Author's Note: chapter two completed much faster than I originally anticipated. Thank you to those who commented and followed chapter one. Your kind words mean a lot.

Disclaimer: I do not own the ninja turtles or any other TMNT characters referenced in the fic.


Chapter Two

I regret this decision. I regret it when my knees wobble in protest to every move I make. I regret it when I have to lean on my staff to help rise from the mat after an embarrassingly bad attempt to deflect an attack from Leonardo. I mostly regret it when I trip over my own feet only to find Master Splinter looming over me with that slight twitch to his nose he reserves for times of disappointment. I reach for my staff as it rolls across the mat and out of my reach with a hallow clatter. It might have been funny if it was happening to someone else. I try to hold back a groan as I struggle to sit up, rubbing the back of my head where it connected with the floor.

"Donatello."

I cringe at the sound of my name. He doesn't raise his voice, he doesn't have to. Sensei waits for me to kneel, his expression doesn't change but I know he isn't pleased with how long it takes me. My brothers keep a respectable distance. Usually when one of us earns the annoyed noise twitch of Master Splinter it's a thing of amusement for the others. No one is laughing this time. Sensei lets out a long, slow breath before sliding his hands to clasp at the small of his back. I lower my head and stare at the intricate pattern of the mat beneath my knees. My eyes are blurry and the red and gold design starts to blend together in a jumbled mess.

"You are through with training for today," he says.

Don't look up, it's a trick. It has to be a trick. No one gets out of training.

"I…Master Splinter. I'm sorry, I'll try…"

"I said you are through with training for today," he says, interrupting my stuttering attempt at an explanation. "Go have a rest. You are in no condition to fight."

I don't move. I'm not sure my sleep deprived brain can process the fact that I'm being sent to my room like a disobedient toddler. Master Splinter's tail swishes across the mat and he lightly rests a hand on my shoulder, taking it away so quickly I barely have time to register the weight of it. His back is to me when I muster the strength to raise my eyes. I catch sight of my brothers to my left. They don't make eye contact for which I am grateful. Even Raphael looks uncomfortable. Not annoyed, not angry; uncomfortable.

The word you're looking for is pity. They're all too embarrassed to even look you in the eye. Pathetic.

I want to flee. The sudden desire to run is sharp and blinding at the base of my neck and I fumble for my staff with hands that refuse to work as they should. There's another quiet swish of Master Splinter's tail and the dull thud of Michelangelo's nunchucks clanging together at his side. I grab hold of my staff and haul myself to standing, swaying slightly on unsteady feet. My heart is racing and the exit to the dojo seems miles away as I set my tunnel vision towards escape.

You couldn't even make it through ten minutes. No wonder you're Sensei's least favorite.

I chastise myself instantly for letting that thought creep out of the place where dark inclinations live. It isn't fair to Master Splinter and it isn't necessarily accurate. Although I can't help but round back to it every so often. That quiet, little doubt that I don't stack up to the others. He loves all of us. He loves me, I don't doubt the sincerity when he says it, but logically I find it hard to believe that he doesn't love some of us just a little bit more than others. He might not mean to, it might not be a conscious decision, but it's natural to place things in order; even your children and I think it's an obvious truth where I'd fall in that line up.

It's because you're the worst fighter. That's where worth is placed in this family.

"Donatello."

He stops me halfway to my lab. I didn't even realize that was the direction my feet carried me. It earns me another disappointed nose twitch and makes the horrible, dark thoughts ring out a chorus of I told you sos. I don't say anything, too afraid of what accusations I might throw or reservations I might admit to. He stands in front of me and lowers a hand onto my shoulder. I grip my hand tightly around the tape at the center of my staff, afraid that I'll drop it again if I don't cling on for dear life.

"You must rest," he says with a tightening of his hand.

He thinks there's something wrong with you. They all do.

I nod, feeling my chest tighten and wanting nothing more than to crawl under a rock and hide for days. "I…I know, Sensei. I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize," he says.

His hand falls from my shoulder. "Give me the staff," he says, holding his hand out expectantly.

Now he doesn't even trust you with a weapon.

I hold out the staff, unable to get my fingers to open. He pries it from my grip. "Go lie down, my son," he insists.

The annoyed nose twitch is gone, replaced by something equally disconcerting; concerned eyes and flattened ears. He's worried, not angry, not disappointed; worried. It makes me feel even guiltier about doubting his affections. I reach my hand up and take hold of my opposite arm, tightening my grip until the sensation distracts and holds my frantic thoughts. It grounds me enough that I can muster a small nod and start a slow shuffle in the direction of my bedroom. I've reached my limit. I know that now and it starts a low burn of shame deep in my stomach. I should not have let myself go this far. I should know better. I should recognize the signs.

There's a hand on my shoulder again, strong and deliberate and he pulls me forward. I can't quite recall the last time I hugged my father. I assumed years ago it was simply something most of us out grew. Even as a child it wasn't an overly common experience. He always showed affection in other ways and usually that was enough; usually. I can remember sleepless nights in the past when I was too young to understand and my anxiety dug in as fear, sharp and unrelenting. I had wanted nothing more than to run to Sensei's room and hide from the world, to feel safe. I never did, I never asked for that assurance and I never sought it out even though the want of it was nearly as painful as the fear behind it.

The embrace doesn't last long, but the mere knowledge that it occurred is enough to break any strength or composure I possess. He keeps hold of the tops of my arms and forces me to meet his gaze. I fidget and nod again for no real reason beyond my inability to speak. I swallow back a lump in my throat and bite my bottom lip before it can consider trembling. I will not cry. I will not. I may have reached the edge, but I will not go over it. It is not acceptable. I am not a scared child anymore and I won't let this thing beat me.

He holds my gaze for a moment longer before letting his hands fall away. "Sleep, my son," he says, his voice oddly quiet. "Serenity can only come when the mind and the body are rested."

"Hai, Sensei," I mumble with another awkward nod and uneven shuffle of my feet.

I listen to the quiet swish of his tail across the floor as he returns to the dojo and my brother's training. The walk to my room is little more than a stumbling blur. I fumble with the doorknob and don't bother to turn on the light. Shuffling the few feet towards the bed I collapse in an undignified heap without bothering to remove any of my sparse clothing. I turn to one side and then the other, sitting up to punch my pillow into a more comfortable shape. My joints ache no matter how I position myself and even though my eyelids are heavy I can't shake the growing need to open them and stare up into the darkness.

Just close your eyes. Go to sleep. Stop thinking, you're still thinking. Stop it. What's wrong with you?

I reach up and fumble in the darkness for the tiny fan mounted on the headboard, hoping the ambient noise might drown out some of my louder thoughts. I punch the pillow again for good measure and pull the blankets up to my chin, forcing my eyes shut. I will not open them. I will not. The hum of the fan sets a steady, repetitive rhythm and I slow my breath to match it. Steady, calm, focus on breathing. Especially don't focus on how much your knees ache and the way the hard mattress drills into your hip. Don't think about how you made a fool of yourself this morning. Don't think about how you're going to explain it away this time. Especially don't think about her. Anything but her. Think of numbers, count, breath, sleep.

3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716…


There's a bird in my room. No, that can't be right. Why would a bird be in the sewer? Then what is that noise? I blink my eyes open, my mask having tangled half-way down my face while I slept. Sleep. I had managed to fall asleep and now that stupid bird woke me up. No, that can't be right. T-Phone. It's my phone. April's ringtone. I flail against the blankets wrapped around my legs and roll over towards the bedside table. Fumbling in the dark I spot the illuminated screen and drag the phone across the table, squinting against the sudden light. She left a voicemail, the little icon blinking up at me in temptation.

I pull off my mask and stumble on sleepy legs to the light switch, wincing as the bulb burns to life over my head. It's Sunday morning. I've slept for the better half of a day and my mind is still foggy and my limbs heavy. I sit on the edge of my bed and stare down at the glowing screen of my T-Phone. She left a voicemail. I should listen to it. It could be important. She could be in trouble. No harm can come from listening to it. She called me, so really it would be wrong not to listen to it. I slide my thumb over the icon and hold the phone up to my ear.

"Hey, Donnie, I'm sure you're at morning training but I was wondering if you could come over tonight and help me with my calculus homework. Text me when you get a chance."

I resist the urge to listen to the message again. It's nothing special, she isn't in trouble, but just the sound of her voice is enough to put me in a better mood. She wants me to come over.

Yeah, because she needs something from you. She only calls when she needs something.

I can't stop the thought from calling out from the back of my mind, but now that I'm rested I have a far better chance of ignoring it or pushing it from my head entirely. I set the phone on my bedside table and climb to my feet, stretching my arms above my head before leaning over and touching my toes. She wants me to come over. The reason behind it is irrelevant. She called me and she wants me to come over. When she visits the lair it can always be under the pretext of seeing my entire family. Even if she called for help, she still called me and I'll take what I can get.

I can hear the blare of the television and the muffled voices of my family when I open the door to my bedroom. I'm not in any dying rush to face them after my near breakdown the day before. Embarrassment and shame threaten to win out over my brief moment of happiness. I try to sneak across the hallway to the bathroom without being spotted. Michelangelo's head pops out of his own bedroom before I make it two steps. I can't pretend like I don't see him, better to get this over with I suppose. Pull the Band-Aid off in one go. A grin spreads across his face, crinkling his freckles and nose.

"Dude, I was about ready to send in a rescue crew. Thought you might have died or something." He says it as a joke, but there is concern tugging at the corners of his eyes and I feel guilty for having caused it. Never one to whisper his voice has snagged the attention of my other brothers. I can see them craning their necks over the back of the couch, neither making the extra effort to come over.

"Yeah…sorry, lost track of time. Guess I was more tired than I thought," I say, wrapping my mask around my hands as a distraction from making eye contact.

He slaps me on the back of the shoulder and lets out a laugh, apparently appeased by my answer. "No worries, D. Happens to the best of us."

I offer a small smile in appreciation. Even if it isn't true it was nice of him to say it.

"Donatello."

Master Splinter's voice makes me wince and I quickly roll my shoulders and shift on my feet in an attempt to hide the gesture. He stands beside Mikey with his hands clasped in front of him. I can't bring myself to look him in the eye. The flash of memory from the previous day makes my face burn with shame and embarrassment. I made a fool of myself and Master Splinter saw the worst of it. Some part of me hopes he'll pretend like it never happened. That he'll spare me further embarrassment as my brothers watch the whole thing unfold like a car crash you can't look away from.

"How are you feeling, my son?" he asks. His voice is low and I hear the creak of the couch as Leo and Raph lean forward in an attempt to catch his words.

"Fine," I say quickly, which technically isn't true so I add before he can call me out for lying. "Better."

He nods, I think he might rest a hand on my shoulder but he stays stoic at Mikey's side. "That is good to hear," he says. "We'll discuss it further later."

Later. When my brothers aren't openly staring at the show.

"Hai, Sensei," I reply even though further discussion is the last thing I want.

Burying the whole incident under ten feet of concrete and denial sounds far more appealing. He gives another shallow nod and glides off towards the dojo, no doubt to meditate. Mikey waits until he rounds the corner before turning back to me with a smile that seems a touch too forced, even for him.

"You hungry?" he asks, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

"Yes, a little," I say, when in reality I'm starving.

His smile turns more genuine. He's still worried I'll break at any moment, but food, food is something he can take care of. Food is Mikey's domain. It's something he can do to make me feel better, which makes him feel better. So I'll eat whatever he makes with a thank you and if I can manage it, a smile on my face. He shouldn't have to worry about me. None of them should. I lost control and it is not acceptable. I'm supposed to be the one who fixes things, not the other way around.

"Awesome, you go clean up and I'll make lunch. Something good, I promise," he smacks my shoulder again.

I pitch forward slightly and he laughs, it's cheerful and not taunting and lightens my worry a few notches. Things can't be entirely bleak if Michelangelo is still laughing. He barrels down the hallway and takes the stairs in a single leap, narrowly avoiding crashing into the couch and tripping over Raph's legs.

"Watch where you're going!" he barks, making a half-hearted swipe at Mikey even though he's already half-way to the kitchen with another burst of laughter.

The bathroom is cool and murky, with crackling overhead lights that cast pools of brightness on the green tiled floor and walls. The lair's plumbing system was one of the first major overhauls I completed when I was big enough and smart enough to lend my skills to improving our quality of life. Just because we live underground in the sewers it doesn't mean we shouldn't have heat and hot and cold running water. Somehow Master Splinter turns a blind eye to the technically illegal ways I keep the lights on and the clean water flowing.

The hot water is the best thing I've encountered in days. It soothes my muscles and clears the sleepy fog still clinging to my thoughts. I understand the science behind it. How heat makes my blood warmer and quickens the chemical reactions that improve muscle activity. There is a reason turtles like to sun bathe after all. I understand the science, but in the moment I can only focus on the results. I haven't felt this awake in days, like stepping out of a dream or prying my hands away from my eyes.

You'll need to be awake if you're going to help April study.

The brief encounters with my family almost made me forget the voicemail still saved on my phone. The clarity spurned on by the hot water brings it crashing back. I should text her after lunch. There's no way Master Splinter will approve of me going out on my own tonight and Mikey will be stuck to my side like glue. I go over multiple escape plans in my head as I wash away the darkness of the last few days. The plans continue to get more elaborate and ridiculous as I mentally categorize them into a list from the most practical to the impossible.

I'm reluctant to turn off the water, but I can't stay in here all day and my growling stomach increasingly attracts most of my attention. Steam lingers in the air and coats every surface with clammy condensation. I wipe clear a space on the mirror over the sink and crinkle my nose at the green face staring back. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against my reflection. It's silly, but I don't look like myself without my mask and after drying off it is the first thing I put on. It's juvenile to think a small piece of cloth can hold so much of my identity. Juvenile or not, I feel better with it tied around my head.

The television is off when I make my way through the main room of the lair. There are clangs and raised voices drifting out from the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, counting to ten and taking in a steady breath before walking in to the room. Mikey is at the stove stirring vigorously at whatever remains hidden in the pot over the burner. I don't care what it is. The smell of anything cooking is enough to make my stomach curl into a painful knot. Leonardo and Raphael look up from the table as I slide into the seat next to Leo's. I offer a tiny, awkward wave when the silence borders on unbearable.

A wave? Really? What's wrong with you? Are you physically incapable of acting normal?

Raph is the first to break the silence, his words rolling out around a mouthful of pork rinds. "Are you done freaking out?" he asks with all the tact of a lumbering rhino.

I don't appreciate the tone, but at least he isn't acting any different towards me. If he was kind and understanding I would be more worried.

"Dude," Mikey warns, raising his spoon to smack him upside the head.

"It's fine," I say, pulling my T-Phone from my belt to keep my hands busy. "I'm fine."

I scroll through the messages on my phone, not settling on April's name until I'm certain my brothers can't see the screen. I shoot off a quick text, assuring her that I'll be over later before opening up a game of mahjong for cover. Raph snorts at the back of his throat, clearly not believing a word of it, Leonardo watches me over the top of his comic book and Mikey rings his hands around the handle of the soup spoon gripped tightly between his fingers. I hate when they look at me like that.

Say something believable or it will only get worse. Don't just stare at your phone like a weirdo.

"Seriously," I say, trying for my most sincere and mentally stable tone of voice. "I'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

"Good, see, everything is good. Donnie is all right now, we don't have to worry and everything is fine," Mikey says, clapping his hands together and splattering soup all over the floor in the process. "Now, who wants some pizza noodle soup? I've added a secret ingredient this time."

"Is it pizza?" Raph mutters, brushing off some stray soup splatter from his arm.

"No," Mikey replies too quickly for it to be anything but pizza.

It could be algae and worms and I'd eat three bowls at this point.

Just keep your head down and eat your lunch. Don't draw attention to yourself and maybe no one will notice if you leave tonight.

It was a faulty plan at best. I might be a ninja capable of stealth, but so were my brothers and it was three against one.