TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and LeatherHead © Mirage Studios
story © Turtlefreak121
Flicker
Chapter Nine: Silence
"It always starts the same, doesn't it?" Donatello sighed as his visitor frowned and nodded, sipping tea. "I'm so sorry I cant remember your name right now. But, you see, I lost this key. And everything's just been falling apart since I lost the key. It's kind of tragic, really. Something that's so small and useless is gone and, suddenly, it means more to you than anything else in the world."
The guest looked to him quietly.
"I guess that's what happens when you take stuff for granted," Donatello sighed as he tapped his chin and allowed his eyes to wander. Truly, he was not feeling well.
He didn't even know what room it was.
"I'm so scatter-brained lately, forgive me. Strange how it works. I become so obsessed with finding that key and now everything else is jumping around in my head so fast it's making me throb all over. I feel like something's trying to getout of my brain. Reminds me of a someone I new once. This robot." Donatello made a soured face. "I… I don't remember his name either."
Looking over to the guest, Donatello noticed that the long snout of his new friend wrinkled with some disgust, he was curling its claws around a cup. It looked like a dinosaur or something preposterous like that.
Folding his arms, Don sighed and shook his head. He could not remember the creature's name for the life of him. And the creature was not much of a talker so odds were it was not about to give him any clues.
"I forget, what were we talking about? Ah. Oh, yes. That old thing," Don sighed as he poured the creature more tea from the pot. "It always starts the same. I've already told you that."
Frowning, Don stared deeply into his friend, but not at him. Through him. At the gray atmosphere which was suddenly whirling behind him, consuming the brick wall and dissolving it into the alley. The clicking of heels echoed through the alley and a gentle hum of a woman's laughter, so sweet and tender, broke through, trumping all other noise.
A couple walked before them and Don felt his face fall somewhat in sadness. A couple walked by the alley and the weather was just fancy. They looked so pretty they could have strolled right off a movie set. He was in a nice jacket, she in fur.
They were just so fancy and so happy.
And then they were gone. In a flash their night was over and Don knew them both to be long dead. he sighed and looked at his tea, waiting for the vision to leave him be.
It was never gone for long, though. He knew that.
The moment it was gone, however, he missed it. He missed being the observer, the audience. He was tired of being the center of attention in his world. And as he looked dup and saw that hideous monster's face again, he knew it was itsfault.
Don squeezed his own cup of tea until his hands quaked.
"I'm sick of playing the Mime Game," he snarled at last, leering at the monster who only sadly looked back. "Tell me who you are! Tell me who you are before it drives me crazy!"
A strange look came over the face of the long nosed creature and it sighed. Shaking its head, it gave not a word to Donatello. It could answer no questions and Don was more than aware of this fact.
More than upset by then, Donatello stood up in rage and threw his cup at the fiend, shattering the illusion that there was anything there at all.
"I'm so sick of this!" he growled, grabbing his head tenderly through the throbbing.
At dinner, they were all quiet.
Everyone sat at their normal seats, everyone picked at their food as normal, but it was still a moment that was far from normal. Because it was so quiet.
Any word between them risked saying the wrong thing, asking the wrong question. Like asking why Don had been yelling in his room earlier. Or any of a million other questions about his behavior, about –
Well, about his symptoms. It was undeniable anymore.
Leo couldn't eat, instead putting down his utensils and deciding what he and Don were going to do about it tomorrow.
Raphael had a philosophy that ran right down to his bones, something he figured defined him more than almost anything else, even more than his anger and frustration. It all came down to a simple question.
What was a brother supposed to do for his family?
It was simple. It was the one thing he could always answer. What was he supposed to do for his family? Anything.
There was no thought behind his actions when they were for family, no concerns about his impulse. He would bury himself in battle without a moment's hesitation for the sake of his brothers, his father, their friends. He wouldn't question mortality or danger if it meant doing something for them, anyof them.
So Raph didn't think about it. He rarely gave himself time to think about it.
But when Don succumbed to the Outbreak Virus, Raph couldn't steamroll over the problem. He had to let the others, had to let LeatherHead and their friends, formulate plans and cures.
He hated it.
By the time the conclusion was drawn from their formulas and experiments, Raphael had already developed a sharp sai that could slice through Agent Bishop a thousand different ways. It worked. They rescued Don. And while Raph did not get to skewer his favorite operative, he did get to cut through some nasty Foot soldiers. That almost made it worth it.
Almost.
But the problem was back.
Raph could see it so clearly in his brother's half-dead eyes. Why couldn't anyone else see it?
It was nearly six months later but the monster hidden within Donatello's mutated DNA had resurfaced. It was laying in wait, to take away their last hopes for a happy lifetime growing older and uglier together.
They lost.
He looked around the table as everyone silently ate their food, observing one another for signs of a pulse or breath from time to time. It was like they were children and they huddled in the corner of their bed, waiting for the monster to disappear if they didn't say anything.
Raphael couldn't do that. Not anymore.
He had ignored the elephant in the room long enough.
Fist closed, he sat up and glared at them all. They looked back, save for Don who was mesmerized by his teacup.
"I'm going to my room," he announced before abruptly doing so. He called back to them, "Do yourself a favor: if you need me, don't bother."
He shut the door and glared at his mirror. He didn't even think of breaking anything. There had been enough things breaking lately.
Instead, he turned off the lights and stood in the utter darkness of his room, the only trembling light being released from the cracks between the frame and the door. Raph could deal with those, though. He stuffed his blanket into them.
When he could see nothing, he sat down on the floor, not even daring to try to make it to his hammock for a sit.
It was completely silent, almost as silent as it had been at dinner.
He tried to cut himself off from all distraction and, in the first earnest attempt he had made in what felt like ages, he tried to meditate for peace rather than find it in the action and numbness derived from a fight.
He tried to think and nothing would come.
What was he supposed to do for his brother? He didn't know.
He just tried.
Leo was ready for an answer.
In the mind of a strategist, the world came to order when a goal could be seen as achievable. If a solution to a problem was known, Leonardo felt he could all but forgive that there had been a problem to begin with.
He didn't believe their situation was repetitious. He knew, logically, he couldn't write out the possibility of it, but something about it – even if it would be related to the horror that had been Don contracting the Outbreak – was wrong.
When Don had his episodes, Leo did not see a monster.
He simply had to prove it to the others.
Looking to his family, seeing that Don never fully looked him back, Leo wondered if perhaps there was something behind the flickering of Don's eyes. That even as he failed to make eye contact, that he wasn't experiencing one of his episodes. Maybe on a smaller, less noticeable scale.
Maybe Don didn't even know himself.
With Raph gone from the table, Leo took a breath and steepled his fingers before his face. He had to concentrate on how to say what needed to be said.
The silence the motion drew from both Master Splinter and Michelangelo spoke volumes on its own.
"Don," Leo called out, causing his brother to blink and look up. His focus was still off, though, and Leo took careful note of it. "Tomorrow you and are going to LeatherHead's and looking for your keys."
At last, Don's kind eyes focused on Leonardo clearly, really saw him. "You… Wait. Are you saying you know where they were?" he scowled. "Shouldn't they be here?"
"No," Leo said, continuing to ignore the quiet impatience and curiosity that overtook Master Splinter and Michelangelo throughout their conversation. "No, Don, I don't know exactly where they are, but I have a hunch that we'll find everything we need tomorrow. If you trust me."
As Don withdrew some in thought, putting a hand to his chin and honestly looking the most Don he had in days, Master Splinter turned and squared to Leonardo directly. There was a certain intensity to the whip of his tail behind him.
"Leonardo, I do not know if Donatello leaving our home again so soon after…" he paused, closing his eyes and sighing before continuing, "after what has occurred is the most wise course of action."
"Besides we've talked to LH–" Mikey began only for Don to stand up, drawing everyone's attention.
"I trust you, Leo," Don said.
They quietly looked at Don, and Leo never felt more of a need in his life to capture a moment, to try and keep his brother exactly as he was at that very instant. To keep the confusion and possible harm away again at whatever cost.
But instead he allowed a coolness to wash over him, he smiled softly back to his brother. "Thanks, Don. I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah," Don said, walking toward the stairs. "You, too."
Leo clenched his fists and took a breath. He needed to call LeatherHead ahead of time and get things ready, but for a moment he was content to soak in the good news.
His brother trusted him. That was all the inspiration in the world Leo needed to make certain he didn't let that trust down.