*Yep, you're getting this a little early because I have a long day tomorrow, and I won't be home until late evening. But I wouldn't exactly call it a favor.
Donatello calmly sipped the hot coffee, savoring the aroma that washed over him. Karina glanced at him from her work at the stove, offering Donny a slight smirk.
"Did I do good, Don?"
The turtle chuckled. "It's a great blend, Karina. I heartily approve."
"I can't believe you drank the same thing for so many years. Haven't you heard that variety is the spice of life?"
"Sure I have, Karina, but with the amount of things I normally have on my plate, it's more like 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'."
She shook her head. "You know, underneath it all, you really are a typical man."
Donatello took another careful sip. "Can't fight all the genes I guess. Whatever you're doing smells really good from over here. That isn't normal ham, is it?"
Karina gave him a secretive smile. "It's Serrano; a Spanish specialty. I splurged just a little, but it's completely worth it. You'll see."
"I don't doubt that, Sis." He tried to peer around the woman as she worked at the stove with two skillets. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble just for me though."
"You're not the only early riser, hermano," she said affectionately, throwing a look over her shoulder at Olivia, who was happily munching cheerios in a high chair. "Besides, cooking makes me happy. It settles my mind - it always has."
The purple-masked turtle grinned. "So we find release in beating the heck out of a punching bag, and you find yours in serving someone else?"
"To each his own." Karina prepared two plates from the skillets, and set the first one in front of the turtle.
He reached for a forkful of the eggs and took a small chunk of the ham along with them. For as simple of a dish as it seemed to be, it tasted amazing. "How did you get so much flavor in these eggs?"
"It couldn't have been easier, Don, I just lightly fried up the eggs and ham in olive oil. Good ingredients don't need to be dressed up much."
"You know what you're doing, Karina, that's for sure." Donatello looked over at Olivia as the little turtle began banging on the tray of her highchair with her fists. "I think your daughter is getting jealous to try some."
"She'd probably do well with the eggs," Karina mused. "Good thing I made extra." The young woman took a couple bites of her own before she scooted over to the highchair. "Do you want to try some eggs, angelito?"
Donatello smiled as he watched her feed the baby a small bite. He was a little embarrassed when Karina inadvertently caught him staring.
"What is it, Donny?" she asked curiously. "Is everything all right?"
"Yeah," he said sheepishly. "It's just different to...It's nice to think that the kids are going to be raised the right way. I don't mean anything against my Sensei of course. We couldn't have had a better father. But when I think about Liv having a Mom and a Dad, and Mikey with his kid on the way...it's a good feeling."
"I hope you get to experience it first-hand," the woman said lightly.
Donatello nodded. "I'm crossing my fingers."
Olivia banged on the tray more insistently as they talked, and Karina quickly scooped up another bite for her.
"She knows how to ask nicely, huh, Don?" Karina laughed.
"Just like her Daddy," he said mildly.
"Isn't that the truth? Go ahead and eat, Donny, don't let me hold you up. I know you have work to do."
He nodded. "Thanks, Karina."
"My pleasure, hermano. The way you forget to eat when you get busy, I wanted to make sure you had one decent meal today."
The turtle took his time to enjoy the rest of his coffee and breakfast before thanking Karina again, and adjourning to the third floor Lab. Donatello scanned the room appreciatively, shaking his head in amazement over the space. Even with Luke's description of it, he hadn't been prepared for the scale of the room.
It makes perfect sense though. This is where his parents worked and schooled him, where his mom designed so many drugs. He snorted under his breath. And history repeats itself.
Donatello took a seat in one of the rolling desk chairs behind a brand new desktop computer, and reached over to turn on the screen. He picked up his hand-held scanner, and depressed the button to turn it on as well.
I hope this biopsy can serve a true purpose. The question of where we go from here if this doesn't turn up anything is a big one. The troubled feeling in his gut increased momentarily as he tightened his grip on the scanner. I have to stop borrowing trouble. Our situation is drastically improved from a few days ago. Raph's procedure went off without a hitch...and we're going to get to the root of Mike's issues.
The turtle tapped on the screen of his scanner to bring up the recent medical data entry, and clicked the button to share the information with the desktop computer. The scanner was capable of breaking down the tissue sample in minute detail, but the analysis from the biopsy would be easier to complete from a full keyboard. He reached for a notepad so he could keep some handwritten notes as he went along, and opened the file on the main computer.
I can't help feeling like the white blood cell count plays a role in why Mike isn't getting better. After all these months, we still don't know why they dropped after he got back from the Congo. There are a lot of reasons it could have happened, anything ranging from a viral infection to an allergic reaction...even a vitamin deficiency. I've been down this road and considered all these possibilities. What am I leaving out?
The computer screen may as well have not existed in front of him, he was so lost in his own thoughts. What else? What causes white blood cells to drop in a human? I guess there are autoimmune disorders, and even parasitic diseases too. Mike could have picked up something in the Congo that we weren't aware of, but these symptoms don't strike me of that type of illness.
Then there's also the consideration of a congenital disorder, but that seems highly unlikely. That would have had to be something that was existing at birth, however...our DNA isn't the result of our natural birth. We were born once, but then we were transformed through a radical process of morphogenesis that none of us can really understand, because we can't reproduce those circumstances. We can view the physical result of the mutation, but we don't know how the cells transformed to make us what we are today.
He rolled his eyes as he took a deep breath to break off the pondering. What has me on this origin kick this morning? Figuring out the biological process that caused our specific cells to develop their structure wasn't on the agenda for today. All right, Donny. Let's focus, huh?
He ran his fingers over the keyboard to digitally enlarge the surface area of the tissue sample before he began the process of breaking it back down. As the image sharpened and came into view, Donatello had the vague sensation that all of the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room.
Raphael shifted his upper body uncomfortably in the chair, wishing dearly for the full use of his limbs. The cramps had returned in full force that afternoon, to the point that he'd asked for a heavier dose of the painkillers before they'd been offered for a change. Marcus had set him up in the sitting room in the back of the house earlier that day, in the hope of the turtle finding some peace and quiet away from the Great Room and all the noise.
The bedroom is nice and all, I just can't stand to be shut up in there constantly. This feels less like a prison cell, he said to himself, as he stared out the window at the pristine wilderness. He could only focus on the surroundings for a short time before the scene started swimming before his eyes. His mind felt hazy, and he knew the painkillers were beginning to fully kick in.
Raphael rolled his neck in the direction of the connecting hallway to the rest of the house. It probably wouldn't be long before someone came along to check on him, sit with him, and try to talk to him. He'd rarely been left alone for any extended period of time, except when he was sleeping.
I don't know that they're leaving me alone when I'm asleep either, he thought ruefully. They could still be looking over my shoulder, and I wouldn't know any better.
The red-masked turtle had already seen everyone under the sun today, with the exception of his genius brother. According to Karina he'd gone to work after an early breakfast that morning, and no one had seen hide nor hair of him since. Marcus and Greg had left earlier to make the trip back down the mountain to return the moving truck they'd used to haul their equipment, and Raphael didn't know what everyone else was doing. He could tell what he would probably be doing within the next couple of minutes.
The unnatural weariness was tugging at the back of his mind, and he was loathe to fight it. Raphael closed his eyes and could feel himself starting to drift, floating away on a pain free cloud of bliss. The slam of a door interrupted his descent, and he blinked glassy eyes open in time to focus on his purple-masked brother entering the room.
"Donny? What are you doin'?" he slurred slightly.
His brother didn't reply. Donatello continued standing just outside the door that led from the back staircase, vacantly staring into space.
Geesh, is he on the same drug as I am?
"Don," he repeated stronger. "What are you doing?"
Donatello at least looked at him that time, but still didn't answer. Amidst the dizzying clash of meds and weariness, Raphael discerned that something was very wrong with his younger brother.
"Donny, sit down, would you? Why aren't you talking to me?"
"Raph, I...I can't."
The red-masked turtle couldn't be sure if it was his imagination or the effect of the drug on his mind, but Donatello sounded older than he should have. "What are you talking about, Bro? You're being weirder than me, and that's saying a lot."
"I have to go." The words were more whispered than spoken.
"Go? Go where?"
"I can't breathe. I have to get some air."
As Raphael struggled to track his brother's movement across the room, a tiny alarm bell sounded in his memory. "No, Don, you shouldn't. It's cold, Doc said that..." He cut off as he tried to remember. What did Doc say about the weather? I can't even think of it right now.
"I have to." Donatello's voice was devoid of life or feeling.
The coldly spoken words hung in the air, as if mocking him for having a life of his own. "Don, don't go. I need you to...you can't..."
His vision of his brother was blurring, though he was fairly certain he detected movement. The next sound he heard was another door, and Raphael realized quite suddenly that he was alone.
"Don?" he called uselessly. "Hello?"
Only silence met him, and the warm darkness that was descending on him like a blanket. "Don," he mumbled one more time, as his thoughts jumbled into nonsense.
Where did everyone go? Am I the only one here? Why did he leave when I told him...dang it, when I wake up I'm gonna kill him...
The questions only led to further confusion as the rest of the room melted away. The red-masked turtle could no more hold on to reality than he could run a marathon. He fell asleep angry, although he already couldn't remember why.