Chapter 3: "Shadows"
"So. I called Casey again."
A slight nod. An acknowledgment, and a thank you. "What did Mr. Jones say?"
"Same old, same old." A frustrated sigh. "Says he hasn't heard from him."
"I see. Perhaps this is a sign. Perhaps Donatello must return to us in his own time, of his own accord."
"Sensei ... " A pause. Hesitation. Unnatural, therefore unsettling.
"Yes, my son?"
A subtle lift of the chin. "No offense, Master Splinter, but ... that's baloney."
---
Hidden in shadows, standing perfectly still, he watched and he waited. Even though he went unnoticed and unseen by his young wards, he was nonetheless careful to keep his face a mask of calm neutrality. Inside, however, his heart raced so fast he felt downright nauseous.
"I dunno, Raph." A quiet voice, pitched low. It echoed eerily off the concrete walls of the abandoned subway station. "That pipe is pretty high up. I don't think you can reach it."
Immediately the other boy's voice--louder, indignant--bit back: "Just 'cause you're scared of heights, it doesn't mean the rest of us are!"
Splinter inhaled sharply. Then, leaning forward ever so slightly from his hiding spot in a nearby side-tunnel, he glanced towards his blue-masked son. He briefly debated whether to step forward but decided against it. Not yet, anyways. Not quite yet.
"I'm not afraid," muttered Leonardo in a petulant tone ... a tone that somewhat belied the maturity and wisdom the boy always claimed as the hallmark of being nine years old.
"You are too." Raph snorted dismissively. "Besides, Leo, this ain't about you. It's about me. And I bet I could get up to the top way faster than you could."
Squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture, Leo stared down at his brother. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Raph spat.
"Prove it."
That was, of course, the final straw. Almost sooner than the words were out of his brother's mouth, Raphael turned and began clambering up the rusted, rickety scaffolding that had once housed an elevator. Splinter's eyes tracked his son's agonizingly slow progress. And as he kept watch, he wrestled with his conscience. Every instinct, every fiber of his being, screamed at him to intervene--to leap from his tunnel hiding place and snatch Raphael from the jaws of danger. But still he remained absolutely motionless and absolutely silent.
When the boy was about halfway up the shaft--some twenty-five feet above the floor--Splinter involuntarily thought of bokkens and of sparring. Of decisions and tears and mistakes and split-second hesitations. His whiskers began twitching furiously.
Then, at about thirty feet, in full view of his helpless father, Raphael slipped.
---
"I mean, what if he's hurt? What if he got himself into trouble? And maybe he's alone, and he's got no back-up, and he's out there, and he's--"
A quiet interruption: "Raphael."
"--and, I mean, for all we know, he could be dying. Even as we speak, he could be lyin' in a ditch somewhere, and he could be--"
"Raphael!"
"Sorry, Sensei! I didn't mean to ... oh, geez, I'm sorry."
"There is no need to apologize." The ghost of a smile. Warmth, in the timber of a soft voice and in the depths of dark eyes. "I merely wished to observe that 'what if?' can be a very dangerous question indeed."
"Yeah, I know. Honest, I do. But how am I supposed to not worry? I don't know how you do it, Master Splinter."
---
"Raph!" Leo's shriek bounced off the corridors of the subway station.
Time stopped. For one sickening, endless moment in time, Raphael dangled in mid-air. His left hand gripped the metal framework of the shaft while his legs pinwheeled futilely. Then, finally, blessedly, the young turtle gained a foothold. As soon as his feet were safely back on the scaffolding, Raph clung to the side of the shaft. Meanwhile, Splinter took a step forward, feeling fairly certain that he could--and would--be up the side of that shaft in under two seconds flat.
"Keep going, Raphy." Leonardo's voice, reassuring and calm, yet holding just a hint of challenge, interrupted Splinter's rescue plans. "You're almost there."
Splinter paused. Whiskers still twitching, he held his breath.
Raphael began moving once again, uncharacteristically tentative but growing surer with every foot higher that he climbed. At last he reached his goal. Clumsily perched atop the elevator shaft, the boy peered down at his brother with a broad, cocky grin. Then he reached up a hand and, with a triumphant laugh, grabbed onto one of the long black pipes that hung from the ceiling.
"You did it!" Leonardo joined in the laughter, beaming up at his brother while clapping his small hands together in glee. "I knew you could do it, Raphy. I knew it!"
Although the worried rat didn't relax a muscle until his son had successfully slithered back down the elevator shaft, he couldn't entirely fight the smile that spread across his muzzle. Once assured that Raphael was indeed safe and sound, Splinter tarried only a few seconds more, just long enough to witness his two sons hug before taunting one another anew. Then, still smiling, he faded back into the shadows.
The journey back to the lair was not a long one, but it provided plenty of time for him to reach his decision. Today Splinter had seen enough to confirm what he'd long suspected. Though the child still had much growing left to do, to be sure, someday Leonardo would make an excellent leader.
---
Hands on shoulders. Contrasts ... old and young, fur and scales, soft and hard. "Ah, Raphael. There is more than enough to worry over. There is no need to--let me see if I can recall the phrase in English--there is no need to 'borrow trouble,' I assure you."
Good advice. Sound advice.
Easier given than taken. Like all good advice.
Hands on shoulders. Reflections ... love and fear, grief and rage, doubt and hope. "You're right, Sensei." A rueful chuckle. A twitch of the lips, half-smile and half-smirk. "No surprise there, huh?"
In reply, a flinch. Tiny. Unnoticed.
---
Splinter's eyes snapped open, and he gave himself a shake. Slowly he blinked against the soft candlelight that filled his room. How unusual. This time it hadn't been the toaster that he'd remembered. A welcome respite, to be sure, but still ...
Suddenly he realized what had drawn him out of his meditation--the faint but unmistakable splash of someone walking through the sewer waters. Unconsciously leaning forward, ears curving towards the source of the sound, Splinter listened. Joy, sharp and almost painful in intensity, leapt within his breast. His sons. One of his sons was coming home. But which one?
Every so often the splashing would stop and then, a few seconds later, resume. The approacher was obviously pausing periodically and, satisfied, Splinter nodded to himself. Donatello. Only that most introspective son would show such hesitation. In contrast, even when at his most doubtful, Leonardo would never let on that he was anything but sure of his path. Yes, certainly it was Donatello making his way home.
Quickly Splinter moved to position himself. Standing in the shadows of the computer nook, he stared at the lair's main door and silently willed it to open. He resisted the rather ridiculous urge to fidget with the sleeves of his robe. Instead, he contented himself with wondering when Michelangelo and Raphael--who had not their father's superior rodent hearing--would realize that one of their wayward brothers had returned at last.
The groan and shudder of the front door was quiet. Subtle. Barely audible over the loud clank of weights in the dojo. But as soon as the door gave its creaky protest at being opened, Splinter heard all noise from the dojo abruptly halt. By the time Raphael reached the main room, Donatello was already standing at the top of the entry stairs.
The two turtles locked eyes. Splinter glanced from one boy to the other and back again.
Raph began stalking towards his brother. With each and every step, his shoulders grew tenser, and his fists clenched tighter. His eyes never left Don's and, for his own part, Donatello remained completely frozen in place.
As he took the stairs two at a time, Raphael drew back his arm, his fist cocked, his arm muscles trembling with barely repressed energy. Splinter took an uncertain step forward but stopped when he noticed Donatello regarding his brother with an expression of calm acceptance.
"I could kill you," grumbled Raph, glowering, "for what you've put us all through."
"I know." Don nodded serenely, even affably. "For what it's worth, I wouldn't blame you."
It was then that Raph's arm shot out, flying past Donatello's head and circling around the back of his shell. Yanking forward, Raphael pulled his brother against him and wrapped both arms tightly around Don's shoulders. And then suddenly they were hugging, and Donatello was rolling his eyes, and Raphael was laughing in a booming voice, and Michelangelo was racing towards them both with outstretched arms and a smile as wide as the Mississippi.
As his vision blurred with unshed tears, Splinter finally let out the breath he hadn't quite realized he'd been holding in.
---
Author's Notes: The flashback scenes from last chapter were purposefully unclear, so for anyone who's confused--the smaller turtle was Raph, and the larger turtle was Don. As always, many thanks to all of you who've taken the time to read and review this story. There will probably be one last chapter.
