Heart to Heart

The youngest shook his head dismissively until he was alone, a heavy sigh escaping him. Gravity took its toll as he sunk into his thoughts, plunked onto his rear with more information, and yet less progress than he had started with that night.

He missed his friend.

He feared for his brother.

And now with little left on the table, Michelangelo was trying to salvage a dish with scraps.

His thumb rolled along his beak in habit, cheek propped in his curl.

Dr. Feelings could've used bit more mojo that night, but there was a time and a place for everything…and this was beyond a single situation. This was multiple cases, with multiple people. Donnie was far from stupid. If he had done something to deserve this treatment, he would've claimed the notion long ago. Not to mention, April wouldn't have shunned all of them for it.

But this behavior had stumped the genius…even so far as to have Sunita pry…

Pulling out his cell phone, Mikey fiddled with the weight of the gadget in his palm.

It was super late, and he wouldn't want to wake her.

Maybe she had fallen asleep before she could give Donnie the news?

It was a school night, and she did work part time at the pizzeria.

Thumb scrolling for her name, Michelangelo winced as he debated back and forth…back and forth…not wanting to throw gas on the fire, but…

Surely, she would understand the severity of the situation if he was reaching out to her, too…?

His thumb hovered as his teeth grit…

…Well…maybe, tomorrow. At least, during a reasonable hour. And he'd explain just as kindly how concerning the whole scenario had been for the past month—

Buzz!

Mikey's shoulders jumped as the phone vibrated in his grip, his eyes wide and scoped on the screen at the message that had just come in.

'mikey, i kno its super late, but u think we could talk tmrw?'

His gut did a slight flip as his response was near immediate, gripping the edges of his phone tightly,

'sure, no problem~ u kno my schedules clean'

Only a few seconds passed before his phone buzzed once more.

'ttyt. its important.'

Slam!

Slam!

Slam!

The vibrations broke through the dojo as the snapper cracked his knuckles, adjusted his neck, and threw a punch hard enough to decimate any living opponent into the next life. But upon contact, the hardened warrior only grinned as his sparring partner flew across the room and slammed against the wall, slumping into a heap before it rose like a wobbly rag doll, its blinks unbalanced, but bright.

Breaking into a chuckle, Raphael lifted a positive thumbs up, adjusting his bandana as he straightened himself to full height, "Take five, buddy. We did good today, but I'm gunna move on to weights. Stay beautiful."

The origami Frankenfoot returned the sentiment, offering his own cheerful thumb, "Bud-dy!"

With adoration, Raphael watched as the discombobulated creature wandered off, leaving him time to focus on self improvement and meditation. Splinter had mentioned once or twice when they had been but boys that meditation varied in different forms, and did not simply mean sitting on a mat and humming. None of the siblings had much patience for practice like that, and it was then that their father revealed that they each had a kind of meditative formula that they already practiced.

They simply had to realize it.

For Mikey, it was painting.

He would lose himself for hours, able to visualize imagery in his mind and depict it in literal form. It calmed him. Focused him. Healed him.

Thus, was the very definition of cleansing one's self from the toxins of the mind and reaching in for something deeper.

That was all fine and well —for Mikey.

But for Raphael, lifting weights seemed the most appealing.

There was something about the rhythmic repetition that allowed his mind to calm and wander, to trust in himself as a good role model, and to hold it together in the worst situations. Being the largest and strongest also required him to control said power. Without control…he could easily hurt anything smaller than him without meaning to.

As kids, this had happened on more than one occasion, almost to a point where he had been fearful of being around his own siblings.

It was then that Splinter had decided Raphael needed to corral his brothers as a leader, as one who could dictate their chaotic behavior, and as one who could coordinate their paths around his own.

If Raph could keep them from hurting themselves, then his focus would no longer be on him hurting them. And, for the most part, this concept seemed to have served its purpose over the years —the boys grew stronger, adapted, balanced.

Things had turned out…all right. He couldn't be prouder of them, as haywire as they could be. As immature, and irresponsible, and selfish as they could be…those were his brothers. And he would lay his shell on the line for any of them in a heartbeat.

The stool had creaked upon his weight gently settling down, collecting his favorite set of weights to start the session with.

As much as he wished his brothers would take their training a bit more seriously, he couldn't help but enjoy the quiet time he indulged in when he was truly by himself in the thick of it. Improving his gains and maintaining his focus…Some would write that off as bare basic brawn, but Raphael couldn't deny it was something he was so incredibly built for…it was his purpose, and it made him happy.

Would anyone deny Mikey his paints?

Leo his wit?

Donnie his—

Raph's eyes paused his roam as the second repetition slowed, easing upon something off in the corner, near the training weapons rack. A piece of wood…broken wood.

Donnie's old staff?

Why would it be broken?

Not that training weapons didn't break from time to time, but it had been a minute since Donnie actually touched the thing. His new and improved tech upgrade had been his pride and joy for a while now, eager to utilize it every chance he could take.

Swiveling his jaw around, the emerald eyes lingered only for a moment longer, dancing in thought without any particular focus before releasing a slow snort.

He hadn't seen Donnie since last night. Guy had been quiet after that whole…April thing.

"Sounds like somebody's jellin—"

"Insufficiency is just the tip of the iceberg, Leon. Two weeks and not one complaint about work or school? MIA lately? She's barely kept a—"

"I'm sure April's just busy with gettin' the project done. She prolly wants to get a good grade on it."

The voices echoed in his head, battering around in their desire to be heard, and remembered.

Something had been up longer than the rest of them had noticed, but Donnie had called it on day one. At least, Raph was sure of it. He simply hadn't shared it with anyone until much, much later.

Typical. Always wanting to be in control. Always wanting to have all the pieces. Always wanting to have the most in the know.

But when Donnie did finally crack and reveal a shred of suspicion, they had each taken it with a grain of salt. They hadn't enough information to go on. April had been a bit quiet with a project due? What was so weird about that?

And quietly…regretfully…Raphael wondered if that kind of mindset had steered Donnie away from sharing much more.

It wasn't that they wouldn't have believed him.

It was that he had withheld information to convince them otherwise.

The emeralds closed as the weights settled to the ground, and the seat creaked once more.

"You're goin' down, dude."

Only silence answered the drone as his creator's eyes skimmed along the board for a moment, contemplating…contemplating…contemplating…

Knight to rook. Capture.

The A.I. hovered about the table in sour disbelief, spinning over the artificial detainment with a grumpy sigh, "Not cool, D. But I'm still frosty with all these guys. You're dealin' with a comeback kid."

The mutant made no reply, simply monitoring the game as he had done for the past hour or so when he had firmly suggested a game of the mind would prove beneficial for them both. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. (or simply Shelldon for short) was due for an upgrade soon, and this exercise would determine just how fast his processor could be pushed, not to mention utilize what he was learning from his social input.

After his brothers had tampered with his programming, Shelldon had become a bit more rambunctious and independent.

It was a wonder why Donnie hadn't tinkered him back to his fullest potential; but, knowing who Donnie was, and how he functioned…Shelldon had analyzed that…Donatello liked a challenge. He simply had a different way of showing it.

Sure, they might've butt heads in the past, and sure, Donnie could be overbearing as a creator, but…deep within his artificial coding, Shelldon had come to recognize the highs and lows of his maker. The highs were filled with lengthy monologues of self righteous pride (as if his head could get any bigger), smug confidence in all things robotics, and the quiet smiles he passed when he assumed no one was looking, happy to be apart of something bigger than himself.

Shelldon had discovered not so long ago that he was part of that bigger something…an extension of Donatello, but blessed with his own unique criteria.

However, the reflection of the personality that had figuratively birthed him into the world still left its mark; the stubbornness between the two was uncanny. But it was this stubbornness that Shelldon easily recognized as the cusp of the lows, and though he'd not dare touch upon it out loud, the A.I. secretly shuffled his concerns about his hard drive, uncertain how to even approach the subject.

Donnie wasn't good at sharing feelings.

Being made in his image, why would Shelldon be any different?

But his uniqueness seemed to make him more aware every passing day that Donnie had slipped into the lows…for silence was the enemy of knowledge.

Another move.

Another capture.

"…I mean, it's whatever."

The carved pieces danced about the board in their war faring waltz with Shelldon growing less and less confident until his patience wore thin,

"Guess we'll have to end it on a draw, 'cus I'm not givin' in."

Capturing one of the few pawns left on the board, Donatello laced his fingers together, pressing his mouth along them.

"This game would have ended in the first ten minutes when you decided to relocate my bishop to reverse your move and save your queen."

The bot stalled slightly, uncertain what to do with that information. He…knew?

Donatello's eyes clicked up,

"Nevertheless, this has just been one, long, slow, massacre."

Shelldon flew back toward his side, hovering uncomfortably as he avoided his creator's disappointed gaze, "Sheesh, guy…it's just a game…"

"You lacked focus. You lacked discipline. And even in your attempt at disarming your opponent through a cheat, you failed. I clearly have my work cut out for me. I must've been distracted during your last update."

The bot stared at the teen in silence, the cooling fans within him whirring at an exponential speed as he processed what could only be described as anger shorting through his circuits.

What did he want from him? Was there any point to making him happy? Not that he even cared…what was it to him if Donnie was happy or not? Proud or disappointed? Busy being creatively inspired rather than a petty, miserable—

He didn't need this.

He didn't need—

"Hey…cut the little guy a break. At least he's tryin'."

Shelldon skimmed his eyes toward the doorway, finding the largest of the brothers blocking the light leak from the hall. His massive arms were crossed over his chest, but his eyes were merciful, though observant.

"…I don't lock away for days on end for my alpha creations to try." Donnie muttered bitterly, earning a sour side eye from the bot, but Raphael entered in, careful not to knock anything over as he approached the table and grasped at the seat the bot had only hovered over,

"I'm not talkin' about the game."

Quietly monitoring the elder brother, Shelldon glanced off. There was nothing to deny the accusation. The room simply remained passive until Raphael tugged the seat out and shuffled it alongside the table, ignoring the chessboard entirely.

"Hey, Shelldon…you mind givin' us a minute?" he murmured softly, seating himself down.

Hovering past the snapper, the bot seemed to sigh, offering one small glance toward Donnie…though he appeared distracted elsewhere.

"Good luck, bro. You're gunna need it."

It was quiet then.

Quiet as Donnie crossed his arms and leaned back into his seat.

Quiet as Raph rested his elbows along his knees and leaned forward.

Quiet between the brothers.

Propping his foot along his knee, Donatello maintained his gaze toward the other side of the room, bouncing his knee in place, "…Whatever it is, can you make it quick? Your workout stink is permeating the air."

Raph smirked, completely unfazed,

"I guess that depends on you."

Chest rising in deep inhale, the techie sunk further into his slouch, entertaining his brother's gaze for only a moment, "…What?"

The tone was irritated, annoyed, and impatient, and like most days, Raphael simply allowed the attitude to bounce off his rugged skin with indifference.

Donatello was going to be handled, whether he cared to be or not. It was going to take strength. It was going to take perseverance. But most of all, it was going to take the simplest action of all…patience.

And Raphael had all day and then some.

"You think picking on Shelldon's gunna make you feel better about April?"

His brother's shoulders stiffened, brows falling heavily,

"First off, I am not picking on him —I was analyzing the scope of how much I'm falling behind on my own projects. If I fail in that aspect, then I fail him. I fully plan to utilize those observations in the next update."

"I wouldn't change too much if I were you."

Anticipating any kind of derogatory commentary from his brother, Raphael continued before he could begin,

"Shelldon spends more time with you than anybody. If he was willin' to put up with your sour mood this long, he knew something was up. How do you expect him to focus on a game when he's too busy tryin' to figure you out?"

The snapper sat up, setting a bit more space between them,

"You built him better than you give him credit for. Or yourself."

Quiet once more.

But the words settled on Donatello, the hardened shell about his form breaking away as his eyes softened…slightly.

Regardless, it was progress.

"Speakin' of April…" Raph murmured, knowing there was still purpose for his visit. He cracked his fingers with his thumb, "…any luck?"

Donnie's knee bounced once more, "Nothing I'd be particularly proud of, no."

Raphael tilted his head quietly, knotting his hands between his legs. Just as he'd figured. Still at square one. But without any form of communication, it was just too risky to pop over and see what was up. Especially if she was spending time with other humans.

He knew it killed Donnie for him not be used to his fullest potential, but this had spread beyond a desperate need for validation.

Beyond casual concern.

His form had remained rigid and bitter, but his eyes held the firmest mask, for despite the pierce they held, they were haloed with fear.

A fear he could not rectify nor mold to his own benefit.

A fear most haunting…for nothing was more chilling than becoming the obsolete. But fought it, he did —with utmost determination, for Donatello's pride was not one to break in the face of others…Not if he could help it.

"April has chosen a side —for whatever reasons, I choose not to fathom." the royal clad mutant scoffed, gaze shifting toward the table, "So, I've found myself at a crossroad: continually waste my time floundering for answers no one is willing to provide me —or, drop it, and move on."

His brows remained capped, tapping his fingers along his arm,

"I've found the latter appears more productive."

The elder brother knotted his brows at the note as Donnie poked the queen on the board, rocking it to and fro. His voice fell quiet, and cold,

"…Tournament's a waste of time, anyway."

Raphael frowned, silently observing.

This tournament had meant everything to him.

That game had meant everything to him.

But, without his partner…without his best friend…without April…

The digital world seemed just as hollow as reality, with nothing left to give.

Playing for hours on end didn't fill the void. Evolving into a powerhouse had provided nothing. Obtaining every secret weapon on the map lacked satisfaction.

Because it wasn't about the game at all. It never was.

"So, I'm calling it. I'm surrendering my colors. I'm tossing in the towel. I'm waving my flag. I'm bowing out gracefully." the techie huffed with a dismissive fling of his hand, "I'm done wasting my time when…she doesn't even want it."

His brows knit tightly, "A new challenger has entered the arena, and I've been phased out."

Raph watched as his brother's arms crossed airtight once more, sealing the barrier to preserve what face he could save, "Donnie, listen—"

"If she wants to spend all her dumb-dumb time with some dumb-dumb guy—"

"Donnie—"

"—and cover it up with some dumb-dumb project that everyone else finished in class ages ago—"

"Don—"

"Then I say, good ridda—"

"DONNIE!"

The mutant's shoulders lurched between his brother's clasp, wedged within a grounding grip.

The chaos barreling through his hazel eyes froze into silence, and Raph's palms settled into a gentler hold, pinching his brother back into reality, "…It's okay to feel frustrated."

The fleeting shock slowly weaned away as Donatello seemed to sink under his brother's clutches, the rigid strain of tension melting under the option that the baton could be passed to someone with more strength than he. And for the moment, he was quietly grateful…the burden had been…so heavy.

"Yes," he sighed wearily, shoulders falling, "Finally, someone gets it."

With a gentle pat, Raphael released him, leaning back into his own seat.

"…It's okay to feel neglected."

The brief comfort grew slightly thinner, the hazels skimming along the chessboard,

"N—…No, that's…that's not what I—"

"It's okay to feel jealous."

The tension in his muscles knotted, eyes darting fiercely,

"I am not jeal—"

"…It's okay if you like April."

The room went stoically silent. The echoing hum of standby electronics filled the gaps within the ambiance: cold, unfeeling, and mechanical. There was a purity to their sterile existence, dependable and fulfilling of all expectations, as long as managed and maintained. It was the creator's responsibility to sustain a stronghold on his builds, their performance a reflection of the master who wielded the wrench.

Mechanics provided comfort in that way. They were predictable within a certain margin of error, and could be modified, updated, or improved. And on the rarest of occasions, they could be fixed or entirely scrapped for bigger and better things. Machines were something Donatello did best, understood best, and conquered best.

And anything outside of that realm was not to be trusted.

It was to be treated with doubt. Skepticism. And analysis.

It was to be rigorously handled with utmost caution.

Because a breach in his defense was something Donatello took quite seriously.

And he wasn't going to let it take him down. Not now. Not ever.

"Get out."

The fear that had haunted his eyes tenfold had traded for something much darker, his voice cold and sharp.

Feeling the shift, Raphael winced, finding the scale of strength dip on his end, "Donnie—"

His brother's march was as merciless as his glare, "How dare you sit there and accuse me—"

"No, Donnie, that's not what I'm—"

"—of something so trivial—"

"Donnie, please, just listen—"

Raphael shuffled backward toward the doorway until the ridges of his shell collided into the stone behind him, given no choice but to grimace under the burning wrath he had unleashed. Pandora's box had flung wide open, and there was no shutting it,

"—I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing, but let's come to a clear understanding, shall we? I don't like April O'Neil, I don't need April O'Neil —my life is exponentially better off without the likes of April O'Neil!" Donatello seethed, his voice scraping about the cold tunnels surrounding.

The silence that followed was eerily calm and just as haunting as the weariness in Raphael's eyes, knowing such words were empty, raw, and meaningless.

He had pried too far…and he was unwelcome.

"…You don't gotta tell me twice."

The brothers froze at the echo.

The hollowness in Donnie's eyes felt vastly distant as they clicked to the side, the length of processing capped at maximum for the day.

But seeing was believing.

Not a figment nor trickery, for nothing could come close to the sharpness in those eyes, or the strength behind that stance, the curl of those locks or the richness of her skin. Nothing could replicate the vision before them, and as reality sunk heavily between the walls of brick and stone, it appeared fate had grimly served its players a losing hand.

Michelangelo had pinned his mouth shut with a solid fist, shock and unnerving terror possessing the fearful blues as they darted between the friend he had guided and the brother he had abided. His cheerful sentiments of Donnie's worry and concern now collapsed as hollow lies, cold and bitter. His neck tucked partially into his shell as April clasped her waist as if daring a followup to spur.

But there was nothing.

Simply stone cold quiet.

An aura of numbness seemed to have taken over the mutant in question, for once in his life…words had failed him.

Actions had abandoned him.

And clear thought was a privilege he could not access.

Her gaze pierced him with disgust, with anger, and without another word, April turned her heel and disappeared down the hall.

"A-April, wait—!" Mikey blurted as he broke from his own rigid lock, but the thud of her sneakers only increased, breaking into a run before he could coax her back.

Reaching out timidly, the youngest spun toward the intended destination, his large eyes harnessing the utmost urgency, "Donnie, I really think you oughta—"

But, only Raphael remained. The door had sealed tight.