April was lost in the warmth of her father's embrace. She wept into his shoulder; he gently stroked her hair.
"I'm so sorry, April," he said. "You have no idea."
"It's okay, Daddy," April said. "You didn't know what you were doing." She couldn't find it in her to blame her father. Donnie had taken the risk willingly—how many times had he said, "if it's the last thing I do?" Yet she wondered if he realized that it would be the last thing he'd ever do as a sentient being.
She faulted herself. If she hadn't been so paralyzed on the rooftop, her father would never have been mutated in the first place, and Donnie wouldn't have taken on what would turn out to be a suicide mission.
Sadly, Kirby looked over at the small turtle who sat at the foot of April's bed. "I never got to tell him this, but he was probably the smartest person I ever met."
Person. Even though he was a turtle, it was true. Donnie had been a person in the truest sense of the word, even if he hadn't been a human. Now that he was a simple turtle again, he was no longer a person; just an animal.
That animal had become a person—the smartest person in the world, probably, because of the mutagen. Was there something inherent in this particular turtle's nature that had caused him to mutate that way? Or had it just been part of the unpredictability of the mutagen, that had made him so intelligent, while the same substance had taken her brilliant father and turned him into a dumb brute?
Once again, she buried her face in her father's shoulder. If there hadn't been enough retro-mutagen left for Mei to administer—from a safe distance—to her father, Donatello's demise would have been entirely in vain.
"Are you sure we can't just—you know, put more mutagen on him?" her father asked. It was the same question that Raphael had asked. Leonardo and Michelangelo too. Mei and Splinter seemed skeptical about it, though open to the possibility.
But April had experienced one of her overpowering episodes of intuition—an overwhelming feeling that told her the results would be even worse than their present situation. "I'm sure."
Kirby shook his head. "I can't believe how much I've missed. I'm so sorry, honey. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to help you through all of this. I wanted to keep you safe so badly, but I ended up putting you in more danger than ever."
Mei walked into the room, carrying two cups of hot tea. She handed them to April and Kirby. "Are you feeling any better, Kirby?"
"Much." He rubbed a large bruise on his neck. "Still quite sore, though."
"Well, that tea has arnica flower in it. It will help with the swelling."
"I'm so sorry..."
Mei put up a hand. "Don't. You have no cause to feel guilt for this."
Kirby sipped his tea. "You're very generous—Mei, is it?"
Mei nodded. "I'm sorry we didn't have a chance for a formal introduction. I am Tang Mei." She bowed in customary greeting.
April quietly sipped her tea while Mei and Kirby chatted. She noticed that their conversation was one of strained politeness, as if there was some kind of mutual embarrassment between them. Well, April thought, they didn't exactly get along on their first meeting. But by the end of their conversation, their tones became warmer.
"How is Splinter doing?" Kirby asked, worry crossing his face.
Mei frowned. "He won't speak to anyone."
Kirby sighed. "I'm—"
"You do not need to be sorry," Mei said. "I might not be a psychologist but I know that blame does nothing for grief."
Kirby nodded. "It's true. But it's one of the stages of grief."
There was a slight commotion as Leo, Raph, and Mikey entered the room. The three of them were muttering amongst themselves as they came in, but then they stopped in surprise.
"Mr. O'Neil!" Mikey said. "You're not a giant bat!"
"Thank you?" Kirby replied.
Even in the midst of everything, April couldn't repress a giggle at their exchange.
"Wait—how?" Raph said.
"I took the last of the retro-mutagen," Mei said, "and I gave it to him. I didn't want this to have happened for nothing."
"It didn't," Leo said firmly. "We're going to get help to fix this."
"What do you mean?" April asked.
"We're going to Kraang," Raph said gruffly. "And we're going to beat the solution out of them."
"I thought the plan—" began Mikey.
"No need to talk about the whole plan, Mikey!" Leo snapped. He grinned nervously. "You know, it's complicated and stuff. We could really use your help, Obasan."
"I want to help too!" April said.
The three turtles exchanged uncomfortable glances. "Well, it won't be safe for you, April," Leo said. "You need to stay here and work on getting better."
April got the vague sense that Leo was not telling her everything. "What is your plan, exactly?"
"Oh, you know, slap around a few Kraang," Raph said hastily.
April frowned. "That can't be your whole plan."
"Um, it's a need-to-know basis?"
"How can you think I don't need to know this?" April screamed, spilling her tea. Her shout startled Donnie back into his shell.
"April, you've got to trust us on this," Leo said. "Just work on feeling better and keep Donnie comfortable, okay? Obasan, can you come with us?"
As she watched them leave the room, April felt a sense of helplessness that was worse than grief.
Casey lay on his bed, tossing a puck up into the air and catching it. It did little to alleviate his sleeplessness. He hadn't seen April in over two weeks. By all accounts, she'd just stopped coming to school. It worried him. The last time she disappeared was to hide from those freaky aliens. Was she in trouble again? Was Shredder after her again?
Shredder. It was because of Shredder that all of this had happened. Karai had said that the turtles—or their master, or whatever—were absolutely horrible people who deserved to be destroyed. But that didn't seem to carry much weight coming from the same people who coerced him to betray his friends and girlfriend by resurrecting his own past demons.
And what exactly were they planning to do to April? He had been so hung over that he hardly remembered that night, but he remembered Leo's furious upbraiding.
You sold April out for booze?
The sweet, seductive, numbing alcohol had proved once again to be a vicious liar, leading him into a guilt-ridden sobriety that made him long once again for numbness. Never before had his drinking led him to so much regret. It had cost him the love of his life. What had happened to her that night?
She almost—she almost got really hurt, Casey!
Maybe this time—now that he had ruined everything, the consequences would be enough to keep him from falling off the wagon again.
Suddenly, there was a loud thump on the roof above him. He jumped. He went to his window to look outside; the wind was blowing pretty hard, so maybe it was just a branch falling. Shrugging, he turned to go back to bed when the window slid open and a slim, feminine form leapt into the room.
"Don't say a word, Casey," she said.