It was 3:52 PM the next day, which would prove to be a fateful Tuesday. At this point, Don was just pretending to work. He drummed a pencil on his desk.
Taptaptaptaptap
Valeria glared at him. Maybe he was used to high stakes gambles, but she sure wasn't. His nervous energy was rubbing off on her and unlike him, she didn't know how to handle it.
Taptaptaptaptap
It was now 3:53. Don noticed Valeria's glare and gave an apologetic chuckle. He stopped drumming the pencil and began fidgeting with a styrofoam food container. He had brought it from his workshop to the office fifteen minutes before. Valeria didn't know what it was, but it must be important. It appeared to be the only thing that he was bringing along.
3:54: Don ran a hand over his face. He ate a cracker and took a sip of peppermint tea to chase it. He was a little pale. Feeling nauseous. Some ninja.
3:55: The tea and cracker didn't work. Don barfed in a trash can. Valeria shuddered. "Sorry," Don apologized. He brought the can to the bathroom across the hall and flushed the contents down the toilet. He cleaned the can, splashed some water on his face, and rinsed out his mouth.
3:59: Don reappeared in the office. He closed the main door behind him, leaving his guards in the hall. Rather than returning to his desk, he grabbed the styrofoam container, secured it as best he could in a pouch on his belt, then crossed the room to stand by the fire door. Valeria gave him a pat on the shell as he passed. "Good luck," she mouthed. Some sort of emotion that Don didn't have time to consider was playing across her face.
Don smiled. It was surprisingly bright given his nerves. "Thanks," he said, "for everything."
Valeria saw something soft and painfully vulnerable in his eyes before he turned to steel.
4:00: The click of the fire door's electronic lock opening was almost imperceptible. Like a ghost, Don disappeared. Valeria had been looking right at him, but still, she almost missed it. Maybe he was a ninja after all.
Taptaptaptaptap
Leonardo drummed his fingers on the door of the Battle Shell. It was 4:04. Donatello had asked them to drive by the main gate at exactly 4:05.
Taptaptaptaptap
"Knock it off, Leo!" Raphael hollered from behind the wheel. "I'm trying to time this just right."
Leo stopped for fifteen seconds, then forgot why Raph had been annoyed.
Taptaptaptaptap
Raphael howled. Leonardo looked at his hands. Whoops.
4:05: The door to the base's main building burst open. Donatello shot out. He was wielding a broom as he flew towards the closed gate. Seconds later, two dozen guards poured out behind him.
"He's not going to make it!" Leonardo yelled. Donatello was approaching the gate at top speed, as though he was going to run straight through it.
"He's not slowing down," Michelangelo called. "Open the door!"
Leonardo opened the van door. Donatello planted the broom and used it as a pole vault, dropping it at the height of his jump. He soared over the top of the gate with grace and power that would put even a top Olympic athlete to shame. Don landed in Leo's open arms. The Battle Shell vanished around a corner before the desert dust began to settle around the discarded broom.
Raphael looked over his shoulder as he drove as fast as the Battle Shell would allow. Donatello and Leonardo had been knocked back onto the floor when he turned the corner. Michelangelo had taken advantage of the opportunity and jumped on top of them.
Don returned the affection while attempting to subtly protect his middle, as well as the precious hormone ampules in his belt. "You came!" Don celebrated.
Michelangelo slapped him on the back. "Of course we did!" he exclaimed, as though driving from New York to Nevada and timing their arrival right down to the second had been the easiest thing in the world.
"You've got a lot of explaining to do, Donatello," Leo chastised. There was a firmness hidden behind the leader's playful smirk.
"I know," Don admitted. "It's a pretty long story."
"Well, it's 2,500 miles between here and New York. That ought to give you plenty of time," Raphael noted.
"Who said that New York is our destination?" Leonardo asked.
"Yeah! LA or bust," Michelangelo cheered. He pulled Leo and Don in tighter. "Movie stars, palm trees, surfing the Pacific - we're so close, guys!"
Raphael growled. "I'm sure Don just wants to get home, after whatever Bishop put him through."
Michelangelo looked at Donatello pleadingly. Don swallowed hard. "Sorry, But Raph is right. Now isn't a good time for a vacation."
"Of course it isn't," Leo agreed. "But I'm not sure that home is safe, either. Bishop plucked Don out of the sewers, so he must know that we live down there."
"If so, why didn't he come for the rest of us?" Raphael argued.
"He hates us, remember?" Michelangelo reminded.
"Besides, he had to know that I wouldn't have kept cooperating with him if he tried to harm you guys," Don added.
"But you're not cooperating now, so all bets are off. I don't think we'll be safe at home," Leo opined.
"Yes, we will," Don insisted. "I'll take care of everything. You can head east, Raphael, towards home."
"Awwww," Michelangelo complained.
"Next stop, New York City," Raph declared.
But it wasn't. The next stop was an abandoned parking lot, fifteen minutes later, where Donatello puked on a tumbleweed. In his defense, he'd been attempting to puke behind the tumbleweed, but it had done what tumbleweeds do and started blowing around.
"Sorry," Don apologized.
"That's okay, bro," Leo said as he pet Don's shell and looked off into the horizon. "But, I thought you said that you were over that virus."
"It's not a virus," Don moaned. "I'm just…. messed up right now, and I don't think that the motion is helping."
"Well, we've got to get back to New York somehow," Michelangelo pointed out. "Unless you've got a wormhole generator in that tool belt of yours."
"No, just give me a second," Don rasped. He took a few huffs of fresh air and climbed reluctantly back into the Battle Shell. After stepping into the van, he adjusted his belt to better disguise the small bump in his plastron.
"Now that you have that out of the way, could you please tell us what's been going on?" Leo requested.
Don internalized a groan. He'd been avoiding questions for the past half hour. Instead, he had kept everyone focused on the escape, mapping the best route to New York, and providing updates about their friends and life back home. Don had been stalling. He had been so focused on escaping Area 51, heading off the Triceraton threat, and worrying about his babies that he hadn't thought about the best way to speak to his brothers.
Don decided to tell them about the babies later. Everyone was already edgy from being cooped up in the Battle Shell. When Don's stomach distress had forced the unscheduled stop, Raphael had immediately chased Michelangelo into the desert and forced him to kiss a cactus as revenge for asking 'are we there yet?' every ten minutes on the drive out.
Don knew that everyone would be upset at his news. He told himself that it would be easier to talk at home when things were less tense. After all, he had kept his secret this long. He also felt like he had earned a bit of a break. He'd been under so much stress, he just wanted to chill out for a few days.
Donatello did tell his brothers everything about the Triceraton threat. He told them all about the distress calls, how he was listening in on ship-to-ship communication, about the satellites he had built, and how he had escaped.
"But why escape?" Leo asked. "If everything was going so well, and what you were doing was so important, then why not stay? You told us that you weren't a prisoner."
Don felt his nausea rising again. "It turns out that I was wrong about that. It just took me a while to realize it."
"Well I hate to say I told you so," Raph called from behind the wheel.
"No, you don't," Michelangelo countered. Raphael swerved and caused the orange-banded turtle to bonk his head into the wall.
"We don't need to argue about it," Leo preached. "At least Don is free now. But, what does it mean for your projects? Are other people taking them on, or do you have some plans for neutralizing the threat on your own?"
"I can't leave the project," Don announced. "I'll just be working from home."
"You really think Bishop will allow that?" Raphael scoffed.
"He needs me," Don insisted. "That's why he kidnapped me to begin with."
"So tell us again why you think that you'll be safe now," Raphael requested.
Donatello smirked a little. "I'll show you. Can I just borrow someone's shell cell?"
Michelangelo handed over his phone, and Donatello called his own number. He knew that Bishop was storing his shell cell in the base's communication room. Now that Don had escaped, Bishop probably had his techs attempting to hack into the shell cell's GPS program to track his brothers' whereabouts. Don made a mental note to remotely wipe the phone of all its non-essential programming after he finished speaking to Bishop.
Almost immediately after the first ring, Bishop picked up. "How dare you?!" the EPF agent shouted. "Just who do you think-"
Don smirked as Bishop cussed him out. "Did you get that out of your system?" Donatello asked after Bishop finished ranting. "Because if you're done cursing, I'll put you on speaker phone so that we can discuss what happens next."
Don was worried that Bishop might let the news of his pregnancy slip, so he left one finger on the hang-up button, even as he switched the phone to speaker.
"Now," Don said. "First and foremost, I will not be returning to Area 51. I have a family to worry about, and I'm not going to be separated from them any longer. Furthermore, I can't allow myself, or them, to be cooped up, caged up, or used as pawns in someone's master plans. You've made it pretty clear that you feel like you can use me and them however you want, just because we're mutants and therefore don't have any rights."
Don had chosen his words very carefully. They could have been referring to his brothers or his children. Having gotten that out of the way, it was time to move on to the good stuff.
"I know that you know where we live, and I'm sure that you feel like we're mere possessions that you would be completely justified to take back. Clearly, I can't let that happen. So, I had to find a way to get some leverage." Donatello rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn't like the level that he had to stoop to.
"My brothers and I know all about the faked alien invasion, how your sloppy work led to the outbreak virus, and all of those poor people's mutations. We also know about how EPF set up the fake alien abduction of the president in order to secure more funding. Needless to say, if word got out about any of that, your reputation and career would be ruined."
Bishop had been quietly fuming, but now he spoke up. "You know that I needed that funding! Sometimes you have to do a little harm in order to serve the greater good. I never would've hurt the President, and the outbreak virus was an unfortunate accident - an accident that I worked tirelessly to correct."
"Be that as it may, I'm sure that you would prefer that no one knows about your misdeeds," Donatello countered.
"Of course not. That's why I destroyed all the evidence," Bishop boasted.
"I wouldn't be so sure," Don warned. "While I was in your care, I was able to poke around your servers a little bit. Turns out that you don't cover your tracks as well as you think you do."
"What did you find?!" Bishop growled.
"Plenty," Don said, smugly. "Your plans for the fake aliens and how to intersect the President's motorcade, congratulatory emails to your little cronies when the funding came in, ideas about how to fight the outbreak virus." Don paused a moment. "Oh, and about 2,500 emails between you and Baxter Stockman about your plans and the subsequent coverup."
"How?!" Bishop yelled.
"I have my ways," Donatello replied. "And I can prove it too. I'll send you some of the emails when I get back to New York."
"There's no need for that," Bishop sneered.
"Come now, it would be my pleasure. I don't want you to have any doubts about what I can do. Everything that I found was uploaded to one of the satellites. I can access it whenever I want. I'll be sure that my family and friends can as well." Don dropped his voice to its most threatening level. "If you come for me or my family, if you threaten any of us in any way, all of those files are getting sent to every media outlet that I can think of."
"Fine. Have it your way," Bishop yelled. "I guess you've beaten me. But little good it will do you when this planet is overrun by alien scum. I can't believe that you would be so petty and short-sighted, Donatello."
"Oh, but I'm not," Donatello argued. "I'm in it for the long game. I always have been. Believe it or not, even after everything you've done, I don't think of you as my enemy, and I'm fairly certain that I will never have to use any of my leverage against you. Not only that, but I'll keep working for you. I just won't be your prisoner. It's no life for me or anyone."
"Just how do you propose to do that?" Bishop asked. "All my satellites are controlled from here. My team is here. You know how secured this base is."
"Not so secure that Donnie couldn't break out," Raphael snickered.
"If you want me to keep working for you, you'll agree to my terms," Donatello pointed out.
"And what might they be?" Bishop wondered.
"They're simple. You guarantee my freedom and the freedom of my family. I may have leverage, but I don't want to use it. I want you to promise me that we will be safe." Donatello paused. He suspected that his family might not like the next part. "You do that, and I'll agree to keep working on tracking Triceraton movements and setting up a planetary defense system. I trust Valeria. She can manage the project from Area 51, and let me know where she needs me. I'll keep crunching data and working on designs. I'll prepare blueprints and send them to her. The build team can construct and test everything that I design. You would still have complete control over the project itself, just not direct control over me."
Bishop thought for a moment. "I suppose that those are fair terms," he conceded. "But you still have something of mine."
Don hissed. "That's where you're wrong. I took nothing from you that wasn't mine to begin with. That's one point that I will not bend on."
Bishop seemed to understand that there was nothing he could do. Donatello had backed him into a corner. "Fine," Bishop spat. "But remember that you owe me for that family of yours." Bishop had gotten the hint that Don didn't want to address the babies directly. He would play along for now.
"Thank you, I suppose," Don said. "I'll send you that email in a few days."
"If you insist," Bishop relented. "I'll talk to Valeria about the best way for the two of you to keep working together." Bishop paused, he sounded almost sick when he spoke again. "And, thank you, Donatello. Thank you for agreeing to keep working on the Triceraton project. That's the most important thing, after all - protection of this planet."
"You're welcome," Don said before hanging up. He then remotely reprogrammed his shell cell so that all of its data was erased. It could still accept incoming calls and text messages from other shell cells, but otherwise, it would be useless to Bishop. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. Today had gone better than he would have dared dream.
"What. The. Shell?" Raphael choked out.
"What?" Don asked, genuinely confused.
"What was all of that stuff about protecting your family? Did Bishop have plans to do something to us?" Raphael asked.
"Oh, that," Don sighed. He tried to think of a way to partially answer the question without outright lying or giving away his secret. "You know how Bishop is. After I found out that I wasn't as free as I thought I was, I got pretty mad. He tried to convince me that none of us are free since we're forced to hide away and live in the sewers. He said that we'd have a better life if we agreed to stay at Area 51 - that we'd actually be freer there."
"He brings up a good point," Michelangelo mused. "We never really have been free."
"I've been making that point for years," Raphael grumbled.
"Guys, stop," Leo ordered. "Don't distract us from the original question. What does how free we are have to do with anything?"
"Yeah," Raphael agreed. "You kind of made it sound like Bishop was about to kidnap us too, but all along you've been telling us that he wouldn't let us onto the base even if we wanted to come voluntarily. So which is it?"
"Who knows with Bishop?" Don exclaimed. "He obviously wasn't being truthful with me, and he's come after us plenty of times. I just wanted to make it perfectly clear that he can't mess with our family any more, especially if he wants me to keep working on the Triceraton project."
"Well, I think that you did a good job of that," Leo praised. "Do you really have all that evidence against him, or was that just a bluff?"
"Oh, I've got it," Don promised. "And I'll show all of you how to get it, as well as April, Casey, Angel, the Professor, and whoever else we can think of."
"Oh, nice work, Braniac," Raphael cheered. "I say we release it all anyway. Get that slimeball back for everything he's done to us."
"We made a deal, Raph," Donatello disagreed. "I don't want it getting out unless I need it too."
"Better rethink telling Casey and Angel, then," Raph considered. "You know how those two love trouble."
"What, and you don't?" Michelangelo teased.
"Donatello gave his word," Leo pointed out. "We need to remember our code of honor."
Don's stomach churned. How honorable was he being? He was blackmailing Bishop, and even worse, withholding the full truth from his brothers. Who knew how many half-truths he had told in the past few months, and goodness knows he was bound to tell more. Still, he just couldn't bring himself to look his brothers in the eyes and tell them what had happened. Not yet.
"Pull over!" Don suddenly cried.
"There's no shoulder," Raphael replied. "Can't it wait?"
Raph looked behind him to see that Don already had a hand over his mouth and another clenching his stomach. There was terror in his eyes.
Raphael pulled over as best he could and Donatello shot out the door. Michelangelo followed and pet Don's shell as he heaved. "What is going on with you?" Mikey asked sympathetically. "Are you sure that Bishop didn't infect you with something? You're not going to turn into a monster again, are you? Because the last time you threw up in the Battle Shell-"
"No," Don soothed as he wiped his mouth. "Rest assured, I'm not going to turn into a monster again."
"So my arm is safe?" Mikey joked.
Don smiled weakly. "I will not be biting your arm. I've just been really nauseous for months now. Too much stress, too many new people. The motion certainly isn't helping." Don was particularly proud of the 'too many new people' bit. It was as close to telling them the truth of the situation as he would come on the ride back to New York.