Over the next couple of weeks, Donatello tried to be more considerate of his brothers' wishes. He stopped sparring with them. Instead, he did his own katas and devised a new exercise regimen. He did a lot of pull-ups and used the punching bag a lot more. He ran in the sewers for miles each night. For all of this, he wore wrist and ankle weights. He still practiced with his brothers every day, but only at three-quarters speed.
He also took a step back during patrols. He didn't go with them as often, and when he did, he tried to stay in the van. He stopped leaping rooftops, which was probably a good idea anyway. His belly was popping out more and more, and keeping his balance was becoming increasingly difficult, as his center of gravity shifted a little more each day.
Every night over dinner, the guys talked about their latest feelings about the babies. Ultimately, Don was the one carrying them, so even though everyone was more open about voicing their opinions, it was becoming apparent that Don's thoughts seemed to count the most. Even if it were to come down to a vote, Michelangelo continually sided with Donatello. The both of them wanted to continue on with their 'normal' lives. Although Michelangelo worried about Don's health, he trusted his genius brother to take care of himself. Leonardo and Raphael could argue until they were blue in the face that Don needed a real Doctor, but it fell on deaf ears. So, it appeared as though the guys were staying in New York and raising the babies themselves.
All of the tension, combined with Don's changing appearance, made for an awkward atmosphere around the Lair. The guys dealt with that as teenage boys do - by horsing around and teasing each other in a desperate and somewhat misguided attempt to lighten the mood. Unfortunately, Don was usually the target of everyone else's shenanigans. Normally he would have joined in, or simply let things roll off his back, but that was hard for him now. He seemed to have an emotional reaction to just about everything these days, and he often ended up getting his feelings hurt. But, being so sensitive was embarrassing in and of itself, so he tried to pretend that he was okay.
The sofa was old, and had always creaked when someone sat down on it. But, when Don had attempted to settle in for a movie night and it had been a little louder than usual, Michelangelo had laughed and offered to move to the floor 'just in case,' with a playful gesture at Don's swollen middle. Don tried to laugh it off, but his movement only caused the sofa to squeak again, and this time Mikey actually did get down, much to Raphael's delight. Don knew it shouldn't bug him, but a few minutes later he made up an excuse to disappear into his lab for the reminder of the night.
One day, Raphael had found a baby-on-board bumper sticker, and managed to adhere it to the back of Don's shirt during practice. It might've been funny if Don was in on the gag, or if he hadn't needed help getting it off after he finally figured out why everyone was laughing. Don felt like the butt of a joke, and was practically in tears, but Raphael didn't notice. He just gave Don a playful punch in the arm, and explained that they needed to use something, since the usual red shirt was in the laundry that day. Don could tell that Raph meant no harm, so he tried not to hold a grudge. But still…
Then there was Leo, who seemed to be attempting to become an expert in pregnancy. After dinner one night, Michelangelo had presented Donatello with an entire sheet cake that had 'We're sorry for whatever we did wrong' written in icing. Don actually might've laughed at that, if Leonardo hadn't immediately launched into a lecture about how Don needed to be on a healthy diet right now. Mikey had responded by pointing out that Don wouldn't have eaten the entire cake in one sitting. Raphael muttered 'wanna bet?' under his breath, and Don decided that everyone and everything was offensive, including the cake, and stormed off. He could hear Leonardo explaining to the others that Don was just cranky because of his hormones. While it may have been at least partially true, it made Don feel completely belittled.
But, life went on, and Don couldn't hide away forever. There was all sorts of work to do, both important and mundane. After Splinter died, his sons sat down to figure out a fair division of household duties. Leonardo did most of the cleaning, as he found it therapeutic. Raphael did most of the shopping, since it gave him an excuse to get out of the Lair. Donatello did most of the maintenance, since he was best at it anyway. Michelangelo did most of the cooking, since he was the most skilled. Given that cooking was the most time-consuming job, the other brothers took turns cooking dinner on weekends so that Mikey could have a break. Leo took Friday, Raphael Saturday, and Don Sunday.
Everyone hated Sunday dinner. Despite his talent for chemistry, Don was a horrible chef. He didn't really mind cooking, but his food tasted terrible. For whatever reason, he never seemed to notice.
It was a Sunday, and Don had been reminded several times that it was his turn to cook, but he was in the home stretch on his ultrasound machine, and kept forgetting and losing track of time. Finally, Raphael got tired of waiting and cooked up a big batch of extra spicy beef and bean burritos. Don had been suffering from heartburn, and couldn't eat spicy food anymore. Everyone had been avoiding it out of sympathy, but Raphael did love spicy food - the hotter the better. The way he saw it, Don was shirking his duty, and clearly didn't care about dinner anyway. Really, he was doing Don a favor, as now he only had to worry about feeding himself.
Leonardo was cleaning up when Donatello finally emerged from his lab. Don scowled at the strong and unwelcome aroma of Mexican spices. "You guys ate without me?" he whimpered, taking a hard swallow.
Leo looked over his shoulder. "Yeah. We figured that you were busy. There's leftovers, but everything was pretty spicy, so you might want to make yourself something else."
Don was embarrassed and a little hurt. "Oh. I'm sorry that I forgot. I'll cook tomorrow instead."
"Don't worry about it. No one was upset. Besides, it was Raph who cooked, not Mikey," Leonardo explained.
Leo finished washing the dishes and dried his hands. "Are you going to eat now? It's probably not good for you to be skipping meals."
"I guess I should," Don answered. He was feeling a little sick, but sometimes eating helped with that.
"You know, you're going to need to be more diligent about these things in the future," Leo advised.
"I told you, I'll make up for it," Don grumped.
"No, I meant sticking to an eating schedule in general. You've always been one to skip meals and forget to sleep. Your babies won't be able to do that. You're going to need to keep better track of time."
"You're right," Don agreed. "I'll try to work on that."
"You should work on your cooking skills too," Leonardo suggested.
"You're one to talk," Don snapped. Leo was universally regarded as the second worst chef, just behind Don.
"I know I don't exactly have the high ground here," Leo admitted with a kind smile. "But, you'll be cooking for those kids far more often than anyone else, and kids are notoriously picky eaters."
For a moment, Don wondered why he would be cooking more. Cooking was Mikey's job. Then, Don realized that he would be left behind with the kids when the others went on patrol and on other adventures. He wouldn't be able to stop for a quick slice of pizza after a battle, and it would be tough to ferry three babies through the sewers to have dinner with April and Casey. The others would likely keep doing those things. Maybe they would even do it more, just to have a break from the kids.
Don sighed. "You're right about that too, of course. I'll work harder at cooking from now on. I'll watch some of those cooking shows with Mikey."
Leo offered to keep Don company, but Don dismissed him. He was cranky and he knew it. He also figured there was no time like the present to start practicing, and he certainly didn't want an audience for that.
He decided to make himself a grilled cheese sandwich. He was craving high-calcium food lately, and he had heard that kids generally liked grilled cheese. Plus, it wasn't anything that would exacerbate his heartburn.
Don considered this to be simple food, so he didn't bother looking for tips online. He'd made grilled cheese before, and while it hadn't been great, it was at least edible. Knowing that he usually burned it, he put the stovetop on low. He pulled out some bread, cheese, and butter, then wondered if he should butter the bread, or just the pan. He almost asked Mikey, but he always did learn best by experimenting.
Don's first sandwich was burned on the outside, but the cheese on the inside hadn't melted. He scraped the burned part off and ate it anyway. It wasn't too bad, in his opinion, and he'd gotten pretty hungry while cooking. He turned down the heat even further and made another sandwich. He had to add extra butter to the pan because of the burned part that was left over from the first sandwich. It must have been too much butter, because the second sandwich was soggy. Again, he ate it anyway. At least this time the cheese was melted. Don looked to the kitchen door. Once he started eating, it was hard to stop. His brothers had definitely noticed, and it was embarrassing. No one had interrupted him so far, so Don made a third sandwich.
He realized that this was not a well-balanced meal, and decided to make some soup. To Don's dismay, there was only broth. Don cut up some carrots and celery, tossed them into the broth, and set it to simmer on the stove. He threw in a handful of spaghetti as well. He figured that he needed protein, and decided to add chicken. Don was trying to remember if he needed to cook the chicken first, when the smoke detector began going off. He'd forgotten about the sandwich.
Don grabbed a chair and pulled the batteries out of the smoke detector. It was hard-wired as well, so it kept beeping. Don managed to reset it. When he got off of the chair, he saw Leonardo standing at the ready with the fire extinguisher. Raphael was right behind him.
"False alarm," Don coughed. "I burned a sandwich." At this point, the soup began boiling over. The broth hit the burner and the smoke detector began going off again.
"What's going on?" Mikey asked as he entered.
"Don found a way to burn soup," Raphael laughed.
"I did not," Don snapped. "I just overcooked a grilled cheese a little."
Leo looked at the charred sandwich. "A little?" he asked wryly. He then used a spatula to launch the smoking black brick into the sink. It sizzled when it hit.
Mikey examined the pot of almost-soup with interest. "You're not using a big enough pot. That's why it's boiling over."
"It wasn't that full before I started adding stuff," Don defensively pointed out. Of all turtles, he was fully aware of how displacement worked. He just hadn't been paying attention.
"Did you toss whole strands of spaghetti in there?" Mikey asked. "Usually I use egg noodles, but if you're going to use spaghetti you should have at least broken it into smaller pieces first."
"Whoops," Don snarled, with an unusually sharp edge to his voice that no one picked up on.
Raphael noticed the chicken sitting forgotten on the cutting board. "Were you just going to put that in there raw? Do you want food poisoning?"
"No!" Don snapped. "I just hadn't gotten around to cooking it yet."
"Why did you start the sandwich first?" Leo asked. "It'll be cold by the time the soup is ready."
"Maybe that's why he let it burn: to keep it hot enough to go with the soup," Mikey joked.
"Oh, ha ha," Don yelled. "Donatello can't cook. His children will starve, if he doesn't kill them with food poisoning first! Isn't it soooo funny?!"
"Don?" Mikey said softly. He hadn't meant to come across as mean.
"So funny, right? That I have no idea what I'm doing?" Donatello continued ranting. He looked ready to cry. Raphael put his hands up and backed out of the kitchen. Shows of emotion were not his favorite thing, and Don had been having a lot of them lately. The kitchen was the last place that Raphael wanted to be. He turned into a ghost for the remainder of the night.
"If you needed help cooking, you should've just asked," Michelangelo placated. "I could've talked you through it."
"It's your night off," Don shouted. "And goodness knows you deserve it, because I left you to your own devices when I stayed at Area 51, and I can't help out as much on patrols. All I do around here is fix things. I can't even remember to eat and sleep without help. I'm useless! No wonder no one wants to be around me!"
"Where'd you get that idea?" Leo asked gently.
"You guys didn't wait for me to eat! We always eat together," Don shot back in a loud but wavering voice.
"We didn't want to bother you," Michelangelo said. "You've been so busy with all of your projects."
Don bit his quivering lower lip and went back to the stove. He recognized that he was overreacting. "Just leave me alone. I need to figure out how to do this stuff."
Leo went to stand next to Don. "Hey, there's no need to be so upset. This is just… a mood swing or something."
"You think?!" Don snapped, sarcastically.
"Let me help you with the soup," Mikey insisted. We can have the leftovers tomorrow."
"Just leave me alone," Don whimpered. "I need to figure out how to do this alone."
"You don't need to figure it out alone," Michelangelo soothed.
"Yes, I do," Don insisted. "I do. Please just go."
Leonardo caught Michelangelo's eye and gestured towards the door. Donatello had always preferred to process things on his own, so Leo knew he really did need space right now.
Don made plain spaghetti and vegetable soup and a cold ham and cheese sandwich. It was a poor excuse for a dinner, but he didn't want to risk food poisoning. He knew that it had been a hormonal mood swing and that he should probably apologize. Instead, he wallowed in his misery before going to bed early.