"Are you guys sure about this?" Donatello triple-checked.
"Yeah. We're sure," Casey grunted. "Just get on. We've got you."
Donatello winced. "To be clear, I have every confidence that 'you've got me.' What I'm worried about is that thing popping."
The thing he was referring to was a birthing ball that April had purchased. Everyone was keen for Don to test it out, as they were rumored to assist in inducing labor.
"It's built for this, Don," April encouraged. "You're well within the weight limit. It's not going to pop."
Don eyed it suspiciously. "It's not so much my weight that I'm worried about. It's my shell."
"You're wearing several layers of heavy fabric over your lower shell. It's fine," April insisted.
Donatello hummed. "Ah, Mikey, you should also know that my tail is… well, I've been having to keep it out."
Michelangelo laughed. "Dad is looking down on you from heaven with that disappointed look on his face that he used to get."
Donatello blushed. "It won't go in, okay?" he hissed. "It's too swollen."
Michelangelo laughed harder. "You really do need to have those babies, Don."
"I know," Don moaned. "Can we just not talk about it anymore?"
"I, for one, would like to know why you guys feel the need to keep your tails retracted, to begin with," April chimed in. "Everyone knows that turtles have tails. Why bother to hide them?"
"It's a weakness in battle," Michelangelo told her. "They're in a blind spot, so an enemy could easily grab them. Plus, if you fall or sit down too hard on them it hurts like shell."
"Which is exactly what I'm worried about," Don added. "My babies'… exit point is right there. If I damage it, my odds of a natural birth go way down."
"We'll be careful of your tail," April promised.
Don blushed harder. It had been so weird the first time April had examined him, and he'd had to reveal it to her. He had three darker scales in a triangular formation near its base - a sort of a birthmark. It was so close to his body that no one but him had previously known it was there. It was strange knowing that April had seen it. She had sensed his unease and assured him that it was cute, but that just made it even weirder. He didn't like his backside being the center of attention.
Casey was side-eyeing his wife. All she could do was shrug. "If you want, we can cut a piece of pool noodle and fit it to the bottom of your shell," April brainstormed. "That should be extra protection against the ball popping, and it would give your tail a little bit of protection as well."
"So it's really come to that?" Donatello mourned. "I'm like some sort of elementary school science fair experiment."
"Well, we could go shopping for pool noodles to attach to your back end, or you could just trust us and get on the stupid ball, already," Casey grumped.
Donatello really didn't want to try anyone's patience. They'd all been so doting and kind to him lately. He elected to bite the bullet and get on the stupid ball. April and Casey each grabbed one of his arms to help him down. Michelangelo kept one arm around his shell and used the other hand to steady the ball. Once Don made contact, he eased himself back a little so that his tail and the bottom of his shell were hanging over the edge. "So, I just bounce?" he asked, dubiously.
"No, you spin around in circles real fast," Casey quipped. "Of course you bounce on it, dummy! This isn't rocket science!"
"Rocket science comes more naturally to me," Don retorted. He began gently bouncing and was glad that he had someone on each side to steady him. If he went even slightly too far left, right, or back, someone was there to catch him. It was a good feeling, after feeling alone for so long. Nevertheless, It sure would be nice to get his sense of balance back when all of this was over.
"I think you've got to bounce harder," Michelangelo advised.
"What?" Don huffed. He was out of breath, but it was more due to the triplets crashing around inside of him than the activity itself. He wasn't really working all that hard, yet.
"Try bouncing harder," April agreed.
"But what if the ball-" Don began.
"The ball isn't going to pop!" Casey interrupted.
Don obediently bounced harder. At one point, he almost even bounced himself clear off of the ball, but three sets of arms caught him in an impromptu group hug. The moment was really rather heartwarming for the hormonal genius. It was also good to be getting some exercise after a few days of uninterrupted downtime.
But, the harder Don bounced, the harder the babies bumped against his ribs and internal organs. After a few minutes of vigorous activity, the movement began making him nauseous. He kept going as hard as he dared for another 15 minutes, but when he started gasping harder for breath and visibly paling due to an upset stomach, everyone agreed that it would be best if he laid down for a bit.
Michelangelo helped Don to the sofa, and Don got as comfortable as possible. The feeling of motion hadn't completely subsided. The triplets were going crazy inside of him. Don put both of his hands on his belly. "You guys have got to feel this," he panted. "It's wild."
Even Casey reached out to touch Don's middle, which was pretty rare for him. "Jeez, Donnie. It's like you've got a stomach full of squirming eels."
Donatello winced at a very hard kick in a sensitive spot. "Oh, I don't think that they're very happy with me right now," he moaned.
"They want out just as bad as you want them out," Michelangelo guessed as he watched the ripples running beneath Don's sweatshirt.
"Put your feet up and take it easy for the rest of the day," April advised. She gave Don a kiss on the forehead. "You did great."
Michelangelo loved Donatello. He loved him, and he was so glad to be spending this special
time with him, particularly since Don needed him so badly. That being said, Mikey had been here a couple of weeks now and he was ready to murder Don.
Don had never been good at being sick. He hated not having anything to do and was incapable of just kicking back and relaxing. After several more failed attempts to induce labor, Don had reluctantly agreed that it would be best to go on bedrest. Still, he was fighting it tooth and nail, despite the fact that he knew darn well it was in his best interest.
Mikey was just so sick of finding Don huffing and puffing while he waddled around completing unnecessary tasks that could have easily been done by someone else. Don was so bulky and pathetically slow right now, and yet he seemed to think that he could sneak away and hide in his shoebox-sized apartment. He wasn't even working on anything important. He simply couldn't handle sitting around, so he made up any excuse. Mikey would inevitably find him desperately clutching his back, or sitting on the floor somewhere and unable to get up. Then he would spend the next few hours whimpering and whining while he recovered from the self-induced trauma. Mikey was ready to slap him.
From where he was stationed in the kitchen, Michelangelo heard the sound of shuffling footsteps approaching.
"Morning, Mikey," Donatello greeted. He wasn't wearing his mask, but given how dark the circles under his eyes had grown, he might as well have been. Instead of making small talk. Donatello proceeded to simply stand in the entryway to the kitchen and stare forlornly at the coffeemaker. He was essentially making love to it with his eyes.
Noticing the object of his brother's affection, Mikey said: "You know, it probably wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for you to have a cup of coffee."
"The latest research does indicate that a little bit of caffeine is okay," Don considered.
"What could go wrong?" Michelangelo asked.
"Towards the end, the main concern is low birthweight," Don answered.
Michelangelo couldn't help but laugh. He made a poor attempt to cover it up with a cough. "I don't think you have to worry about that, bro!"
Donatello frowned and groaned to express his displeasure. Michelangelo knew his brother was self-conscious about his size, but come on, he had to see the humor in this, right?
Don grumbled something unintelligible and waddled off. "So is that a no on the coffee?" Michelangelo hollered in his wake.
Later that morning, the two brothers were chilling out on the sofa when Donatello's phone began to ring. Since Don was slow to move from his prone position, Michelangelo grabbed it from the coffee table for him. Don was surprised to see that it was Valeria. They'd been texting and emailing, but not really speaking all that much lately. It was kind of awkward with Mikey around.
"What's up, Val?" Don greeted.
"Don, how are you feeling?" Valeria responded, warmly.
"Awful, if I'm being honest. It feels like I'm carrying a bag of cement filled with vibrating bowling balls beneath my skin - bowling balls with legs, that enjoy kicking me as hard as they can."
"You still haven't had the babies yet? I figured for sure that you would've by now," Valeria blurted.
Don chuckled. "You don't think that I would've told you?"
"I wasn't sure you wanted to tell me in text form," Valeria explained. "And I was afraid to call, in case it woke the babies or something."
"No babies to wake," Don said sadly. "And you're always free to call. Don't stress about those things."
"Thanks, Don. You're always such a sweetheart."
The fond compliment sailed right over Don's head. His mind was almost as sluggish as his body at this point, and he just didn't catch it. "If that's how you felt, you must have a good reason for calling now," he observed.
"I do," she admitted. "I don't want to put something else on your plate, but I'm afraid we need your expertise."
"It's okay. I would welcome a distraction," Don told his friend.
"You're sure?" Valeria checked.
"Of course," Don confirmed. "Lay it on me."
"The issue is actually related to the build team. They're almost ready to launch the next EDS component, but they've been having an issue with one of the local control panels short-circuiting during the solar cell repositioning process," Valeria relayed. "They've been trying to correct it themselves, but the problem keeps reoccurring. The build team is blaming our programming, but I know it's nothing wrong with the code."
Don frowned. "That's strange. It never came up in any of my tests. Is there an error report that you can send me?"
"There is," Valeria confirmed. "I'll send you an updated as-built diagram too. Just give me five minutes."
"Sounds good. I'll check everything over and give you a call back tonight," Don promised.
"If you haven't had those babies yet!" Valeria joked.
"I should be so lucky," Don replied. "Honestly, I'm starting to think that nothing will happen until I get to the end of the hormone program. Labor is triggered partially by hormonal changes after all. I might just need to wait until I get to the end of the treatments." Don shuddered at the thought. There were ten days left. He wasn't even confident that he could make it hour-to-hour. He felt like death warmed over. He was constantly on the verge of giving in and calling April to beg for the surgery.
"Bishop couldn't have expected you to carry triplets a full 40 weeks," Valeria considered.
Don bit his lower lip to stop it from quivering. It was worse than that. People only say that an average pregnancy lasts 40 weeks because it is usually tracked from the start of a female's monthly cycle. Generally, the due date is 38 weeks after conception. It had now been 38 weeks and change since Bishop had implanted the embryos. At this point, Don was a few days overdue, which was unheard of with human triplets. Of course, Donatello wasn't human. It was hard to say what rules applied to him.
Don took a deep breath to regain control before replying. "True, but Bishop couldn't have known that all three would take, how quickly they would develop, or how big they'd get. He created the hormone regimen well before implanting the embryos. Maybe he was going to make some alterations to them, or replace or skip some vials. He wasn't expecting me to break out of Area 51, after all."
"Do you want me to ask Bishop about how the hormones were formulated?" Valeria offered. "If there's something to trigger labor in the last few doses, maybe you can skip to there and be done."
"Thanks for offering, but please don't say anything to Bishop. The babies and I are none of his business. Besides, he'd probably love to hear how miserable I am."
"Okay, But my offer stands if you change your mind," Valeria pledged. "I just hate to think of you suffering."
"Thanks," Don said. "I'll call you in a couple of hours and give you an update. The kids currently seem to be engaged in a competition to see which one of them can manage to kick their way straight out of me. I guess we'll see how that goes."
"My money is on lefty," Valeria joked.
"Mine too." Don grimaced as he clutched his cracked rib. "Have a good night, Val."
Don grunted and groaned as he clambered to his feet. It took him a couple of tries and a boost from Michelangelo to get up from the sofa. It was so hard being as big as he was. He already had a rigid and inflexible shell on his back. His body simply wasn't designed to carry so much weight in the front.
Don's laptop computer had been permanently set out at the kitchen table since it didn't fit on his lap anymore. He turned it on and carefully lowered himself into a chair, which had been padded on the bottom and the backrest. He narrowly avoided banging his belly on the table. His kids thanked him by squirming around until someone's shell was grinding into his pelvis and someone else had their feet between his ribs. Don rubbed his belly as the computer booted up. He would have liked the babies to move, but at this point, there were no better options. He'd given up on caring.
It took Don a couple of hours of intermittent work to find the problem. For some reason, the build team had made some changes to his electrical plans. The modified setup was causing one of the circuits to overload when the solar cells were fully charged and attempting to reposition themselves. Don wrote a detailed email about how the problem should be corrected. He was a little irritated that his plans hadn't been followed to the letter, but it wasn't worth carrying a grudge. He had enough else to worry about.
After sending the email, Don trudged back to the sofa. Once he'd regained his breath, he called Valeria back. "I just sent over the correction. Let me know how the fix goes."
"You're the best, Don," Valeria cheered. "I knew it wasn't the coding."
Don smiled. "Of course it wasn't. The build team were being cowboys."
"I'll make sure that Bishop puts them in their place," Valeria promised. "People are even more scared of him than usual since he made that traitor who backstabbed us in New York disappear."
Don chuckled. "Be sure to let me know how that goes."
"I'm definitely going to bring a bag of popcorn and watch him chew them out," Valeria snickered.
"You've earned the entertainment," Don agreed. "And speaking of, what are you up to for the rest of the night?"
"Talking to you of course!" Valeria teased. She knew that the turtle had to be exhausted. His voice was thick with sleepiness.
Don called her bluff. "Is that so?"
"Oh, it is," Valeria escalated. "I think that you and I have the conversational chemistry and fortitude to do it."
"Do what?" Don wondered.
"Talk all night!" Valeria clarified.
"Well, my bedtime is in ten minutes, but try me in a couple of weeks when the kids have me up all night long." Don yawned as if to reinforce what he said.
Valeria smiled to herself. "I thought they already did keep you up all night long."
"No. Now I sleep for hour-long stretches parsed out through the course of the day and night. But, I do sleep. Otherwise, I'd be long dead."
"Oh, Donnie," Valeria sighed. "I'm half-tempted to fly out there just to give you a hug."
Don chuckled. "Thanks, but don't bother. I doubt that you could get your arms around me anyway."
"So what's the plan for when they finally come?" Valeria wondered.
"Mikey is helping in the morning and daytime hours. April and Casey are helping in the afternoon and evening. Nighttime is all me," Don explained.
"And me!" Valeria added. "Keeping you company over the phone with my conversational mojo and awesomely useless parenting advice!"
"I'm going to hold you to that," Don threatened.
"I hope you do," Valeria insisted.