Title: Self Portrait

Summary: The brothers are asked to draw self portraits. Donatello struggles with the assignment.

Disclaimer: I have no ownership ties to TMNT or anything I might reference.

...

The assignment was simple.

Draw yourself.

A self portrait.

Something that many artists -amateur and professional alike- have done time and again in varying styles and degrees of realism.

Splinter had sat the boys down for a lesson in cultural studies before gesturing to the available art supplies and saying: "Take as long as you need, my sons. True art does not rely on perfection- but progression. Expression. Dynamics. And I want each of you to do your best." With that, the rat bade them farewell and left, making his way to his favorite chair and seating himself before the television.

Without missing a beat, Michelangelo celebrated with a whoop and a lilted singsong of: "Finally, an assignment I'll actually enjoy!" And he dove for the paints and brushes and primed canvases. In his head, he pictured colors and forms. Once seated, he decided on a base coat for his pending artwork.

Raphael had grumbled under his breath, grabbed an old notebook, ripped a page out- fringes and all, and procured a pen. He did not rely on tact or precision. Pressing the cheap pen to the page, he began mapping out basic shapes with an almost bored expression in place. Only when he was decidedly satisfied with the placement of his shapes did he darken the outline and begin to fill in details.

Leonardo had been casual about his pace as he collected his materials of charcoal pencils and weighted paper. Setting up an easel and seating himself before it, he got to work. Each stroke of the pencil was calm, decisive, deliberate. He was patient and focused as he worked. Sketching. Drawing. Turning a blank sheet of paper into a work of art as he applied his knowledge of various methods of shading.

Donatello remained oddly inactive for a period of time, taking the task into consideration and watching his brothers work. His eyes roamed around the room, over his brothers, their projects, and the supplies, and ultimately, he turned his focus inward. Because, he had no idea how to go about the task at hand. Because, he wasn't like his brothers. Sure, they all shared the mutant-turtle bit, and they were trained under the same master, but they didn't think alike at all.

Unlike the others, Don couldn't look at something without wondering what the insides looked like. He couldn't make toast or watch television and be satisfied without knowing and understanding how convection heating and satellite transmission worked.

Likewise, Don couldn't begin to consider drawing himself without fretting over the molecular structure and his own inner-workings. And, even if he could look past his fascination with biological aspects, there were psychological ones to consider as well.

If he were to draw himself, would he try to make it look exactly like himself? If he did, would that seem narcissistic? Would he seem like a perfectionist? If he went with something simpler, would it appear as if he hadn't even tried? If he went for a particular style, would he seem unoriginal?

How would his art project reflect on him as an individual?

Don envied his brothers.

Each of them, going about their work with different approaches, none of them having to worry about the thoughts that plagued the young genius.

Don wished he could join in and just do the work. But no matter how much he thought about it, he found himself oddly indecisive.

Before he knew it, time ticked away.

One by one, the brothers completed their tasks and vocalized the finality.

Mikey set the canvas aside to dry and proceeded to put away the paints, wash the brushes, cleanse his hands, happily saying: "That was fun, bros. We should get more assignments like this. Then, maybe I'll actually want to learn!"

Leo had gone the extra mile of constructing a frame for his finished product and then stepping back to admire his own handiwork. "Think sensei will like it?" he asked, showing no concern or care when he failed to receive an answer.

Raph had already been done several times over, having finished his pen sketch first and proceeded to doodle all over the page, filling most of the negative space of his art with intricate tribal designs and random sketches of his sais. The only thing he had to say was: "I was done first."

And Don, well...

-When Splinter's daytime television program came to an end with a dreaded: 'TO BE CONTINUED,' he came back to check on his sons and appraise their work.

Leo was the first to present his portrait, bowing to his master respectfully as he offered the framed project.

Splinter looked at it and smiled. "Well done, Leonardo. Such careful work, just a wonderful frame... You worked hard on it. You make me proud."

Raph stepped up with his fringe-lined paper in hand, preparing to show his work, only to have Mike jump ahead of him.

Mikey cut in between his red-banded sibling and his paternal figure. With a large smile boasting of pride and happiness, he held up the canvas.

Splinter looked it over and smiled. "Well done, Michelangelo. Your use of color and technique compliment each other well. Your passion shines through this piece. Your work humbles my expectations."

Raph waited impatiently, tapping his foot as his youngest brother was praised. Finally seeing an opening, he stepped up and handed the paper to his sensei, crossing his arms and looking away to feign indifference the moment the paper was taken.

Splinter held the page between his hands, looking it over. And, like he had in regards to the others, he smiled. "Well done, Raphael. Your style and attention to detail are something to marvel at. You put your entire self into this. And, I would expect nothing less from you."

Lastly Splinter's attention turned to Don.

Don sat at the table, his paper flipped over and his arms resting over it protectively, as if hiding something.

Curious, the older mutant approached his intelligent pupil. "Might I see your portrait, Donatello?"

With a deep breath to steel his nerves, Don gave a small nod, kept his gaze averted, and grabbed the paper. He held onto it for a bit longer than necessary, giving way to hesitation before finally handing it to his master.

Splinter looked the page over, brows furrowed in concern. "Donatello? What is the meaning of this?"

Lowering his head and reaching over to fiddle with a stray pencil, Don remained silent.

After a long moment of contemplation, Splinter set the paper down on the desk before placing a reassuring hand on the turtle's shoulder. "Well done," he said simply, offering a smile.

Hearing the praise and feeling the hand on his shoulder, Don looked up, confused. "But... Master Splinter, I-"

"Your work... is very symbolic. I have much love and pride for you, my son; as I do for your brothers. You work hard, train hard, and do so much for each of us."

Don gave a slow nod, but the expression on his face spoke volumes of his incomprehension.

Misunderstanding the genius turtle's silence, Splinter turned to regard the other brothers. "I have a new assignment," he began.

Leo perked up, eager.

Raph groaned, not wanting to do the work.

Mikey grew curious. "Is it another art project? I'll paint Raph in a skirt and coconut bra!" -The outburst earned the youngest brother a smack on the back of the head, courtesy of the aforementioned hothead.

Clearing his throat to regain full attention and suggest his intolerance of tomfoolery, Splinter continued. "This assignment is only for the three of you. You will each write an essay that expresses your appreciation for Donatello. It is due by morning." With that, Splinter moved to exit the room, stopping in the doorway and looking back to call over his shoulder: "Donatello, would you join me?"

Still confused, Don got up and followed after his master.

Once they were gone, Raph growled irritably. "What the shell was that all about?"

Leo shrugged. "Not sure. But I'm willing to bet it has something to do with Don's portrait. It somehow landed us extra work and excused him from it."

Curious, Mikey moved to the table and picked up Don's paper. He stared at it for a long moment, gawking.

Noticing Mikey's perplexed expression, Leo inquired: "Something wrong?"

Mikey nodded but gave no verbal response.

"Spill it, shell-fer-brains!" Raph griped.

Mikey let out a whine before waving the paper around wildly and declaring: "Donnie got out of at least two assignments! He didn't even draw anything! His paper is blank! And now we have to do an essay, and he's not doing anything!"

Leo frowned. "Do you think Don feels unappreciated?"

Raph chuckled. "Nah. He probably just can't draw. Lucky bastard."