&&&&&&&
If anyone at the farmhouse was hoping to get back to normal immediately following what had happened at the antiques shop, they were sorely mistaken. Their first real failure. The first time they were ever outmanoeuvred.
Raphael hated being confined to healing. Without Donnie's knowledge, he tried to do some secretive working out but the dizziness that overcame him as soon as he began put paid to that idea. He was forced to wait, patience growing ever thinner. When he was finally able to return to his exercises he was mildly horrified to see how far he had deteriorated in less than a month. He hit the weights with a vengeance, still not up to a full training schedule, his body still replacing the blood that had been lost.
Weak. He hated it.
As soon as he was suitably recovered, he found himself sleeping less and less, heading outside before the sun came up and not retiring until everyone else was in bed, guarding the farmhouse. He was determined the Foot wouldn't catch them unawares again. Intellectually he knew it unlikely the Foot had discovered their whereabouts but he had no desire to take that chance.
Donnie was at a loss. He felt needed in his capacity as the only person there who had any kind of medical knowledge but with no access to the outside world he had no clue as to what was happening in New York and that made him nervous. Eventually, he persuaded April to get him a laptop with wireless access – and then found he didn't dare use it. For the meaningless stuff, sure, but he had planned to find how much Shredder knew about their escape. If some one – Stockman for example – were to realise the system had been compromised, then he could give away their whereabouts. Worse, he could feel his need to train diminish. If the Shredder could decimate them when they were at their strongest, then what the hell was the point in fighting back just to get themselves killed? More and more, he used the net to check out other places – Chicago, Florida, Maine, Indiana. Other places they might live. Somewhere they might finally be truly free of the Shredder.
He kept busy by fixing up the farmhouse. The first thing he turned to was the water system, giving them much needed clean and hot water. Gratified by the success and the acclaim he received for it, he began working obsessively at the other things that would make their lives more comfortable, trying to take care of his family in the best way he knew how.
Michelangelo trained.
Whatever sense of humour he may have regained living in the sewers deserted him and upon knowing for sure that Leo and Raph would recover, he withdrew from everyone. He unofficially claimed one of the barns on the property for his own and spent hours every day holed up, working out, practising his ninjitsu and gaining more knowledge of his nunchaku. Prior to the attack on the antiques shop he had been training hard, now he was pushing himself to his limits. Not only did the exercise give him something to focus on, take his mind off things, but the act of doing something about their problems seemed proactive even if it was in an unfocused way.
Leonardo was the slowest to recover from his physical injuries and by the time he was able to leave the couch and start some light exercise, he didn't seem interested in reaching out to the family either. Instead he would brood silently, leaving the farmhouse to spend most of his time in the surrounding woods. If he trained, meditated or merely walked, no one knew. He had changed. Never the most talkative of the turtles, he had sunk into silence, becoming deeply introspective.
Their defeat at the hands of the Shredder disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Had Raphael been right? Should they have hit the Shredder before the Foot could attack them? But – they had all been injured and had not had the time they needed to recover. And with no plan, no teamwork or skills that had not been taught to them by Shredder himself, how could they have hoped to overcome him?
They couldn't. They hadn't been ready when the Shredder struck and if they had attacked first, they wouldn't have been ready then either.
He should have been able to do something, prepare his brothers for the upcoming battle... should certainly not have allowed himself to be found by the Foot and beaten.
I messed up back in New York... I lost my swords...
I couldn't protect them.
I failed.
It all comes down to the fact that I wasn't good enough...
Meditation offered no solace. When he would usually push his training limits, he was forced to take things slowly and give his injured body time to heal. The loss of his weapons haunted him. And the knowledge that his family had depended on him for something he hadn't been able to provide.
And yet, he couldn't speak to Mikey about losing his swords, or to Raph about the frustrations of waiting to heal or to Donnie about the fear of letting his brothers down. Couldn't speak to April about losing his home or to Casey about the moment he realised he was in over his head.
And he certainly couldn't address Splinter about the future; both his own and his family's.
Casey spent time trying to cheer everyone, but the turtles resisted his attempts and usually he managed to put his foot in it just when April seemed to be warming to him. She remained depressed about her home and shop, but tried hard not to show it, knowing it could only serve to add to the turtles guilt. She aimed for perky cheer, combined with a determination to aid in the recuperation of her friends and the urge to make the house more livable by taking on the jobs around the house that escaped Donatello's attention as he carried out his grander schemes – most of this involved minor repair work and cleaning. Sometimes Casey would insist on taking on the repairs, which she might have been more grateful for and willing to let him do had he not tried to impress her with his macho attitude and insistence that she was far too frail and feminine to do such work.
I'm a single woman in the 21st century with a degree in physics she would think at such times. What does he THINK I do when a light bulb blows? Call an electrician?
Unsurprisingly, his willingness to help rarely extended to getting rid of years of accumulated dust and grime. Only one time had he called this 'a woman's job' and his knee would no doubt bother him on rainy days for years to come as a result. Now if he asked April if she needed help, she would usually grab him a bucket of water and a cloth, leaving him to scrub while she fixed things.
Still... he had to admit she was pretty good with a wrench. Thanks to her, the rather temperamental wiring throughout the house had been replaced and she'd taken care of the damp in the kitchen. Grudgingly, he was beginning to admit she might be equally as good as he was at DIY.
Of course, she was nowhere near as good as him when it came to fixing engines.
Initially, Splinter watched events from a distance. A part of him hoped that his sons may be able to fix their differences on their own. At this stage in their lives, he felt – awkward trying to intrude on their clan. He had lived with them for some time prior to the Shredder returning to attack them but he had never been made to feel welcome among them. He had put it down to them trying to get used to each other as brothers rather than teammates and potential rivals. But that had not been an accurate assessment. They had been simply too far apart. They loved one another, that much was obvious due to their quick and total willingness to aid each other, but once immediate danger was passed, they had no clue how to relate.
He decided to intervene.
The first turtle he sought out was Donatello, thinking he might be better able to get through to the most level headed of the four. He found the turtle tinkering with a laptop, trying to make it more powerful. The one that April had brought was pretty basic.
"Donatello."
"Huh? Oh, yeah Splinter?"
"May we speak?"
"Go ahead."
"Do you think you could discard the electronics for now?"
Had Splinter raised the four, he doubted he would have to have asked such a question. Unfortunately he hadn't. And he did not feel confident enough in his position to demand such respect. He had only to hope that Donatello would feel well enough about him to do so.
He half-succeeded. Don put the laptop aside, keeping his hands on the tools. "What's up?"
Splinter sat in front of the turtle, mindful of his leg, which was still in a cast. "I have noticed in this time of healing that you are still keeping a distance."
Don shrugged, obviously itching to get back to his work. "Some things you have to sort out on your own."
"You did a masterful job of looking after your brothers after the fight with the Shredder," said Splinter, not trying to play to Don's pride but to point out an honest fact. "But your brothers are your brothers whether or not they are in immediate jeopardy."
"What are you saying Splinter? Because I'm looking after them right now. If it wasn't for me, they'd have no real water. No light. No heat."
"Your mind is analytical. You see the problem in the immediate need,"
"And your point is?"
"Maybe your brothers are in need of spiritual healing also."
Donatello put the screwdriver aside. "Splinter, I understand what you're trying to say, but don't. I know they're pride's a little hurt, but I can't do anything about that. They need to sort these things out on their own and they know I'm thinking about them or else why would I do all this?"
"Why indeed?" Splinter gave Don a probing look. "I know you think you are looking after your brothers in this way, but they need more than water and light. They need you."
"I don't understand. They have me."
"No. They have your thoughts and good wishes, but only you know that. They do not." Splinter rose, surprisingly graceful for someone with one leg in plaster. "You need to reconnect with them as more than their handyman. That you think of yourself as nothing more is a grievous misjudgement of your own abilities."
"I know what I can do!" Donatello glared at Splinter. "I don't think of myself that way, I just – I do what I'm good at. I do what I like!"
"And what distracts you from your troubles. But sometimes trouble is best faced, as you did when you were first in the sewers. And as I told you then, half the battle is fought and won in the mind. Divided, you are already half way to losing any future battle with the Foot."
"We may never fight the Foot again! There's no reason for us to even go back to New York!"
"For yourself perhaps. But do you think your brothers will be as willing to relocate? That they will not wish to avenge what was done to you all? Have you no such desire?"
"I just want to get on with my life," said Don in frustration. "I don't want to get on some kind of carousel where there's nothing in our lives than some vendetta against the Foot."
"Pacifism is admirable Donatello, as is knowing the value of letting things go." Splinter limped to the exit. "But could you live happily if you were to let this one go?"
Don glared at the door as Splinter exited and renewed his endeavours on the laptop, his irritation getting in the way. He knew Splinter was right – there was no way he was letting the Foot get away with what they had done. He had never been one to back away from a fight, although he had never sought one before. If they were to do something about their defeat, the way Shredder had tried to kill them all, then they would all need something more than they had now, they would need...
A miracle that's what.
Sighing, Don shoved the subject out of his mind and went back to messing with the laptop.
&&&&&&&
Splinter found Michelangelo in the barn, training with an intensity that concerned the rat a little. Mostly because the turtle was isolating himself in a manner that was at odds with his nature. But there was also the matter of ingrained mistakes – although Michelangelo was naturally athletic he was without a teacher and there was no way of him knowing what he was doing correctly or incorrectly. Watching unnoticed, Splinter observed that the scarred turtle tended to over-reach with the nunchaku and his footwork could be sloppy. Against someone like the Shredder, he would leave his side wide open to attack. Against an unmerciful opponent, it would be his undoing.
Splinter stepped out of the shadows, but it was a few moments before Michelangelo noticed him and ceased his katas, frowning. "Was there something you wanted?"
Splinter gave a small smile. "I wondered if we may spar."
Mikey widened his eyes. "Against you? No offence, but you're still getting over a broken leg and I'm trying to improve here. Later perhaps."
"I believe I can manage," said Splinter, mildly amused.
"Don;t get me wrong, I know you can fight, but – well, you're not a hundred percent yet and I need to train."
"You are preparing for the Foot?"
Mikey scowled. "They almost killed us. Twice. I won't let it happen again. I can't protect the others if I'm not up to standard."
"It's admirable that you wish to protect your family. Yet you won't let them do the same for you."
"Huh?"
In response, Splinter swung the leg in the cast low, catching Michelangelo off guard. He took a step backward, balance thrown and Splinter followed up with a somewhat awkward leaping kick that hit Mikey in the plastron and knocked him onto his shell. Mikey let his momentum carry him over, flipping back onto his feet and assuming a fighting stance, narrowing his eyes at the old rat.
"What was that for? I told you, I don't have time for this!"
"And I am not at my best, as you have pointed out. But watching you, I notice you make the same mistakes over and over. You do not search out your brothers, who may help you improve. And you could help them also. But if you will not, then maybe I can help you."
Michelangelo shrugged. "Fine then. Let's spar."
Splinter knew that Michelangelo was holding back, but was still impressed. The turtle was naturally athletic and the Shredder had obviously been training him constantly through the years. But he had no formal training in the nunchaku and although he wielded them well in spite of this, Splinter recalled his Master Yoshi and how he had used the weapon. Maybe Michelangelo would be open to suggestions on improvements.
Seeing Michelangelo once again leave his left side vulnerable, Splinter moved in and used his walking stick to knock the turtle flying. Grimacing, Mikey glared and got back to his feet. Privately, the turtle had not though the rat could possibly be so good at ninjitsu, due to his years in captivity and his age, in spite of the fact he had seen Splinter fight twice before. Both times, he had been in no position to notice much of his fighting style.
"You are not holding your defence," Splinter said mildly. "Although you have come a long way with the nunchaku in a short time, you are over reaching with them. My Master Yoshi was exceptionally gifted with the nunchaku. Perhaps you will allow me to help?"
"I'm not looking for a new Sensei," said Mikey with a scowl. "Or father."
"I was not attempting to take on such a role," replied Splinter, his calm voice not giving away the hurt he felt at Michelangelo's bluntness. "I merely thought that this may help you to improve, as you are clearly attempting to do."
Michelangelo nodded slowly, replacing his nunchucks in his belt. "OK then. I'll listen. If it'll help."
Splinter smiled. Michelangelo might have been through a lot and had seemingly lost his smile – but maybe it was possible to reach him after all.
"Let me tell you a proverb my Master would often quote, about an ox and a sparrow..."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Darkness lay about the farmhouse, its occupants mostly asleep, if not restfully. In the front of the house, a lone shadow moved, stealthily examining the surrounding areas. Even if one tried to search it out, it would be difficult to spot the movement.
The shadow moved to the rear of the house, almost lost in the darkness, seemingly searching for something – or someone. But aside from the shadow, no one else lurked. Satisfied, the shadow easily climbed the side of the farmhouse, ducking into a hiding place on the roof...
"Good evening Raphael."
"Splinter!" Raphael's voice was heavy with annoyance as he made out the rat sitting in a meditation pose on the roof. "Give me a heart attack why doncha?"
"Are you satisfied that our location remains undiscovered?"
"There's no one out there, if that's what ya mean."
Splinter nodded. "Do you believe that the Foot could find us here?"
"They found us at April's," muttered Raph. "Hell, they didn't even know she was still alive! Stockman thought he killed her. There was no way Shredder could have known she was connected to us. So how did he know where to take Leo to bring us all out of hiding? He pieced it together somehow. He might be able to do it again, find out that Casey owns this place. We have to be on guard!"
"True," said Splinter gravely. "They may work out that we are here. But you cannot take on the burden of standing watch over them yourself. Would it not make more sense to ask your brothers to aid you? Perhaps for Donatello to assemble some kind of warning system?"
Raphael shrugged. "I dunno. I wouldn't wanna worry them."
"You think they have not considered the threat of the Foot for themselves? Then why do they act the way they do?"
"Huh? I don't know what you mean."
"You have not noticed that they behave differently?"
"Hell, they've been behaving differently since we left the Foot. Even before that. When we found you existed, that was when they all started acting strangely."
"It is true that discovering me was the beginning of great upheaval," said Splinter, not breaking eye contact with Raphael. "Your brothers have reacted to it in different ways, as did you yourself. However, one thing remained common to all of you; that you all were able to turn to each other, to see the troubles that the others were having and to attempt to heal that. Since we have come here, as soon as you were all certain that Leonardo would recover, you withdrew, all of you, and refused to see the spiritual wounds of your brothers or to show them your own."
"Splinter..." Raphael looked away from the rat, over to the darkened woods. "We don't need some big love-in. We need space and time."
"You are partly correct. But what are you hoping for the future? Since you seen sure that the Foot will find you, no matter where you are."
Raph didn't hesitate in his answer. "We have to go back to New York and take on the Shredder, defeat him once and for all."
"I suspected this would be your approach," said Splinter. "But how do you expect to do this?"
"Go to Foot headquarters and start bustin some heads."
"Although you are outnumbered and have spent long weeks recuperating?"
"I've been trainin. And we've been outnumbered before. And they won't be expecting us this time."
"You seem certain that your brothers are as eager as yourself to return."
"Why wouldn't they be? We got some serious payback ta dish out!"
"And you have spoken to them about this?"
"Well – no. But they won't wanna let the Shredder get away with what he did."
"But you have not spoken with them. How can you be sure that they feel the same? Do you know if they too have been in training or if they have other ideas how to proceed?"
Raph glared. "I take the hint. I'll speak to them all about when we go back. In the morning."
"One more thing." Splinter furrowed his brow, hoping that his words would not further alienate the turtle. "Rage is a monster that will consume you from within. You are right to feel anger at Shredder for his actions against you and your brothers. But anger can be misplaced in times of stress. Remember that your brothers have their own way of masking their pain. And that no matter what, you are family and you need each other, now more than ever."
For a moment, Raphael narrowed his eyes and looked as if he might be about to lose his temper. Instead, he just nodded and left the roof, doing one last check of the surrounding area before going back inside. Splinter watched him, barely noticing the cold air. He had spoken to three of his estranged sons, but it remained to be seen if he had made any kind of impression on them. Only one more left.
&&&&&&&&&&
The deer scented the air delicately, taking a few tentative steps forward, checking for safety. Leonardo stood in the cover behind a tree, just watching. Initially, his plan had been to track a deer unseen and attempt to take it down without weapons, honing his skills against a living creature and trying to get by without the weapons that had been an extension of himself since the day Saki had given them to him. But watching the animal, he had decided that tracking it was enough. He had seen too much ugliness recently.
He wondered if the animal sensed him. Certainly it seemed rather cautious, but then Leo hadn't exactly had much experience with wildlife.
There had to be something he could do.
In the past he might have been serious and focused, but he had always managed to remain upbeat. He'd had playful moments, played tricks on his brothers, made jokes, relaxed and found reasons to laugh. Even when they had been forced to relocate to the sewers, when they had all been tense and on edge and getting on each others nerves, he had reasoned that things couldn't be this way forever, that they would find their way through it.
But now – now he didn't know what to think. His brothers had saved his life, with the aid of their friends, but after their dash to the farmhouse, they had all somehow drifted apart. Donnie looked after them physically but emotionally had cut himself off, Mikey spent every day wearing himself out training and Raph slunk around the farmhouse silently, trying to protect them from an unseen menace instead of the very real demons that were tearing them apart.
And Leo... Leo had failed them all by getting them into this mess in the first place.
"Wotcha doing bro?"
Leonardo turned, startled, seeing the deer flick its tail and bound away from the corner of his eye. Raphael emerged from the woods, giving Leo a look he couldn't quite read.
"Save it Raph. I'm not in the mood."
"For what?"
Raphael had spent most of the previous night deep in thought. Sure he wanted to take down the Foot, get revenge for what had been done to them – but as much as he hated to admit it, Splinter had been right. Unless they found a way to work together as a family, they stood no chance against the Foot. And they would have to have a plan, which was Leo or Don's area of expertise, not his. Unless the plan was storming a building and knocking out everyone in sight.
Assuming that Leo ever snapped out of his depression.
"Look, don't need to hear how I messed up back in New York. I let everyone down, I lost my swords..." Leo trailed off and turned away. His quiet morning had evaporated and for now, he just wanted to be left alone.
"I wasn't thinking anything like that. I was wondering what you're doing out here."
Leo glared sullenly at the ground. "Nothing."
"Too bad. Because I know what ya should be doing."
There was no response. Leo merely raised an eye ridge and waited for Raphael to continue.
"We need to regroup," said Raph uncertainly, not used to Leo's silence. "If ya haven't noticed, no one's been doing so good since we got here. You're supposed to be Fearless Leader around here – I just hope ya got some kind of plan."
"Plan?" Leo laughed bitterly. "I don't even know if we should be going back there. We got our shells kicked. Perhaps we're better off staying here."
"You're not serious! We owe the Foot some payback and - " Raphael cut himself off abruptly. He was losing his temper with Leo and his moodiness, but to do so would only serve to alienate them further. But he couldn't understand why Leo wasn't more enthusiastic about returning.
"Perhaps we should talk to Don and Mikey before we decide anything like that," he said, fighting his irritation.
"I don't see why they would want to go back either," said Leo. "They're not exactly tied to New York anymore."
"Why don't you ask them what they want?"
Leonardo opened his mouth to make an angry response, knowing exactly the right words to make Raph blow his stack – and then stopped. Getting into a big fight with his brother would help no one, not when Raph was trying to be reasonable for once.
Instead he nodded. "Right. We'll decide together."
Raph smiled at Leo. "Good to have ya back."
Although he wasn't sure Leo was back. He sure didn't seem much like his old self. But maybe he just needed a little more time – or more attention from his brothers.
&&&&&&&&&
Leonardo sat at one chair, arms resting on the table. Mikey sat opposite, chair balanced on the back two legs, still slightly out of breath from the workout that had been disturbed when Leo and Raph got back. Don had a smear of grease on one cheek, a purple bandana tied around his bald head. And Raph was leaning against a wall, idly spinning a dagger around a finger.
"Go back to New York?" Mikey shrugged nonchalantly. "I thought that was a given."
"I've thought we could stay here," said Donnie cautiously. "But I couldn't. I wouldn't feel right knowing the Foot were still out there."
"They could catch up with us at any time," growled Raph. "We'd always be looking over our shoulders!"
"We owe them," said Mikey.
"Agreed," said Leo, still not smiling. "But we're gonna need some kind of plan. Donnie?"
"I can come up with a few surprises," said Don, already staring thoughtfully into the mid-distance.
Leonardo nodded. Truthfully, he hadn't thought that any of them would object to returning but he didn't always know his brothers as well as he thought. Experience had taught him that they were able to keep secrets from him. His goal had been to win back their trust – and then somehow, he had gotten caught up in the everyday struggles of keeping out of sight and making the lair livable and he had lost sight of that. It was time he started working on that again.
"Enough time's passed," he said. "We've let our spirits drift for far too long. If we're going to return to New York any time soon, we've got a lot to do."
He looked around at his brothers. All of them were in thought, silent. They all bore scars from their various encounters with the Foot on their bodies, but Leo couldn't begin to understand the ones that they bore in their mind. He didn't understand his own. He couldn't understand why, instead of being angry and vengeful, he was... afraid.
The family needed to rally together to heal. But Leo doubted they could achieve that on their own.