

"More precisely, so that you could create a cure for his blood from your own, giving me a perfect blueprint from which I could recreate a blended version of his mutation and yours. It was either that or arrange for him to eat you, but then I would be without recourse if I ever needed your blood again. You're more unique than any other mutation on earth, Donatello. You alone possess an antibody that attacks certain mutant cells but not others, the mutation in your body is stable, and you do not pose a significant risk to me for physical danger. You are a perfect specimen for my purposes."

"Really? Then how about you let me out of here and we'll see how much physical danger I can manage?" the turtle threatened, pounding a fist on the smooth wall of his container while his pride burned.

"You'll be far better preserved in there," Bishop turned back to his computer. "But since I can't have you causing any trouble to me or to yourself…"

A sudden cold rush thundered against his feet, and Donatello looked down to see a weirdly-blue fluid entering the chamber at an alarming pace. It was frigid, and his cold-blooded body felt immediately chilled. Before he could even think about shivering, it was more than knee-deep. A mask dropped down from above.

"I would recommend you use that," came Bishop's careless voice. "You'll be of use to me dead or alive, so I suppose the choice is yours, Donatello. But I find that creatures generally prefer not to drown in their test tubes. Besides, it would be such a shame to lose the power of your mind."

Donatello scowled. On the one hand, of course he didn't want to die. But on the other, he wanted to resist Bishop with all his strength, and he had no desire to be a lab rat forever. He didn't want to be used against his will. However, the reasonable part of his mind argued, Bishop would still have his body even if the soul had fled, and could use that unhindered. As the freezing water sloshed to nearly the middle of his plastron, another thought crossed his mind.

"My family wouldn't want me to die." In spite of the cold, Donatello felt warmed. He was not, no matter what Bishop said, alone. His brothers would find him eventually. His father would never give up searching and fighting to retrieve him. His friends would help if they could. He knew, more certainly than he knew his own name, that Leo and Mikey and Raph would tear the earth to pieces to find him, would walk though fire to get him back. They would come for him. He needed to be alive for them when they did.

He couldn't keep the shaking out of his arm as he reached up to pull down the mask. It reminded him of the breathers he had built for their various treks under water, but with a sinister look to it that his own creations never included. As he drew it near to his beak, he could smell something pungent, a gas probably meant to knock him out, already pouring from it. What a choice – death or absolute helplessness. But resolutely, Donatello pulled the straps firmly around his head, creating a good seal to keep the water out. Already it was lapping at his chin.

"A wise choice," Bishop commented. "Sleep well, Donatello."

The turtle felt like there were ice crystals in his tear-ducts from the cold as he was completely submerged. The gas coming through the mask was noxious, yet with a hint of something sickly-sweet underneath. He bobbed a little while, his temperature falling uncomfortably, and his body was feeling more sluggish. Then the cold began to seep away, and a heaviness settled over his mind. Donatello allowed himself to fall with it, dropping into a forced meditation rather than sleep for as long as he could hold out against the drugs he had no choice but to inhale.

"Father," he said to the abyss that was calling him, "I don't know how long I can last. I don't know what Bishop will do to me. But I'm alive. I know you'll come for me. Tell Leo not to give up. I'm…"

And darkness invaded him.