The only thing worse than falling into a Kraang dimension is trying to shake off a case of mono: man, that virus sticks worse than mutagen. Apologies for the wait, those of you patient enough to stick with this fic: I hope you likey!

Chapter 10 – Salutations, part 1

"Everything that you know I have shown you, but I have not shown you everything that I know."

Splinter: I, Monster

.

It had been a late night for everybody, even by Turtle standards. Raph had let off steam by making multiple, long, um, entries in his "Daily Blessings Journal". Leo's mind was absorbed with putative Foot Clan plots so, throughout much of the night, he'd stewed and meditated, meditated and stewed.

Donnie had only stewed: he still couldn't work a fix for his T-phone and was now pretty sure that his lab wouldn't have the right parts, either. He'd likely need to hit the junkyard to get the cell back online and finally revive his 24-7 contact with April. "24/7" in a non-creepy way, of course.

In the wee, small hours of the morning, Mikey had come home from a Kinekt Force game-a-thon with Leatherhead. Now cooking up breakfast, the youngest brother nursed a brownie hang-over.

Only Master Splinter had meditated himself to an early bedtime. Thus it was he who rose first with the smell of bacon, pancakes and apple relish. The latter was Michelangelo's specialty: a flavourful, aromatic sauce that he made only on weekends using fresh apples with ground whole sticks of cinnamon, cardamom and star anise – all gifts from April, who sometimes arrived early enough to join the feast. Hamato Yoshi's tummy still registered these scents as life-affirming, even if Splinter preferred cheese and other proteins. Whiskers twitching in anticipation, he moved through the Lair towards the kitchen.

Splinter was not disappointed with the meal spread across the large kitchen table before him. After an evening in Leatherhead's company, Mikey's cooking was for, whatever reason, especially inspired. Plumes of steam danced off the tall, buttered stack of thick buckwheat pancakes, while slabs of glistening fatty bacon winked enticingly next to a large bowl of Bircher-style muesli. A tall carafe of coffee stood at attention to a large pot of tea. Mikey sat at one end of the table, daintily double-fisting a glass of OJ and another of water to remedy his wild night of chocolatey over-indulgence. While cooking, Mikey had set up the Kinekt Force game and, now, was replaying the new moves he'd learned by practicing with Leatherhead.

Stroking his long beard, the Rat glided into the kitchen and took a mug of hot gunpowder tea for himself before settling into a stool across from Mikey. Astutely, Splinter observed the game at hand.

"You are about to create a Column of Doom."

"A who-the-what now?", came Michelangelo's eloquent reply.

"A Column of Doom. It is the empty vertical line that you make when you position your pieces just so. In this situation, your opponent cannot drop his own piece into this column. If he does, then he creates the platform on which his opponent will bridge the gap between two adjacent pieces and one other piece, thus connecting four pieces and winning the game."

Splinter demonstrated the manoeuver for Mikey.

"Whoa."

"The Column of Doom is a cunning play. You effectively remove options for your enemy. This forces them in the direction that you want to go – unless they do not mind defeat at your hands."

"Double whoa."

"My son, yesterday we discussed your sparring technique, and the need to be sensitive to your opponent's feelings and motivations in order to anticipate and block his moves."

Mikey's baby blues widened considerably: "We did?"

Splinter did a surprised double-take, then reminded himself with whom he was speaking. He gently persisted: "Yes, we did. When you bemoaned that Leonardo and Raphael – as you like to delicately put it – kicked your butt?"

"Oh, yeah. That. I think I blocked it out, Sensei. That was a really lousy training sesh' for me."

"The past 24 hours have been lousy in general, Michelangelo."

Mikey looked hard into his Father's eyes. "Um-hum", he nodded, "The past 24 hours have been a pretty big suck: which I would know, having been in the Lair all of the past 24 hours", the Turtle concluded with a butter-wouldn't-melt expression plastered to his face. Moving hastily along, Mikey asked, "So, tell me more about this Column of Doom thing?"

"Yes, of course, my son-who-would-never-think-to-manipulate-anyone. The point of this lesson, which is captured perfectly by this impeccable game from the late 1970s, is that in order to win any battle of any kind you must read your opponent. Then you can sensibly guess their motivation, and thus think ahead of them to predict their strategies and actions."

Eyes a-squint, index finger to chin, Mikey thought very hard on this advice. Splinter worried that the tea would cool before his son was done his contemplations. Finally, Mikey spoke: "Unless you're Raphael."

"Well - yes. Unless you are Raphael. In which case, it may work to simply beat whatever is in your way out of it. But the Column of Doom is a double-edge weapon. You may also trap yourself in the process, so you must be wary that you have not also limited your own options by reducing those of your enemy."

"Kinda like when I ate those Kinekt Force pieces cuz I was mad that Leo beat me?"

"Exactly kind of like that. My son, the bottom line here is that it is not as important what moves you make, as what moves you force your opponent to make."

As Splinter began to shift tack to Michelangelo's disobedient departure from the Lair the previous night, the oven timer chimed persistently. Mikey gracefully shifted from his perch to silence the timer and remove from the oven a heavy cast-iron pan that enveloped a perfectly puffy and golden pecorino cheese, pine nut and arugula omelette.

Splinter raised an eyebrow even as he began to salivate in a Pavlovian way. "My son, it seems that you have already learned this lesson."

"I have no idea what you mean by that Sensei, but I'm glad that you think so." Mikey wasn't always as naïve as people assumed. He expertly slid the omelette from pan to plate, sprinkled the golden surface with finely minced chives, and served it to Splinter with a metal fork wrapped in a serviette, successfully disarming the last of his father's resistance. Then, as an appetizer, he served himself a small bowl of the apple, yogurt and almond cereal. Life wasn't so bad after all.

Father and son tucked into their respective breakfasts, quietly enjoying the peace before the storm that would begin when the rest of the family woke up.

Sorry if you're jonesing for pancakes now: I got a bit George R.R. Martin with the food descriptions here. Must be because my appetite's back – or that I like to leverage tasty meals to control people. Ha. ha. hurm... - Here, please have a pancake ;) Also, if you're keen on reading the background story about Mikey and LH's visit, please visit Ch. 2 of my fic, "Onegai Shimasu". As ever, thank you for reading and to my StealthyStories peeps for support!