And so It Goes ch 12

Bishop

…

Only in silence the word,
only in dark the light,
only in dying life:
bright the hawk's flight

on the empty sky.

- Ursula K. Le Guin , "A Wizard Of Earthsea"

…

When they finally arrived, Mike was waiting for them, pacing impatiently back and forth just inside the entrance. Don hesitated when he caught sight of him, nearly overbalancing as the woman helping him carry Raph tried to continue moving without him.

They'd radioed ahead when they were still a few minutes out to let them know there'd been an injury. Don hadn't recognized the code they'd used to describe it, but he could guess. Unknown poison. Stable, but rapidly losing motor control. He didn't need to understand the code to know the symptoms. They pushed themselves as hard as they could getting back and made better time than he'd expected. They'd gotten lucky—none of the Foot or Utrom patrols had crossed paths with them, save for a single patrolling helicopter that had delayed them for no more than half a minute.

When they finally arrived, Don's arms were just starting to ache under his brother's weight, and heat from his brother's prone form had begun to burn against his skin. Raph was just barely clinging to consciousness by then. His eye weakly flickered open at the change in motion when they came to a stop. Mike's eyes immediately settled where Raph was being supported between the two of them, and he immediately strode over, his face a blank, furious mask.

"What. Happened," he hissed, eyes roaming over their brother with well-concealed concern.

The man who'd struck the killing blow stepped forward. "The Rogue was one of the poisonous types. Some of it got inside an open wound. "

Mike cursed. He moved closer to Raph, grimly eying the injury and symptoms a second time, and cursed again. Don was so focused on Mike that he didn't even notice Leatherhead until the crocodile came up beside him and moved to take Raph's weight from him. Don flinched and turned, already twisting to better shield his brother, before relaxing at the sight of one of the few people he knew he could trust. Leatherhead hesitated for a moment at the movement but continued when Don motioned him back. Leatherhead hefted Raph's weight up into his own arms, carrying him far easier than they'd been able to. His eyes were already scanning Raph's body as he cataloged any injury or symptom he could find.

Leatherhead almost immediately turned and started walking away, likely headed to one of the infirmaries or labs where he'd have tools to work with. After a short glance at Mike, who was still conversing animatedly with the man and shooting Raph near-constant, worried glances, Don followed Leatherhead and his mostly unconscious brother. Leatherhead looked down at him but didn't protest his presence.

As they were leaving the room, Leatherhead spoke. "Did any get on you?" he asked quietly,

Don unconsciously rubbed at one of the still numb spots along his arm. He'd nearly forgotten about them. "Some. It's shown nothing worse than some numbness though."

"Head to one of the showers and scrub the remnants off."

Don grimaced at the order but resigned himself to obeying it. It was a good suggestion, no matter how much he hated the thought of leaving Raph even for a minute. He didn't know what kind of effect the substance would have if left untreated, and he didn't want to find out.

"I'll join you after I've finished," he said, challenging the other to contradict him. It didn't matter whether or not they decided he had the authorization to help. He'd hack the door and force his way in if he had to, but he was not going to let himself be shut out of this.

Leatherhead paused, weighing the decision. "Very well. We'll be in the back section of the main labs."

Don nodded and, with one last glance at his brothers, turned and started sprinting down a hallway. He didn't bother heading to of the few places where the piping had been reinforced enough to handle warm water or actual showers. Too far away. Instead, he made a beeline for one of the nearby rooms with a basic working faucet. It was empty when he arrived, and the half-rusted handle turned easily enough for him. Grabbing a small scrap of fabric, he started cleaning his skin. Small traces of dirt and the silvery toxin clouded the water that dripped off of him, and he continued scrubbing until the water ran clean again.

He did a thorough, if rushed, wash of his entire body before tossing the rag in a scrap pile and immediately racing towards the lab. He barely even noticed the occasional, startled Rebel he nearly ran over. The door to the room was unlocked, and he immediately pushed past it and entered the lab. Raph had been laid out on an examination table in the center of the room, and the human scientists rushed around him, touching and testing and carrying metallic tools. The sight was enough to send every instinct in his body screaming, and he had to stop himself from jumping over and pushing the strange humans away from his nearly unconscious brother. Much as he'd been conditioned to hate being cornered by human scientists, they were there to help.

Leatherhead looked up at his entrance and beckoned him over to one of the far corners. He'd barely taken two steps inside before movement at the corner of his eye brought his attention to Mike, who'd been half hidden along the darker edge of the wall. Mike looked up from where he'd been focused on the near motionless form of their older brother at the sound, and his eyes narrowed.

"What's he doing here?" he accused as soon as they were close enough he wouldn't disturb the others.

Don met his eyes head on, refusing to give an inch. "Helping."

Mike's face darkened again, taking on a now familiar stubborn expression. "You're not supposed to-"

"I hardly think I'll find any important secrets hidden under a microscope."

Mike looked like he was gearing up for another argument about his limits, and Don reluctantly steeled himself for it. It really, really wasn't the time for this, but it didn't look like Mike was going to give him the choice. He was surprised when Leatherhead walked up behind him and looked at Mike from over his shoulder.

As he spoke, the crocodile angled his body subtly until he was half between the two of them. "I'll personally make sure he isn't given access to anything potentially dangerous," he said.

Mike glanced between them, eyes narrowed, and for the first time Don noticed the lines of stress and weariness that had been etched into his face since the last time he'd seen him. The danger to Raph had to be hitting him hard too. Don shouldn't have been surprised that Mike might lash out in his fear and anger, even if the old Mikey never would have. It wasn't much of an excuse, but it did help Don ignore some of his anger at him.

Leatherhead interrupted the still tense moment by silently steering Don towards some equipment in the back of the room, far away from where Mike still stood. A vial was handed to him, a quarter full of a dark, viscous liquid Don immediately recognized as blood. He held it gingerly with one hand as Leatherhead spoke.

"I assume you're familiar with the unique composition of you and your brother's blood. You can be responsible for searching for anything that seems out of place, no matter how small or unrelated it seems. Blood tests haven't changed much, and any chemicals you should need are stored in one of the cupboards." He gestured towards a scattering of wooden cabinets to their side. "Be careful. Bishop's known for his creativity, and he hides his secrets well."

Don nodded, and Leatherhead immediately turned to join the rest of the scientists clustered around Raph, leaving Don alone with his assignment. Don quickly moved towards the cabinets, taking out the tools and chemicals he was going to need, and got to work.

…

One day passed. Two. No change.

Once blood had been drawn and physical examination thoroughly exhausted, Raph had been moved to a more comfortable cot in the medical wing. Don stayed in the labs every waking moment, and the only reason he left to sleep was because Leatherhead forced him to. If he'd had his way, he would have just napped on a spare cot whenever exhaustion got the better of him. Once or twice, he'd visited Raph's unconscious body to reassure himself his brother was still stable, but he hadn't lingered. His time was better spent working towards an antidote instead.

They had managed to identify parts of the compound and its effect, but it wasn't enough. The compound had been fast acting, and it had broken down into the bloodstream as soon as it'd fulfilled its purpose. The good news was, with the compound fully dissolved, they were sure it wouldn't do any more harm to Raph's body. The bad news was they'd barely had a chance to study it in action before it disappeared. He'd managed to identify a handful of proteins with an unusually low blood count and even some he knew were associated with breaking down certain types of proteins, but there was nothing to connect them or even suggest why Raph was still unconscious.

They needed more information. Desperately. Unfortunately, even the poison still in the mutant's body had disintegrated by the time someone had gone back to take care of it. They'd already analyzed every scrap of information and performed every test he could think of, and it still wasn't enough. He and Leatherhead were the only people still in the lab, so Don allowed some of his frustration to leak out. He let a dirty clipboard he'd been holding slam onto one of the counters, shoving a microscope carelessly out of the way so he could bury his face in his hands.

"Why?" he asked, slightly more desperately than he'd intended. "Why won't any of this work. It's all dead ends and false leads, and I don't-" He growled in frustration, punctuating the sound with the loud smack of flesh and metal as he hit the table.

Leatherhead put down the beaker he'd been holding and walked over. Don knew the scientist had to be almost as frustrated as he was, but the crocodile didn't show it. He seemed almost calm as he spoke. "Bishop has had years to master the art of biological warfare, and Shredder has far more impressive resources to counter his attacks than we do. Much as I hate to admit it, we are at a grave disadvantage."

"Why not ask him for the compound then? We're allies now, aren't we?" Strange as it was to think about being allied with the Government scientist who'd once tried to dissect them, that had been the impression he'd gotten. And if there was a chance they could get an antidote or, hell, even information about the compound's composition and intended effect, then why hadn't they contacted him earlier?

Leatherhead hesitated before answering. Not a good sign.

"There's a reason we have so little to do with Bishop and his organization," he said carefully. "We deal with very different tactics regarding Shredder, and we have often come into conflict with his group, even if it's never fallen into any physical confrontation. If Bishop could get the shielding protecting the Shredder down, he would blow up the entire city and everyone inside it without a second thought." He sighed, his eyes faraway. "Sacrifices must be made, and they have been, but we are not yet so far gone to condone Bishop's more extreme plans. Even if we don't have the strength to oppose his actions as well as the Shredder's."

Any other time, and that info and the convoluted politics it hinted at would have been fascinating. Now, though, it was just another obstacle and one Don refused to let stop him.

"But Bishop has the information we need," Don stated, already knowing the answer. He didn't wait for a response. "We have to contact him."

"It will put us in his debt."

"I don't care."

Leatherhead made a frustrated sound, "There are politics at work here you do not understand."

Don was so sick of that excuse by now. Sick of his opinion and skills being brushed off because of all that he'd missed, never mind that he could still learn everything and had been. He bit his tongue to stop from voicing an automatic, cutting response. He forced himself to stay calm and rational. Pure emotion wouldn't convince anyone, but logic just might.

"Is that risk worth losing Raph?"

If he hadn't been watching him so closely, Don might have missed the slight, telling tremor in Leatherhead's hands at that. "I… no, you're right. Losing Raph would be an enormous blow." He visibly steadied himself. "But we can't rely on Bishop for anything."

Don started to speak again, but Leatherhead interrupted him before he could even get started. "Give it a day. Just one more day. If we've still made no progress… then I'll have no choice but to at least bring the option up with April and Mike."

Don didn't like it. It had already been two days with no real progress, and even if the poison didn't seem to be doing anything more insidious than keeping Raph in a coma-like state, they had no way of knowing that it wasn't doing something more permanent that they couldn't detect. It was a risk, and one he hated to take, but he had no better option.

"Alright," he finally said.

He just had to hope Raph wouldn't get worse before they could find the cure. And that Bishop would be willing to help them. If not… he would break into Bishop's labs himself if he had to, but he would much prefer not to take the chance.

…

Twenty four hours later and they were just as lost as when Raph had first been brought in. He hadn't needed to bring the deal up with Leatherhead. Instead, the scientist had all but locked himself in a room with Mike and April to convince them to contact Bishop. It was the first time Leatherhead hadn't met him in the lab to work. After that, there had been some sort of meeting between the command positions, which he, of course, hadn't been allowed to witness.

The communications console they would use was locked in one of the rooms he hadn't previously been authorized to enter. Undoubtedly, the console contained all sorts of passwords and transmissions information Shredder would just love to get his hands on, meaning that, though he would be allowed in the room, Don still wasn't allowed to touch anything remotely technical.

The others were already in the room when he entered with Leatherhead. Of the nearly dozen people Don knew had been involved in the meeting, only Mike, April, and a man he didn't recognize had come. They'd gathered in side of the room and spoke in murmured voices, but that wasn't what drew Don's attention. No, that honor was saved for the large contraption in the center of the room.

It was an elaborate setup, surrounded by bundles of wires and jury-rigged energy sources. A large monitor made up the front of the machine, and a tangled mass of mostly hidden wiring and machinery laid behind it. The circuitry peeking through the sides was obviously high quality and impeccably clean. Most of the mechanism had to be some sort of security measure to keep the signal from being hacked or even detected by the Foot. His hands absolutely itched to touch.

As he was inspecting the console, he caught Mike glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes and frowning. Don moved back a bit farther away from the machine, trying to seem as unnoticeable as possible. He was just staring at the shiny tech in front of him. Nothing to worry about, and definitely nothing to send him out of the room over.

As Mike passed by him, he said, "Just stay out of sight. We can't let Bishop find out about you."

Don nodded. He had no intention of speaking with Bishop on a whim. Not only would that be a frankly stupid risk to take without a good reason, but he didn't even understand the nuances of the strained relationship between the two groups. So long as Mike didn't try to kick him out, he would be fine.

One of the Rebels he didn't recognize did something to the front of the console, and the machine started to glow with power, a familiar artificial glow that bathed the entire room. Almost a full stress-filled minute passed before the connection was made and an image flickered to life. The picture was slightly grainy and the audio had a slight undertone of static, but the quality was still miles above what Don would have expected from an underground transmission. After a moment, the monitor resolved itself into a more or less clear image. Bishop stared out at them.

Bishop looked… almost exactly the same as they last time they'd met. The shell? Thirty years later, and he still looked to be in his mid-twenties, the prime of his life. Bishop had no wrinkles, no visible scars, heck, even his impeccable clothing had barely changed. The material was slightly frayed and of worse quality, but at first glance it was close enough for Don to feel like he was looking back in time. If this was normal, then no wonder Mike had suggested Bishop could be involved in his reappearance. Don definitely had new questions for them for after Raph was healed.

The screen on Bishop's end was purposefully facing an empty corner—expected, considering what he knew about the relationship between the two groups. Still, Don could see that the room was immaculately clean, free from the grime or rust he might have expected. If he had to guess, he'd have to say it was some sort of lab to require such thorough sterility.

"Bishop," Mike greeted coldly. At the first glimpse of the former Agent's face, Mike's entire body had stiffened, and he'd fallen back into something that was very nearly a fighting stance. If he still needed a clearer sign of the animosity between the two, that was it.

Bishop inclined his head briefly. He didn't even twitch at the obvious hostility. "Michelangelo. Such a surprise to hear from you."

Even Bishop's voice was the same. Just as annoyingly formal as he remembered, absolutely dripping with false sincerity and smooth confidence. It brought him back to the last time Don had seen Bishop, back when the world still made sense.

Bishop's voice didn't seem to bother Mike at all. He was probably used to the sound. "We had a run in with another one of your Rogues. One of your poisonous ones," Mike said stiffly.

"I hardly see how this concerns m-"

"It got Raph."

No emotion passed across Bishop's face, but the brief hesitation before his answer spoke of his surprise. "My… condolences," he said with something that could almost pass as actual sincerity. Almost.

Mike bristled. "He's not dead yet," he said through gritted teeth.

Bishop nodded. "Ah, yes, one of the non-lethal ones. At least directly." He paused, giving them a decidedly bored glance. "And for what reason have you contacted me?"

"We need you're… help," Mike spat out, as if the words were physically painful to voice. "We can't crack the compound. You have the information we need."

Don could have sworn that the side of Bishop's lips turned upwards slightly at the admission, as if Bishop was smug about what had happened. The vindictive pest was probably pleased to have Mike forced to come to him.

"While it would be my pleasure to help you, I'm afraid I cannot be of assistance," Bishop said smoothly, not sounding very displeased at all. Don immediately wanted to strangle him. "Considering the sheer volume of compounds I've developed over the year, I can hardly be expected to have developed a cure for each one. Besides, I'm sure your unique physiology has rendered any knowledge of its intended effects rather useless. "

Mike clenched his fist, visibly angry at the condescending way Bishop was denying them. "It won't cost you anything to give us the info, and it could make a difference with our research."

"Information is valuable, Michelangelo. More valuable than you seem to give it credit for," Bishop said calmly. He leaned forward in his seat, cutting off Mike's retort before it was even voiced. "You have nothing to trade. And you have made it quite obvious that you wish nothing to do with my projects."

Oh, there was a story there. Something in the too-pleased look on Bishop's face and the way he seemed to be outright enjoying blocking Mike. This wasn't just a power game. This was revenge. For what, Don didn't know, but he could hazard a guess.

"You-," Mike started, looking just as furious as Don felt. He took an aborted step toward the screen, muscles clenched tight. "Dammit, Bishop, you know the only reason the Foot hasn't wiped your operation off the map is because he never stopped obsessing over the blood feud he still has with our clan. If Raph dies, that's one less target to taking the heat away from you."

"I think you'd be surprised by how advanced my operation has become."

Don could barely hear the next few exchanges over the roar of blood in his ears as he futilely tried to calm his temper. He'd spent the last nearly sleepless days struggling without success to find a cure while his brother laid in a coma a few rooms down. He'd already reached his limits—physically, emotionally, everything—and Bishop was just standing there, toying carelessly with them.

He couldn't just wait there anymore. Bishop and Mike were arguing in circles now, exchanging threats and cryptic comments and arguments that led nowhere. Bishop even seemed to be enjoying pushing Mike to his limits. Never mind that Raph's life was on the line or that Bishop's refusal to negotiate would only hurt him as well. Well, if Bishop wasn't willing to deal with Mike, then maybe he would have more luck.

Don had promised himself he wouldn't take any unnecessary risk.

This wasn't unnecessary.

Don stepped away from the wall, moving purposefully towards the screen. One of the humans made a grab for his arm, but Don easily shook him off. He smoothly inserted himself between Mike and the screen, well within sight of the camera transmitting to the other end.

"Bishop," he said coolly. His voice was loud as a gunshot in the suddenly dead silent room.

Mike made a strangled noise behind him. Don could almost picture the half-surprised, half-infuriated look on his face, but Mike thankfully didn't try to yank him out of sight. It was too late anyway. Bishop had already seen.

Bishops face froze at the sight, though he immediately suppressed the briefest flicker of surprise he'd let slip. "Donatello," he said slowly, as if tasting the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. "How… unexpected. And not a day older than the last time I laid eyes on you."

Don ignored the obvious probe for information. He wasn't going to play Bishop's game. They didn't have the time. "So it seems," he bit out curtly. "You know what I want."

"Yes, yes, the compound," Bishop said, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand. "You're not changing the topic that easily. No, this is a far more… fascinating matter."

Don could see a glimmer of greed hidden in his eyes, the tone of his voice. After everything, Bishop was still a scientist, and he wanted the knowledge. Good. Don could use that.

"Forgive me for not being willing to indulge your curiosity, but I have more important problems to worry about," he said, dangling the information out of reach just as calmly as Bishop had. It took everything he had to keep his tone calm and expression relaxed.

Bishop tisked at him and leaned back into his chair, shaking his head slowly in disappointment as if preparing to chastise a misbehaving child. "As I told your… brother, I do not even possess the cures for all the compounds I've developed."

"But you do have the chemical makeup and intended effect. You wouldn't be careless enough not to keep records of everything you add to your soldiers. Once we know that, we should be able to synthesize a counteragent with the information," Don countered. Bishop must have already known that—he really was a talented scientist, much as Don hated to admit it. Bishop was still just toying with them. Unacceptable.

Bishop inclined his head. "True. However, you're assuming I'd willingly allow your Rebellion access to the research I've created."

"You've no reason not to. Both our goals are the same—overthrowing Shredder—and surrendering the secret to curing one of your compounds will hardly endanger your operation. You've little, if anything, to lose by cooperating with us."

If he'd hoped that would be enough, he would have been sorely disappointed. Bishop didn't even twitch. Then again, he hadn't actually expected Bishop to give in that easily. Mike had given essentially the same argument, and it had been unlikely that Bishop would accept it just because it came from a different source. He'd just needed to remind the Agent of exactly how little he had to lose.

"You'll have to do better than that, Donatello," Bishop, predictably, said. "His life is worth far more to you than it is to me."

"A trade, then. Answers for answers. Else you'll never find out what we know about my reappearance." He knew what Bishop was like. His presence was an unsolved mystery, and Bishop was the type of person that the unknown would chip away at his mind.

For the first time since the call began, Bishop lost his air of smug superiority. Don caught an annoyed twitch in his expression, a slight narrowing of his eyes. A few moments of silence passed before Bishop replied, and Don could practically see Bishop's mind churning as he tried to find a way to turn the situation in his favor again.

"I'm afraid there's one more problem with your proposition. I refuse to send any of my secrets over such an… unsecure line."

A minor obstacle, and one with a readily apparent solution. Don felt his heart jump. Bishop was actually considering giving in. "Then I'll come to you," he said decisively. There was nothing Bishop could reject about that solution.

The slight hint of stress that had been on Bishop's face smoothed away, and some of his previous smugness returned. Don got the distinct impression Bishop had just won something in their battle of words, though he wasn't sure exactly what.

"You're in luck. I'm currently stationed inside New York state, so you're plan is actually feasible." He glanced back towards where Mike was standing, a smirk curling at his lips. "I'm sure you're… brother is aware of where the precise location is. If you come, then I expect you to answer whatever questions I have about your… reappearance."

An easy enough trade. Don just hoped that Bishop wouldn't decide they'd tricked him once he realized how little Don actually knew about his reappearance. That could get dangerous.

"I will willingly answer what I can, though even I don't have all the answers." He paused before adding, "After you let me have access to the data I need."

"You don't trust my word?" He chuckled indulgently. "Smart of you." "As you're well aware, my time is precious and I've spent more than enough of it indulging you in your quest. I'll expect your presence before the end of the week. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to assume the deal's off."

Don nodded, and he let out a sigh of relief as the screen flickered back offline, feeling as if a weight had just been lifted from his chest. He'd done it. Now that Bishop would give them the data, they had a chance at fixing Raph again. Bishop hadn't even asked for anything as much as he'd expected—if it had been necessary, he would have willingly given up far, far more for his brother.

He turned around to the rest of the room, only to be met by Mike practically drilling holes in the back of his head with fury. He was glaring furiously, entire body tense and looking like he was about ready to punch someone. This… wasn't good. Shell.

"Mike-" Don started uncertainly. His brother didn't even let him finish the word.

"No."

Frustration twinged in the back of Don's mind at the rejection. It let him speak a bit stronger as he tried again.

"I can-"

"Dammit, no," Mike half-shouted, interrupting him again. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you head to one of Bishop's labs."

Mike meant it. Don recognized the bullheaded set to his face, though he'd rarely seen the expression on Mikey's face. Mike was honestly going to fight him on this. Don… didn't understand it. He'd managed to negotiate a solution after Mike had failed, so why the shell was Mike trying to reject it! Did he really distrust him so much that he'd cripple their chances of fixing Raph before letting him have access to the info he needed?

"Well, what would you have us do instead!" Don half-shouted. "Would you really let your paranoia over my existence stop us from healing Raph?"

Shock flickered over Mike's face for a moment. "That's not what I-" He stopped himself, scowling. "We can't trust Bishop to keep his word. He's screwed us over before."

"I'm willing to take that chance."

He was. He'd been given a chance to find a cure. Not even Mike was going to stop him from going. He knew Bishop was dangerous—that definitely hadn't changed over the years—but there was also a good chance Bishop would be satisfied with the info Don gave him. Besides, there just wasn't that much for him to gain by breaking their deal. He might be able to negotiate a better trade from him for the info, but that wouldn't be too risky compared to other things they'd faced.

"And what's to stop him from strapping you down and running his own experiments as soon as you arrive?" Mike asked, gesturing wildly. "You're not going. Especially not alone."

Don was already mentally organizing his arguments, laying out the many reasons he needed to go and refused to stay at base. He was interrupted as Leatherhead stepped up beside him, laying a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I can accompany him," Leatherhead said.

Mike looked about as surprised as Don felt at Leatherhead's announcement. His jaw started to drop before he could stop it, and his eyes widened. His face quickly hardened again though, hiding his surprise and what might have been a hint of betrayal. Don… certainly hadn't been expecting Leatherhead to step in, but it would be a tidy solution to most of the problems. Besides, he'd definitely appreciate having someone he could trust watching his back.

Mike didn't agree with him. "No," he repeated, to Leatherhead this time. "You're still needed here."

Leatherhead shook his head and continued just as calmly. "Losing my assistance for a few days will do far less damage than losing Raphael would. You agreed to speak with Bishop because you knew it's likely our only chance of getting Raphael back. That hasn't changed. Besides, I'm sure you'll appreciate having someone to watch over Donatello while he's within Bishop's influence."

He said the last sentence with an interesting inflection, which Don didn't have the time to analyze. Mike's firm determination wavered for a moment as he searched Leatherhead's face, but it quickly settled back into its previous resolve. He was about to refuse them again when April stepped forward, moving into Mike's line of sight.

"They're right," she said quietly, a hint of steel determination underlying her words.

Mike spun around towards April in surprise. The hint of betrayal in his eyes grew slightly more pronounced. "You can't possibly be agreeing with them! You know what Bishop's capable of doing to them!"

"Of course I do," she said. "But I also know Bishop's intelligent, and he would know that he has far more to lose than gain by hurting either of them. He'll push them as far as he can and milk every last drop of information he can get, but he won't risk causing any harm. He wouldn't break the truce over something like this."

Mike stared at her for a moment, searching her face for something. A confirmation, maybe, or some sign that April was uncertain about her prediction. He finally glanced away, conflicted.

"I… fine. Fine," Mike spat, looking thoroughly disgusted. "Have it your way, but the two of you damn well better return in one piece and with a cure in hand."

With that, Mike turned and stalked out of the room, leaving silence behind him.

…

They didn't have much time to waste before needing to leave, and he spent much of that time with Leatherhead in the labs carefully packing equipment and samples for the journey ahead. They finished with only half an hour until sunset. Don slipped away from Leatherhead and the other scientists as they congregated around one of the machines, murmuring quietly. Leatherhead's gaze caught him as he was about to leave the room. For a moment, he thought the crocodile would call him back or insist on him taking a guard, but Leatherhead just sent him a short, acknowledging nod and turned back to the man beside him. Don was inordinately grateful for the show of trust.

He moved through the empty halls alone, traveling the familiar path towards what passed for a medical wing. He wanted to see Raph one last time before leaving. It… seemed like the right thing to do. By now, the room should be empty of any scientists or medics, so he wasn't worried about finding the privacy he wanted.

Something made him hesitate before entering the room. Instead of moving normally, he crept into the room silently, inspection the room carefully to see what had triggered his instincts. He nearly gave himself away out of surprise when he spotted Leo nestled on the edge of a spare cot on the other side of the room from Raph's. Leo was silent, barely even glancing at their unconscious brother, but he was there. It was the first time he'd seen the two of them in the same room since that first day.

Leo had taken his swords out, and he was polishing one of them with long, smooth strokes. Outwardly, he seemed perfectly calm—just as composed as he'd been every other time Don had seen him. With a start, Don realized he'd barely even seen his eldest brother since Raph's injury. He'd gotten used to turning around in the lab and finding one of his older brothers silently watching him work, but the last few days had been chaotic enough he hadn't even noticed the absence of that new routine.

The sight reminded him of something—old memories he hadn't thought about in months. When they were children, whenever one of them got sick or injured Leo was almost always by their side until they were back to normal. It had taken a while for Don to catch on, particularly when they'd still been young enough to share the same large room, since Leo had never seemed to be particularly worried about it. He'd just sit nearby, meditation or reading or, sometimes, polishing his swords to pass the time. Pretending to be going about his day as usual.

But he'd always been close, almost within arm's length, as if reassuring himself that they were going to be alright. It had become a familiar habit, something to hold onto as they grew older and their injuries worse. This, now, wasn't the same, wasn't even close to the familiar, relaxed ritual from back then, but it was at least an echo of that old habit.

Don had no doubt that, had Raph been awake or his injury less severe, he wouldn't have found Leo anywhere near the room. He didn't know whether to be glad that Leo had willingly come here to watch over him or dismayed that it had taken Raph falling into a coma to get the two into the same room, and the two emotions twisted in his chest. Still, this, whatever it was, was more than he'd expected to find.

Trying not to draw Leo's attention, Don left the room as silently as he'd entered. Vague thoughts and impressions churned in his mind as he made his way back to the area he'd left the other scientists.

There was still something there—some remnant of their old relationship that time hadn't stolen. If, no, when Raph woke up, he needed to start pushing. It wasn't much, but it was at least something. And that was more than he'd had to go on over the last weeks. When he slipped back into the room with the other scientists, he felt a twinge of what might actually be hope rise in his chest.