A/N: Hey everyone. Happy Sunday hope everyone has enjoyed their weekend. Can't believe it's December already. Thank you again to those who leave reviews, they are greatly appreciated. I am going to try really hard to update next Sunday - but next weekend, well this whole week really is going to be really busy for me. We have our monthly meeting at work and then inventory which means I'll be working really long hours this weekend with no idea what time I'll be getting home and I have a class to teach Sunday. So I can't promise but I promise I will try. If not I apologize. Have a great week everyone.

Donata desu ka - Who are you

Chapter 2

Something's Wrong

Hamato Leonardo was a very unhappy turtle. Michelangelo hadn't even told him he was going out tonight, and he wasn't thrilled with the idea of his youngest brother being out there alone. Even with the panic buttons Donatello had installed into their shell cells, something could prevent Michelangelo from getting to it if he ran into trouble. With all the increased gang and foot activities recently it made it ill-advisable to go out. Even when the brothers went on patrol as a team they were cautious.

The fact that Raphael had known where Michelangelo was going and had let him go alone had not helped. Leonardo knew that Raphael had been enjoying some much needed quiet time with Elizabeth, but he also knew how dangerous it could be for one of them to be topside alone.

Frustrated, Leonardo had retreated to his room to meditate, to quiet his mind and relax. But after an hour of being unable to connect with the spiritual plane he'd given it up as a bad job and sighed, opening his eyes. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't let go of the feeling that something wasn't right. That something was going to happen, or had happened already.

Sighing again he got up, put out the candles and left the bedroom. The living room was quiet, the TVs turned off, the couch empty. Raphael's bedroom door was closed. Leonardo headed down the stairs, Elizabeth had more than likely retired for the night, but the pounding of fists punishing a punching bag told Leonardo that Raphael was still awake and using his bag as a way to release some built up tension.

Michelangelo's door was still open, the room dark. Leonardo frowned. It was going on midnight. Surely the convention was over by now. So where was Mikey?

His eyes narrowed marginally and he didn't bother with the rest of the stairs, flipping off the railing and landing lightly on the level below he checked the kitchen automatically. But it was noticeably silent. A few of the dinner dishes were still drying in the rack and a few dark crumbs that Donatello had missed when he'd spilled some coffee beans onto the counter still sat next to the sink. There was no sign Michelangelo had been there recently, and already knowing that his brother wasn't playing video games our checking out the new comics he'd gotten Leonardo did the only thing he could think of. He had to talk to the others. They had a brother to find.

Melinda wiped some sweat away from her forehead, and then finished wrapping the broken arm, using two wooden spoons for splints to keep it in place as she gingerly but tightly wrapped the white gauze around the limb.

Getting him inside her apartment hadn't been easy, and she'd worried, as she'd tried to haul him to his feet and realized with a start how heavy he was that she might not be able to move him at all. He was easily almost double her weight and he had leaned on her heavily, bearing almost none of his own weight. She'd prayed gratefully that she'd managed to get a ground floor apartment. So that meant she'd only had to get him up the front stoop and down the hall to her small one bedroom apartment. It was nothing fancy, but it suited her needs nicely.

The creature, turtle Melinda now knew for sure thanks to the large shell on his back, had been in and out of consciousness. When she'd first tried to move him he'd seemed to come around. He had been dazed, unfocused, and hadn't fought her as she'd pulled him to his feet. She'd nearly buckled under his weight and desperately had kicked off her high heel shoes to give herself a steadier base to support his weight.

After maneuvering him ever so slowly up the six front steps and almost dragging him down the hall as he'd sagged again, she had unlocked her apartment, deposited him on the couch and gone back to the alley to retrieve her shoes, cell phone, and briefcase. But, it was then that she'd noticed weird stick like weapons – two of them. There had been sticks on each end of a short length of chain, and they'd had the same silk binding on them as the turtle had on his face. The same color too. The material was worn, obviously aged, but soft against her fingers. Impulsively she'd picked them up and had also spotted a small shell shaped object. She had no idea what that was either, but she'd figured it had to belong to the turtle creature as well. So gathering up her shoes, the weapons, her own phone, and briefcase. She'd once again returned to her apartment to see the creature hadn't moved from where she'd left him on the couch. His breathing was deep, even.

Frowning a little she'd put down her items and returned to the couch, putting her fingers to his cool neck. His pulse was a bit fast, and she was startled to see a red stain bleeding into her white couch slip. She hadn't even noticed he was bleeding. Not when she'd been so distracted with what he was, and how heavy he'd been when she'd tried to get him inside.

Alarmed, Melinda turned his head and saw a gash on the side of his head, deep and staining his orange mask red along with her couch. The mask would have to come off… that gash would need to be stitched. Melinda hesitated. She knew how to stitch wounds. Her mother had been a nurse and had insisted that both her girls learn how to do emergency treatments in case for some reason emergency services weren't available. It wasn't something her sister had really taken to, squirming uncomfortably as they'd learned how to stitch skin together with a needle and heavy thread. But Melinda had found herself quite good at it. But she had no idea how this creature would take to her doctoring it. His mouth was awfully large, and she was sure he had big teeth. Not to mention his muscle definition. They were impressive, he was obviously athletic.

Still she couldn't just let him bleed all over her couch, and his arm had to be set before he went into shock.

She'd gotten up, retrieved her first aid kit and gotten to work before she could talk herself out of it. The arm had been badly broken, but Melinda had worked quickly, setting the arm first and then splinting it with the sticks and wrapping it tightly with white gauze. Then she wetted a gauze pad with some peroxide and gently applied it to the head wound.

The creature groaned, stirring a little under fingers. She pulled back, startled. Would it wake up and attack her? He groaned again, and went still once again. She waited a minute before she once again put pressure to the wound, this time he didn't move.

Her heart began to pound furiously in her chest as she reached for the sturdy needle and heavy thread she used to stitch wounds. Her top teeth dug deeply into her bottom lip and she pierced the tender flesh with the tip of the needle. She jerked, expecting him to wake and lunge at her, but he didn't.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and began the delicate stitches. She was a little more than halfway done when he groaned, stirring, and she froze.

Oh no! She thought. He's waking up!

"His shell cell signal is faint, Leo," Donatello said, frowning at his computer screen at the orange light that would blink faithfully for a minute than blank out, as if it were… damaged.

But if Mikey had accidentally dropped it, he would've come straight home, apologizing to Donatello and giving him some excuse on how he'd been so excited about the new comics and how it wasn't his fault that his shell cell had dropped five stories and smashed to the pavement below. It wouldn't be the first time, Donatello thought, and he knew it wouldn't be the last time he'd have to repair his brother's shell cell. But Michelangelo at least didn't break his as often as Raph broke his, and Michelangelo was always good to answer his phone when his brothers called, where as Raph only answered if he felt like it.

Leonardo leaned over his brother's shoulder, glaring at the screen. "Do you think it's a blimp?"

"Possibly," Donatello said frowning. "It hasn't moved for a while," he added clicking the mouse and pulling up a document with words and numbers, which looked very disorganized to Leo, but that Don had no trouble deciphering. "It's been there for at least an hour and a half," he said, his frown deepening in concern.

"I'll get, Raph." Leo said straightening. "We're going to go find him. He might be hurt. I don't like this."

"Ok, Leo," Don said quietly, watching as his oldest brother quickly hurried from the room before turning back to the screen. He closed the document and looked at the small grid as the orange light blinked once more than went out for the last time. "Hang on, Mike. We're coming."

He clicked off the monitor, grabbed his bo from the corner and left the lab to see Leo waiting impatiently by the front door, katana already on his back, eyes narrowed, arms crossed across his plastron. Raph emerged from the dojo just as Don passed it, his sai in his belt, his amber eyes taking on the glint they took when he was worried for one of them.

The three brothers didn't need to share words, but quickly slipped out into the quiet tunnels of the sewer. They had a missing brother to find, and bring home. Nothing would stop them.

Melinda was frozen over the giant turtle, heart pounding in her chest, eyes wide with horror as his eyes opened slowly. She withdrew her hands, leaving the needle hanging where it sat dangling on the thread, stitches incomplete, rotating slowly around and around with the sharp point down, almost touching his green shoulder.

He groaned again, lifting his uninjured arm to his head, reaching for the few stitches she'd managed to finish.

"No!" Melinda said, impulsively reaching out to catch his wrist and stop him from undoing her hard work. "Don't do that! You'll tear the stitches."

She wondered, why she was explaining. He was a turtle. He wouldn't understand English.

His eyes slowly turned to look at her and she was surprised to see that they were a startling shade of blue. A turtle with blue eyes? Well there's always a first. He blinked at her, confused, and dazed. He opened his mouth and automatically Melinda withdrew her hand, wary of being bitten. But she almost fell over in shock when he spoke.

"Donata desu ka?"

She blinked, astonished. He could speak? That didn't seem possible. Obviously she was over worked and hallucinating. Yes. That must be it. Turtles couldn't talk. Not even giant ones. She felt as if the world had suddenly titled and was spinning out of control.

The turtle didn't move, or speak again. But his eyes drifted closed once more. Melinda, a little alarmed now that the turtle creature, whoever he was, seemed to be coming in and out of consciousness so quickly. That could indicate a serious hit to the head and a severe concussion, which she knew, if left untreated could make him slip into a coma. She was a bit overwhelmed. She didn't know much about head injuries, but she knew they could be serious. Even at a hospital with proper care, and she obviously couldn't take him to a hospital. Hesitantly she reached out touching his strange leathery skin. But he didn't seem to notice.

She kept one eye on his face and the other on her work as she got back to stitching up his head wound.

Twenty minutes later she washed the blood off her hands and watched the pink water swirl down the drain, removing the evidence of her doctoring the giant turtle. But what in the world was she supposed to do with him now? Or what would she do if his condition got worse? This wasn't a simple matter at all and she found herself wondering how she'd gotten into this situation in the first place. She certainly wouldn't call a zoo or a lab, not that she would've done that anyway – she despised both places, but this creature had actually spoken to her. He was intelligent. Of course she hadn't had a clue to what he'd said, but he had indeed spoken. A foreign language. Was he not from around here? And if he wasn't how did he get here? And why was he here?

Melinda filled up the sink with cold water and then put the orange mask into the basin to soak. It would help get rid of some of the blood before she put it in to be washed. She knew the creature would want it back, but now it would be clean. There had been a small rip at the top part of the mask right under where the gash had been, it had obviously torn on something. Probably one of the rough bricks. The dark bruising she'd discovered when she'd taken the mask off his eyes had confirmed he'd hit his head on something good and solid. She was sure he'd have one heck of a headache when he finally did wake up.

The mask floated to the top of the water, the eye holes clearly visible in the swirling pink water. Impulsively Melinda touched the material again.

"But why would he need it in the first place?" She asked herself again. The material had been sleek and soft under her fingers, but the knot at the back of his head tight. She had broken the nail on her forefinger when she'd untied it, but she'd finally succeeded in freeing the knot and getting the mask off the injured turtle.

"I just hope I'm doing the right thing," she muttered. She stepped back out of the bathroom and walked into the living room again. Her guest hadn't moved. She sighed, picked up her briefcase and headed to the kitchen to make herself a strong drink and get to work.