Rating: K

Word Count: 1,487

I do not own TMNT.


03. Similarity

He couldn't help looking for similarities as he held the pictures side by side.

Donatello's eyes glanced between them - an old family photo, and a much more recent one. So much had changed it was difficult to realize the two pictures held any similarity. But there it was - the frowning dark-haired man in the old portrait and the smiling face of the strange, rat-like creature in the newer one were really one and the same. Donatello struggled to see any kind of resemblance. Then his attention was drawn to the eyes. They were different, for certain - one a deep somber brown and the other a twinkling amber. But if he strained hard enough, put them closer together, he could almost see-

"Donatello?"

Donatello squawked in surprise and the photographs clattered to the floor, the rugs softening their landing. Donnie turned to see his father giving him an intrigued looked, head tilted and nose twitching.

"Sensei!" Donnie exclaimed, turning to face him. "I-oh!" He quickly turned away again to scoop the photos off the floor and rushed to put them back in their place. "I didn't mean to disrespect-"

"The altar is not my property," Splinter said, and raised one eyebrow. "It is the family's. No need to apologize." Splinter swept across the floor gracefully to Donatello's side. "You have not shown an interest in the altar for a long time. Do you wish to pray?"

"No!" Donatello rushed to say. Inwardly he was scoffing but he tried his best to remember he was in his father's dojo. "I'm good, honest."

Splinter seemed disappointed. "Ah. What draws you to it, if not spirituality?" he asked.

"Just...curiosity," Donatello glanced back at the photos. "I can leave now if you want-" Donnie started to edge away, eager to escape his father's scrutiny.

"Stay," Splinter commanded with a sharp rap of his staff on the floor. Donatello was at attention in a heartbeat and all but glued himself to the floor. Splinter took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Curious about what, my son?"

"I…" Donnie trailed off and wet his lips nervously. Why was he so shaken? It wasn't like he was committing a crime. "I don't know. I was just looking at the old photographs. This one is you, Tang Shen, and Miwa, right?" Donatello picked up the tattered, sepia toned photograph. The creases running across it revealed it had been folded and unfolded many times, then carefully smoothed out and slotted into a frame.

"Yes," Splinter's face morphed into a strange expression, something akin to regret.

"It's hard to believe that's really you," Donatello said thoughtfully. He held the photograph closely to scrutinize it. "It hardly looks anything like you do now."

Splinter was silent at the remark, and when Donatello glanced back up at his father, the older mutant had a glazed and distant look in his eyes. Donatello looked back down at the photograph and tried to compare it to the person in front of him.

Hamato Yoshi as a man seemed unhappy, at least in the picture. He had lines criss crossing his cheeks, displaying a penchant for frowning. He was much too serious, Donatello thought, to be the tongue-in-cheek, mischievous father that he grew up with. The man in the photograph hardly seemed capable of laughter of any sort.

"Many things changed when I came to New York," Splinter mused, talking more to himself than to Donatello. "The mutation did not limit itself to physical alteration. To survive, I also had to shed my life as Hamato Yoshi. I was, in a sense...reborn." The wistfulness of Splinter's reminiscing spurned Donatello to remember the reason he gravitated towards the photographs on the altar. It was not a fleeting fancy that drove Donatello towards the old pictures.

"Splinter," Donatello began, hesitating for a moment. The pause did not escape his father, who was keenly aware of the change in cadence. Splinter's attention turned towards Donatello, and Donatello was not fully prepared for the intensity of his father's gaze. Rarely did Donatello have the undivided attention of his sensei, who always seemed to have something else on his mind. Donatello shifted uncomfortably, unable to hold eye contact. He opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words. Finally, he drew out a small vial from his belt. The plasma-like orange liquid inside radiated the faintest touch of warmth. Donatello held it out towards Splinter, still not meeting his eyes.

Splinter's brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, then understanding dawned upon him. He shook his head. "No."

"Are you sure?" Donatello asked, becoming a bit braver. "You adapted to this life because you had to, but it doesn't need to be permanent. And the advantages of being able to access the surface world are innumerable."

"I could not leave you, my sons-" Splinter began to protest.

"This isn't about that," Donatello interrupted. "This decision is about you. And you shouldn't feel like you have to deny yourself this chance because of me, or Leo, or Mikey or Raph. We'll still be here sensei, always."

Splinter closed his eyes, carefully deliberating his next words. "I know, Donatello. The first time you made me this offer, I considered it. Ultimately, I refused, and I still stand by that decision," Splinter said. "It was not a pretense for your sake. I do not want to return to my human life. I enjoy my life here more than I ever enjoyed life on the surface. To attempt to go back would be like trying to paint the exact same picture twice. They would never be entirely the same, and the practice would be pointless."

Splinter reached out and closed Donatello's hand back over the vial. Donatello nodded slowly, drawing the retromutagen back towards his chest. His face remained carefully devoid of expression.

"Hai, Sensei," Donatello said. His voice wavered slightly. "If that's what you want."

"My decision is made," Splinter declared. "I do not want to hear of it again." Donatello silently nodded, leaving the dojo with one last glance at the photographs from the corner of his eye.

Upon sliding the paper door shut behind him, Donatello's emotionless facade crumbled. He glared down at the vial in his hands, tightening his grip dangerously around the glass. A storm of conflicting emotions writhed and seethed just beneath his skin. Most prominently, he felt the familiar ache of longing.

Didn't Splinter realize how lucky he was? He could go back to the human world. He could live in a clean apartment, buy unspoilt food, get an education, go to the park or the library and live without the constant fear of simply being seen. This vial was freedom. It was everything Donatello ever wanted, and Splinter had just...dismissed it. And that made Donatello furious.

Still seething, Donatello took his dark cloud out into the subway station. In the pit, Leonardo was pacing and talking a mile a minute while Raphael observed from the couch, slightly bemused but radiating some of the same frustrated energy as Leonardo. Donatello caught the tail end of their conversation.

"Why does she have to be so... stubborn?" Leonardo fumed. "I told her the truth, I offered her a way out. If Saki isn't her father, she owes him nothing! She can leave!"

"Maybe she doesn't want to leave," Raphael offered. "Karai seems pretty happy being a two faced Foot assassin. It suits her well." Leonardo shot Raph a nasty glare, his scowl deepening.

"It looks like that to you, but I've seen a different side of her," Leo retorted. "She wants more than the Foot can offer. And if she'd just listen to me for a moment she'd realize it."

"Look Leo, you've laid out the facts for her," Raphael sighed. "But if Karai wants to stay with the Foot Clan, there's nothing you can do about it." This answer clearly didn't satisfy Leonardo. Donatello saw the familiar twitch of his brother's hands that meant Leonardo was very close to taking out his frustration with his katanas. Donatello understood the feeling all too well at the moment, that desperation to hit something, regain some sense of control. Leonardo's gaze latched onto Donatello as he approached.

"You agree with me, right Don?" Leo asked. "I'm offering her a chance at a new start. I'm offering her freedom. Why won't she listen?" Donatello looked down at the vial still resting in the palm of his hand. His thumb stroked the glass and he let out a long sigh.

"I don't know Leo," he replied in defeat. "I guess sometimes people just can't see what's right in front of them."