Still don't own 'em. Just getting them into hotter and hotter water...

Enjoy!

"All right, brainiac. What gives?"

Donatello wasn't completely surprised at the question growled from the shadows, and he credited his years of training that he didn't startle easily. Smoothly turning from where he had just landed on a rooftop, he looked at his brother evenly. Raphael had never learned to slide out of the shadows as if they were water rolling off him – instead, he always stalked out of darkness like a predator. But Don was not worried by it; he knew Raph well enough, knew what he read in the crossed arms and raised eye-ridge was not anger, but what passed for concern.

"What are you talking about?"

"You been quiet lately, not sayin' much in the lair, but heading out here," and Raph gestured to the sight of Staten Island across the water behind him, "just about every night. You gonna tell us what's goin' on, or I gotta ask your friends?"

"I'm just doing some experiments," Don replied, feeling the nerves in his stomach constrict a little. Raph wasn't going to buy it. He didn't.

"Try again."

"Raph…" the purple-clad turtle was half-exasperated, half-pleading. "It's not a big deal."

"Then there's no problem telling me about it." Raph's eyes narrowed. Evasion was one of his brother's favorite tactics to avoid explaining the unpleasant, and he was not going to permit it. If Leo wasn't going to ask the questions, if Mikey was too worried to ask, he was going to get the answers himself. And since the brothers had agreed just two days prior that Don was probably safe with just one watcher instead of all three, he had the perfect opportunity.

"I…" Donnie began.

"Bro, you're not walking off this roof until you come clean. We can do this the easy way or the fun way. And I know which you'd prefer." He grinned wickedly.

"It might be nothing," he tried one last time. Then, seeing Raph's continued stubbornness, he sighed. "Look, it's just that we don't really know what went on with Bishop when he had me, and Nick and the others are trying to help me figure out if anything happened that I should know about."

"Like if you got exposed to more outbreak crap or something?" Raphael asked.

"Yeah. Something like that."

"So, they find anything?"

The long time it took Donatello to answer told Raph all he needed to know. If Leo had been here, he'd have put a hand on his brother's shoulder, offered comfort and support and that strength of certainty he was so good at. Raph wasn't Leo. He strode forward and grabbed Donnie by the elbow, shaking him slightly.

"Yeah, they did," he mumbled, his head down. Raph shook him again before he continued. "There's scarring on my neurocranium that goes way deeper than the blow to the head that I took, and from the scans they were able to take, there's scar tissue underneath as well."

"Neurocranium…wait, you're sayin' Bishop did something to your brain?"

"Looks like it."

The slow, soft way Donatello spoke worried Raph a lot more than what he had said. He didn't know what the implications were, but the sheer fact that somebody had literally messed with his brother's head was bad enough. The fact that it obviously had Don freaked near to losing it before his eyes was still worse.

"Can you tell what he did?" Raph pressed.

"Not yet. Something surgical, probably. There's no trace of metallic components or anything, so we don't think he put anything in there, but it's hard to be sure. And there's no telling if…"

"If what?" Now Raph did take a page from Leo's book and put a hand on Don's shoulder comfortingly.

"If he took something from me."

Don closed his eyes. He knew he was lucky to be alive, to have a brain at all, but not knowing what Bishop had done, whether he had reconnected bits of his brain wrong or taken whole sections out or even put in some kind of bio-ware programming – each possibility was worse than the last. There was truly no way to know what it meant unless HEAT opened up his skull again and poked around. And none of them were qualified to do that, they all knew it. The truth was, there might be no way to be certain, probably until it was too late, what kind of damage Bishop had done this time.

"Donnie," Raph breathed, feeling like the floor had dropped out from under him. He'd known his brother was keeping secrets, was burdened by something, but he hadn't considered anything like this. Don valued his brain more than anything – how must it hurt to know something had been done to it and he couldn't even tell what?

"So that's what I've been doing," the purple-clad turtle finished, the defeat ringing in his voice. "Trying to find non-invasive ways to test for whatever Bishop did. It doesn't look like I've lost any cognitive function, and I don't have any holes in my memory that we've identified yet, which is good. But there's a lot we can't test for at this level, so…"

"Why didn't you tell us?" Raph's voice was soft, coaxing, none of the angry brother left in him. "You could've said something. We can't help, but we'd have been, you know, there."

"I know. And you're here anyway, even without knowing. I just couldn't figure out how to tell you." Donatello finally met Raphael's eyes again, and though he knew worry and fear was written over his whole face, there was honesty in his answer. He did know he could have spoken to his family, shared the worry and fear, and they would have supported him. But he also didn't want them to worry, to doubt him. He did know that his clan valued him for more than his intelligence and engineering skills, that they wanted him for his own sake, but there was a twinge of insecurity nonetheless. His mind was what he could contribute above being a dutiful ninja son – he never wanted his family to doubt what he could or would do for them. And besides, his family had only just come to terms with his recovery from the outbreak virus, twice. What more could he ask them to endure?

The pair stood in silence for a few minutes, lost in thought. Between trying not to worry and approach his situation scientifically, Don's thoughts raced along every track that didn't end in fear. And beside him, Raphael struggled. Struggled to figure out how to offer comfort for something he couldn't fight, couldn't eliminate, couldn't even really help with at all. Struggled to contain the boiling rage that Bishop had once again taken something precious, something needed, something important from his clan. Struggled to know what to say that might soothe the ripples he could see in Donnie's usual cheerful, the-sky-isn't-even-the-limit demeanor. Finally he spoke.

"So, you want me not to tell the others?"

Don looked up in surprise, seeing Raph nod seriously. "You'd do that?"

"Sure. Keepin' secrets from Leo is what I do anyway, just to annoy him, and telling Mikey anything is like inviting him to mess with it, so I'm pretty used to it. And Master Splinter won't ask me what's bugging you anyway – he'll ask you himself. So it's not all that hard."

"Actually, sensei did ask me what's happening," he confessed. "I told him something vague, not untrue, just not…the whole story. I don't want him to worry until I know the real extent of the damage."

"Gotcha. Then I won't say nothing. But shell, Donnie, if there's something I can do, I wanna do it!" a little of Raph's anger leaked through. Actually, it was a comfort to them both, a little more normalcy.

"Well, there is something, just in case." Raphael perked up, then saw how solemn his brother's face was and a sinking feeling of dread settled somewhere under his plastron. Don took a breath. "If something goes wrong, if something happens, call HEAT. I know Leatherhead's good, and we all trust him, but he just can't do what they can. They've had years of time to get really familiar with mutations, and they have better resources than we do. Besides, since Bishop's in this one, I'm not sure LH can keep his composure, and I don't want to upset him."

"Yeah, we don't need him wigging out on us, that's for sure," the red-banded turtle smiled wanly.

"Exactly. So, I guess…if something happens, make sure you call HEAT, okay? They can do a lot of what I can, so if you needed more long-term help…"

"No way."

Don looked up, not totally surprised to see the fiery denial in his brother's eyes. He opened his mouth to argue, but couldn't come up with anything that wouldn't end in a fight.

"That's right, don't even try," Raph growled. "We ain't gonna need any long-term help from anybody but you, Donnie. I'll remember what you said, and if something happens I'll take care of it, but it ain't anybody but you that's got our shells and it ain't anybody but you going to take care of us. Those guys," and he jerked his thumb back towards Staten Island, "they might be brainy and all, but you are our brainiac. We ain't trading you for anything. So don't even think about it."

Donatello wanted to make so many points – about how he might not always be there and the family needed a back-up, about how what Bishop had done could impact his long-term mental faculties, about how he really wasn't sure he was the genius everybody thought he was – but the angry expression that met him stopped him cold. Raphael's whole body was speaking loud and clear, and what it mostly said was, "take that idea and shove it up your shell." He felt a streak of warmth and relief shoot through him. His brother cared about him so much that he simply could not, would not accept anything else. Even if it was a little silly, even if it was not the most strategic perspective, it comforted Donnie to be so regarded, so fiercely needed.

Wordlessly, Don nodded, his throat unexpectedly tight. Whatever Raph saw in his face must have satisfied him, as he nodded in return and smiled the shark smile that meant victory. Without looking back, the brothers began to bound for home, matching pace, working fluidly without words or signals, knowing, just knowing, each other's every footfall, every breath. And as they ran, as they ducked in shadows or sped through dim light, Donatello felt his burden and his fears ease a little. Whatever happened, whatever came, he wasn't alone. He was still as close to his family as any individual could be, and with them at his back, he could face anything.

-==OOO==-

Elsie smiled wryly at the figure before her. Nick sat at his desk, slumped in his chair, completely asleep. Obviously she was not the first to have come upon him, as he was covered in layers and layers of printouts, looking to all the world like a person who had been tarred and feathered with computer paper. The smiley face on the post-it stuck to his forehead was the only signature Elsie needed to identify Randy as the culprit.

"At least he has the sense to use old stuff and draft copies instead of real documents," she shook her head. "Otherwise, when Nick wakes up we might've needed a new hacker."

Moving quietly, the paleontologist peeked at what her friend was working on by leaning over his shoulder; she was unsurprised to find the computer monitors filled with images and test results from the most recent battery Donatello had undergone. She frowned. The deeper they dug into what might have happened to Don while he was in Bishop's lab, the more worrying the results appeared. At first, they had detected no unusual chemicals or changes to his body, but after examining the blow to his head in greater detail, there was no denying something serious had been done to his cranium. Bishop had cut into the turtle's brain, but what he had done there was still anybody's guess.

"Still sleeping?" Mendel asked, coming up the stairs from below. Elsie turned and nodded, gesturing him to silence. Mendel shrugged apologetically.

"Sorry," he whispered. "About time he got some rest, though."

"You're telling me," Elsie replied softly, moving away from Nick to keep from waking him. "Ever since the MRI came back of Don's head, he hasn't stopped working."

"Neither have you," Dr Craven replied. "Neither have I. The only person getting any normal amount of sleep is Monique."

"What about Randy?"

"When does Randy ever get a normal amount of sleep? I guess you could say he's getting a normal amount of slacking done," Mendel rolled his eyes. "But you should probably rest, too, you know."

"It's mid-afternoon!" Elsie protested. "I don't need a nap."

"We all need a nap," the roboticist countered calmly. "Look, I'm as worried about Don as you are. And I feel just as guilty," he met her eyes firmly, "but I can't help him if I'm tired all the time. Right now, the best thing we can do for him is be at our best. You know he won't be back until dark anyway, if he comes at all tonight. Take the chance to recharge, okay?"

"When did you get so mother-hen-ish?" Elsie raised an eyebrow. Mendel shrugged. There wasn't much he would say to explain it – it was too weird to describe. HEAT had been drawn closer after Nick's abduction and the events that had bound him to Godzilla. They'd had to trust each other as never before, work together on things science couldn't explain or predict, come together to care for one of their own. All five of them had their own lives, yes, but now more than ever their lives were intertwined. And Don was one more who, somehow, had managed to elicit similar feelings of protectiveness and trust. Mendel wasn't the best with expressing that sort of thing, but even he knew it was true.

"Just nap in the back, okay? I'm heading there myself," Dr Craven said finally.

"With an invitation like that, how can I resist?" Elsie teased. But she punched his arm fondly anyway. "And thanks."

"Not a problem. Just don't tell Randy I'm going soft, okay? Not worth the trouble."

"You got it."

-==OOO==-

Hours later, Nick shook himself out of the paper mountain that enfolded him, plucking the post-it from his forehead with a growl. How long had he been sleeping anyway? A glance at the window still showed daylight, so at least he hadn't lost his whole night to work. Stretching the kink in his neck from napping in the chair, Nick set about picking up the mess someone else had made around him, dumping fistfuls of paper in the recycling bin and idly wondering what payback Randy deserved in response.

A nudge at his mind caught him, and he paused.

"What's up, big guy?" Nick asked aloud. He didn't really need to talk to Godzilla verbally, but it was sometimes easiest for him to concentrate that way, especially when he wasn't awake yet and Godzilla was far away.

A sense of worry washed back to him, and the feel of a headache.

"No, I'm okay. A lot to do, but nothing wrong. I think your headache is just yours this time, though I can feel it," he gingerly touched the place above the ear where he could feel a throbbing pain that was literally all in his head without being physically in his head.

Confusion.

"I know, Godzilla. I'm not sure why you're getting these headaches. Seems like everybody's got them: you, me, Don. Even Elsie and Mendel are popping pain-killers these days. Probably just stress for us. For you, the only thing I can think of is some kind of reaction to all the stuff in your system from the island. Do you want me to try to do something about it?"

A different kind of confusion swirled, and Nick understood that Godzilla wasn't really able to answer that question. After all, it was a little outside their usual "conversation" subjects, and Godzilla didn't have a whole lot of context to comprehend what he was offering. Science and mutant cognition didn't seem to mix.

"You're a little big for over-the-counter pills," Nick smiled, "but I think we've got at least a basic idea of what we can give you that won't hurt you. Head over here tonight and I'll try to make the pain go away.'

Understanding, agreement, and gratitude, and then sudden distraction as something edible caught Godzilla's sense of smell, and Nick withdrew from the communication while his charge dove into a more interesting pursuit. He looked out the window again at the golden evidence of approaching sunset, a calm settling over him. When had he become so used to conversing with Godzilla this way? When had the presence of the giant mutant in the back of his mind ceased being a torment and became instead almost comforting? Godzilla's thoughts and feelings could still be overwhelming and alien, could still overpower his own independence, but recently, more and more, Godzilla was acting more like a comfortable shadow than an invader. Even in moments of rage, the enormous creature was better able to maintain the boundaries between them. And in moments of quiet, Nick appreciated knowing he was never, ever alone, even within himself.

"Never thought I'd say this, Godzilla, but you know? I'm pretty glad you're in here, headaches notwithstanding," Nick tapped his head. "I'm better able to take care of you, and it really does seem to help you deal with the world. The in-flight movie's a little strange sometimes, but I think the ride is worth it anyway."

With that, the doctor finished cleaning up the paper-blanket mess and set about mixing up some giant-sized headache medicine before returning to the troubling matter of Donatello's brain.

-==OOO==-

Godzilla dove for the school of fish that eluded him, striking savagely in their midst and coming away with a mouthful. His parent's agitation was clear, though it was not distress or fear or anger, but something else, shaded with a feeling Godzilla recognized as affection. Whatever was happening, it had been happening since the island where he had been sick, and it was starting to irritate the lizard as an itchy wound would.

But more than that, Godzilla remained distracted by a dull ache in his head that had begun not long after returning to his territory from the island, and only got worse. He had dug at his own scales somewhat to locate whatever might be hurting, but he could not find anything. He sensed his parent was also suffering a similar pain sometimes, which did not help either of their moods.

The school swerved to one side, the fish attempting to flee their predator. Godzilla flicked a tail and pursued them angrily. Eating did not seem to relieve the pain, but it was better than not eating, and it gave him something to fight and kill to react against what hurt. At least his parent knew of his pain – if it could be fixed, Nick would fix it. Until then, there was only the hunt.

-==OOO==-

Don had been in his room too long, Michelangelo decided. He'd been working for days, not sleeping as much as his family wanted, and he'd been in that testy I'm-a-genius-and-suffering-from-crabby-times mood, causing the rest of the lair's inhabitants to practically walk on eggshells to keep from irritating him further. Creeping close to the half-open door of the off-limits lab, the orange-banded turtle suppressed a grin. He'd been forbidden entry to Don's workroom for years, ever since that unfortunate incident with the strawberry ice cream, the tango competition, and a bank of hard-drives. But he entered it occasionally anyway, usually with permission, but not always. Today was definitely the latter.

"Oh, Donnie!" he called in a cheerful, sing-song voice. "Time to come out and play!"

Peering into the room, which Don kept deliberately dim when working on his computers, but unnaturally bright when dealing with mechanics or chemicals, it took Mikey a moment to spot his brother in the shadows. Illuminated by a set of salvaged monitors, the brainy turtle was slumped in his computer chair, apparently unresponsive. The youngest ninja grinned – if Donnie was asleep, it was a brother's duty to wake him!

Michelangelo moved stealthily through the room, avoiding wires, bits of who-knew-what, and half-completed projects, until he was within a pace of Donatello's chair. He gathered himself for an epic surprising pounce, rocking to his toes for maximum height and shock value.

"Go away, Mikey."

"Aw, dude, you knew I was there?" the deflated turtle whined.

"Yeah. Now get out of here." Don's voice was oddly cold, laced with an undercurrent Michelangelo couldn't identify. In fact, Don hadn't even turned around. Sure he'd been in a funk, but this was uncommon even for stressy-Don. This necessitated some investigation.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing. Boring stuff. Full of science and math."

Mikey tipped his head a little, brow furrowing. Though Donatello's response had been sort of a joke, well, first of all, it wasn't very funny. Second of all, it was probably supposed to indicate that he didn't really care what Don was doing, which was totally untrue. Just because he didn't always understand his genius brother didn't mean he wasn't interested! It usually meant he was only interested for five minutes, but hey, that was something! But most importantly, the way Don's voice had almost no inflection to it, the way he still wasn't turning around, the way he hadn't even yet told Mikey not to touch anything – something was really wrong.

"Dude, what's up?" he switched tactics, from cheerful-but-annoying-baby-brother to pouting-but-friendly-sympathetic-brother.

"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it, Mikey."

"Come on, bro! I even promise to listen if the words get too big!" he grinned.

"Just leave me alone!" All at once, Don whirled in the chair, and Michelangelo was surprised to see his brother's eyes burning somehow, like when he forgot to sleep for a week and couldn't see straight. They looked red and fierce. With one move, Donatello locked his computer down, picked up a bag next to the desk, and pushed past the orange-clad turtle.

"Hey, dude, chill!" Mikey tried to follow him.

"Butt out," he snapped, yanking his door all the way open and pushing through it as though he were walking through a torrent of water. While Michelangelo followed in now very-concerned confusion, Don suddenly turned so they were nearly beak-to-beak. "And this is MY room, Mikey. Don't ever enter my room without my permission again," he growled. There was a fire in his expression that made the youngest turtle swallow reflexively and take a step back. This kind of rage was usually unique to Raphael. Had Donnie been taking lessons or what?

"Don?" Leo asked, getting up from his seat on a chair where he'd been reading.

"I mean it. Stay out of my stuff or else," the purple-banded turtle threatened angrily, pinning Michelangelo with his glare. Ignoring Leo completely, he turned on his heel and headed for the exit.

"Where are you going?" Leonardo demanded. Donatello didn't so much as pause.

"Out. And do me a favor and don't follow me this time. And stay out of my space."

With that, the gentlest turtle slammed the door behind him, leaving two brothers slack-jawed as they stared after him.

"Um, what was that?" Michelangelo asked after a moment of silence.

"I have no idea," the blue-clad turtle said, eyes narrowing. "But if I had to guess, I'd say something happened."

-==OOO==-

"Well, wasn't that cute?" Raph smirked. Don didn't stop walking, forcing his third brother to stride alongside to keep up his commentary. "Usually it's me tellin' off Mike and Leo. Kind of nice to see somebody else give it a shot for once."

"Raph, get lost."

"Oh, I don't think so. I kept your secret, but that means I ain't lettin' ya wander off like this without knowing why. So spill. What happened?" Under the coolness of his façade, Raphael felt a prickle run down his spine. What could have happened that would anger the usually calm Donnie so much?

"None of your business."

"Yeah, it is." Raph grabbed Don's arm and gave it a yank. "We've been through this. Now tell me before I have to beat it out of you."

"You really wanna know?" Donatello stopped and faced his brother, a snarl spreading across his usually good-natured expression. "Fine! Nick just emailed me. Something came up on one of the deep scans we did of my brain the other day. There's something there, something that wasn't there right after Bishop, something that wasn't there last week. Okay?"

"What, like a tumor?" Raphael was aghast. No, it couldn't be.

"Probably. So now I'm going to go see what it is before it kills me. You happy now?"

Shaking, Donatello broke into a sprint and disappeared into the shadows of the sewer. Behind him, Raph stood still, somehow rooted to the ground. Slowly, his hands formed into fists and he started to shake too, with rage.

"No, I ain't happy, Donnie," he said darkly even though his brother was long gone, "but I ain't gonna sit here doin' nothing, either. I can't help with the science, but I can definitely help with the payback."

And Raph stalked off in the other direction, one thought in his mind, one gentle, and deeply frightened face before his eyes. Don was angry, sure, but mostly he was afraid and lost, and all of that, the turtle was sure, because of one good-for-nothing government agent. There was only one thing to do, one thing he could do.

Revenge.