A/N: Alright, as promised, I have delivered the weekly update! Yay! Anyways, I hope I'm writing a good Don, I was never really good at writing him. Tell me what I need to improve on, please!

Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT or any other characters associated with them except for my OCs.

Don plunged his wooden spoon into the gooey mass of oatmeal in front of him with a heavy sigh. He glanced up at Mikey's sober expression. Don frowned at the sight of his unusually solemn younger brother. He mixed the oatmeal about with his spoon as he returned his gaze to the grayish mush. Both he and Raph had spent an hour cleaning Klunk's blood off the floor while Mikey had sat sulking in a corner. They had boxed up Klunk's remains and asked Mikey if he wanted to go with them to bury the kitten, but he refused to even acknowledge them. They had then proceeded to make a run to the surface where they buried the kitten in a park. Neither of the two brothers had spoken to each other throughout the task. By the time they had returned to the new lair, the sun had risen and Mikey had calmed down enough to sit with Don and Raph for some breakfast.

Don and Mikey now sat at a rickety wooden dining table, neither wanting to eat the mushy and pasty bowls of stomach-sickness-waiting-to-happen that sat steaming before them. Don glanced behind him to see Raph at work on the stove against the wall and wearing an apron that said: "Quit your bitching and eat" in bright bold red letters. A great fluffy white chef's hat sat on his head. Don rolled his eyes and turned back to his meal, churning the bowl of vomit-inducing-oatmeal with his spoon. After Raph's mutant genes had healed his tongue (which was burnt by a red-hot coal while he was captive in the Foot tower), he had realized the joy of food. Now no one could stop the red-masked terrapin from cooking, and, they had learned to not complain about charred food or any other negative notion concerning Raph's cooking.

Don glanced at the clock near the stove and sighed once more. It was ten in the morning and Leo was still gone. Raph turned at the sound of the sigh, adjusting his pristine chef's hat as he did so. His eyes narrowed at the sight of both Don and Mikey staring dejectedly at the food he had so painstakingly crafted. "Oi! Eat yer' food!" He barked at them. The two turtles jumped in surprise with wide eyes. The wooden spoon flew from Don's hand and seemed to spin end over end in slow motion as the three turtles watched it sail through the stale air of their home.

It was at that most opportune moment that Leo calmly stepped into the kitchen, melting out of the shadows with ease, and the spoon whacked him in his good eye with an audible smack.

"Ow!" He cried out in surprise as he clutched his eye. The wooden spoon clattered onto the floor, spilling bits of rancid oatmeal with each bounce. Leo blindly took a step forward and immediately regretted it as his foot slid on a slippery puddle of oatmeal. He hit the ground on his shell with a thump. Leo groaned and rolled onto his plastron.

The other three turtles stared, still in shock of the suddenness of their brother's appearance and his lack of grace. Don bit his lower lip to stop the snicker that attempted to exit his mouth, trying to hide his obvious amusement. Raph laughed outright, slapping his knee in exaggeration. Mikey, still quite solemn, could not stop the small smile that eased itself onto his features.

Leo slowly stood and removed his hand from his eye, knowing that it would quickly swell into a black eye. He turned his gaze to the lumpy oatmeal before his brothers and then to Raphael. "Your cooking has sinister intentions for me." He commented, referring to an incident in which Raph had made scrambled eggs that had made Leo sick for three weeks; the older turtle had then remarked to his red-masked brother: "How do you screw up eggs?" Raphael shrugged at Leo's comment. "Yer' too much of a lightweight. Mikey an' Don neva' complained 'bout m'cooking."

Leo rolled his eye as he bent over to retrieve the spoon. He stood and tossed it into the sink next to the stove before taking a seat next to Don at the dining table. Raph turned back to the stove and the silence quickly returned. Leo's half-smile faded quickly and, when he looked at Mikey, the younger turtle avoided his gaze. Don sighed again and dropped his gaze to the oatmeal in front of him. The uncomfortable silence began pressing in on them. Leo chose to ignore it and instead he began studying his leather wrist guards as he leaned back in the wooden chair.

"Casey called earlier." Raph said, breaking the silence. He kept his gaze on the pot in front of him as he stirred with a large ladle. All eyes turned towards him.

"He wants t'know if wanna go t'his farmhouse for the weekend. Him an' April are getting' married soon, so they ah' wanna' spend some time wit' us b'fore the weddin'." Raph continued, still stirring.

Leo's hazel eye gently drifted over to Don, who shifted uncomfortably. Don's coffee brown gaze met the older turtle's, and there was an unspoken plea from those brown eyes. Leo knew how Don had felt—still felt—about April. He and the purple-masked turtle had spoken about it on numerous occasions and it was concluded that Don could not pursue his emotions. It was too complicated to engage in any sort of romantic relationship with a human. With the engagement of April and Casey, Don had been nearly torn apart and Leo had spent many days consoling the heartbroken genius. Leo gave Don a heavy stare before turning to Raph. His gaze hovered on Mikey for a second, and he immediately regretted it. He froze in place, staring as his baby brother stared back. The look on the younger turtle's face haunted him and though he fought to tear his gaze away, he could not. Mikey's eyes were wet and his lip quivered as he mouthed "please" more times than Leo could count.

A stab of guilt seeped into Leo's conscience at the sight. "He really cared about Klunk…" He thought to himself, shivering as the chill of guilt crept under his shell.

He cares more about a cat than he does about you.

"Shutup." Leo thought sharply at the voice. He turned his gaze to Raphael, who was now setting aside the ladle. The cook turned and leaned against the countertop.

"So, how d'ya guys feel 'bout it?"

"Let's go." Mikey said quickly, lacking his usual luster.

"We still have a lot of work to do around the lair…" Don ventured.

Raphael shrugged. "I'm all for it, but I ain't fer' goin' unless we all go." He glanced at Leo who had remained silent during the exchange. "What about you, Leo?"

All eyes turned to Leo now. Don bit his lip, hoping that Leo would say no. The eldest brother sighed and gave Raphael a sidelong look. "Sure." He replied, glancing to the youngest turtle as Mikey's face lit up at his answer. Don froze in shock and glared at Leo. He stood up from the table. "I'll be in the shower." He said, dismissing himself while ignoring the venomous glare from Don.

~.~.~.~.~

Don shut the door to his new lab with an eerie creaking sound, plunging the lab into darkness. His computers were off and anything else that might have glowed had been shut off. Don blindly made his way through the darkness, towards a rolling chair that sat before a flat metallic desk. He dropped down into the chair heavily and felt about the flat desk. He flicked a switch and an eerie yellow glow from a desk-lamp slowly buzzed to life, illuminating him and his workspace. A multitude of messily-scrawled-on paper littered the desk and a space had been cleared out in the area in front of Don. In the cleared space there lay a small black book bound in hard cover. Its pages seemed to have yellowed from age and its spine was wrinkled as if it had been open to certain pages for long periods of time. Don's gaze fixated on the book and he tentatively reached a hand out to lay it on the cover. He rested his hand there for a moment before slowly opening it.

The book creaked as if it were in pain from the movement. Small clouds of dust drifted free from the yellowed pages as the paper settled. Don's gaze hovered over the image that had been taped to the page in front of him. He gently placed his hand on the photograph of a pale woman with green eyes and crimson hair. She wore a purple shirt and sat next to a purple masked terrapin. They were sharing a pizza and laughing. Don's hand rested upon it for a moment before he angrily tore the photograph from the page in a swift motion, ripping and ruining the image.

He stood, tossing the torn photo on the desk and ripping the book off of the desk. He hurled the tome at a wall where it hit and fell to the ground, spilling onto its pages and wrinkling them more than they already were. Don yanked a drawer open and removed a lighter from the contents of the drawer. He paused as he held the lighter over the ruined photograph. His brows furrowed and he pulled the trigger of the lighter as the mouth of it was pressed against the corner of the photo. A bright but small flame burst into life from the mouth of the light and flicked gently over the image. Suddenly, the little flame spread across the photograph. The corners of the photo began to curl and glowed bright orange along the edges as the flames tugged on them. The photograph writhed and twisted and curled upon itself as the flames danced across it in an empathetic fervor.

Don watched calmly, an orange glow reflected in his eyes as the flames swallowed the photo quickly. A shadow seemed to shift in the corner of Don's eye. He whirled about, mask tails fluttering gracefully as his eyes darted about the room. He could sense something in the dark, though, he could not see it. He shivered despite the warmth of the flames behind him. He stiffened as a wave of coldness washed over him and a breath of freezing air blew in his face. Don swallowed a lump in his throat. He couldn't see, smell, or hear anything, but, something was there. Something was breathing right in his face. He could feel it.

Don stared at the darkness, but not even his ninja trained eyes could make out whatever it was that was right in front of him. He reached back blindly for the lamp. Sudden burning pain flared through his hand as it brushed over the still hot embers of the photograph behind him. He snatched his hand from the embers with a howl of pain. Don shook his hand as he breathed through tightly clenched teeth.

The door to his lab slammed open and light flooded through the open doorway and into the room. A silhouette stood in the door frame, two katana hilts rising from his shoulders. A worried expression was fixed on his face. Leo's hazel eye drifted from Don to the smoldering pile of ash and embers that was the photograph. His worried expression disappeared as he met Don's gaze. There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other.

"Is your hand okay?" Leo finally said, breaking the silence that had settled in on them. Don's eyes narrowed but he kept himself civil. "Yes. No thanks to you." Don said calmly, referring to the earlier conversation and the decision to visit April and Casey.

Leo folded his arms across his plastron as he leaned against the doorjamb. "I thought you were entirely healed, considering the lecture you gave me last night… unless you'd like to admit that you're being a hypocrite?" Leo replied candidly. Don bit his lower lip and turned about, ignoring Leo's taunt.

"I have work to do."

"I'm sure you do, so, I'd suggest that you pack it up or leave it here. We're leaving in thirty minutes."

Leo then turned, closing the door. Don remained silent, staring at the ashes upon his desk. He glanced aside. He could still feel that something.

A/N: Please review :)