Splinter's sensitive ears twitched, orienting on the sound that had drawn him from sleep. The rat remained motionless and listened for the tell-tale signs that would identify who'd entered the room. The soft scrawl of a pen on paper lasted long enough for him to recognize his visitor, even if his scent didn't give him away. Only Donatello or one of their doctor friends would be taking notes, and each of them had a unique writing style. Luke's pen rarely left the paper, connecting letters together in a fashion that set him apart from the others.
"Why don't you have a seat, Dr. Barrows?" Splinter invited without opening his eyes.
The squeal of a chair and the sound of rolling wheels made the rat turn his head and blink slowly.
The blond-haired man smiled at him sheepishly. "I don't know why I bother trying not to wake you. I'll probably never pull it off."
"That does not mean I don't appreciate the effort."
Luke scooted closer to him. "Your throat sounds clearer. How does your chest feel this morning?"
"It is not as tight."
"Mind if I have a listen, Master Splinter?"
Splinter shook his head and mustered the energy to sit up. The sluggishness in his limbs was a feeling that he couldn't get used to, no matter how long it persisted. He attempted to mask his inner struggle for strength from Luke, hoping the man wouldn't detect it.
He knew that their human friends and his sons had his best interests at heart, but Splinter had accepted more than his fair share of nursing from all of them. What he truly desired was to be seen for who he'd always been, and not the failing shell that his body was becoming. If Luke noticed his difficulty, the man chose not to say anything about it. Splinter sat still while the doctor positioned his stethoscope.
"Go ahead and take a good breath for me."
Splinter knew what was expected of him, and fought to take a deeper breath than he felt capable of. His chest shuddered with exertion, and Luke's hand rested tentatively on his back.
"It's okay," the man said softly. "Baby steps, all right?"
Splinter turned his head away, staring at the bed-spread. "I do not seem to be taking steps at all."
"Give it a chance, Master Splinter," Luke urged. "There's been a little improvement with your breathing, hasn't there? These things can take time."
The rat looked up wistfully, having decided to be honest with the man. "I cannot stay chained to this bed, Dr. Barrows. My sons need for me to take part in their lives…and the longer I remain here, the less alive I feel. I can hardly stand it, though I dare not say it to them. They are clinging to hope and looking for a recovery where it may not come."
"You don't know that," Luke said quickly.
Splinter held his gaze steadily. "I know my own body after all these years, my friend. I know what is normal…and that what strength I have left is still fading. I cannot speak this to my sons yet. I hope that you will allow me to speak to you."
It took Luke a few seconds to reply. "Yes…you can speak freely with me."
"I have no desire to burden you, Dr. Barrows…but there must be some way to rescind a few of my restrictions. I do not wish to waste away here day after day, as though I am imprisoned."
"But everyone is coming to you," Luke pointed out.
"It is not the same thing. I must exercise such freedom as I am still able. I want my sons to remember things the way they were, and not just how they are."
"Master Splinter, I…" Luke was at a loss for words.
"Help me, my friend. I do not mind being in more pain, not if it means I can bring them some comfort."
Luke exhaled. "I'll see what I can do, Master Splinter…but I don't want you to give up hope either. We haven't seen anything to suggest that you can't recover from this."
"I would like to observe my sons in their sparring today," Splinter said, not acknowledging his words.
Blue eyes studied him mutely. Luke was a medical professional accustomed to running a team in the Emergency Room, and thereby his demeanor rarely gave away what he was actually feeling while at work. His practiced calm was intact, though certainly shakier than normal.
"I don't see any reason why you couldn't watch them for a while," the man said at last.
"Without you watching me?" Splinter suggested with a small smile.
Luke nodded. "I'll give you guys some space, Master Splinter."
"That is all I ask for, Dr. Barrows. Would you see if my students are prepared for my visit?" Splinter arched an eyebrow with a mock-menacing glare.
Luke chuckled. "I'll go tell them to duck and cover."
The smell of the dojo was like an awakening to Splinter. It was the room where he'd spent so many waking hours practicing and meditating; one of the places where he felt the most like himself. It had been almost two months since he'd darkened the doorway – two months since he'd last watched his sons engage in mock battles.
The atmosphere was much more subdued now than it had been in the past, with all four of the turtles already kneeling near his feet. Splinter had come to expect the seriousness from the blue-masked turtle, but the other three were not usually as somber. Things are not settled, and I cannot pretend that they are. But I still mean to take what opportunity exists to encourage them.
He nodded at the turtles. "Take to your partners, and begin."
His sons gained their feet rapidly, separating into the two pairs Splinter had designated many years before. While all of the turtles took the time to spar with each other in turn, the regular teams remained to that day.
Splinter wasn't certain what to expect as he focused first on Leonardo and Raphael. The turtles were well-versed in their forms, but he'd been cut off from their workouts long enough that he wondered if their katas had suffered.
The smooth evasive maneuver his red-masked son employed to avoid Leonardo's first attack made Splinter smile instantly. The control of both strength and temperament in battle was something that he'd worked long and hard to ingrain into Raphael, and it was reassuring to see some of it played out before him.
The dance that unfolded over the following minutes of his two oldest sons exchanging and blocking blows in a seamless motion made the rat secretly sigh in relief. I should have known that they were capable of working together and training alone. I do not why I still choose to see myself as their school teacher and them as my toddlers. They are young adults now, and they have learned extremely well. It does my heart good to see it with my own eyes, even if I should have been able to trust their commitment to ninjutsu.
Splinter's breath caught briefly when he noticed a fraction of an opening in Raphael's defense. Leonardo's posture indicated that he would take advantage of it, but the blue-masked turtle never took the step, letting the chance to trip up his younger brother fall by the way-side.
Concern pulsed in the back of Splinter's mind. For all of their growth, it does not appear that Leonardo has completely recovered from the disastrous spar with Donatello. He holds back when he should press forward. He shuddered involuntarily at the memory of the fight that had ended so badly between his two sons. I worried for both of their recovery: Donatello of his physical wounds, and Leonardo's emotional burden of injuring his brother. They have come a long way, and yet…
Michelangelo's whoop distracted Splinter from his oldest sons, and he glanced over to the other pairing. The rat shook his head as the orange-masked turtle flipped Donatello over his back with a moved that was showy, but obviously not ninjutsu.
He was tempted to berate his youngest for using a maneuver that departed from the appropriate fighting style, but the hopeful grin Mike cast over his shoulder as he pinned his brother made Splinter hold his tongue.
"Did you see that, did you see me, Master? I know it's different, but it's still kinda cool, right?"
Leonardo and Raphael ceased their own spar in favor of hearing what Splinter would say, likely expecting the lecture he'd considering giving Michelangelo.
"It is important to study hard and know the correct steps of any art form, Michelangelo," he said slowly. "But after much learning and practice, the most important thing at the end of the day is to overcome your adversary. You have clearly done so."
"Oh, yeah!" Mike celebrated. "Who's the man?"
Donatello wrapped his leg around Mike's knee and used his momentum to roll over to take the dominant position. "You always did open your mouth too soon."
The dojo was filled laughter, and Splinter's spirit felt warmer than it had in weeks.