(Six Months Later)
Donatello was stretched over the bottom bunk, trying to seem casual, regardless of the fact that Jenna couldn't actually see him. He'd always had a little bit of trouble completely containing his excitement when they were on the phone. The calls had turned into the highlight of his day, no matter what the topic of conversation. They mostly e-mailed, but over the last couple of months, they'd made a point to keep in touch this way a few times a week too.
"So does it feel any different to be 18, Jen?"
"No, I don't think the whole 'adult' vibe is going to kick in until I go to college in a few weeks."
"It's about that time, huh? Are you going with your gut? You never told me if you made a decision."
"I'm going with my heart, Donnie. Music is one of the only things that made life tolerable for me when I was growing up. I can't avoid it now just to be sensible. You know I've been toying with the idea of writing professionally ever since New York. The odds are against me, but struggling musicians and writers always find a way, right? I mean, how many street corners do you imagine Sydney has? I'm sure I can claim at least one of them."
"Jen, you're not gonna end up on the streets - take it from me."
"There aren't any guarantees, Don. But I'd rather fail at doing something I love, than succeed at something I settled for. How's the Big Apple?"
"Manhattan is the same as ever. I told you summer turns into open season with the gangs. I'll be glad when August is over."
"Is everything going okay at home? Everybody's healthy, not missing any important body parts?"
He chuckled. "No, everything's been fine; no injuries to report as of late. Doc and I have taken the downtime to finish up a couple more projects. We've had some groundbreaking successes which are...surprising."
"New formulas you mean? It doesn't surprise me, but then, you tend to underestimate yourself."
"It's not about me, Jen. Working together with Doc has revolutionized the process. I feel so much more prepared than I used to. It's like...being ahead of the game for the first time."
Donatello would have continued, if it wasn't for a knock at the door.
"Hang on a second, Jenna." Don sat up and looked toward the hall. "Come in!"
Leo poked his head inside. "Hey, are you ready?"
"Uh...yeah. I'll be down in a minute."
Leonardo backed out of the room, and Donatello scooted to the edge of the bed.
"Hey, Jen, sorry. I gotta go. I'm late for my beat down."
"You make it sound like a lot of fun."
"You should try it sometime. I'll talk to you later."
Over the years, the purple-masked turtle felt he'd finally perfected the art of throwing a spar. As a youth it was often too obvious when he deliberately held back. It had taken time to learn when to push, and how to fade at the right time, therefore making a defeat feel more natural. It also gave him a chance to prove himself a little, before surrendering to avoid a worse conflict.
In the beginning, it was out of fear of his older brothers' unpredictable physical confrontations. Over time and with some reassurance, he applied himself more in their one-on-one encounters. But the last few months had seen a few setbacks in how he related to them both, and Don resumed intentionally losing to partially placate them.
The sting of the losses to his pride were worth the lighter attitudes he received in return, for allowing them to have the upper hand. Not letting the older turtles realize his real actions was the key to everything.
It also usually ends faster. That's an advantage too.
Donatello rubbed his shoulder while he picked himself up. It had taken the brunt force of his last fall on the mat. He met his oldest brother's gaze a little sheepishly, quickly dropping his hand so Leonardo wouldn't think anything was wrong.
The blue-masked turtle folded his arms. "Why does it feel like you're holding out on me, Donnie?"
Because I am. Keep this simple, Don. He forced a smile for Leonardo. "You won fair and square, at least three times. Are we done now?"
Leo shrugged. "If you don't want a rematch, I guess so."
When Donnie took his golden opportunity to escape the room, Mike planted himself directly in his path in the hall. "Why do you keep doing that?"
Don looked around him with the hope avoiding his gaze and the question. "Sparring? Because we're supposed to."
"Don't play stupid with me, Don. You're too smart to pull it off. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Leo pulled one of the oldest tricks in the book on you. I saw it coming from a mile away. Why are you throwing these fights?"
"Would you keep your voice down please?" Donatello hissed at him.
Mike took him by the arm, and half dragged him all the way into the Lab. Donnie glanced back to make sure the door was shut behind them.
"What the shell is going on with you?" Mike resumed. "You're better than that, Donnie. Even Leo knows it."
"Nothing's going on with me," he insisted. "It's just easier this way."
"To let him win?"
"I don't do it all the time, Mike."
"More often than not lately! Why is it easier, Don?"
Donatello didn't say anything for a long moment, contemplating his next words carefully.
"He's, um...I've noticed a pattern, Mike, certain behavioural differences toward me, based on whether I beat him, or I lose. Letting him have the fights keeps him off my shell, and I can go my merry way."
"And it satisfies you?"
"I never said that. I told you it was easier."
"That's a crock, bro. You shouldn't be letting him have his way with you! He's gonna figure it out sooner or later. I guess you've been pulling the same crap with Raph? What happens when the truth comes out and they get pissed?"
"I'll cross the bridge when I come to it."
"Donnie!"
"What, Mike? What do you want me to do? They're both irritated with me half the time as it is, for things I have to work on. I'm killing myself for methods designed to keep us alive, but they don't understand any of it. Surrendering is one of the only ways I've found to satisfy them!"
"You're being ridiculous." Michelangelo seethed. "This isn't you, Donnie. What's gonna happen next? Will you let them lead you around on a leash when we patrol?"
"How I handle a spar has nothing to do with you. Stay out of this!" Donatello ordered sharply.
"Oh, right, it's got nothing to do with me. This is your life, it's your shell on the line. Why should I care what happens to it, huh?"
"I can handle the situation without your help. I've already got enough weight on my back, without having you jump all over me too!"
"Fine, I'm off your back!" the orange-masked turtle snapped, and walked out.
Donatello sighed heavily, staring at the floor after he'd gone. As much as he disliked fighting with Leo or Raph, he hated disagreeing with Mike even more. We hardly ever do, but it doesn't make it hurt less.
Donnie hesitated for a couple more minutes, mulling over what he should say to the younger turtle. Then he ventured up the stairs, since Mike usually didn't wander far. He ducked inside their shared bedroom, and found his younger brother gazing at the ceiling.
"Mike?"
Michelangelo looked at him briefly, and then flopped back down on the mattress.
"Mikey, I'm sorry. I've been under more pressure lately. I guess it's easier to lash out at you, than it is them."
"You've been different, Donnie," he returned bluntly. "You're shutting me down more often. Why couldn't you just talk about this before it got so bad? You know I don't judge."
"You're not the problem, Mike. You never have been." Donatello shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "My head is the problem. I get too bogged down in my own thoughts and perceptions, which aren't even necessarily accurate."
"Are you gonna deal with this, Donnie?"
"Yes. But I need the correct method going forward."
"You need to walk down those stairs, and demand a rematch."
"I will, Mike, I promise."
Luke read through the table of contents again, searching for the place from which he'd left off. Ever since Donnie had loaded his journal onto a laptop for him, he'd been spending more time studying the turtles' past. It was fascinating from the physiological point of view, but the stories it contained had proved even more intriguing. It was never enough for Donatello to simply record an injury or illness. He'd always provide a wealth of background information.
Luke was working his way through story after story for the dozenth time, still feeling like he was reading about some mythical legends, instead of the unique friends he'd known for not quite a year.
He had been recovering slowly from his parents' death with April's help. Meeting the Hamato clan added another dimension to his journey back to real life, and restored something he thought he'd lost forever: a purpose.
At one point, Luke thought medicine would be lost from him for the rest of his life. Throwing himself back into it with a vengeance for their family's sake had a stronger impact on him than he initially realized.
Now months had passed, and Luke found it possible to return to the ER on a part-time basis. He was regaining the old rhythm he thought was gone forever. It felt good to be saving lives again, rather than hiding in a dark corner from which there was no escape.
Luke wasn't sure how he could describe his relationship with the guys to someone else, even if he wasn't keeping it under wraps. Part friend, part guardian, part tag-along? Not that I'll complain, not matter what the title.
He'd begun writing up some notes of his own from the experience of treating them, and the in depth testing he performed with the purple-masked turtle. Donatello encouraged him to e-mail them his direction, so that he could start integrating Luke's writing into the his journal too.
As soon as Luke started, he found himself glancing at the clock, and counting down the hours until it might be appropriate for him to be able to drop in on them again. Not sure they knew what they were getting into when they invited me in. Those boys are never getting rid of me now.