Home sweet home. The trip had only taken two and a half days. Everyone suspected that Raphael had been doing some pretty heavy duty speeding while the others slept. They were hard-pressed to prove it, but the distance they had covered during his turns to drive overnight spoke for itself.

Don might have enjoyed sleeping on the van floor with his brothers if he hadn't needed to make pit stops every few hours. The long drive had made his nausea much worse, and keeping a secret from his loved ones hadn't helped. It sure felt good to be home, with his lab, his computer, and his bed.

The first thing that he had done after getting home was hide his hormones in the lab's mini fridge. He had managed to tuck them away in the Battle Shell, and they had escaped everyone's notice. He had snuck them during his turns driving, when the others had been distracted with license plate bingo, or counting cows, or attempting to stop Mikey from singing along with the radio.

The second thing that he had done after getting home was set up a secure email address and compose a message to Valeria.

Hello from NY. As Bishop probably told you, I made a successful escape. Thank you for all of your help, and for always being so kind to me. If you are willing to continue on with our little project, please let me know, although I do understand if you don't want to work with me anymore. I hope that your hair is still purple.

-Donatello

Don left it at that and hit send. It was hard to fight the urge to keep checking his email. To distract himself, he thought about the thing that he dreaded most - telling his family about the triplets. He knew that he couldn't delay too much longer. Three days was all that he was allowing himself. He would tell them everything on Monday. It was Thursday now, so it was sort of like taking a long weekend.

Leonardo would be disappointed, but he would likely be noble enough to try and hide it, at least for a while. Donatello knew that he had made a lot of bad decisions to end up in this place. He shouldn't have broken Leo's rules and left the Lair, then he wouldn't have been turtle-napped to begin with. He shouldn't have stayed at Area 51, voluntarily. Given what he knew now, that decision was going to drive the wedge further between him and his brothers. He shouldn't have trusted Bishop. He should have told everyone sooner.

He knew that Raphael would be mad, although not necessarily at Don himself. Raph would be mad at Bishop for what he had done, but when Raphael was mad, it overflowed onto everyone and everything around him. He would either run off to blow off steam, or tear apart the Lair. Either way, it would be ugly.

Michelangelo - he was the wild card. Mikey was pretty mad that Don had left him alone with his warring brothers. But, Mikey might just be excited about the prospect of baby turtles. Mikey was the carefree type. Maybe he would take Don's side in all this. Maybe he'd be excited about the new additions and nothing else would matter… maybe. It was Don's best hope anyway.

One thing that Don had to be clear about was that he wanted these kids. Maybe he was too young, and carrying them was going to be hard, and raising them even harder, but he did want them. He loved them already and was more than willing to suffer for them. He had to make his brothers see the potential for happiness that they would bring to this clan. Everything had been falling apart since Master Splinter died. Here was something that could make them happy again, if they would let it.

On Friday and Saturday, Don trained with his brothers. He noticed that they were more violent than usual, probably due to pent up frustration from being stuck in the Battle Shell for five days straight and being denied a fight at Area 51. Don worked hard to protect his belly, without making it look suspicious. He managed to avoid being kicked or struck in the gut, or forcefully flipped onto his back.

His back was killing him as it was. The van ride hadn't been kind to it, and he had adopted a sloppy posture to hide his thickening midsection. The babies were also starting to get big enough to put pressure on his spine. Don's plastron was still rather firm and rigid, so the babies were being pressed more against his back than would have been the case in a normal human pregnancy. It hurt, but he soldiered on.

It was nice to be getting real exercise again. Don had trained as much as he could at Area 51, but he could tell that he was rusty. He was tiring easily and finding himself running out of breath. His nausea was a little more under control, at least. Splinter had kept a stash of peppermint tea, which Don had requisitioned for himself. He was hopeful that the morning sickness would begin to improve now that he was in the second trimester. He had read that it usually did.

When Don wasn't training, he was working on the Battle Shell. The 5,000-mile trip had been rough on it, and Don suspected that no one had maintained it in his absence. The oil looked terrible, and the suspension was shot.

Friday night, Don received an email from Valeria.

Donatello - I'm so happy that you made it home. I've been really worried about you. Of course, I want to keep working with you on the Triceraton project. I've set up an FTP site, and I will upload all of the satellite data to it, as well as the Triceraton fleet's communication feeds. I can also give you a summary of my thoughts about each day's data bundles. But before we do that, we need to set up some security. Even though Bishop has signed off on this, I need to ensure that this is really you before we start sharing state secrets. So, tell me what machine we were standing in front of when we first met, and what your Dad's name was. I will then send the FTP credentials to this email address.

- Valeria

Don smiled as he remembered that first meeting at the coffee machine.

Sunday afternoon, Don was working on his computer while his brothers were hanging around on the couch.

"Is it just me or is Don looking a little - how to put this nicely? Porky?" Michelangelo asked.

Raphael rolled his eyes. "You think calling him 'porky' is putting it nicely?"

"It's not like I'd say it to his face!" Mikey pointed out.

"I'm sure we've all noticed," Leo stated. "It's kind of hard to miss. But, Don has been through a lot these past few months. He probably just began stress-eating as a defense mechanism or something. I'm sure he'll take the weight off in no time now that he's back home."

"I don't get how he managed to put any weight on to begin with, given that he's been throwing up constantly," Raphael grumbled.

"Maybe he's overcompensating, and eating too much afterwards," Leo theorized. "Plus, it sounds like Bishop had him pretty much tied to that desk, so he couldn't have gotten much exercise. But, keeping in shape has always been as important to Don as it is to the rest of us. Once he gets readjusted, I'm sure that he'll take the extra weight off in no time flat."

Mikey shrugged. "Maybe, but in the meantime, should we try cooking healthier or something?"

Leo shook his head. "I'm afraid that would hurt his feelings. He seems to be so sensitive about it. His posture is terrible. He's always slumping over and crossing his arms and messing around with his belt. I think he's trying to keep us from noticing."

"I know," Raphael agreed. "I feel bad that he seems to feel like he has to hide it from us. Does he think that we'll pick on him or judge him or something? What have we done to give him that idea?"

"Well, it does paint a funny picture," Michelangelo replied. "A chubby, mutant, ninja turtle."

Raphael playfully slapped Mikey on the side of his head.

"That's what gave him that idea. Have a little sensitivity, Michelangelo," Leo commanded. "If the problem doesn't correct itself, I'll have a talk with Don. Until then, just keep your mouths shut."