Persona

Donatello's chin dipped to his chest as his head nodded. And what happened next was inevitable. Gravity caught him in its clutches and rudely yanked. His eyes snapped open at the rush of unexpected forward motion. Only to see the empty coffee cup on the table in front of him accelerating towards his face.

He jerked himself upright with a muffled curse realizing—barely in time to save his nose—that the mug wasn't what was moving.

Blearily he squinted, checking the corners of the room to see if anyone else witnessed this... unfortunate incident. Raphael snored in the cot. Michelangelo remained senseless. Don was the only turtle awake in the infirmary.

Or at least the only one conscious. I don't think I can claim coherence.

He rubbed the back of one fist across his eyes, feeling more drained than he had in months.

The last time he felt this dazed was after a week-long caffeine binge; during which his brain fired so consistently with ideas he 'just had to commit to paper' that he hadn't slept. While the surge of inspiration resulted in several new prototypes, it also led to a small—but admittedly alarming—fire in the lab when he eventually succumbed to fatigue.

Right in front of my snoring beak.

Raphael had dumped a bucket of water over Don, the desk, and the smoking blueprints—smirking as Donnie spluttered. Michelangelo had laughed. Leonardo, though, hadn't found anything comedic about the situation.

That was the last time Leo let me buy a case of Redbull. Too bad, I could use some now.

Unfortunately, Donatello had to make do with coffee. And while he adored the beverage, it was not strong enough to counteract the fatigue of caring for Michelangelo in his current state.

Don swiveled his chair to skim a practiced eye over his youngest brother. Mikey was laid out on his back in the specially designed medical bed that cradled the deep curve of his shell. His eyes stayed closed; regardless of how much Donnie wished he might laugh at this moment too.

At least there have been some improvements in the last few hours.

The dislocated ankle had been set and wrapped. Don had redressed Mike's wounds and transfused a boat-load of blood into his brother's broken body. All while the others attempted to rest.

While that wasn't exactly a technical unit of measure, the procedure did halve Donatello's reserve supply since he only ever kept two pints from each of them on rotation in his refrigeration system. But, Mikey's skin was regaining its customary green shade so Don wasn't too concerned about running out prematurely.

Donnie shook his head and paced to Michelangelo's side. He would worry about medical supplies later; when he had the brain cells to spare.

I ought to wake Raph and turn in.

But as usual, what he should do clashed with Donatello's desire to care for his brothers. Never mind that his thoughts were a scattered mess, or that he almost passed out a minute ago. He would keep going until he absolutely could not function any longer. This was his role at the moment—medic.

Though I am approaching my limits...

The search for Mike had been wearying, but siphoning off his chi to fill the void surrounding Michelangelo was like bleeding out from a wound he could not staunch—absolutely exhausting.

Not that he begrudged his brother the energy.

While Don couldn't perceive the glowing light his father and Leo described when they discussed aural emanations, he recognized the sensation it produced when he shared it. He had experienced depletion like this twice before in his life, though he hadn't been aware at the time what he was doing. And the expenditure must help because he remembered exactly when he felt it.

The first time happened in their teens when they were ambushed on patrol. Leonardo dove in front of him, taking a blow meant for Don's neck. Leo intended for his shell to block the strike, but the sword swipe diverted to his upper thigh, carving out a thick chunk of muscle. He finished the fight regardless, but as the battle ended he turned—met Donnie's horrified eyes—smiled in relief that Don was unharmed, and collapsed.

All three of them were certain their brother was done for. They managed to drag Leo to safety but the young leader had stopped breathing. Mikey wailed and Raphael threw up. But Donnie refused to stop CPR, pouring his heart and soul into Leo's care past the point a doctor would have quit...

The second event occurred years later, and Raphael was the patient expiring under his frantic palms. Don shut his eyes at the memory. The gaping wound in Raph's artery had pulsed between his fingers, coating him in blood. That close call still haunted his nightmares...

But both times his brothers miraculously pulled through.

Donatello himself spent more than a week after each episode recovering from what he tagged as one of the worst of the unclassifiable illnesses to affect them. Since they were seldom afflicted by viruses, he had no common names to assign to their ailments—like a cold or the flu.

Now he understood it wasn't an illness, but rather a side effect of a spiritual deficit. The realization didn't help much, except for allowing him to anticipate being out of commission. Don still couldn't measure this power, explain how to wield it, or quantify the therapeutic result.

He much preferred medical science, but...

I can't argue with the results.

And I suppose energy is... well, energy. No matter the origin, it should obey the same laws.

The law of conservation stated energy was not created or destroyed. It merely changed from one form into another. Chemical to mechanical, light to heat; these were the states Donatello was more familiar with. But, under these rules, metaphysical to physical—the soul affecting the body and vice versa—should be possible. The means to measure the 'meta' state just had not been invented.

Yet.

Don sighed and filed that thought under items to research at a later date. If he was correct, the hypothesis explained how Mike kept going when he shouldn't have been able to. His spirit was helping his body to function by converting itself to more traditional fuels.

It doesn't fully explain the vortex.

But the theory might clarify the benevolent violet presence surrounding his brother's lifeforce. Donnie couldn't See the thin violet barrier, but if he concentrated while sharing his chi, he could sense it.

Actually, I can smell it...

At first, he thought the aroma a figment of his imagination. A projection of his mind given form by his father's assertion earlier that Sharra must have done something aura related to Mikey. But the scent persisted, denying all his attempts to rationalize it away.

For a time he supposed it may be real; some remnant of odor clinging to their clothing or skin. But their suits had been removed for laundering. They had showered since returning home and Michelangelo's body had been washed. Plus, the elusive fragrance only made itself known when Donnie touched his brother.

Eventually, he concluded that 'smell' must be his personal way of detecting the 'shield' as Leonardo had dubbed it.

And it IS a manifestation of Sharra in some way. It has to be.

For the scent embodied far more than simple pheromones. It encompassed her light and appealing natural perfume, as well as her ardor, but it also included the pungent odor of the electronics she worked with. And other things as well. Things that had nothing to do with a neurological sense of smell. Within the complex mix, Donatello detected the softness of her hair; the porcelain texture of her skin; the sharpness of her wit; and the honeyed lilt of her voice. These diverse elements—and more he could not name—were all included; personifying the spirit energy as uniquely... her.

And no matter how long he stayed in contact with Mike, Don couldn't get enough of her in his system.

They'd been home a single night. Dawn broke and passed without notice, yet something akin to withdrawal made him restless inside his own skin. He yearned for her essence. And that craving made him anxious.

Before today, he would have said it was inconceivable to miss someone he had only encountered once; to feel such a magnetic attraction to a veritable stranger.

Before today, I thought someone as extraordinary as Sharra did not exist.

And yet, we left her...

Injured, heartbroken, and in fear of her life.

Don was abruptly angry, with his brother for commanding it and himself for allowing the order to stand.

We never should have left her alone.

Donnie lowered his hand to Michelangelo's temple again, cupping the side of his face and stroking his browridge with a calloused thumb. Without his mask, Mikey looked years younger. And very, very vulnerable. Their little brother had always worn his heart on his sleeve. And Don didn't need the Sight to perceive how much this woman meant to him. He could tell at a glance. Even unconscious, Mikey's brow remained furrowed in worry, his muscles tense.

Hell, he begged us to bring Sharra home. Being forced to live without her will hurt him terribly.

Donatello's heart wrenched, twisting in empathy with his brother's pain; both the emotional and the physical. His instincts had been right, and Don worried Mikey might not recover without Sharra's presence.

It's unacceptable. We didn't find him again only to lose him to this.

Yielding to a spontaneous impulse, Don scooped a hand against the back of Mike's neck, leaned in, and touched their foreheads together.

"Don't worry," he promised in a murmur as they shared a mingled breath. "I understand. I'll bring her to you as soon as I can... I need her too."

He pulled back but he hesitated to let Michelangelo go. His thumb brushed over Mikey's cheek and he was tempted to make the spiritual connection just one more time. Briefly, he debated the decision. He didn't have a lot of energy left, but if he was going to carry on supporting his family he needed the respite—from his own mind.

For four days while they searched, Donatello had opposed his own logical thought processes. Fought to hold onto hope while they insisted Mike was lying dead in the cold. Defied them by breaking into system after system to find his brother, even as they screamed how the being he was closest to—among all his precious family—was gone forever.

It was pure hell.

Finding Michelangelo alive and bound to an amazing woman like Sharra had distracted him and filled the immense hole of loss punched through his gut. But the incredible discovery had not repaired the gashes in Donnie's heart. Mending such hurt would take time. Time spent basking in the solace of their living presence. Together, their combined energies functioned as a balm for his wounded soul; the brother who already had his devotion, and the woman who might claim his heart anew—if she only asked for it.

Can't I have one last serene moment with both of them? Mike AND Sharra? Until Mikey stabilizes and I can go back for her, this is the only relief I can get.

Reluctantly, Don gave in to the desperate need for reassurance. His eyes drifted shut as he focused inward then pushed his chi outward, extending his lifeforce towards his little brother like an outstretched hand. There was a brief surge as he connected and immediately began to search. If he possessed nostrils they would have flared as he hunted for the consolation of Sharra's faint essence. As it was, he inhaled deeply, pulling the medicinal atmosphere of the infirmary into his lungs; seeking her captivating scent.

It took him longer to find than it should have. And he frowned in concern. Because when the fragrance finally streamed through his airways and swept past his tongue, it tasted lighter than before. Thinner. Sour. Wrong. He pushed back with all of the energy that remained in him; following the trail to its source, seeking a reason for the wrongness.

A chill ran down his spine as violent terror flooded back through the bond—twisting his stomach. And Don swore he heard her voice. She didn't speak with words, but a strangled mental entreaty seeped through.

Under his palm, Michelangelo stirred as, he too, sensed this change in emotions.

"Sharra?" Mikey mumbled.

Donatello's eyes fluttered open at the first coherent word from his brother since the collapse. He broke the connection, releasing Mike and grabbing the edge of the table as a wave of dizziness overcame him.

Crap. I think I overdid it.

Don blinked until the haze in front of his eyes cleared before examining Mikey again. His rest did not appear peaceful any longer. His eyes twitched under his lids and his limbs began to shift restlessly.

"Mikey?" Donatello called. "Can you hear me?"

"Sharra!"

This time Michelangelo's cry was loud and full of rage. In a flash, he progressed from fidgeting and half-asleep to full-blown agitation and combat readiness. His eyes snapped open, their depths roiling with anger and focus—but not recognition.

A deadly warrior peered out of those eyes.

And when Don threw himself across Mikey's legs—hoping to keep him from rising and exacerbating his injuries—they assessed him as a threat. A stranger, not a brother.

Raphael materialized at Donatello's side, dodging his thrashing sibling's limbs, demanding, "What the hell is going on?"

Donnie yelped and contorted to avoid a crushing blow from Michelangelo's fist. "HELP ME!" he gasped as the furious turtle twisted and kneed him in the face. "He isn't really awake and he's going to hurt himself!"

Raphael dove across the head of the table, knocking equipment to the floor with a resounding crash. He grabbed at Mikey's uninjured shoulder and tried to pin him down without hurting him. Leonardo and Splinter came rushing in the door, awakened by the ruckus. But they were too late.

The well-trained ninja saw an opening.

And he took it.

He jabbed hard at the exposed pressure point in Donnie's neck.

In an instant, the world went black.

"Michelangelo! Stop!" Splinter shouted from the doorway. "What are you doing?"

The angry turtle didn't answer. He didn't pause. He didn't even glance up at the sound of his name. He had regained his feet and was pummeling Raph's head and torso.

Blow after blow rained down while Raphael struggled to keep his brother contained without striking back.

"Mikey... ain't... exactly... here-right-now," Raphael growled, his observations repeatedly interrupted as he blocked violent fists.

Leonardo started in to help but froze at those words. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the battle, for this fight was more than a simple struggle despite Raphael's guarded plays. Awareness drove Michelangelo's aggressive actions. He responded to every threat from Raph—even the feints—with sharp precise movements. But he was driven by emotion and training only—not thought. He solely reacted to the stimuli in front of him.

Restraining him isn't going to help. Appealing to him did nothing...

So Leonardo chose a different option.

Drawing himself to his full height, he stalked leisurely across the floor with the grace of a panther. Deliberately, he pushed himself into the dispassionate mind-state, and the color drained from his iris. Cold dominance began to roll off his form. Three paces away from the conflict, he stilled and allowed his head to tilt stiffly like that of a bird of prey. The action was menacing enough to engage Michelangelo's attention but gave him nothing physical to counter. When their eyes locked, Leonardo spoke.

"Ninja! Yamete!"

The guttural command was reinforced by undeniable confidence and strength; backed by the heartless and deadly personality obtained all those years ago in the Amazon. Normally, Leonardo kept this domineering presence hidden. And though ripples of callousness had slipped out over the years, he always strove to protect his brothers from the direct regard of the brutal monster he had become.

But now, he exposed a facet of the creature, hoping to startle Michelangelo into sense.

Raphael took one look at Leo's face, blanched, and immediately disengaged; backing away without a parting quip. But Michelangelo's eyes only narrowed.

Leonardo's lip curled. He drew back the metaphorical curtain a bit more, revealing the lethal and indomitable will concealed within. The room virtually vibrated with tension as he stepped forward a single pace.

"I said: Stand. Down."

Faster than he had transformed into something resembling a whirlwind of destruction—sharp and hostile, with the potential to kill—Mikey's features evened out; until his face was tranquil and calm as the surface of an unblemished lake. He straightened from his attack posture and bowed to Leonardo, holding the head down pose as much as his injuries would allow.

Well... That worked better than I thought.

Leo had hoped—at worst—to gain Michelangelo's attention without giving him another target. He had not, however, expected this obeisance.

Might as well run with it and see if I can get him off his feet.

"Rise."

When Mikey unbent and met his eyes again, Leonardo jerked his chin at the table.

"Sit."

Obediently, the youngest turtle climbed up, sat down, and dangled his legs; watching unfazed as Splinter used the lull in combat to assess Donatello. Donnie still slumped on the floor in front of him, but apparently, Mikey didn't regard Splinter as a threat. Which was interesting, considering their father could still effortlessly put them in their place despite his age; in the field of ninjutsu or otherwise.

Perhaps he believes Splinter's focus is more on Donnie.

Michelangelo might not consider his father a danger, but his eyes hardened as Raphael moved closer to pick Don up. When the larger turtle made no antagonistic moves in his direction and only took Donnie to a cot, his expression relaxed again.

He doesn't seem bothered at all by the fact he injured Donnie. And he hasn't said a word. Mikey can't keep his mouth shut for more than a few seconds, so what's that about?

"Can you speak?" Leonardo demanded.

A cautious nod was the only reply, so Leo took a deep breath and cloaked the monster slightly, letting his stance relax back into a more open posture.

"Then answer me properly."

"Yes, Clan-leader." Mikey lowered his gaze, fixing his eyes on the floor as a sign of respect.

Leonardo strictly controlled his startled reaction, though if he hadn't already let the monster take charge, he wouldn't have been able to stifle a sound of choked surprise.

All of them had been raised as part of a ninja clan. They inherently understood its architecture. But the Hamato family only leaned on that structure outside of these walls.

And even then, only in the loosest sense.

At home, they often disregarded rank and rules completely, unless the family dynamic was totally out of whack. They didn't bow to each other or lower their eyes. At least, not formally. And rarely beyond the dojo.

What is going on in that crazy brain of his? He assigned me the proper title—and I am playing up the role—but I only wanted his attention. Where is Michelangelo's personality?

This show of passivity seemed... forced. Under closer scrutiny Mikey was still primed to go off, his body tensed for fight or flight. With a quick shift in focus, Leo engaged his Sight, and what he Saw startled him further.

The void was gone—as if it never existed. While the purple 'shield' was little more than a thread.

What? How much of his chi did Donnie give?

A quick glance at the unconscious genius made Leo press his lips into a tight line.

Too much.

While Michelangelo's vital life energy had not recovered completely, it was strong enough to force action from his damaged body. And the red and yellow of his flaring emotions flashed so brightly, that it was hard to measure accurately.

Perhaps I frightened him more than I intended...

Mentally, Leonardo frowned, but since procedure seemed to be the only thing keeping Mikey under control, he decided to maintain the dominant persona a little while longer.

"I will ask questions," he stated. "You will answer them truthfully, to the best of your ability. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Clan-leader."

The fact Mikey answered again the same way—and with a straight face—chilled Leonardo to the bone. In his heart, he still hoped this was some elaborate prank gone awry.

It isn't.

That realization changed the direction of his inquiry and he paused, taking a breath to reorganize his thoughts.

Just what are we dealing with here?

"Do you know who I am?"

Michelangelo's stare rose briefly to Leo's face, hesitated, then returned to the floor. "You are my Clan-leader."

He doesn't recognize me?

Shock caused the cold indifference gathered around Leo to crack. Some blue trickled back into his eyes and the ice melted from his tone.

"Do you know who you are?"

This time the pause was longer. And Michelangelo cocked his head in thought. But he didn't raise his eyes.

"I am... ninja."

Leonardo exchanged a concerned look with his father across the room. Raph was right. Mikey was in no way present. And a new question abruptly became the most pressing one.

Why?

Somehow, Leo doubted the confused warrior who replace his exuberant younger brother had an explanation for such a direct query, so he circled around the topic instead.

"Why did you attack these others?"

"They attempted to restrain me."

"You are injured," Leonardo corrected. "They were trying to prevent aggravation to your wounds."

Again he took a quick peek at Leo's impassive face before his eyes slid back to the floor; as if wishing to ascertain if this were indeed the truth of the matter.

"Forgive me, Clan-leader. I did not understand. I thought them an impediment to my mission."

"What mission?"

"To protect Sharra."

That response was instant.

So he remembers Sharra but not his family?

"Who gave you this assignment?"

"I took it on myself. She begged me for help."

Frowning, Leo shook his head in the negative.

"You have been here, while she is safe in her own home."

"She is not."

"She is not safe? Or she is not in her home?"

This time the ninja's eyes rose and held the leader's questioning gaze. A fierce protective passion glowed behind them, making the usual baby blue depths dark and turbulent.

"At the moment, neither."

The words sparked a raging fire in Leonardo.

We left so Sharra would be secure! How could something have happened tonight? And how did HE learn about it?

Leo struggled to hold on to his dispassionate facade as the heat burning him up from the inside increased. The thought of Sharra in peril enraged him. And that was dangerous with the monster still partially governing his actions. Also, the 'ninja' had not given up on his objective, merely bowed to the will of a figure to whom he granted greater authority. Leo could not allow his guise to weaken now, it was the only thing keeping the fierce fighter in check.

And my injured brother safely inside the lair.

So he boxed up his wrath and concern, shunting the emotions to the far side of his mind so he might refocus on the problem in front of him. Or rather, he tried. The next question though was purely related to Sharra.

"How did you come by this information?"

The ninja's eyes slid to the side, as though he thought his response might not be well received; or believed. Yet he spoke anyway, bound by his agreement to respond to questions to the best of his ability.

"We were... connected. For just an instant. She cried out and I"—he hesitated and drew a deep breath like recounting the memory pained him—"I saw her in the subway. The 'E' train. She was under attack… I wasn't the only one who witnessed this," he added in a defensive tone, "Someone else was in the link as well."

Raphael's head jerked up and he glanced at Don before stating: "I'll go check it out."

"In the middle of the morning?" Leo objected.

"Hey, it's underground. I can stay outta sight."

"You believe me?" The ninja's question was hesitant.

"A'course I do, bro," Raph barked. He nodded toward Leo. "The 'Clan-leader' here told us Sharra's aura is wrapped around ya'. It ain't too bigga leap ta think she'd yell if she was in trouble."

"No. We need more details before we can make a move," Leonardo said in rebuke. He had to resume control of the conversation before the ninja got suspicious of Raphael's subtle challenge to his leadership. "Why did she leave home? Who is attacking her?" he asked rhetorically. "You know the 'E' is one of the most used services in the subway. It goes south and all the way to Queens. Without determining what stop she was at and which direction she took we can't begin to look for her."

"Then we get Don ta narrow the search," Raphael said.

"Really?" Leo paused and waved to the genius when Raph didn't get the hint, "What's his condition?"

Raphael grimaced, "Out like a light. So what else can we do?"

Leonardo's mind raced, compiling options. Donatello had gained access to the cameras on Sharra's building, but Leo doubted there had been time since their return to connect them to the lair's security program. So they needed to dig through his bag and find out if any of the tablets were connected—and had stored data from overnight.

The train footage might actually be easier to locate...

Donnie had infiltrated those systems a long time ago and taught Leo how to access them. He and Raph could probably track her down once they had a starting point.

But what are we going to do about Michelangelo? We can't leave him in this unstable state. If I even exit the room, he might devolve further.

"Donatello is likely to remain unconscious for some time, my son," Splinter said, interrupting Leo's thoughts. He stared pointedly at the ninja growing ever more edgy and impatient on the table. "And I believe we should all be on the same page regarding the family."

The confused turtle's gaze bounced from Leonardo to Splinter to Donatello and back. He had not missed the emphasis on Splinter's words.

Neither had Leonardo, but Leo was uncertain what his father was trying to convey with the subtlety. Other than he thought Michelangelo's current behavior was the priority.

"I am sorry, Elder," the unbalanced ninja fretted with a lowered head, clearly doubtful about where the familial lines lay within the clan since Splinter was a rat. Yet he showed the proper deference anyway. "I should not have damaged someone the revered father of our Clan-leader cares about. I understand if you need to punish me, but please, may it wait until after Sharra is rescued?"

"His present condition is not wholly your fault," Splinter pointed out, ignoring the plea. "I have undone the nerve pinch but I fear Donatello was too eager to awaken you. He rushed the process and shared too much of his chi, so he must rest and recover ."

The ninja's eyes widened and darted again to the fallen Donnie, missing the significance of their father's statement. "This... Donatello. He was the other present in the bond?" the ninja asked. "Why? Why would he... help me to connect? Why would a stranger share their spirit?"

Family, nerves, awaken, rush the process, recover...

Now Leonardo saw what his father was guiding him towards. The more information they provided to the nameless ninja, especially emotional details about his family, the more he acted like their brother. If they kept him off balance long enough, Leo might be able to use the code of awakening to bring Michelangelo's consciousness back from wherever he was sleeping—if he was not lost somewhere else entirely.

"Because," Leonardo said, sidling nearer to the table, "Donatello is not simply your Clan-brother. You are brothers by blood."

Understanding flashed across the ninja's face, followed by horror. "My brother selflessly shared his spirit and I hurt him!" He shrank in on himself. "What have I done?"

"Nothing that cannot be forgiven."

Leo wrapped his arm over the other's shell and squeezed reassuringly, resting an unthreatening palm on the bandage covering the right bicep. His hand unobtrusively began tapping the coded pattern against the shoulder underneath.

Please... please let this work...

Leonardo did not usually indulge in prayer, but he hoped his ancestors listened today because he did not think he could bear to find himself once again at odds with a brother. As he tapped out the final stanza the lost warrior's eyes slipped shut.

"How can you be sure?" The ninja begged in a wavering voice.

The sadness and despair underlying it nearly broke Leo's heart and he leaned in, whispering into his brother's ear, "Because we are all your family."

Then he raised his head, once again imbuing his voice with command.

"Michelangelo. Come back to us."

Michelangelo wrenched away from the grip on his shoulders. It wasn't tight, but it was confining and the other person was too near. Panic dumped adrenaline into his blood.

Am I captured? Am I trapped?

His eyes cracked open. He scanned the room through the narrowed slits as he hunched into a posture of seated defense. Pain ripped up his leg into his groin at the movement and he flinched.

No. I'm home. In the infirmary.

His family was arranged in a loose cluster around the room, but the atmosphere was uneasy. Donnie lay prone next to Raph and Splinter. Leo stood nearer to him, watching him with an odd expression.

What the heck is going on?

The last thing he remembered was...

Sharra. Kissing Sharra. And deciding whatever happens in the future, nothing and no one will come before her in my life.

That moment was pure bliss, but the one before...

The haunting premonition crashed over him anew and his eyes widened as he grabbed frantically at Leonardo's arm. Because they were home. In the lair. Without his precious Sharra. In his heart, he felt a tenuous string tying them together over a vast distance. A thread that grew closer to being cut with every second they spent apart. Leo was the only one who could do anything about it.

He has to let her into our lives or she's going to die.

Involuntarily, Mikey's grip tightened and something unstable flashed across Leonardo's eyes. A sense of danger distracted Michelangelo from the horrid thought, and for a crazy split-second, he thought Leo might haul off and hit him. Though for what he had no clue.

I can't think of any hideous crimes I've committed... not lately.

Mikey released his grasp instantly, holding up both hands palm out. "Whoa, Leo. I come in peace."

For a beat, Leonardo peered at him through slitted eyes. Eyes that Michelangelo realized were rapidly losing color as they spoke.

Shit. Whatever's going on, Leo means business.

"Bro? Really?"—Mikey sputtered—"You're starting to weird me out dude. Is everything ok?"

He glanced at his family for help, but they stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"You're all way too tense. And what the heck happened to Donnie?"

Leonardo closed his eyes and hissed out a long sigh, then startled the hell out of Mike by cracking a huge smile and grabbing him in a cautious bear hug.

"Mikey," he exclaimed. "You're back."

Michelangelo might have been shocked, but he settled into his brother's arms anyway, determined to enjoy the connection. Physical affection from one of his alpha brothers was an uncommon occurrence. Mikey seldom received any without initiating something first and they had felt so distant lately he had stopped trying.

But this hug was good. Really good.

Leo held him firmly as if he might slip away if the leader wasn't careful enough, even going so far as to nuzzle his cheek to mingle their scents. And suddenly Raphael was present as well, leaning in to wrap an arm over his shell to give him a squeeze.

"Is there room in this joyous family reunion for a creaky old rat?" Splinter asked, approaching the group with a shuffle of furry feet. Mikey stuck his head out of the turtle huddle and graced his father with a brilliant smile.

"Always," he murmured.

He freed an arm to pull his father in, and that one brief minute as they stood together was all it took for Mikey's heartache and the loneliness of the last few years to dissolve. Everything was suddenly right with the world. He was surrounded by his family and together there was nothing they could not conquer.

After a long moment, his brothers backed up so Michelangelo could greet his father properly. Mikey wasted no time wrapping both arms around the rat's neck. He stroked his face against the soft fur as he put his chin over Splinter's shoulder.

"I missed you, dad," Mikey whispered, knowing his sensitive ears would pick up the words.

Splinter's arms tensed around him and he made a sound that was some cross between a chuckle and a sob.

"I missed you too, my son."

As much as he was enjoying the embrace Mikey forced himself to draw back. The height difference with him on the table was awkward, it sort of hurt, and he had a lot of important things he needed to discuss with his family. Before he began, though he checked Leo's face. The leader's eyes were warm and full of color again. The steely grey-blue of the sea reflected nothing but vast relief and affection. And though Michelangelo was curious about what caused the earlier stress, he didn't ask any of the thousand questions that rested on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he opened his mouth to say, "Is Don ok?" at the same moment Leonardo asked, "How are you?" Leo grinned and gestured for Mike to speak.

"Donnie?" Mikey prompted.

"He will be fine, my son," Splinter said. "Events have taken their toll on him and he needs to rest."

Michelangelo nodded, taking the explanation at face value, though the glance Raph and Leo exchanged told him something more exotic had happened than Donnie merely exhausting himself.

"And you? How are you feeling?" Leo asked again.

"I... I'm okay, bro. Still pretty beat. My shoulder hurts, my gut itches, and," he hauled his bum leg back up on the table using both hands and stretched it out with a wince, "I don't think I'll be going anywhere anytime soon. Guess I'll be keeping Don company."

He flexed his fingers and winced again at the painful protest of his knuckles. "Ouch. These feel like I've been beating on a wall." He sighed. "So, how long have I been out?"

Raphael made a weird face, but his glower made Mikey decide not to ask what it was about. "Uh, 14 hours maybe?" Raph grumbled.

"Is that all?" Mikey said, "With all this"—he gestured at them gathered all around him— "I thought I'd been gone a week!"

Silently though, he breathed another sigh of relief.

Fourteen hours, Less than a day. So it's what... eight A.M.? Without me to disturb her early, I bet Sharra's just waking up.

He sobered as the faces of his family fell; recalling a second too late that they searched for him for days. And though no one admitted it aloud, they had probably feared him dead.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, and tears suddenly filled his eyes. "I'm so, so sorry. I never wanted to worry anybody. I never meant to break my phone, or get hurt, or be gone so long." His fingers clenched and loosened in his lap as he fidgeted uncomfortably.

Splinter laid a paw softly across his forearm. "We know, my son."

Michelangelo blinked hard to hold back the tears and enfolded his father's hand in both of his, basking for one more moment in the silent love and forgiveness. Then he squared his shoulders and met Splinter's dark gaze.

"But it wasn't all bad. I–"

I what? Bumped into the girl I'm going to spend the rest of my life with?

He cut himself off, shook his head, and began again more seriously—as the topic deserved.

"Dad? I have something important to tell you. I met someone. Someone special. And her name is Sharra…"