I feel like I made the Ulixes seem ten times bigger than it is by giving it extra rooms and passages. But, like, c'mon, they need more space in order to not go insane from claustrophobia. Also, I like sci-fi with big ships you can wander around in.

ⰎⰂⰎ

The Lies in His Bones

Ⰾ

Despite being alike in more ways than they both care to admit, like their short tempers and often snarky attitudes, Raphael and Donatello's interests have next to nothing in common, so they rarely strike up an unprompted conversation on their own. Something Raph appreciates now as they proceed toward Fugitoid's laboratory in silence.

So maybe he notices Donnie occasionally glancing in his direction and moving his jaw, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, but as long as he doesn't speak up, Raph's okay with ignoring him. His own thoughts are swarming around in his head enough as it is. He doesn't need extra help.

What happened back there? He had a flashback, like some kind of traumatized victim with PTSD. He's escaped death more times than he can count, but this is what's gotten to him? Being forced to play house for a couple of days?

Is he supposed to get used to flashing back to that awful place from now on? What's next? A flashback of heaving tea and cookies?

Despite his bitter feelings, Raph thinks about the disturbing vividness of the mundane-looking memory. How real it felt. And now that he's in his right mind to look back on it as that—a memory—a detail grabs his attention again.

He's pretty sure there was snow outside the windows.

Did his mind mix in the memory of the winter they spent at the old farmhouse in Northampton? But he has no idea why his flashback would include that. Flashbacks don't normally work like that, as far as he's aware. But people also normally don't experience completely mundane quiet moments through them either.

Donnie would analyze this information like it's a symptom of a mental illness that he has to diagnose. Leo might think about the symbolism, like in dreams. What does snow usually symbolize? … Death? Maybe innocence or secrecy?

Raph's bottomless confusion brings back the need to figure out what happened (is happening?) in spite of the growing ominous feeling to stay out of it emanating from deep in his bones.

Like a subconscious warning, he suddenly recalls a conversation he had with Vnukinya yesterday, not long before he was reunited with his family.

…

… Have you noticed anything strange about yourself after you woke up?

Anything strange about myself…? I have. I feel… "lost".

Like what?

I don't know. The days don't add up in my head, even though they do. When I woke up and Maika asked me if I remembered anything, the last thing I could recall were faint flashes of being taken somewhere—to the vet, and before that, well, before that was when I spent the night with you.

And what's wrong with that?

I don't know. All my memories, all of them, feel so …faded. They're not very clear…

… Thank you. Because now I know how she did it. That clever fox…

How she did what!?

I can answer your question now: The fact that you stand here is proof that you'll never figure it out.

…

Raph blinks the memory away. He still has no idea what Kinya meant by any of that—the odd question, which didn't so much before, but definitely freaks him out now, or her cryptic answer in the end. And he's not sure he even wants to know the meaning anymore. Why would he? He's back with his family, far away from the narcissistic psycho and her haunted house. Even if it implies that this has apparently been Falla's plan.

It's the fact that he's aware of not knowing something crucial that has him so nervous and perplexed about whether he wants to learn the truth at all. He's not being nosey; this is about him! his life! his …something. At least it feels like it is…

If only he could have just stayed completely oblivious to everything that isn't making any sense, he wouldn't be feeling this messed up, anxious, and nauseated by his own skin.

"You'd tell me if there was anything wrong, right?"

Raphael drags his gaze up from the floor to see Donatello watching him carefully.

So his brother has finally decided to sum up all his thoughts into this?

"I would?" he says in derisive surprise and with an air of nonchalance before straightening his neck to look where he's going.

The brainiac could probably figure out what's going on if he told him everything. That "probably" being a good enough reason for Raphael to not say a thing. Despite part of him wanting to see the full picture, not knowing anything feels like the better option. One paranoid turtle is more than enough. And if Donnie could actually figure it out, him knowing something before Raph feels like the worst option ever, because what if the truth is something deeply fucked up he'd never want his family to know about? Like how he got the scar on his…

Donnie sighs. "Why do you always have to be like this?"

The flat response to Raph's sarcastic jab sounds too sincere and upset for Raph's liking. They're both looking at each other now, and Raph's growing uncomfortable and on edge. Donnie's the least likely of his three brothers to read him well, but he still wants more distance between them for his own sake.

"You mean like myself? I thought that's what you'd want," he blurts out, picking up his speed so they can get out of the passageway faster.

"Just do your dumb test if you need proof that I'm fine. And stop worrying about me!"

Fugitoid's lab is located in the lower levels of the spaceship, near the reactors. They went all the way down the elevation shaft, and they've been walking for a while. It shouldn't be too far away now. He can't miss it if he just continues going straight, right? And it shouldn't be so weird if he can't find the place. It's not like he's been there that many times. … Has he even been there before? No, he surely has. How many times, though?

Donnie easily matches Raph's new tempo with his longer legs.

"I'm not asking about just your physical wellbeing."

Of course not, Raph thinks with contempt. Donnie would like to know about every moment of Raphael's week in cottagecore hell in graphic detail. It was only a matter of time before he started digging for answers. Well, Raph's not telling him anything about his captivity. What could he even tell him? Hey, Donnie, it was horrible. I was cuddled and pampered and fed real well—there was even a tea party! I think I might be scarred for life!

Yeah… It's humiliating enough with just Raph knowing what he went through.

"I can tell you're spacing out a lot, and you won't say a word about anything. I can't help but worry you're just going to suppress everything instead of dealing with it. Which is a very reasonable worry when it comes to you, Raph."

Raph drags in a long, slow breath before puffing it all out. He's tired of this conversation that's been practically on loop since yesterday and is, to his dislike, sounding more persistent each time.

"Nothing happened, Donnie. At least nothing that I ever plan on talking about with you. What even makes you think I'd want to talk about it with my little brother?"

"Because I'm the 'little' brother that nursed you back from every sickness, injury, and infection you had in the last I-don't-know-how-many years."

"And now you want to try your hand at therapy too? Wow, Donnie, big plans!"

Donatello wasn't expecting that level of blunt sarcasm, and his steps waver. When he recollects himself, he puffs his cheeks in frustration.

"You're being unreasonable!"

Raph continues looking straight ahead, acting unmoved by the outburst, before he, to his displeasure, hears Donnie exhale and try yet again.

"Fine. Look, I don't expect you to tell me about what happened if you don't want to. Just tell me if anything is going on with you now, okay?"

Like his fogged-up brain? The odd imaginary flashback? Or the old scars on his body that were never there before?

Yeah, there's no way in hell Raph's mentioning anything. Especially not the scar over his wrist that can only be understood as … a-as a… Not to anyone! Ever! They'll think he's crazy or something. Damaged. And he doesn't want to argue with anyone over the fact that he didn't ever try to—He didn't do anything! And he isn't going mental!

"So I can try and help you," Donnie adds at the end, probably in hopes it will be enough to start tipping over Raph's resolve.

"Okay, fine." Raph decides to lie just to avoid continuing the argument for at least a little while.

He can tell Donnie is half expecting him to start talking after that response, but thankfully they've reached the automatic door of the small laboratory slash infirmary Fugitoid has near the entrance to the ship's reactor core.

Donnie slowed their trek first because Raph initially wanted to pass the door, but now Raph has made sure to enter first just to keep his back to his brother.

But once inside, he stalls, unsure of where to go from here.

The relatively small, compact room is filled with large machines and devices that are ingrained into the white alloy floor and walls opposite the door and to the right. There's a simple white desk and cabinets on the left side, and they are neatly stacked with tools and containers of unknown substances. It somewhat—a tiny bit—looks like something you could see in a laboratory or fancy hospital back on Earth, like a brain scan room or something, but here all the devices are unrecognizable and covered in Fugitoid's distinct curved design and white polish.

The tall android is standing on the opposite side from them, on the left of a tall rectangular machine with a small control panel and screen there on the side of it.

He looks up from the display to acknowledge them, saying, "Raphael, Donatello, you were quick," before turning his large head back to the screen. "You're here to test Raphael now, correct?"

Raph feels Donnie's eyes on the back of his head for a prolonged second before he hears him reply.

"Right. We need to make sure he hasn't been poisoned or infected by anything. Intentionally or through exposure to the extraterrestrial environments. And we know he was ill and also suffocating from a lack of oxygen on at least one occasion, so scanning his lungs is also not a bad idea. Maybe do a complete body scan to see the state of his immune system overall."

He steps forward, so now the turtles can both see each other's faces, and Raph is making sure he is glaring.

"You mentioned just a blood test."

"And you refuse to mention anything."

Raph's frown deepens, but Donnie just looks ahead, ignoring it. Raphael really shouldn't feel surprised. They're both about equally spiteful and stubborn in their own ways. Add about ten times more stubbornness to the mix when it comes to the wellbeing of one of their own.

"Sit down in this chair, Raphael."

Raph's head turns back forward, and he sees Fugitoid pushing a stool on wheels in front of the tall machine.

"So we can take a look at your blood."

Reluctantly, Raph crosses the room to sit down. He'll let them do the drug test so Donnie doesn't get his shell in a twist, but he's not promising to sit still for anything else.

The tall, rectangular machine in front of him is split in half by a foot-wide gap one third from the bottom up. That's probably where his blood sample will be laid under the large lens Raph has just taken notice of.

To his surprise, Fugitoid takes his whole right arm and lays it into the slot of the large microscope—or at least Raph thought that's what it was; he's not sure anymore.

"Uhh, this thing is going to be taking my blood? Isn't that overkill?" He eyes the heavy machine above his arm nervously, wondering about the size of a needle or blade that something of this size could have hidden somewhere.

"Normally we don't take patients' blood out of them if we're only observing it. Donatello will simply be looking at your blood directly in your veins, where it is supposed to be."

Raph notices Donnie grin giddily and whisper, "So cool, right!" before catching himself looking not upset in Raph's presence. He quickly smooths out his face to adopt a sullen expression, which Raph guesses is supposed to guilt-trip him into being a good helpful patient.

"Big toy privileges, huh, Donnie? Good for you," Raph snarks on purpose, just to shake off any of the bad conscience Donnie has succeeded in invoking so far.

He watches his brother grimace and step up next to Fugitoid, but thankfully, he doesn't say anything to start an argument.

The two scientists both focus on the microscopic-x-ray-ultrasound-whatever-it-is control panel and screen that Raph can't see from where he's sitting and was ordered to stay still.

Fugitoid starts going over the steps with his brother, who is taking control, and Raph's already wondering how long this will take. He rests his left elbow on his thigh and cups his cheek with his hand.

"Zoom in on the arm. … Now enhance the image—and don't forget to turn on the movement stabilizer. Good. Now scan a few milliunits deep at a time until you find an artery. You can start a bit deeper; this is still skin tissue. … There. A bit to the left…"

Their conversation is too vague for Raph to follow along in his head. He tunes them out, which leads to his mind wandering back to the snow he can't seem to shake off.

Flashbacks aren't like dreams where your brain makes stuff up, right? In that case, what does it all mean? Did Falla drug him and plant fake memories of him spending a winter trapped in her home? Is that something she's able to do? And if it is, what would even be the point of her doing that? Just to make him confused and miserable? Does she expect him to eventually come back to her for answers so that she can trap him again? … The last thing she asked him was whether or not he would ever return, but she seemed satisfied with his answer of never in a million years. Why? Could she have understood that as him lying to himself? Because if so, she's pretty stupid.

Although "stupid" really isn't something to call someone like her, from what Raph gathered during his captivity, she values her intelligence and cunning over everything else.

"This is strange…"

Fugitoid's louder voice, intended for Raphael to hear too, breaks his new rollercoaster of thought.

"Everything seems to be completely normal."

Raph glances up and raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that good?"

"Well, yes," Fugitoid agrees, still staring at the screen, "but I expected to find at least some traces of drugs similar to the ones we found in the rest."

"Well," Raph lazily scratches his jaw with the hand still cupping his face, "I wasn't kept in the same room as the rest."

"But didn't the olm use some kind of pacifying substance on you?"

Raph finds he has a much easier time responding to Fugitoid about this topic than his brother. "That was mostly at the start."

"Or medications when you were ill?"

That, uhh, that is strange. His eyes meet Donatello's, who is observing him silently, and he feels himself locking back up under that gaze. He shrugs with an air of indifference. "She just made me tea, I think."

"Even if it's been a few days, I would still expect to find something. This is very unusual, even for someone with a very quick metabolism. And your blood also looks completely healthy for someone who was still bedridden two nights ago. Maybe a full body and immune system check-up isn't a bad idea. If anything, just to ease my uncertainty."

The android's head gazes up in thought for a brief moment.

"That's it for the blood test, then. You can switch the scanner off, Donatello."

"Wait, Professor, what's that?" Donnie asks, pointing with his finger at the screen. "Can the image zoom out to show a larger part of his lower arm but keep the depth of the scan?"

The android steps closer to see what has caught his assistant's attention. "Yes, it's possible. Keep your arm still for a bit longer, Raphael."

Raph rolls his eyes and stays in place.

"Raph, didn't you break your left arm when we were little?"

Raph looks up from the floor and wonders what this is about. He replies blankly, "Uh, yeah, I think so."

"But this shows signs of a healed fracture on your right radius."

"Well, then it obviously had to have been the right arm."

"Honestly, I wouldn't have expected it to still be this visible after so many years."

Raph feels he has enough going on as it is. He doesn't have the energy to wonder about something as pointless as a broken bone from when he was eight.

"That just means there's still room for you to learn," he hums condescendingly.

Donnie frowns at the comment, but it doesn't distract him as he immediately speaks up, "I want to see your left arm too."

Raph sighs and straightens up to reluctantly spin around in the stool and switch arms, but then he stills suddenly, staring at his left wrist. Would the scar show up on the scan?

"Well?"

He looks up at his brother, who's waiting for him to move. "Why? Can't accept that you remembered something completely unimportant wrong?"

"No. I just… Whatever," Donnie groans and reluctantly switches the scanner off. "Let's just get the immune system check-up over with. You'll have to remove your gear before going—"

"No."

"What?"

Raph stands up. Suddenly, he wants to be anywhere on the ship but here. "I'm done being prodded."

Donatello lowers his brows and stares at him skeptically. "Uh, you weren't prodded even once?"

Raph diverts his eyes away from his brother's questioning gaze, racking his brains for an excuse.

"No worries, Raphael, the test is completely painless. And it will be over rather quickly," Fugitoid encourages from where he's now standing by a capsule-like medical pod in the opposite corner of the room.

A pod. A pod… Where was he in a pod before? He thinks he remembers… just a couple of days ago… Falla told him she took him to the vet, where he was put in an incubator so they could get some air in his lungs. He doesn't remember the clinic, but he hazily remembers being inside a pod.

His hands are turning clammy. That pod is the last thing he remembers before waking up yesterday, when a lot of things started making no sense…

"I said no," he repeats.

Donnie's looking more confused and frustrated by the second. He steps up to him. "We need this, Raph."

"You'll have to manage without it," Raph says indifferently. He tries to move away, and his legs bump into the stool.

It's clear from Donnie's fixated expression that he's losing his patience.

"Come on! Stop being such a baby!"

That word assaults Raphael much more deeply than it was ever intended. Every part of him tenses up involuntarily. He grits his teeth, trying to banish the cold, prickling feeling that is trying to creep down his shell.

"No, Donnie," he replies as evenly and calmly as his tight throat lets him while he moves to step around his tall brother.

Donnie, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort because of his own growing frustration, continues to advance on him, inadvertently cutting Raph's steps off.

"I want to help you!"

"No."

Donnie steps so close that he cuts off Raph's path completely. "Why not!?"

Raph can't take any more of this. He finally allows his voice to rise, and he shouts back, punctuating each word: "I—don't—want—it!" He doesn't want proof that something is wrong with him! He doesn't want them to know anything!

But Donnie can't seem to control the volume of his own voice at all, only wanting to drown Raph's protest out.

"IT'S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD!"

"NO!" Raph shouts back just as his shell knocks into the wall behind him, throwing his entire frame and mind for a loop. His muscles react instinctively, and in the next second, everything seems to freeze between the two turtles. Their heated argument sizzles down in an instant, and a loud silence replaces it.

Fugitoid is standing off to the side, looking oblivious of the reason behind their sudden standstill. But both of the brothers are rooted to the floor in their facing positions.

Raphael, the hothead, the one whose immediate defense is loud and aggressive offense—Donnie faced him head-on with his own temper, but instead of Raph exploding back at him, like he normally does, he imploded into himself and crumpled into the corner against the large microscope. He's standing in a partial crouch, the bottom of his shell leaning against the wall, arms tense by his sides, like he stopped himself in the middle of trying to ball up or make a beak for it away from Donatello, who is standing frozen still, towering over him.

They are both staring at each other speechlessly.

All of Raphael's emotions are converging in deep, upsetting embarrassment. He can't believe he just cowered from his own brother.

"Raph, I…" Donnie stammers out cautiously, and it's the last straw that makes Raph push past him and run out of the room while the other two stare after him.

ⰎⰂⰎ