Chapter 18 – Intermissions
"It does not matter that the burden is heavy. It matters that you carry it!"
Splinter, New Girl in Town
.
"Splinter, is he…O.K.?"
"No, April."
"Will he be O.K.?"
"No, my child; I am afraid that…he never will be."
"With respect, Sensei: that's unacceptable."
Earlier that morning.
"Morning Red. Sleep OK?" – Raphael
April rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the heavy shroud of exhaustion that clouded her vision and mind. Her text took several beats to ping Raph's T-phone.
"Like a bag of hammers."
"Zat good or bad?"
"Bit of both. You?"
Raph's reply ignored her question. "Have some matcha. Fearless is coming by soon to pick you up. More 411 then."
April lowered her phone, a strange expression on her face. Raph was never verbose, but that was weird. She tried to puzzle out what was going on, the trauma of the past day clouding her reasoning. As her mind cleared, her psychic sensitivity reached out. Without making any sense of it, the teen's mental link snagged on her family's pain. Overwhelmed, April dry heaved, then grabbed an old tea mug from her bedside table and wretched into it. A soft tapping at the window forced her to look up. She wiped her mouth on her pajama sleeve, and swallowed. Walking to her windowsill as fast as she could manage on Jell-O legs, she released the locks so that Leonardo could enter her apartment.
...
Even if Leo hadn't explained the situation to her, April's mind was now raw to the residual trauma of Donnie's attack. Wave after wave of psychic aftershocks battled her brain. En route to the Lair she had to stop on a couple of rooftops to throw up again. Leo waited patiently, rubbing her back, holding her ponytail away from her face, when needed.
Leo actually appreciated the intensity of April's reaction. He felt nothing but numb and grim, and was deeply grateful for company in his misery.
...
Immediately upon her arrival, Leo and Splinter escorted April to the door of Donatello's lab. Speaking on behalf of his father, Leo warned, "April, you can't get too close. We're worried about infection. I mean, we know it's a sewer and everything but – "
April nodded. She was no more of a risk to Don than they were. She knew their overreaction for what is was, a manifestation of their deepest fears.
"You said that you used Leatherhead's "hostile" blood as an antidote? Then let's use it as an antibiotic, too." Turning towards the main living area and the direction of the behemoth crocodilian she added, "If he's OK with it, of course."
Leatherhead bowed his snout and replied, "Of course. It would be my honour. Whatever is needed for our friend, Donatello. I will fetch Michelangelo so that we may extract more of my tongue blood."
April shuddered in the heat of the Lair. Silently, she turned to Splinter. It was clear that she wanted in.
Leo opened the door and, supporting April at her elbow, they entered the lab.
...
Next to Don's makeshift hospital bed, Raph sat chewing on a wooden kebab skewer, a nervous tick disguised as tough guy habit. He looked up and, seeing April, his hollow expression filled slightly with relief at seeing a good friend who would help them shoulder this burden. Raph stood, awkwardly, not knowing what to do with himself, realizing that he actually craved a hug. Instead, he coughed and moved away from the bed to give April space.
The young woman's eyes tried to take in everything, and failed. Instead, she re-started from Donnie's feet and moved upwards.
His feet looked fine, sort of pale. Legs the same. He was lying on his plastron, his left side to the door, and to her. His shell was covered with blue medical sheeting. She remembered ordering that stuff online several months back. Don's left arm was tucked under the sheet, with a single tube visible, leading up to an I.V. drip. His purple bandana was absent. The Turtle's head was face down in a cushioned opening, like on a massage table. Inexplicably, a stuffed frog sat vigil next to Don's left shoulder.
Slowly, and giving the bed a wide birth as told, April walked around to the other bedside where Raph stood nervously. She stopped when she saw Don's right arm. At first, she didn't understand. Did the bed have a hole for the arm, too? For the lower half? Of course: THIS was what Leo had told her.
Without thinking, she moved closer to see, to make sense of Donnie's mutilation. Gently, Raph stopped her a few feet from the bedside. Turning to Raph, April simply said, "Where…?"
"Bathtub. Ice water. With protein shake powder."
April almost threw up again. Turning back to the bed she asked, "So, he's sleeping? On meds?"
Splinter spoke up. "Yes. His pain must be excruciating. He is heavily dosed, particularly for the time that it takes to plan how best to treat him."
"But he's conscious?", asked April, hopefully.
"No, April. He is not. He has been unconscious since Leatherhead and Michelangelo brought him home."
April nodded, as if that made any sense or was any comfort to her. "And…the arm. What will you do with it? Can I…can I see it?"
This time Splinter nodded to Raphael, who guided April from the lab and to the bathroom.
...
They found Mikey on his knees in front of the bathtub, sprinkling more vitamins into the water, and wearing a worried expression. As he turned to see April, his eyes widened and his lower lip quivered. She knelt down next to Mikey and said, "This looks like the worst bath ever."
Mikey smiled mirthlessly and, looking back at his gruff older brother confessed, "It doesn't smell right, Raph."
"Of course it doesn't, nerd: it smells like 'super-kale' and 'tropical fruit blast' supplements." But Raph knelt down on Mikey's other side to inspect the water, too.
Gently, April asked, "Um, Mikey, when was the last time anyone checked the, erm… the, um…"
Mikey raised his eye ridges. "We haven't. Yet. We, um, we're just, sorta, getting used to… this."
April and Raph sighed in unison. It was time to do that which was very gross and highly disturbing.
Refusing to let anyone else touch it, Mikey lifted the heavy parcel from the water and placed it on an old, peach towel laid across the tile floor. The plastic tied around the towel-wrapped arm hadn't kept out the bathwater, and skin "pruning". Feigning a surgeon's precision, Michelangelo unwrapped all the sopping sheets, and sat back on his heels. An odd smell drifted upwards from flesh that looked more purple than green.
No one had the appropriate words. Finally, with far more confidence than she felt, April asserted, "We'll just have to find another way to get Donnie back an arm."
Mikey would have sobbed, but he had nothing left to emote. Saving Don's arm had been HIS job. This was how HE would help. It would be his redemption. Instead, the youngest brother whispered, "We're so vulnerable without Donnie." Then, bitterly, "That's why they targeted him. Isn't it." Statement, not question.
Raph offered what comfort he could: "Fishfart's a psycho, he'd shiv his own mother. And even Don couldn't save a torn, poisoned arm, reattach it and get it to work again, Dummy. He's a genius, not a miracle worker."
April's eyes widened. "He's a GENIUS", she repeated excitedly. "YES", she affirmed to no one but herself. "We don't need a miracle to beat this problem. We have SCIENCE. I have a plan: it's going to piss off The Foot, and it's going to work."
Thank you for reading, it's very much appreciated! XD I'm looking forward to writing the next update - hopefully it will be as much fun for you as for me!
*The non-sequitur stuffed frog is a reference from my Mikey/Leatherhead ficlets. I haven't just gone mad. Entirely. Yet :)