Disclaimer: I don't own the TMNT

Turtle Age: 6-7

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I shook the last child awake, who promptly groaned and burrowed deeper within his covers. Frowning I shook Michelangelo harder until with a moan he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "It can't be morning already, I just fell asleep!"

"Yes, you did. Nine hours ago. Now stop arguing and get up." I turned and walked out, trusting that he would eventually get out soon enough to eat breakfast. Yesterday he took too long so he went without and acted as though he were wasting away until it was time for lunch. I had a haunch that he would not make the same mistake again.

Donatello had woken up with minimal protest, though he still seemed somewhat wary. I sighed. The previous day he had gotten into trouble for not listening once more. I did not know what to do with him, normally he was one of the better behaved out of the four turtles, but during the last four months or so his distraction and inattentiveness was beginning to wear my patience thin. In my mind I knew that this was not fair, that most likely I was becoming more irritated simply because I had always expected more of him, perhaps held him to a higher bar. In any case, I hoped that today, just as I had hoped yesterday, that he would give me no trouble.

In the adjoining room Raphael and Leonardo were already up and making their beds. I smiled. I had completed the construction of the other room several months ago, which consisted of putting up several walls, in order to give them more personal space. I was in the process of putting up a third, though from the tense competition that was beginning to form for it, each wanting a room to themselves, I was considering not allowing any of them to move into it until I had completed the fourth, thereby giving each of them their own room at the same time.

Heading down to the kitchen, I placed the tea bag in my cup and poured the hot water in it. Plucking the string, I swirled it and allowed it to steep. Frowning, I looked at the worn face of the small burner that my tea kettle sat upon. I was not sure how much longer it had. It was quite old and outdated. It simply consisted of a single burner upon an electronic stand several inches thick. It was electronic and I was fortunate to find one that functioned. Somewhat warily I eyed the large stove that I had moved into the kitchen area two months before. It was very nice. Indeed, I was more than certain that it had all of its parts; yet it would not work. Our previous one met an unfortunate end.

My whiskers twitched in irritation at the memory. Come to think of it, that was when Donatello first started displaying the distraction that now caused him trouble. In short, he was destroying things. I had come into the room only to find the main components of the stove in pieces everywhere, with Donatello in the middle. On top of that, he had used my tools without permission. Tools were extremely hard to find, unlike food humans tended to take very good care of them. In the middle of the scolding Michelangelo had tried to help clean up by throwing away some pieces. I not only had no idea how to put it back together, especially since it was a newer model, but the now missing pieces drew the line in the sand. The stove was un-fixable. I ended up having to toss it out. The worst part was that Donatello could not even give me a proper explanation, he would not give me any explanation at all. He simply stared at the floor in silence. I warned him about touching such things, how they could hurt him and how difficult it was for me to find a functioning piece and then haul it down here unnoticed. Still he had said nothing. Not knowing what else to do, I grounded him with a stern warning not to repeat it.

Slowly I examined the newly acquired stove. It took me months to fully fix the sinks and the toilet. I was still extremely nervous to attempt the wiring of the Lair, as long as a few lights worked, albeit dim, I was willing to push it off until later. The stove, however, was another matter. This was the best one I could find since Donatello took apart the other one and I was working myself up to the thought that perhaps I might be able to fix it. I had found more than one type of book on electronics, if I studied it hard enough I may be able to figure it out. Until then, I was reliant on this single, old, portable burner who's days were obviously numbered.

I had the children get their own cereal as part of my more recent encouragement for them to care for themselves as much as possible. Not only was it easier on me, but it put my mind more at ease when I went to the surface to scavenge to think that they could do the bare necessities themselves. In silence I watched as they got the worn jug full of dehydrated milk that I had mixed with water and poured it on the cereal that I had, eh, tactfully acquired from a local store. Still I had to zip to Michelangelo's side to make sure he didn't flood his cereal in a torrent of milk. Michelangelo, hardly aware that he nearly made yet another mess, smiled at me. "Thank you Sensei!"

I noticed Raphael's unusually dry cereal. "Raphael, you must use milk, we have discussed this before."

He made a face. "But I don't want milk. Milk is for babies!"

Michelangelo snickered. "Well then that'd be the perfect reason for you to have the whole gallon!"

Raphael, who was always in a sour mood in the mornings, punched Michelangelo in the arm. "OOOOOOOOWWWWIIIEEE! Sensei! Raph hit me!"

"Stop being a little baby tattletale or I'll give you something to cry about!" Raphael hissed, fist balling for another punch.

With a squeal Michelangelo dumped the contents of his bowl over Raphael's head and ran away screaming. Covered in milk and flakes Raphael charged after him, knocking over the chair and bumping into the table on his way. He ran after his brother and chased him around the Lair.

I gritted my teeth and massaged my forehead. There was another headache coming on, I knew it. My anger was palpable. Why could we not have ONE breakfast in peace? Both boys had made nearly a full lap around the Lair and were doubling back towards me, by this time so distracted in the chase that they passed within a few feet of me. Sticking out my tail I tripped them both. Raphael landed on his brother, then immediately preceeded to rain blows upon him while he squealed and writhed. Grasping both shells with my hands I held them off the ground at arms length, feet dangling. Taking a moment to attempt to calm myself but succeeding only partially, I glared at them both. "Michelangelo!" He cringed. "How many times have I told you not to make a mess or tease your brothers! You know better! Raphael!" He quieted, looking sullen. "I want you to have milk for its nutrition, we do not always have the best food, you need to take advantage of it when we have it. And no beating on your brother! You know better!" I set them both down then pointed at two opposite corners of the Lair. "Michelangelo, you go over there! Raphael, sit over there! You obviously are not hungry for breakfast so you will sit until we are finished."

Michelangelo rounded on me in protest but I would have none of it, physically turning him back around and marching him to the corner where he preceeded to cry somewhat silently. Raphael crossed his arms and stared at the wall, not moving.

Moving somewhat stiffly, I turned and sat at the table. Leonardo looked at me for a moment over his flakes, an elated smile on his face. "I was good Sensei! I-"

"Leonardo! You know better than to take pleasure in your brother's misbehavior. One more such comment and you will be joining them in a corner." The smile vanished from his face and he spent the remainder of the meal looking at his cereal. Donatello was silent the entire time. In truth, among all the commotion, I had forgotten that he was here. Momentarily I was tempted to say something, but for the life of me could think of nothing to say. He had been silent and withdrawn like this ever since he had started misbehaving, daydreaming instead of listening. I was not sure what to make of it. My son in purple was so...different from anyone that I was used to dealing with, that at many times I was at a loss.

As soon as breakfast was over I allowed them free time to do as they pleased until our lessons. Leonardo tried to practice some of his ninjitsu lessons on his own, Raphael was hitting the dummy that I had the good fortune to find nearly six months ago and Michelangelo was playing with his toys. Scanning the Lair for my fourth son, I found him sitting sullenly on the couch, not doing anything. Troubled, I approached him. "Donatello, why don't you go and play?"

He bit his lip and shook his head. "I can't."

My brow furrowed. "But surely you can just-"

"NO! I can't!" He sprang from the couch and ran to his room, out of sight. My first reaction was to follow him, but then I decided against it. He seemed to want to be alone, and what could I say? I could not force him to play. I have tried to sit down and talk to him before, about what he is feeling, but this always seemed to make it worse. It hurt me, that I could see that my son so plainly needed...something, but I could not figure out what it was. It was frustrating, I tried so hard as a father, but it was times like this where my own failure seemed to cut deep within me. If only I was human, I could go and seek advice, maybe see what I was missing...I shook my head. Stop wishing such foolish things, Splinter! You cannot change what is. I would simply have to try to figure out Donatello on my own, with luck I would not ruin things further.

Ninjitsu training did not see much improvement. This was quickly becoming nearly all my son's favorite time, though for various reasons. Michelangelo loved that this was the one time when I actually encouraged him to jump around, the sheer energy that he expended during these times was enough to make me tired. Leonardo enjoyed the movement and in some ways the discipline. Already he was shaping up to be the most skilled among his brothers. Raphael saw it as yet another avenue to vent the temper that was so plain within him and relished seeing what his body could do. Donatello was the only one who did not seem to be into it like his brothers. He was always hesitant, always overthinking, though since his different behavior had surfaced this was coupled with what I saw as daydreaming. He would slow his movements until he was immobile, eyes staring off somewhere else, brain working on something else. It was at these times where either his brothers knocked him down when they were sparring or I had to correct him if we were doing it individually. Each correction, especially when it came from me, seemed to wear him down thinner and thinner. By the end of our session he always seemed to be on the verge of tears.

His brothers nearly always took advantage.

"Why'd I hafta go against Donnie again? He's so slow that there's no challenge to it! Maybe next time I should just go against the practice dummy!" Raphael laughed.

Leonardo shook his head. "You shouldn't say that, Raph. Some of us just aren't any good at this stuff."

"You mean Don, right?" Michelangelo quipped.

Donatello visibly retreated further within himself, his face darkening.

I groaned inwardly. Yet again, can we not do ONE session without this! "Raphael! Leonardo! Michelangelo! Twenty flips, now!"

They all moaned and groaned as they lined up to do their punishment, though when I turned around Donatello had once again retreated into his room. I looked at the entryway, worried.

Surely our educational lessons would be better. That had always been Donatello's favorite lesson. Already he was reading at a high school level, his mathematics and science levels were up there as well. I had recently found some high school textbooks and was looking forward to showing them to him. Perhaps that would brighten his spirits.

Ignoring the groans of protest when I announced that it was time for lessons, I quickly set the first grade workbooks in front of my other sons before going back into my room to retrieve the textbooks. I had gone through them earlier and fortunately discovered that there were questions and problems at the end of each chapter, which even more fortunately had the answers at the very end. I had already marked several pages that I thought would be a good starting point and hoped that Donatello would like them.

After setting up the other three, which I did first because directing them was easier (in truth some of what was discussed in the high school textbooks were a little beyond me, especially the math and science). Then I proudly presented the books to Donatello, my eyes searching his face for that familiar light when he became excited over such things. While he did brighten slightly, he still looked bored as I directed him the chapters he was to read and give him the questions that he was to answer. He said the appropriate thank you's for the books, but the words seemed mechanical. Honestly I was slightly crestfallen. My hopes seemed dashed. Silently I scolded myself. How could I think that something so simple would solve the issues you have been having with your most educationally gifted child? He was too complex for that. I felt heavy. I could feel him slipping away. I was doing something wrong, I knew it, but what? I did not understand, that alone was horrible to me. A father was supposed to understand his sons, right? What kind of father was I being to Donatello? I was failing him at best.

The rest of the day seemed to drag. I knew that my mood was affecting the others but for the life of me I could not manage to lift it. Each time I looked at Donatello it was as if looking into the eyes of my own failure. True, he did take the textbooks after lessons and continue to do more work, but he seemed to lack all pleasure in it. It was more as if he was doing this simply for something to do, and also perhaps in an attempt to please me if the furtive glances my way were any indication. This seemed like more of a blow. It was obvious that he felt the drift as well, and just like I was doing, was attempting to placate me. I should not have to be placated, I was missing something. This troubled me to no end.

Partially in an attempt to try to distract myself I pulled out my electronic manuals and my tools and decided to try and tackle the oven and stove. It was like trying to swim in syrup. When I thought that I had found the accurate direction for the area that I was working on, the next thing I took apart destroyed that illusion. After an hour I had pieces and parts scattered throughout the entire kitchen and I had to admit that I was lost. Inwardly I seethed. This was my best find in a while, the best stove that I had discovered in a long time, and here I had ruined it already! I had no idea how to put this thing together, who was I kidding! As my eyes scanned over all the parts all around me I slammed the wrench in my hand on the floor in anger. Stupid! Your sons were depending on you! How many times was I to fail one or all of them today! Tail lashing in anger I got up and walked away from it, too furious to even try to pick up my mess today. I would do it tomorrow, although by the noises that my plug-in single burner was making, I might be going without tea in the morning.

Exhausted, I put everyone to bed early despite that protests and retired to my room, almost as if I could shut away my own troubles.

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A noise awoke me. I lay on my mat, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking at the clock. It wasn't too late, not even midnight. I knew without looking that it was one of my sons since no strange scent permeated the Lair. Now the only question was which?

Groaning to myself I picked myself up, hauling myself on my feet and slowly, silently sliding open my door. Noiselessly creeping across the Lair I saw the light on in the kitchen and peered in.

There was Donatello, sitting among the pieces of oven, using the tools that I had left on the floor in my anger. My fist clenched, my first urge being to storm in there and punish him. But something, some feeling in my chest, made me hold back. I had long since learned to follow this feeling, so despite my better judgement I stayed and observed him for a little longer.

He had the manual open beside him, flipping through the pages and apparently after finding exactly what he was looking for used the tools to attach to pieces. Then he nearly crawled inside the oven, connecting it in a place that I had never thought of putting it. Testing the knobs, a single burner on the oven began to heat up. He nodded and turned it off, apparently to work on the other three. I stared in astonishment. I had not come close to getting any of them to work! And here was my young son, doing what I could not, by himself in the dark!

An understanding started to seep within me and I inwardly kicked myself. For some reason it had never occurred to me that he might actually know what he was doing when he took apart appliances. It seemed impossible, despite his skill with the textbooks, he had seemed much too young to be able to tackle something like this. Apparently I was more than wrong. How could I have misunderstood him so drastically! True, out of all of my sons he was the most different from myself, but that was no excuse. I was his father.

Abruptly he turned around and saw me. Immediately he scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide. Hands darting behind his back, he looked down at his feet, tears already beginning to form in his eyes. "I-I-I-I'm sorry Master Splinter! I-I wanted t-to make you happy! I j-j-just wanted t-to fix it for you! I-"

I held up my hand, silencing his protests. Tears were now running unchecked down his cheeks. He was biting his lip to keep from sobbing outright though his tiny shoulders shook with the effort. I sat down to his level and immediately enveloped him in a hug, my own guilt, my own self anger...I needed this as much as he did. He was surprised at first but then hugged me back with his skinny arms and released his sobs, burrowing his face into the fur of my shoulder. With a gentle hand I stroked his head. "No. It is I who should be sorry, my son. I have obviously underestimated you, I have misunderstood you. I am sorry." I blinked hard, trying to keep my own tears at bay, having to swallow past the lump in my throat. Oh, how could I have been so wrong!

When his sobs subsided to little hiccups, I held him away and gave him a small smile. "What have you done here, Donatello?" I asked with a light voice.

He gave me a tremulous smile. "Well, the algorithms in the manual were a little hard to understand at first, but after I read through all the manuals and looked at the parts they started to make sense and I was pretty sure I could fix it."

I stared at the manuals. He read those! To me that sounded as interesting as watching paint dry. "How long have you been wanting to do this?"

He stared at the floor and blushed slightly on his tear-reddened cheeks. "I don't know. I've just been so frustrated lately. It's still fun to learn stuff, but it's so irritating, I'm not doing anything with it! It's just sitting in my head not doing anything!" He smacked his little clenched fists against his head. "I knew I wanted to do something with it, but I didn't know what! Then I saw stuff that needed to be fixed and it was so cool that I just did it when I wasn't supposed to. I forgot about how you liked the tools, and I used them without asking and I was being stupid for being so bad and I-"

I interrupted him again, seeing the tears brim on his eyes once more. "I am proud of you, Donatello. This is my fault for failing to realize your potential and challenge you where you obviously needed it. I am sorry for scolding you for the other stove."

He stared at me with wide eyes, obviously surprised that his father was apologizing to him for something. I smiled, as an idea hit me. Standing up I straightened my robe and looked around. "But, we cannot have you work on things like this." His face fell but my smile stayed, knowing that he would like what I had in store for him. "I feel that...you may need your own space for such things."

His puzzlement was apparent. "Uh, I...what?"

"Come."

Dutifully he followed me as I led him to one side of the Lair that did not often get used. Huge double doors were in the middle of it. Grasping each door I heaved them apart to reveal a large area easily a quarter the size of the entire Lair. I gestured him in and he walked in the space, mouth gaping open and wonder in his eyes. "What is this?" He said in an almost reverent whisper.

"It is an additional room. I was planning on using it for storage, but to be truthful we never seem to acquire enough to utilize even a third of this space. I was thinking that instead it could be your work room. It even has a single functioning outlet."

He whipped around, his eyes wide with excitement that I had not seen in months. "Mine? You mean like a lab? My own lab!"

I laughed as his sudden smile nearly split his face in two. "You can call it whatever you like. And yes, it is yours."

Elation filled my heart as he danced around the space in an uncharacteristic display of joyous energy. He hopped up and down excitedly. "Oh, there's so much I want to do! I can fix the stove, if you find a full size fridge I bet I can fix that too. That one will be so fun! And - ooooh! I bet I can get the rest of the outlets to work! And..." his smile faltered slightly. "But I'll need more tools for that. And those are so hard for you to find..."

I shook my head. "No. You can have mine."

He stared at me in open faced astonishment. "REALLY?!"

I laughed again. "You seem to be much more adept at using them than I ever could. Of course you can have them."

His squeal of delight was music to my ears even as tears formed in my eyes. Perhaps I was not such a failure to Donatello as I had originally thought. True, he presented unique challenges, but perhaps that was the way it was supposed to be. Nobody ever said that fatherhood was an easy thing. I loved him as much as I loved my other sons, and although I now realized that I may truly never completely understand everything about him, at least I could learn to be more supportive of those that I did not understand.

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How did you like it? I really wanted to showcase Splinter's imperfection a little, and some unique challenges with a gifted child. This is actually partially based on my own daughter, who I at first punished for acting up in school when she started kindergarten. Then I had her tested and found that she was at a second grade level and was acting up out of boredom, but I still felt bad about not realizing that beforehand.

I DO want to do a Leo-centric and a Mikey-centric story. Someone suggested something with Leo and Space Heroes but I want to do something relating more to childhood, mostly will take place before Don figures out how to get TV in there, something related to their personality. Any and all suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

My son is heavy into the 'why' phase right now and I'm now working on a oneshot about that.

Also if you like my stuff I have a TMNT/zombie fic with all TMNT pov's and a Don-centric fic, though those are angsty-gorey, not feel good like this one!