The sound of footsteps rapidly coming down the hall drew Donatello awake before the shadowed figure even reached the office.
Don sat up on one elbow, shifting carefully on the air mattress so he wouldn't wake up Jenna.
"Who's there?" he called softly.
"Don, I need you." Rebecca's voice was quiet too, but her tone was urgent. "It's Mike."
The purple-masked turtle extricated himself from the blanket without another word, and followed Becky out of the room.
"He's having a really hard time catching his breath - he couldn't stop coughing," she explained.
Donatello yanked his duffle bag off the floor from behind the couch as they cut through the living room.
"Donny?" Leonardo was already sitting up on the pull-out bed. "What's going on?"
Rebecca's hand grazed Donatello's arm in her haste, so that he didn't even slow down to address his brother. "I don't know, Leo. I'll get back to you."
He was confused when he didn't see Mike in the bed in the guest room, but Rebecca gestured toward the door to the balcony. "Out there. He didn't want to wake up the rest of the apartment. I can't get Mike to come back inside - he just asked for you."
Donatello peered out on the overlook, and stepped into the night air. The acrid smell of smoke met him almost instantly. Michelangelo was curled up in the corner of the balcony, his choking muffled by the way he had his chin buried in his hands.
"Mike," Donny said a little reproachfully. "What are you thinking? This is the last place you should be." When his brother didn't even attempt to reply, he got down on the ground beside him, and tried raising Mike's head. Don was surprised to see tears in his blue eyes.
"It's going to be okay," Donatello reassured him, reaching for the bag laced over his shoulder. "First, I'm going to get an oxi on you, and then I'm taking you back to bed. You know we gave you the guest room so you'd sleep better."
The orange-masked turtle shook his head, and fiercely wiped away a trailing tear. "I can't-" A wheeze deep in his chest cut off anything else he was going to say.
"Mike, it's a little too cold out here, and the air quality isn't helping matters," Donatello told him, slipping the mask over his brother's head.
Michelangelo slumped wearily against him. "I'm so tired," he mumbled.
"You need some real sleep. You'll feel better in the morning," Donatello replied. Am I trying to convince him, or myself, he wondered silently.
Michelangelo didn't answer, gasping as he tried to regulate his breathing with the aid of the oxi.
"Slowly," Donatello reminded him. "Take deeper breaths...and exhale gradually. I'm gonna get you up, okay?"
The orange-masked turtle didn't budge when Donatello first tugged on his arm, only giving in to Donny after he braced both arms under his. Mike didn't make very much ground on the attempt, and Donatello's grip tightened.
"It's okay. Concentrate on breathing."
He supported most of Michelangelo's weight on the way into the apartment, and Rebecca backpedaled to give them some space. When she noticed Donatello steering Mike toward the bed, she hurried to pull the blankets back.
Michelangelo focused a pleading gaze on the young woman. "Beck, somethin' hot might help..."
"I'll get some tea going," she replied immediately.
Donatello watched curiously as Mike stared after her retreating form, and his brother sighed shakily.
"Don, I'm scared," he admitted. "It's not better, it's not getting better. It hurts..." His chest heaved with the effort of the speech.
"Take it easy, Mike. I want to know how you're feeling, but you don't have to get it all out at once."
"I didn't want...Becky...to hear."
"You don't want her to know, Mike? How long do you think that will last?"
His brother shook his head in apparent frustration. "It's so tight...worse tonight than it has been."
Donatello fought to maintain his composure. "Stress could be contributing to the condition too. I'm here, Mikey, and I'm not going to leave your side, okay? I want to test your actual blood oxygen level like I did before."
Mike nodded mournfully while Donatello dug back into his bag to retrieve the small device. Don took a reading from his brother's finger, and was waiting for the results to load when he suddenly felt like someone's eyes were glued to the back of his head. When Donny turned, he saw Leonardo standing in the doorframe.
"I need a few more minutes, okay, Leo?" Donatello requested.
"It's a problem if I'm standing here?"
"I could work easier if you would give us a little space," Donatello fought to keep his voice even. Some of the irritation he'd been harboring toward his oldest brother from the car ride to the apartment building was trying to surface.
"The room is plenty big enough, Don," Leo replied maddeningly.
"I don't need you looking over my shoulder." Donatello couldn't erase the edge from his tone.
"If you were completely up front with me, I wouldn't have to look over your shoulder."
Donatello's eyes widened slightly. "Why are you doing this now? I don't need the distraction, Leo. Would you please back off and let me get something done?"
"I'm not stopping you from doing anything!"
The sight of Rebecca standing behind Leonardo in the hall was the only thing that made Donatello cut off the frustrated growl with which he wanted to respond. The blue-masked turtle glanced over his shoulder in time for the young woman to motion both brothers out into the hallway with the darkest look that Donatello had seen on her face.
"What's the problem here?" she demanded under her breath. "It isn't enough that he can hardly breathe, Mike has to listen to you guys fight too? You know how much he hates that!"
Donatello colored instantly. "I'm sorry, Becky."
"Don't apologize to me, just go work out whatever this is, and don't come back until you do."
"I really wasn't finished with him," Donny said meekly.
"I'm staying with Mike, so I can get you if necessary. Go talk, and when you're both on an even ground, you can return to help him."
Donatello felt like planting a palm on his forehead. This isn't the first time that Leo and I have brought Mike into the middle of a disagreement. I don't know why we do it, but it has to stop.
Donny cast Leonardo a swift glance, but looked away from his brother before Leo could make eye contact with him. As they headed toward the office, Jenna's head appeared from around the door.
"Hey, guys," she said sleepily. "What are you doing? Is something wrong?"
"Mike," Donatello replied softly, and he cast another apprehensive glance at Leonardo.
Jenna looked back and forth between the serious faces of the two turtles, and she took a sharp breath. "I'll just give you some space."
The woman stepped discreetly out of the way, and Leonardo nodded toward the office for Donatello to continue.
"I don't like being kept out of the loop, Don," he said when the door shut behind them. "I know you're trying to protect us-"
"This isn't about being protective, Leo! I don't know what's wrong with him. There's a big difference between not wanting to tell you something, and not being able to. The testing that we've already completed on Mike was inconclusive."
"Meaning what?"
"We know there's something wrong - that's evidenced by the symptoms. That doesn't mean we know what's causing them. It's possible that his sickness is rooted in something at the cellular level. That's why we need to do a biopsy."
"Is it your opinion that he's getting worse?" Leonardo asked.
"That's difficult to say, Leo. Mike thinks that he is, and that's enough for me to take it seriously."
"How?" Leonardo's gaze became unfocused as his eyes clouded over. "We can't go home. Doc's place is destroyed. How are we supposed to get him medical treatment?"
Donny shook his head vaguely. "I don't know. I'm going to keep a close eye on him for the next few hours while he's using the oxi. I don't want his oxygen absorption rate to start slipping, so I've got to be proactive."
"And the oxi will help with that?"
"To a point. At the very least, it delivers a higher rate of oxygen to his lungs."
The blue-masked turtle looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry for butting in on you, Donny. It isn't that I don't trust you. I just know that you have a hard time coming out with certain things, and...you didn't exactly volunteer a lot of information on the earthquake."
"Again, Leo, there's a difference between withholding information, and not having any. Anything I could have told you while we were underground would have been conjecture and theories. Was I supposed to try and scare everyone just for kicks?"
"No, I...I guess not," Leonardo said quietly. "I'm all tied up in knots, Don. This feels like a nightmare that isn't going to end anytime soon."
Donatello sighed wearily. "I know, Leo. I was thinking...I'm not sure..."
His older brother looked up at him, dark eyes encouraging him to continue.
"I don't think we're going to be safe inside the city for quite some time," Donatello continued.
Leonardo shook his head. "I don't either. As hard as it is to imagine, leaving feels like the only option."
"Well, it doesn't...it wouldn't mean forever," Don said weakly. "But there's still the question of where we would go, and who..."
"Who would be going with us," Leonardo finished flatly. "Don't think it hasn't occurred to me. All of our friends can't uproot their lives to follow us, and I wouldn't want them to."
Donatello rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I don't know what the answer is, Leo, but we're going to figure it out. At the moment, I'm more worried about Mike."
"I think you should get back to him. I'm sorry for interrupting." Leonardo pointed him toward the hall.
"Leo, when I find something, when I really know what's going on, I'll tell you. I promise."
The blue-masked turtle nodded.
Donatello headed through the hall to return to the guest room. He inched the door open and saw Rebecca seated cross-legged on the mattress, leaning against the headboard. Michelangelo's eyes were closed, but Donatello could tell he wasn't close to being asleep. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, and watched Mike's plastron shudder. His breathing seemed more regular, but it still sounded shallow.
Rebecca's gaze was softer than before. "Am I going to be in the way?"
Donatello shook his head. "No, Becky. I just want to finish testing a couple of things. Mike, open your eyes, bro."
The orange-masked turtle raised his head slightly. "Are you guys honestly fighting because of me? I don't think it's the time for that." His voice sounded a bit hollow behind the mask.
"Neither do we, Mike. I think it's just stress...it's affecting all of us. But Leo and I are fine. Do you mind if I pick up where I left off?"
Mike shrugged. "You're the expert."
I wish, Donatello thought silently. Then I might be able to get some clue here.
Donatello squinted to read the numbers on the device that measured Michelangelo's oxygen levels, and his sleep-deprived eyes struggled to make them out. His rate of oxygen is higher than the day he passed out...but there's still no answer as to why it would be dropping at all. I'm going to have to stay on top of this.
"What does it say, Don?" Mike asked.
"It isn't as low as it's been before," Donatello told him carefully.
"But it's not where it should be?" Mike clarified.
"I'm going to keep you on the oxi, and I'll stay close by to monitor your levels tonight."
"Why? What aren't you telling me?"
"It isn't like that, Mike-"
"Then what's it like?"
"I don't have access to our regular machines that would record your vitals, Mike, so I have to do this the old-fashioned way."
"What's old-fashioned?" Becky asked.
"It means I have to take my own readings every hour or so."
"Would you like to sleep in the bed with us?" Mike smirked behind the mask.
Donatello couldn't keep from smiling too. "I don't want to cramp your style, bro."
His younger brother chuckled, but the laugh dissolved into a coughing fit. Donatello immediately moved to help him sit up further, and waved at Becky to help him. Donny waited a few nerve-wracking moments for Mike's breathing to settle down, and his brother's eyes were watering by the time he finished.
"You need to be propped up," Donatello said decisively. "Maybe you should try getting down some of the tea Becky made." From where Donatello was sitting, the mug looked completely untouched.
"You're gonna stay, aren't you?" Mike asked hoarsely.
"Of course, Mikey. I won't leave you."
Mike sniffed as he rested his head back against the extra pillows that Becky had adjusted behind him. "I'm tired, Don."
So am I, he thought ruefully, but squeezed his brother's wrist encouragingly. "You just relax, and try to leave the worrying to me."