Chapter 4: "Beginnings"
"You must be punished, my son. Surely you realize this."
"Yes, Sensei."
Firm, hard words. "It is only just. Such a rash and selfish action is not acceptable within this family." Then, softer: "You caused much worry for your brothers, Donatello. And for myself."
"Yes, Sensei." Pleasant. Calm. Much too pleasant; a touch too calm. "I understand."
---
As he lifted the bo high above his head, he felt his arms begin to tremble. But he ignored the discomfort. Instead, he focused on the task before him. The computer monitor stood on his desk--large, bulky, silently defiant. Its dark screen ominously reflected the desk lamp's faint white light.
Donatello swallowed a sob.
Then, with a howl of rage and pain, he brought down the bo. The monitor exploded in a spray of plastic, glass, and wires, and Don smiled tightly. One down, one to go. Giving his shoulders a roll, loosening up his muscles, he raised his weapon again and took aim for the computer tower. He scowled. It had taken him months to build the thing. But he set his jaw, forced away all those fond memories, and swung downward with all his young might.
The bo stopped before it could hit home, and Don blinked in surprise. A pair of bright blue eyes blinked back at him.
For several long, tense moment silence hung in the air between the two brothers like a lingering perfume. Then Michelangelo spoke, in a soft, scared voice: "Why, Donny? Why're you doing this?"
"B--b--because." He let his arms drop to his sides. "We're eleven years old. We're not babies anymore. It's past time to ... " He paused and wet his lips before continuing, darkly, "Past time to 'set aside our toys,' Michelangelo."
Looking away, Mike picked up a stray piece of wire and turned it over in his hands. Don sighed. He set his bo in the corner. Then, grabbing a nearby dustpan, he began cleaning up the remains of the computer monitor. He breathed in slowly then out even more slowly. He could not cry. Especially not in front of Mikey.
"He didn't mean it like that."
Donatello glanced up. "Then how did he mean it? Huh?"
Mike shook his head and set down the wire. "It doesn't matter. I mean, the computer makes you so happy!" He grinned in what Don guessed was meant to be a charming manner. "And being happy's a good thing, right?"
In reply Don only frowned. It wasn't as simple as that, which even Mikey had to realize. Still, he had to admit ... it did sound somewhat persuasive ... just a tiny bit ...
"Right? Right!" Michelangelo grabbed Don's hand and began tugging. "C'mon, I'll help you make another monitor. And then we can play games again!"
Laughing despite himself, Don allowed his brother to pull him towards the doorway. By bedtime, their sensei found the pair working and chatting away in Donatello's bedroom, happily sprawled out admist the electronics guts of an old television set. Don froze as soon as he noticed Splinter in the doorway. He closed his eyes and waited for his reprimand.
But when no reprimand came, he opened his eyes again to see Splinter smiling.
---
"My son, I do not think you truly comprehend the seriousness of the situation."
In response, only a slow blink of dark eyes. Fathomless eyes, hidden behind a purple mask.
A sigh, tired but not unsympathetic. "I know leadership is not a role to which you naturally take. Nor is it a role you necessarily find fulfilling. But it is an important role nonetheless, and you cannot abdicate it merely because you would rather spend time with your computers or--"
Too much.
Finally, too much.
A voice as hard and cold as ice, interrupting: "I'll be in the dojo if you need me ... Sensei."
---
The room smelt of leather and wax, of blood and sweat, and of the faintest whiff of an incense that had not actually been present there for many months. Working over the punching bag, Donatello breathed in and out slowly, taking in all the familiar scents. It helped to calm his nerves, a little. So did the steady, repetitive work-out. It felt good to have something to do with his hands. It felt good to not have to think for a change. In fact, Donatello was starting to feel pretty great--up until the moment he lifted his head and saw Master Splinter staring at him with glittering eyes.
"Explain yourself, my son."
It was neither a question nor a request, and Donatello flinched.
"It's true that I abdicated my responsibilities," he began softly, "and it was an awful thing to do. I know that. I admit that. But it wasn't ... I can't believe you think it was because of something as silly as ... " Miserably he trailed off, glancing down at the hands that still stung from the hard leather of the punching bag.
Splinter said nothing.
During the ensuing silence, Don tried not to jump to conclusions. Tried not to wonder about what on earth the old rat might be thinking about. Instead, he closed his eyes, ignored how his heart was pounding away like a jackhammer, and listened to the soft, steady breathing of his father.
"Why, then ... " Splinter paused a moment before continuing, in a quiet voice, "Why did you leave us?"
Don swallowed. Slowly he turned and approached his master and, not daring to look him in the eyes, knelt down on the floor. In a quiet voice he asked, "Do you remember the first time we used the bokkens in sparring?"
"Yes. Yes, I remember."
"So do I." He paused. Suppressed a shudder. "I ... I could've killed him, Sensei! I could still kill him!" Donatello paused and contemplated the horror of it all. "Every wrong move, every bad decision ... "
"It is, indeed, a daunting task."
"Raph's right. He's always been right. I'm a coward." Shaking his head, Don continued loudly, "But I can't help it! When so much is at stake ... how am I supposed to feel anything but unbridled terror?"
In response came a sigh. "You are not alone, Donatello." Splinter leaned forward, and Don felt a furry hand on his shoulder. "Not in your fear. Not in anything."
Don shrugged. "Maybe. But Raph and Leo sure don't act as though they're scared of leading."
"Actions, like words, may speak untruthfully. Raphael is terrified, and so too with Leonardo. As is Michelangelo." Splinter's voice dropped very low. "As am I."
At that Donatello's head snapped up.
---
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Telling, not asking. Assuming. A mistake. Worse! The same mistake.
Unforgivably stupid.
A figure in a doorway. Watching. Waiting. Listening. Fists against leather. Over and over and over. Beating out an angry tattoo. Familiar sight, familiar sound, except ... except the mask. Not red. Not this time.
A deep breath. No more mistakes.
---
Splinter's smile was patient, and his eyes sparkled with mute amusement. "We both remember the first session of bokken sparring," the old rat began in a conversational tone, "but I wonder, do you remember the second?"
Don frowned. "I remember ... I remember being hesitant to spar again."
"That you most certainly were. Tell me, what else do you recall?"
"Not very much." Donatello concentrated but came up with only vague shadows and shapes. "You paired me with Leo that day. I think."
Splinter nodded, pleased. "That is correct. Leonardo has always been a cautious, circumspect boy, and I thought starting over with him might set you at ease."
"Really?" Don burst out into quiet laughter. "I thought you were punishing me for what happened with Raphy! Leo's such a perfectionist that sparring with him is absolutely terrifying. Always has been."
The elderly rat blinked at that and was silent for several long moments. Filing that revelation away, Don knew, and thinking things over. Digesting. It was a bit unnerving, to be honest. Donatello found himself blurting out, "Why did you let me--let things--get to that point? In our first sparring session, that is?"
Splinter's eyes snapped back into focus, sparking in what surely had to be anger, and Don winced slightly. Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid. He looked away from his father, over to where the punching bag hung in mid-air, swinging gently, almost lyrically.
"It was an error in judgment on my part." Splinter's voice was calm and steady. Perhaps a touch sad but utterly without anger. "I did not want to discourage Raphael or do unnecessary injury to his pride. However, it is true that I should have intervened sooner than I did."
It was Don's turn to silently think things over. He knew his father wasn't always right, of course. He was far too old to not have realized that. But hearing Splinter say it? Was something else entirely. It was, in fact, the essence of paradigm shifting. Like the photoelectric effect. Or evolution. Or Einstein's relativity.
"So," the young turtle offered finally, hesitantly, "where do we go from here?"
"I do not know, my son. But let us go there together."
Donatello felt a familiar, warm paw touch his hand, and he smiled.
---
Author's Notes: I have no idea if any of the original readers for this story will read this chapter, but if so--my sincere apologies for the delay. Ugh, this was the chapter from Hades! You don't even want to know how many times I wrote and rewrote (and rewrote) the chibi flashback. Rewrote entirely from scratch, I mean. And I'm still not happy with it ... it's just that, of the many versions I wrote, this was the one I was least unhappy with. This is especially distressing as, on the whole, I've been pleased with how the rest of the story turned out.
But I digress. I'm sorry it took me so long to finish this up, but thanks very much for reading. Happy 2008!
