A/N: Middle of the story is wrapping up. Then, the climax starts!

WOLF - "Ex's/ dead O's come back to life" This amused me greatly. XD

Sciencegal - Like a deer in the headlights. Oh, Raph. And I'm excited to reveal more about the Languu. We still haven't met one, though. Not yet...

D - Sorry for that. Phones. XP Mia's not QUITE recovered. She can talk, but gets winded easily (which is why there're so many pauses when she speaks). Her leg muscles are still being built back up, she's underweight, needs assistance, and Gavin is paranoid about her having strokes. But her personality has returned and THAT is strong. LOL You'll see what I mean if you continue reading on. ;)

Chapter 36: Wake

Donatello felt his head slip from between his hands all too late. The hard surface of his desk met his forehead with jarring force, and he cursed as he straightened up in his swivel chair.

"Nod off again, Donny?"

Hand against his temple, Don sent April a pointed look across the Lair's Lab. "You're supposed to wake me before I get any more bruises."

"Couldn't help myself," the redhead countered while tucking short hairs behind her ear. "I keep hoping you'll stay asleep. You need it."

"Considering everything that's going on? Forget it. What if I go to bed then wake up to find Sensei"—the mutant swallowed hard—"dead?"

"Don't say that." April neared her best friend so she could grip his shoulder—prodding him with her nails so deeply that it distracted the Chūnin from his nausea.

"It's a reality we're facing, Ape," Don muttered towards his mass of paperwork. "The antibiotics have only worsened his respiratory issues, so even the perfect Chemo would be a death sentence at this point. He's too weak. He's…"

"Still holding on, which means we should too."

"I know. Still, our only chance lies in Recro-12 now. We have no more room for theories or alternatives, and if it keeps failing…" Before the genius realized it, several papers writhed in his fist. "While I hate to say it, it would certainly help if Nia remembered how Bishop stabilized his body."

"There's a way, Donny," said April, gentle. Her nails eased until they ran down his muscles, resting on his forearm. "Four geniuses can't remain at a roadblock forever."

Don wanted to believe the redhead, but instead settled for forcing a smile. "Speaking of another genius, Mel should be home soon."

April drew her hand back. "Bet you're just counting the seconds, aren't ya, Romeo?"

"Knot it off. You two aren't half as bad as you assume each other are."

"Maybe. So where'd she go?"

"To get Mikey back from that girl's house."

"What girl?"

Slumping, Don blanched. "It's a long story; I'm sure Mike will tell you when he gets here. Anyways, Raph had taken him earlier, but apparently left for an emergency."

"What kind of emergency?"

"He got a text." At April's furrowed brow, the mutant smiled for real. "Nia's back home, so he went to see her."

"You mean Gavin gave in? Seems a little—"

"Too good to be true? Probably. Raph's made his choice, though. Besides"—Donny gathered his notes then tapped them against the table to align the papers—"Gavin wouldn't risk Nia's exposure by including dangerous people. Worst that can happen is they punch each other, right?"

Dark blobs danced across Nia's vision. She had no idea what they were—only that they were dizzying little buggers, insistent on remaining whether her eyes were opened or closed. The artist intended to rub them away with her hand. To her dismay, her arm wouldn't rise further than her hip, as if it were tied down.

Wait; was it? Had she been caught again?

Biting back panic, Nia struggled for a better view around her. The spots began diminishing as a light grew stronger, although she could barely see through them. She could only wait with baited breath while squinting through the haze until her eye sight cleared. Apparently, she was laying beside her mother in the loft bed of their apartment—not on a metallic gurney in an EPF lab.

Odd. They always shared the king-size bed in the master bedroom when she stayed over. Why were they here?

Mia shushed her daughter the moment their eyes connected. Soon, a hand brushed the artist's cheek, the mother's smile widening. "Don't talk yet. Don't force it. Let your body adjust first."

'Adjust to what?' Nia thought. 'What happened?'

"I know you must be confused," add Mia, softer. "I"—she paused to wipe her mouth on her shoulder—"I was too….when I woke."

'Why on Earth is she talking like I've risen from the dead? I was just…I was at…Hold on, where was I? What was I doing? How'd I get here?'

As the young woman's chest welled with sudden air, her mother placed a hand against it, to keep it steady. "Breathe, Nia. You had a seizure at Warner-Frost. The last thing your body needs is stress. So, breathe."

It took remembering Splinter's similar instructions for the artist to calm down, but she did so without causing too much damage. The ceiling light above flickered to normal as the master's voice faded from Nia's mind, and she glanced up at her short-haired mother with wide eyes.

"We don't know what happened, Ni. You just collapsed at work."

"I know why," a deep voice interjected.

It was the last voice Nia expected to hear in her mother's presence, yet her surprise couldn't drown her relief when she looked sideways. Raphael stood with tense, broad shoulders and clenched fists that loosened with every step he took towards her. He looked on edge, his amber eyes darting towards Mia every few seconds; however, he didn't stop until he reached the bed.

"Someone needed to see you," Mia noted when the mutant dropped to his knees. She sounded so calm, like she'd meet Raph already. Had she?

Nia wished to ask, except her parched throat did little more than squeak. Then before she drew her next breath, Raphael wrapped his large arms around his wife, hugging her while she remained on her back. Face buried in the artist's neck, he trembled, and Nia knew he'd want her to try and steady him by hugging back.

"It felt like ya were never gunna wake up," the mutant whispered against her skin. "Who knew two weeks could be so long?"

"Two weeks?" Nia croaked.

The trembling strengthened, as did Raph's hold while Mia said,

"You've been in a coma, Baby. You were at a hospital until today because…no one could figure out why."

"I don't—" Nia coughed, craning her neck so she could see her mother. "I don't understand. You…and Raph?"

"Oh, that." Mia flashed a smile then reached for something between her and Nia above the comforter. "I found this. A Shell Cell, you boyfriend just called it? It made me understand why you kept the Hamatos at bay."

"How?"

"You have a few pictures."

Raphael didn't approve of the reveal—his Chi said as much—but he kept a hold on his wife, who chuckled weakly as she meet her mother's gaze.

"I'm sure she never meant…for anyone to find this phone, Raphael. That's why she has the pictures of you, your brothers. Your"—Mia swallowed—"father. I—it took me a day to process the information. And Gavin still doesn't know that I"—she swallowed again, this time more earnestly—"I looked through the gallery. The idea of you, Raphael, has been eating me since then. I had to meet you."

"Ya're da one who sent the text," Raph noted in an undertone. He drew back from Nia, yet kept his arms around her, locked.

Mia nodded. "Gavin's working and we finally came home. Now was the time."

"So ya sent me somethin' sayin' she had another seizure?"

At the mutant's growl, the brunette steeled her expression with one hand squeezing the Shell Cell and the other wringing her handkerchief. "Forgive the lies, Raphael. Had I said it was me, you may not have come. And had I not added that…bit of urgency, you may not have believed Gavin sent it."

"Smart," Raph spat, sarcastic.

"It all makes sense," continued Mia. She outright ignored the mutant's smartass remark, which Nia bet ten bucks was possible due to decades of marriage with Gavin. Instead of a glare or gawk, the brunette maintained her iron expression, pointing a finger at Raphael. "The secrecy, the roundabout answers, the puzzling remarks—I knew something big must…must be behind it. Never would I have thought it'd be you, though."

"Me?" Raph furrowed his eye ridges. "Sorry; have we met?"

"Maybe. Or maybe not."

"Y—you're not making much sense, Mama," Nia said through dry lips.

Mia sent her a gentle smile, although Raph's hand brought her half-focused attention on him when he asked, "Do ya need water?"

An answer wasn't necessary; the artist's eyes said what she needed. So, she faced her mother again while the red-masked Chūnin sought a cup.

"I've had time to process things," the older woman noted.

Still, Nia frowned. "Just a day…and everything's fine?"

"I woke up from a nine-month coma after my home was"—wiping her mouth with her handkerchief, Mia regained her air—"invaded by a secret government agency. When I regained my memories, I discovered I now live under a new alias and that my daughter's actually part alien. What far cry is a mutant from that?"

"Adopted daughter," Nia muttered against the glass her husband brought.

"Excuse me?" Mia questioned as the artist sat up then sipped.

"I'm not your blood daughter," continued Nia. "I'm adopted, so…that made it easier to believe in my heritage, right?"

There was a passing of silence until Mia's Chi pulsed with offence, her stare darkening. "Who was there to hold you during nightmares? To show you the beauty in this world? To mend your wounds or teach you about womanhood? Who walked by your side as you grew? I did. So you know what?"

The woman's voice cracked as she unceremoniously removed drool from the corner of her pointed jaw. "Were your biological parents to walk through our door, I would fight them for you. Because you're my baby—regardless of what any test says. Y—you could be a harbinger of death or the undead. I don't care. I'd accept you."

Nia felt her eyes prickle. She wanted to cry; except she held the urge at bay knowing it would mean little and only hinder her already impaired speech.

"That's why this is easy for me to comprehend," Mia continued in a kinder voice. "I'm also so relieved to know the truth at last that…nothing fazes me, even his shell."

"It's a pretty big shell," Nia said with a giggle.

"A lot 'a things about me are big," noted Raph, smirking. He sent a wink at his wife, whose flush face grew hot in seconds of realizing his crude insinuation.

"Raph!" she hissed.

"Just how close are you?" asked Mia.

Under her quirked brow, Nia groaned, turning away from what she knew was a pointed look worthy of Leo's commendation.

"We're married," Raphael answered. He spoke frankly with tinges of pride evening his tone, yet Nia sensed a slight fear in him as well—a dread over being regarded as less than her partner.

"I see. Too bad I wasn't invited to the ceremony."

"D—don't be upset, Mama," Nia interjected. "There's wasn't much of, uh, ceremony. It was very…private."

"Yeah; mutant-alien marriage ain't widely practiced."

"Maybe one day it will be though. Th—that's what we hope, anyway."

"So"—Mia regarded Raph with the same pointed stare from before—"if that chance were to arrive, you'd make a public oath to my child?"

The mutant's counter stare was just as controlled, his grip slipping around Nia's waist again. "I would."

"Then your choice has been made."

Nia nodded towards her smiling mother and leaned against Raph's plastron. "I want to be with the Hamatos. They're my home, my clan. And I…I wanted you and Daddy to join as well."

"Let me deal with Gavin, Ni. Now that I have the full truth, I think I can convince him to cooperate better."

A brusque scoff vibrated against Nia's hair, so Mia sighed, saying,

"Not even I have been getting the best side of Gavin recently. Still, he's…he's complicated, and he has reasons, even when it feels like he doesn't. Change has always been hard for him."

"Like I would know," grumbled Nia, leaning closer into her husband.

"Just as you had reasons not to tell me about the Hamatos, he has reasons for not telling you about his sect."

"Sect?"

"An Irish family, basically. My point is: he has demons, which need handled carefully. So let me handle them while you go home."

"Are you sure, Mama? He'll be awfully upset when he comes back."

"I've seen worse; believe me. I think it would help him if he explained the Hamatos' origin anyhow."

"And you have no other questions?"

"Of course I do. But I'm positive he knows the answers to those as well. So go. It's been a while since they've seen you."

"Right; I've been asleep, huh?"

"Not only that," Raph about growled, "but Gavin wouldn't tell us where the fuck ya were."

"Language," Mia chided. Funnily enough, the mutant ducked his head as if Splinter had just reprimanded him.

"He…he kept me from you?" whispered Nia with a frown.

"A chance he won't evah get again," Raph whispered in return. "Promise."

"I trust you'll rest," added Mia. "Perhaps you can relax with Mister Splinter; his cancer's been waxing on him, I hear."

"More than ya know."

At Raphael's drear tone and stomach-turning Chi, Nia straightened. "What's that mean?"

Raph didn't meet his wife's gaze immediately; he sent Mia a nod first then started lifting the artist out of bed. "It means it's been two weeks, Shuǐ. An' we got a lot ta catch up on before we get home…"

Splinter loved the family portrait Nia had painted last March. He found it soothing, therapeutic, and often lost himself within its colors and brushstrokes.

'I could spend hours watching this piece,' the old rat thought from his armchair. 'If only to see Leonardo's face the way it should be…'

What a depressing truth. However, Splinter could not deny it. The Jonin's letters had ceased over the last few weeks, and the father ached to hear from his son—even if the words he sent were heartbreakingly lost.

'I assured Michelangelo not to dwell on them when I myself do so. What a poor example I am.'

Was he growing so weak that hypocrisy no longer mattered? How shameful.

"Mel!" Donatello's cry turned Splinter in his armchair as the genius continued, "You're back and…carrying Mikey."

Splinter snickered into his paw, unable to help himself. Yes, Michelangelo's crossed arms, snort, and glare were all signs of annoyance; however, the fact that Melody could carry so much mutant turtle with little effort was humorous. She held him like a child and the youngest Hamato brother shook his head at his older sibling.

"Don, I swear, if I hadn't lost so much blood—"

"It would not matter," Melody interjected. "Keeping pressure off your side is vital."

Michelangelo waved a three-fingered hand, still in the cyborgs arms. "Yeah, yeah; it irritates scar tissue and makes me limp and yadda, yadda—un-fun stuff."

"You do not understand," Melody countered with her organic eye narrowed. "A body can only handle so much stress before it is crippled. The muscles in your side are growing tighter together with every injury they sustain. If you are reckless, you will no longer be able to stretch it."

"Worst case scenario is you can no longer apply pressure on it," Donatello added, frowning. "You'd have to use a cane to walk."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It can be."

"Oh, I'm telling Sensei on you." The orange-masked Chūnin hardly got a chance to send the genius a devious smile before Melody plopped him on the living room sofa.

She sent him a hard stare, saying, "If injuries can be prevented, I will see to it that they are. Now wait while I check on Splinter then give you another dose of painkillers."

"As you can see, I am quite fine, Melody-san," Splinter said over Michelangelo's cheer for drugs. However, she turned away from him, meeting her mate by the sofa's end table.

"Have there been any more hypotension issues?"

"Not since I last checked. Still, I've been scared to up the dosage."

"Understandable. These antibiotics may not have been the best choice. The yellowing of his eyes is…disconcerting. Then his bed sore…"

At the cyborg's sigh, Splinter rose from his seat, nearing the couple. "It is all you had, Melody-san. You are not at fault for—"

The master stopped himself short then stared wide-eyed at his paw. He had meant to rest it on Melody's shoulder, yet it phased through her, as if she were a ghost. The motion left Splinter's hand tingling, and he reeled when he failed to touch her a second and third time.

'How can this be?' he thought with a scowl. 'It is as if I am on the Astral Plane; however, I did not call it. I was not meditating. I was…'

What had he been doing? All he could recall was the painting.

"I will check his sore," continued Melody. "Can you help?"

The genius nodded without hesitation. As Michelangelo retreated to his televisions, Donatello followed the cyborg into Splinter's bedroom. The wizened rat followed close behind, his clenched paws swinging at his sides like pendulums.

His body would not be in bed. It was impossible. Right?

Evidently not. Splinter entered the candle-lit room to find his biggest fear: himself. He stood by the futon, unnerved at the figure lying ahead. The gray rat was motionless below the kakebuton while his children surrounded him, and no matter how much Splinter willed it, he could not wake from the nightmare.

"D—Don," Melody whispered from somewhere. "He's not breathing."

A/N: Have I mentioned real shit has yet to hit the fan? This is just the start of everything going horribly wrong. :P