April smiled as she reread the text from Donatello.
Can't move. Might be dying. Send ice cream.
April took this to mean that it was safe to pay the reunited brothers a visit. She'd been so relieved and happy for Don when she'd heard that Michelangelo had shown up. She'd been happy to have some alone time with Casey again as well. Donatello had asked them to steer clear of his place for a couple of days so that he could share some one-on-one bonding time with Mikey. Apparently, that mission had been accomplished.
Michelangelo greeted April at the door with a smile and a hug. "How's Donnie doing?" April asked after the two broke apart. She'd been pretty darn mad at Mikey, but she resisted the urge to chew him out. Casey claimed to have done a pretty good job of that already. Besides, Michelangelo had done the right thing in the end, and Donnie needed peace in his home right now.
"Lots of aches and pains, but he's mostly fine," Michelangelo answered. "Just anxious to be done with all this. We've been attached at the hip since I showed up, but now that you're here, I was thinking that maybe I'd go take a run and give you guys some privacy. I'll be back for dinner?"
Michelangelo was clearly feeling cooped up. April knew from experience that Donnie was quite high-maintenance right now. "Sure thing, Mikey. I'll take good care of him," April promised. "You are coming back right?"
Mikey put a hand to his heart and raised the other in the air. "Scout's honor."
Michelangelo took off, and April headed to Don's room. As expected, she found him on his side, surrounded by pillows in the areas that needed support and heating pads in the areas that hurt. He greeted her with a "Hey, April," and offered her a tired smile, which grew larger when she revealed the coffee milkshake that she had brought him. He began the arduous process of propping himself up on one elbow to drink it.
April sat on the bed and placed a hand on Don's overstretched plastron. By the looks of it, his size had finally gotten overwhelming to the poor guy. He had kept on growing right up until the end. His shirt didn't fit properly, displaying the angry red marks that had developed in the area where his shell met his skin, and his breathing was being affected due to decreased lung capacity. "How ya holding up, kid?" April asked, giving him a sympathetic pat.
"Oh, I'm okay." Donatello sighed and gave her a sad sort of look that practically cried out 'no I'm not.'
"Really, Don? It's okay if you want to vent. That's kind of why I'm here. Mikey even left for a bit, so we have some privacy."
"Really?" Don said as he perked up. He'd been trying very hard not to be too whiny and was dealing with a large backlog of pent-up frustration.
"Yup. I'm all ears," April confirmed. "Fire away."
Donatello took as deep a breath as he could. "You'd think, with everything I've given up for these little buggers, that they'd want to reward me, at least a little." He gave his belly a loving touch before continuing. "I mean, I put them first, before my family, and any semblance of comfort. I take hormones that make me crazy and miserable, just for them. I endured unspeakable loneliness. I'm sick all the time. My heartburn is so bad that I could probably breathe fire. My back has been killing me for going on six months. My feet are so swollen that they're in danger of popping like water balloons. I'm so friggen huge that I'm essentially immobile. They've even broken my bones, for crying out loud."
April nodded, and Don pulled her in closer for dramatic effect. "Why. Won't. They. Come. Out? I've done everything for them! Why can't they do this one thing for me?" Don tried to seem lighthearted but April knew that he was serious. He was getting pretty desperate.
"I always thought that when women talked about getting their bodies back, they meant looking normal again," Don continued. "Now I understand it just means having your own body to yourself. I'm so tired of worrying about what to eat and having strange hormones coursing through me. I'm tired of not being able to move properly and feeling huge and ungainly. I miss coffee and sushi. I really miss being able to sleep at night."
"Well, you're not going to be able to sleep any time soon," April reminded him.
"There's that, but at this point, I just want to get on with it." Donatello took a long sip of his milkshake and stewed in his own misery.
April carefully examined her best friend. He didn't look well. He looked drawn and tired and simply done. "Have you changed your mind about the surgery?" she wondered.
Don was so tempted to have her end this for him, but there were just so many risks. Not only that, but it was asking too much of April. Sure, they'd have no choice in an emergency, but his discomfort, no matter how great, was not an emergency. "It's okay, April. I can wait a little longer."
April raised an eyebrow. "In that case, I do have something that will brighten your day." She briefly disappeared and then reappeared holding a paper shopping bag. Don took it and looked at April with interest. "Go ahead, open it," she urged.
Donatello looked excited, then confused. "Adult diapers?"
"Yeah. You know you're going to be bleeding a lot the first few weeks, right? And…leaking things?"
Don reddened. He had known that. He just didn't want to discuss it with anyone, ever.
April continued, "And, you'll need something to handle it."
Don ran a hand down his face. "Thanks," he said through his fingers.
April nudged him in the shoulder, "Chin up, Donnie. It's just a part of the process."
"Thanks, really. You're right. There's just something about having a friend give you diapers. I guess we can make it official. I have no measure of dignity remaining."
"Try to think of it this way. We're so close that no topic is off-limits," April chirped.
"Whatever you say," Donatello pouted.
April clapped him on the shoulder. "I do have a bit of advice for you. If you really want to get things moving, try taking a nice, long walk. It's worked for a few of my friends."
Don groaned. His every instinct told him to stay curled up in bed. He usually did a good job of ignoring those instincts, but this was one time that he very much wanted to follow them. His whole body seemed to be revolting. He was so off-balance that he couldn't imagine being upright for too long. And, his feet were so swollen that they hurt when he stood, nevermind hobbling around on cold, hard, concrete. Then, there was the small matter of his back feeling like it was about to snap in two.
But, a turtle's gotta do what a turtle's gotta do, and he had also read that walking could induce labor. "I'll ask Mikey to take a stroll tomorrow," Don decided.
"Must be nice having him around again," April replied. "Casey and I were doing our best to be here for you, but we knew how much you still missed your brothers."
"I did," Don answered. "I still do. But yeah, Mikey's been great. Having him here is doing me a world of good. You and Casey do too, you know that."
April squeezed her friend's shoulder. "I do." She cleared her throat. "Any word from Leonardo or Raphael?"
"No," Don said, softly. "I haven't wanted to ask Mikey about them. He felt stuck in the middle, and taken for granted before. It wouldn't be fair of me to expect him to broker a peace agreement between me and the others right now, when he's trying so hard to be everything that I need. Besides, I think that we could really use this time together to rebuild our relationship."
"What would you do if one of the guys were to show up?" April asked.
"I'd hear them out, of course," Don answered. "It's not like I'd turn them away or anything. There are two sides to every story. I'm definitely seeing Mikey's side of things now. I'm guessing that the same thing would happen if I were to talk things out with Leo and Raph."
"But you don't want to reach out yourself?" April pressed.
Don shrugged. "Sometimes, I wonder if I should. I know that was part of the mistake I made with Mikey, but… I don't know... It feels different with Leo and Raph. I did reach out to Leo a few times, and Raph has never been the type of guy who wants to sit down and have a calm discussion."
April snickered. "You're right about that much."
"They've got to know how badly they hurt me; I mean, it was painfully obvious how vulnerable I was… how vulnerable I still am," Donatello continued. "And now, I'm due any day. I need to spend what little energy I have getting ready for the babies, and if Leo and Raph aren't ready to show up on bended knee and beg for my forgiveness, then I just can't devote the mental resources to attempting to figure out how to save our relationships. I'm sure that I made mistakes with them, just like I did with Mikey, but I'm not going to put myself out there and risk getting hurt or causing more drama. That's the last thing I need right now."
"For what it's worth, I agree," April put in. "You deserve this time to hunker down, and nest, and focus completely on yourself. That's something that you do far too little of."
Donatello reached out for April's hand. "Thanks," he said with a heartfelt look. "It's always hard for me to give myself permission to be selfish. And, I do feel guilty about not picking up the phone. But, I've come to recognize that fixing everything shouldn't be on my shoulders alone. Heck, it shouldn't be on my shoulders at all right now. I'm carrying enough extra weight as it is."
Michelangelo was cleaning up after lunch the next day when Don lumbered over.
"Come on, Mikey. Take a walk with me?" Don invited.
Mikey's head shot up. "What?!"
"Rumor has it that it can induce labor, and I want," Don paused, "to induce labor. Good golly, I want to induce labor."
"Okay," Michelangelo obliged. "But only if we just walk in circles and stay very close to home."
"Yay!" Don deadpanned.
"And, I'm making you hot tamales and raspberry tea for dinner tonight," Michelangelo added. "Non-negotiable."
"You've been doing your research," Don noticed. He was well aware that spicy foods were a common folk cure for overdue women. "Just don't slip in any castor oil."
The walk went on for far longer than Michelangelo would have preferred. In his mind, Donatello didn't belong on his feet at all at this point. To his credit, Don tried to put Mikey at ease with distracting small talk. However, it wasn't exactly instilling Mikey with a great amount of optimism, given that Don's bo staff was noticeably bending with the amount of weight that Don was putting on it, and that Don needed to stop every five minutes.
"Oh!" Don stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and grabbed his belly with one shaky hand. He dropped his bo and groped for the sewer wall with the other.
Michelangelo swung around to see Don grinding his jaw. "Is this it?!" Mikey called.
"No," Don panted. "Muscle spasms." Don was desperately massaging his lower abdomen.
"Are you sure?" Michelangelo asked. "Because you look-"
Mikey stopped talking when Don interrupted. "I'm sure." Don stopped to moan, then began moving forward, ever so slowly. "Been getting these since my third month."
Without being asked to, Michelangelo retrieved Don's bo staff and handed it back to him. He knew Don couldn't bend over to get it himself. Don gratefully took it and gave Mikey a fond clap on the back. "Thanks, bro." Don made it a few more very slow steps, then dropped it again. This time, he put both hands around himself, sealed his eyes shut and tossed his head up. "Oooouuuuch."
"Now?!" Michelangelo asked.
Don waited for the worst of the pain to pass before answering. "That… was a contraction."
Mikey's heart began pounding. "Can we get you home, then?"
Don choked out a sob but began moving forward again. "Need to… keep going," he puffed.
"Why?" Michelangelo whined. "We've been out here for hours. If you're finally having contractions, we should get home and call April. You can't have these kids on the floor of the sewer tunnel!"
"One contrac-tion… Doesn't mean labor," Don replied. "I get these a few - ohhh - a few times a day."
Don stumbled, but Michelangelo was right there to steady him. "You're in too much pain to keep going, Don. We've got to get you home."
"Can't now when this m-might f-finally be workingggg," Donatello stubbornly insisted, before doubling over.
"I can't take this anymore!" Michelangelo yelled. "We're going home!"
Don locked his pain-filled eyes on Mikey. "No! I can't take it anymore… Need these kids out of me...NOW!"
Michelangelo relented, and the two kept walking. Don had several more contractions, but then they petered out. Donatello was practically in tears when he agreed to give up and go home. Mikey had to practically carry him there. Don had next to no strength left at that point.
For their next attempt of the day, Michelangelo cooked plate after plate of the spiciest food that he could think of. Buoyed by a few powerful contractions early on, Don ate every single bite. His only reward was a massive bellyache and the worst heartburn of his life.
Mikey rubbed Don's back and attempted to keep Don's injured rib stable while he lost all of the food that he had eaten. When Don's stomach was finally empty, Mikey gave him some milk and helped him to bed. Not a half an hour later, Don was awake again, gagging on stomach acid. After that, Michelangelo closed his eyes and laid down on the sofa. He was completely ready to put this terrible day behind him when Don appeared in the living room. "Gotta sleep in the chair," Don explained. "Can't lay down. Acid reflux."
Michelangelo got Don situated, arranging pillows around his back and sides and elevating his feet. Ten minutes after that, Don was struck by an agonizing cramp in his right calf. He tried to rub it out himself, but try though he may, he couldn't bend that way anymore. Mikey massaged it out for him, then placed a heating pad around the spasming muscle. He put another on around Don's lower belly while he was at it.
"You good now?" Michelangelo asked.
"For now," Don croaked. "I'm so sorry. I've really been putting you through your paces today."
Mikey yawned. "Don't say you're sorry. It's not your fault. I just wish there was more that I could do for you."
Don yawned too. "You do so much. Everything. Don't know what I'd do without you."
Michelangelo looked at his brother. Don was so pale in the light of the TV, trembling in pain and struggling to breathe beneath the weight of his burden. He seemed so frail. The way the shadows were falling made him seem even bigger than he really was, and he looked so sick and miserable as he slowly massaged his various aching body parts and swallowed hard to keep the reflux at bay.
Michelangelo really hated seeing Don in that chair. It reminded him too much of the one that their father had spent his final weeks in. Now that he thought about it, Don didn't look much better than Splinter had towards the end. "Donnie?" Mikey quietly called, after his brother had closed his eyes.
"Hmm?" Donatello grunted.
Mikey had no idea what he wanted to say. He had just wanted to hear Don's voice, to know that he was okay. But, now that he had spoken, he had to say something. "Maybe they'll come tomorrow?"
"Maybe," Don whispered, sounding far more hopeless than he would have liked.