I tremble
They're going to eat me alive
If I stumble
They're going to eat me alive
Can't you hear my heart
Beating like a hammer
Beating like a hammer
Help, I'm alive
My heart keeps beating like hammer
Hard to be soft
Tough to be tender
Come take my pulse,
The pace is on a runaway train
Can't you hear my heart
Beating like a hammer
Beating like a hammer

- Metric, "Help, I'm Alive"

Chapter 27: Panic Room

It wouldn't open.

Donatello pulled his hand away from the back wall and stared at it, stunned. Fear began trickling through his guts and pooled in his bowels like icy water. He forced his other hand open, the one clenched around the tiny pendant, and looked at it again. The minute and second hands remained frozen in the same position as before, a less-than sign that declared the time precisely four-oh-two.

His panic room would not open.

His panic room would not open!

When he had been informed of his terminated apprenticeship, Donatello had grieved at the lost opportunity for higher education, not to mention the effortless means of transportation to distant places and alternate universes. Always these had been Nulltime's greatest lures. Being denied access to the Federation club scene and the crazy intergalactic social life he had enjoyed while living with Renet... well, Donatello had already mentally prepared himself to let all of that go. Naturally there would be times when he would miss the excitement, the crystals, the music, and the women – oh man, especially the women. But there was also a surprising sense of relief in having it all snatched away from him. Maybe now his life could slow down to a more reasonable pace. It would be good for him, he was sure of it.

Yes, he had reasoned himself into a state of near optimism over being fired. But now… anything but this!

Trapped! I am trapped in real time!

"Nononono. Don't do this to me," Donatello pleaded under his breath. Then he lifted his head and pitched his voice louder as it occurred to him that he was very likely being monitored. "Please! Please don't do this. It isn't fair! My panic room isn't even a part of Nullspace. Your rules should not apply to it!"

Time didn't stand still in his pocket dimension – it just moved very slowly, at a rate of about an hour and a half per real-time second. He looped the pendant around his neck and placed both hands flat on the wall. It remained solid. Blank, immovable concrete stared back at him.

Don slapped both hands against the wall hard enough to make his palms sting.

His panic room would not fucking open!

"Rrraaagh!" He pushed against the wall with all of his might, but it was no good. Donatello whirled around and put his shell to the wall, splaying his hands on it. His gaze darted around the empty room. His normal, mundane, real-time room. Suddenly it seemed so small.

"Please be reasonable," he begged the empty room in a strained voice, fighting hard to keep calm. He was still a person of interest, wasn't he? Surely someone, somewhere, was listening! "You can't expect me to – to keep it together indefinitely! Where am I supposed to go, when I'm..." Unstable. Enraged. Coming down. Falling apart. "When it – when it gets to be too much? You can't expect me to act like nothing's wrong for the rest of my life!"

He wasn't talking to Renet anymore. She may be hurt, she may be furious, but she would never do this to him. For all of her carelessness, there had always been good intentions for him at her core. She fought so hard to ensure his survival!

Donatello understood now that what Jonas implied earlier must be true after all: Renet really must be gone. She had been transferred to another layer, or perhaps banished from Nulltime all-together. There would be no apology, then - no chance to say goodbye. Despair punched him in the throat as he realized that he must be to blame for whatever had befallen her. She was gone, maybe forever! Of course Jonas would have followed her. But who was left? Simultaneous, who despised him? No… he would have followed her, too. The guy was a meddlesome tyrant and an asshole of the highest order, but Don couldn't fault his devotion to his protégé. "Whoever you are… whoever's taken control of this layer, please have mercy! I'm begging you!"

His gaze flicked desperately from one end of his tiny room to the other, hoping for some flash of light, an answering voice, some sign of reassurance from the Nulltime authorities. Except for his shallow, panicked breathing and the whirring fans of servers and PC towers, all was silent and still.

"You've killed me," he realized softly. The fear in his gut had solidified into a sharp-edged block of ice. "I will be Undone for sure now. It's only a matter of time…" Whoever took her place doesn't even know me. They must not care about my life at all. "But that's always been the simplest solution for you people, hasn't it? The Unweavers Guild has been arguing for it since day one!" He could hear the hysteria creeping into his voice, but it didn't matter. The sound-proof light was on. And ultimately, none of it mattered. He was done for.

"How will you do it? Is there already a plan? Will only three baby turtles fall down the storm drain? I'll be caught by the little boy, spend my life as someone's witless pet? Maybe my egg never hatched in the first place. Still-born? Never even fertilized? That ought to wrap things up neatly, solve this whole mess you've inherited!"

Donatello clenched his fists, clenched his teeth, his fury rising like an unstoppable tide. His wild gaze challenged the empty room, since Time Lord Whoever-He-Was didn't have the decency to appear or even answer. "WELL, FUCK YOU!" He snagged the nearest available, heavy looking tool off the desk and ferociously attacked the wall. The angle grinder was better suited for cutting through mortar and tile. It might have been able to handle solid concrete for a short time before overheating, but only with a more sensible approach which involved plugging it in and turning it on.

Chips concrete flew at the onslaught. He struck the heavy circular blade against the wall again and again, knowing he was damaging a perfectly good tool with every swing. Donatello didn't care. None of it mattered. "FUCK," slam, "EVERY," slam, "LAST," slam, "ONE OF YOU!" Slam, slam, slam, slam!

Panting, shoulders heaving, Donatello sucked a breath through his teeth and beheld his psychotic handiwork. The angle grinder was too bent and misshapen to spin the blade now, rendered worthless. He'd taken only a small chunk from the wall – a mere scuff, by comparison.

A pointless, stupid waste. He let the ruined tool fall to the floor.

"Bastards," he gasped, his vision warping with angry, unshed tears. "Your whole council can go to Hell. You snatch me from the death that I chose. You put me on lock-down. You "fix" my life by ripping out the very best part of it! You tell me what to do, what to say, what not to say. You constantly watch me. Your hand is ready on that god-damned alarm, just waiting for me to blow it! And in spite of everything, in spite of ALL THAT… it gets better! I get better. I start to see past my sadness. I start seeing reasons to stay, and I… I want to live! I want to live, do you hear me? And how fucking cruel is that? You wait until I finally want to live. That's when you kill me!"

"Nobody's trying to kill you," a familiar voice drawled, ultra-casual. "Fucking drama queen."

"Jonas?" Donatello whispered in amazement. His head whipped toward the voice. Sure enough, the Omatran was draped in one of his office chairs. In a cringing, far more embarrassed voice, the turtle mopped sweat from his brow and mumbled, "Uh. Hey."

"Hello, Hamato! Tell us how you really feel, why don't you?" Jonas tilted his head, causing his black spikes to flop to one side like an unruly dandelion. "Got all that tweaker rage out of your system?"

"Doubtful," Don muttered bitterly, glancing down and away. When he looked back at Jonas, his eyes were calculating. "It's good you're here, though. I really need your help."

"That's what I'm here for," Jonas said agreeably, parting his hands.

"Great. Well, somebody's cut off access to my back room. I can't get the door open. That room was a gift from Renet. It's not a part of Nulltime. It's none of their business, quite frankly, so I don't think they have any right to just—"

Jonas had been regarding him with a heavy-lidded gaze, but now he lifted a hand and interrupted with emphasis, "They have magic that shapes reality, Hamato. So long as the council agrees that it's for the good of the spiral and enough Lords sign off on it, they'll do whatever the fuck they want,"

Donatello stared at the Omatran in open-mouthed dismay.

"Magic is the only way that door is getting opened. And I'm a tech-head like you, so… much as I'd love to help, you're asking the wrong guy. Also? Pretty sure the new boss would shit-can me. Right?"

The turtle gave a startled cry as every monitor and display screen in his electronics-cluttered room lit up with random sentiments of agreement.

OMFG SO FIRED

GONNA GO WITH…
YES YES YES YES
YES YES YES YES
YES YES YES YES

Without question!

U CAN BET

UR SWEET

BLUE ASS,

SON!

"There. You see?" Jonas shrugged. He fluttered a slender hand at all the snarky messages, nonplussed by them.

"The new boss," Donatello murmured slowly, eyes wide. "The new boss who apparently just hijacked every networked device in my room?" He snapped out of his brief daze and scrambled to sit at the nearest workstation.

"Are you telling me your alarm clock is networked?"

"It syncs to my calendar," Don admitted sheepishly over one shoulder. His fingers were already flying on the oversized keys, pulling up reports from the lair's various security logs. "I can control it through a modded exchange server."

"Sounds very sexy," Jonas beamed at him. "Tell me again how it is you got women before you met me?"

"Internet download, mostly?" Donatello quipped blandly without looking away from his monitors. "Or they would fall out of the sky and land in my lap somehow. It WAS a hack, right? I'm not seeing any detection!"

"How should I know? It certainly wasn't my hack. Anyway, this is for you. The boss sends his regards." His friend had lifted up one hand to admire his nails, which were currently filed to sharp points and gleamed like polished hematite. The other was extending a cream colored envelope.

The turtle got up, abandoning the security logs, and walked over to take the letter from Jonas. He opened it quickly and looked it over. It wasn't very long and the letters were huge.

It said:

DONATELLO,

DO NOT EVER THINK
THAT I HAVE GIVEN
UP ON YOU.

- LORD T.

Don read it over twice, then flipped it to make sure there was nothing on the back. Then he set it down on the nearest surface and noted, "Lord Tempo? That's... awfully warm and fuzzy of him."

The blue alien stretched languidly. "Mm, no. Obviously Tempo wants nothing to do with you."

"Good. That guy is a tool, so – feeling's mutual." Don picked the letter back up and opened it with an irritated snap.

Jonas sighed, digging two fingers into his temples briefly. "Could we possibly refrain from saying things that will lose us council votes right after you've had a loud and crazy fit, please?"

Doubtful again, Don thought bitterly, but said nothing. He waved the letter and said, "If this guy wants to help so badly, tell him to unseal my goddamn panic room."

Jonas rose from the office chair in a fluid motion, moving to stand face to face with Donatello. He leaned forward to speak quietly but emphatically. "You are not going to win that fight. The new boss, he wasn't too impressed with your panic room's contents." His brows arched pointedly. "Know what I'm saying?"

"Oh," Don said very softly. Anger shot through him – white, hot anger. They were always doing this, making choices for him, telling him how his life must be lived. Bite it back. Keep it down. Rage will not solve this. "If that's what this is about, " he managed in a fairly calm voice, "then there is no problem. I will dismantle the second lab. Honestly, I was already planning to do so. Tell him we can go in together. Anything he doesn't approve of, I'll clear it out. Just – please, give me back the room!"

"What are you looking at me for? Nobody asks my opinion on these matters. I'm just a duster who's failing the second grade."

Don crumpled the heavy cream paper into a tightly-wadded ball with one hand, made note of the wastebasket across the room, did the geometry, and pitched it hard against the opposite wall. It bounced once and sailed smoothly into the trash.

"See? Now, that was sexy," the omatran commented, flashing a lazy grin. "The next time we hang out, you should use that move to get women. All night long, you can just creatively discard things."

In spite of his dark mood, Donatello flashed an appreciative smirk at that. "Wadded up paper missiles are not going to top my shuriken bar tricks."

"As I recall, your 'shuriken bar tricks' sliced off the tip of some dude's ear."

"Well, he wasn't holding them still! I did warn him. Anyway, no harm was done. You grew it back for him just fine."

Jonas widened his eyes and laughed, "It's a down side. I'm just saying!"

Donatello started laughing too, in spite of himself. He pressed his fingers into his eye sockets briefly and commented, "Wow. So this is really happening, huh? I am completely screwed."

Jonas rolled his eyes. "You're not."

"Yes, I am. Now listen, Jonas – you've got to help me. You've got to hook me up with some kind of rapid detox that Renet mentioned. She's been saying for months that I should ask you about it."

"She... really?" Jonas blinked and spoke in a more vulnerable voice than Don was used to hearing from him. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, you wouldn't." Don crossed his arms in annoyance. "I politely told her to fuck off."

"Well," Jonas answered with caution, "unfortunately, Renet doesn't always know what she's talking about. I tried to explain this to her when she first brought it up with me. Clearly, she still doesn't get it."

"Get what?" The turtle's arms unfolded and he twisted his hands together, starting to look spooked. "What's not to get? Renet said you've done it for yourself a bunch of times. You can draw my blood, take DNA samples - whatever you need to get started!"

"No, mate. Listen to me." Jonas seized the turtle's wrists in an effort to force his attention. "This is a psychological addiction we're talking about. That means you're not going to get sick. You're not going to puke or shake or sweat or any of that." He paused for emphasis. "You're just going to want. I've got no antidote for wanting. It's going to be you versus your brain, from now on."

"Shit," Don whispered, dropping his eyes and swallowing hard.

"But, look, I can still make this easier for you. The first thing we want to do is get you scheduled for a quick procedure where we'll try to recover any damage you may have already done to your dopamine and serotonin neurotransmitters. Because, assuming the batch we found in your panic room is typical, even moderate use is going to kill off dopaminergic neurons like you wouldn't believe."

"What?" Don was pretty sure his brain was already having some kind of massive internal failure just from hearing these words.

Jonas sighed. "Right. Want me to slow down? I want to get you scheeeduled... for a quick proceeeedure..."

"Stop, no, stop, just – I heard you! I get it. But - are you blaming this cell death on my chemistry? The purity..."

"The purity of your product is not the issue, Hamato. It's plenty fucking pure, okay? It's also a pretty big step up from the d-amphetamine sulfate you were cooking in there the last time you let me check out the lab in your panic room."

"I just…" Don flinched. "I'd rather smoke it. You can't smoke d-Amp."

"Well, you could purify and do an acid-base extraction..."

"Or," Don snapped, "for half the work and resources, I could cook meth."

"Fine. Just... tell me you're not banging that shit."

"Oh, that's great. You're going to lecture me about route of administration now?" Don snarled. "This, from the guy who would rather shoot up with girls than sleep with them?"

"It's a yes or no question."

"I'm not, okay?!" Don exploded. "I don't IV drugs!"

"Hey, that's what you've always said to me." Jonas shrugged gently. "But then we found an open box of insulin syringes in your panic room. And not one of you has diabetes. I checked. You mutants with your super metabolisms aren't even capable of getting it, turns out, so… yeah. The boss was pretty upset."

Donatello's brow creased and his mouth worked. Finally he said, "Can't you just check the footage?"

"We've got no eyes into that place from Nulltime. Might be another reason the boss thinks it has to go."

"Fantastic! Damning evidence and no way to prove myself. That's perfect."

"What do you mean?" Jonas asked calmly.

"I mean, I was telling you the truth! I don't IV drugs. I just... I might've... thought about it. Unwrapped it. Loaded it. Came to my senses." He hugged his arms around himself and looked away. "I might've come real close."

"Okay! That's good, actually." Jonas nodded to himself. "That'll make this easier."

"I'll tell you what would have been easier," Don griped. "Having this conversation two days ago!"

"Oh yeah?" Jonas prompted, though due to the recent surveillance duties, he already had a pretty good idea where this was headed.

"Yeah. I started tapering off as soon as Leo got back, just like I'd planned. I was down to next to nothing. A bump or two in the morning. Sometimes again after lunch. Maintenance, that was it!" He shook his head with true regret. "I'd been doing really good."

"So what happened?"

"The - the stupid Talk happened!" Donatello flung his hands apart in frustration. "My dad springs it on me that he knows about Renet and ropes me into educating my brothers about sex. He gives me just one night to prepare, and - I don't know! I freaked out! I thought, if I could just – if I could face them full of energy and confidence…" Don put his face in his hands and realized aloud, "Ugh, it's a pathetic excuse. I swear, it sounded like sense at the time."

"Hey, I get it," Jonas sighed. "You versus your brain. That's just what it's going to be like for a while. Sometimes it helps if you can recognize high-stress situations while they're still headed your way. Then you can mentally brace for it, and maybe stick real close to somebody. Tell 'em not to let you out of their sight until the rough times are over. You need somebody who you wouldn't ever use in front of, somebody who knows your situation."

"Nobody on Third Earth knows this situation," Don hissed, "and I'd very much prefer to keep it that way."

Jonas shrugged, "Then you're setting yourself up for failure."

"Where do you even get off?" the turtle began, his temper rising again. "You, of all people—"

"You think I didn't tell him?" Jonas didn't quite shout, but his ever-calm facade cracked briefly as he continued in a sharper tone. "You think I didn't tell him I would be a fucking hypocrite, coming in here, talking to you about this shit? And I told him that you, of all people, would call me out on it." The fire in his eyes shuttered and his mouth curled with a thin smirk. "That was pretty good, though – what you said earlier about me and girls?"

Guilt slithered inside him now. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said that. It was a low blow."

"No, that was a called shot and you nailed it. Man, if I could find a girl who just wanted to bliss out on my products. We could lay around and make out, listen to music? Shasi, if she knew how to play music? That would be it. I would have to life-bond with that bitch. We might even be happy for a while, until she fucking dies on me. Because nobody's got the willpower to keep up with me without losing their shit – and even if she did, guess what? I'm fucking immortal."

"Jonas," Don pleaded softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I'm screwed up, okay? When I'm crashing hard, I snipe at people. Whether or not I really want to. I chase everyone away, you know?"

"Nope," Jonas's mouth twitched and his tone was very flat. "I never came off drugs and acted like an asshole before. Got no idea what that's like." He broke into a shadow of his usual grin.

Donatello tried to return the smile, but his was tremulous and fleeting. "I'm terrified to go back out there, to be… like this," he admitted very quietly. "You have to understand, the last thing I want is to be an asshole to Mike."

"You're already being an asshole just by shutting yourself up in here. That kid is pacing the hall just outside your door, starting to wonder if you're even in here."

"Shit," Don whispered. His dark eyes lanced towards the door, then to the clock, and back again. "I've spent longer in here than I realized. What am I going to tell him, Jonas? I'm supposed to be bringing him this game controller I told him I've been working on. And it's true, but - I wasn't keeping it here, you see? If we can't get access to the room… what will I say to him? That I just lost track of where I put it? That doesn't sound like something I would say about an invention in progress! I wouldn't! Mike knows that I wouldn't, he -"

Donatello cupped his face suddenly and gasped against his palm. "God, I'm tired. I can't - I don't see a solution. I can't afford to lie to him right now, Jonas. But because of all this, I'll have to. I'll have to lie constantly. And…"

His head came up suddenly to take a steadying breath. "Right now, I just don't have the - the emotional stability and reasoning capacity to pull it off. Not against him. He picks up on strong emotions lately, we've essentially proven it. But more than that, he. He's so smart, Mikey - I mean, he'll fool you!" A pained and altogether unexpected laugh croaked from his throat. So much for steadying breaths. His fingers moved to cage his mouth, but he continued to smile as he spoke on. "Maybe you haven't been watching this family long enough to see through his obnoxious belching and impulsive behavior, but Mikey's really quite-"

"I've been watching long enough," Jonas promised quietly, cutting Don off. "From what I have seen of that kid, so far? Pretty big fan."

"Great. So… help me not to lose him. I need sanctuary, Jonas. Somewhere to camp out and get my story in order. Plan things out. Even take a decent nap. Then I can-"

The blue-skinned alien lifted a slender finger in the air and cut him off again. "Wait, here's a crazy plan. Don't lie to him."

Don looked at him incomprehension for a beat and a half before demanding, "What? How do I pull that off? Explain."

"You just don't," Jonas assured him. "Don't lie to him anymore. About anything."

He waited. The mutant turtle said nothing. "Look, Hamato. I don't think I can simplify the concept of this plan any further…"

"Don't lie to Mike about anything," Don repeated. "Sure, yeah. Sounds great! Look, I just want to put it on record here that if I follow this advice from an official representative of time, then I should not be held responsible for the inevitable alarms blaring when Mike starts asking dangerous questions that get all of us hauled back into court, and-"

"It's not your job to worry about that anymore."

"Mikey has clearance?" Don realized with a visible jump. "That's what you're saying. You actually - you got timeline clearance and protection for Mike, somehow!"

"All I'm saying," Jonas insisted, pausing to give Don a mock frown. "All I'm ALLOWED to say to you at all, on the OFFICIAL RECORD - is that not lying to your little brother seems to me like a really swell plan. And now, would you look at any one of those wearable clocks I haven't earned yet? Gotta go."

"Thank you, Jonas!" Suddenly his arms were locked around the taller alien, hugging him fiercely.

"Ugh. Physical contact," the Omatran complained. "Must you?"

Don let go of him with a laugh and quickly wiped at his eyes. "I mean it. This is better than getting the panic room back. A better solution."

"We are glad you agree, ka'chaiya. I'll see about getting back some more of your displaced belongings, but for now - catch!"

Delayed reaction times made a near thing of getting hit in the face by the object that was suddenly hurtling towards him. Somehow Donatello managed to get his hands up in time.

He blinked and looked around, but Jonas was already gone. Then the turtle looked down at his hands to realize he was holding his prototype controller.

Less than thirty seconds later, Jonas found himself accosted once again. This time it was Lord Titan's arms that had cinched around him tightly. "My dude! Ten out of ten. You did great down there. I mean it. You did so well."

"Augh," Jonas squirmed in futility. "Again with the proximity and the squeezing. I don't like this Earthling custom!"

"I just saw the latest projections," the ancient turtle explained, not quite ready to let go. "So many future lies undone… Yeah, sorry. You'd better just get used to it."