Splinter sat atop the cliff overlooking the winding river valley. The warm spring breeze felt good ruffling through his fur, and helped to clear his mind of distractions. He focused, allowing his heart to draw his mind to his family.
Donatello was down in the barn, using the weight bench to regain the strength in his leg. It had healed well since their final encounter with the Foot three months ago. Splinter sensed Donatellos’ thoughts drifting to the motorcycle chassis he had recently found at the local rubbish dump. Donatello had managed to get it back to the farmstead, with the help of his brothers and Casey, a couple of weeks earlier when the rest of the family had come up from New York to visit for a weekend.
The intricacies of the planned repairs and modifications filtering through Donatellos’ mind escaped Splinter. His son had a gift for understanding such things that Splinter did not share. Donatello paused in his exercise as he suddenly wondered how Master Splinter was doing. Not wanting to disturb his son Splinter pulled his focus away until he could observe, almost distantly, as Donatellos’ mind buried his momentary thought of his father under the flow of mechanics and left the bench to wander over to the bike and start to sort through his tool kit. It wasn’t that Donatello wasn’t concerned for his father; he just understood that when Splinter was ready to share his worries, he would. Until then, if Splinter felt that he needed time to himself to heal from his ordeal, Donatello would respect that.
Next Splinter allowed his mind to travel further a-field, drawn south to the metropolis of New York. He could feel the faint mental pressure of thousands of unfocused souls brushing gently against the walls of his mind. Searching, he felt the glimmer of recognition. Leonardo was also meditating, using the afternoon to hone the skills of his mind after a morning honing the skills of his body. Splinter smiled and sensed Leonardo return the gesture. Leonardos’ ability was immature, emotions the clearest messages he could yet consciously receive or convey. However, Splinter felt a surge of pride as this step was mastered by his son. Leonardo responded with a desire for more knowledge, he had an innate sense that there was so much more he could accomplish. He knew his skill was far from perfect, it needed practice, direction and refinement. It needed guidance.
Splinter pulled back, somewhat involuntarily, from Leonardos’ mind; felt the connection weaken almost to breaking. The core of doubt he felt at his ability to teach this skill was faintly mirrored by Leonardos’ doubt about his own ability to learn. The turtle had felt this hesitation from Splinter on previous occasions when they had met on the astral plane of late and thought it due to his Master believing he was not yet ready for this knowledge. Often in the past Splinter had told his sons that Ninjutsu was an art of both mind and body, however the skills involved in this art could be taxing and dangerous to those not ready to gain them. This frustrated Leonardo; nevertheless he respected what he took to be his Masters’ wishes. After all, Splinter had taught them all they knew of Ninjutsu so far, and taught them well. So Leonardo was sure that Splinter would teach him these new skills in time.
Splinter reforged the connection with Leonardos’ mind briefly, the mental equivalent of a fathers’ hug. He felt Leonardo return the emotion and resign himself to being patient and practicing all he had learned so far. Splinter could sense the rest of his family close by. He was certain that Leonardo was in the single bedroom of the basement studio apartment; the curtained doorway leading to the living area shut, somewhat ineffectively, against the sounds of sparring. Raphael and Casey were nearing the end of their regular afternoon session.
Brushing against Raphaels’ mind, Splinter shared the exhilaration as his son managed to pin Casey.
“Heh! Eat carpet dirt bag!” Raphael grunted as he shoved the side of Casey’s face into the floor whilst bending the man’s arm up between his shoulder blades and grinding his knee into the small of his back.
“Get off me, you nut!” gasped Casey. Raphael gave Casey one last light shove to the back of the head then got off him and offered a hand to help him to stand.
“Gees, April’s gonna flip and think I’ve been off fighting street scum again when she sees all these bruises you’ve given me!”
“Yeah, well maybe you should get out and get some real practice once in a while; you’re getting slow old man!” Raphael teased with an evil smile.
“OLD MAN!? Hey you little snot I’m not that much older than you. You better watch what you’re sayin’ or I’ll have to beat some respect into ya!”
“Like to see you try.” coaxed Raphael.
“Alright!” yelled Casey as he launched back into combat.
Splinter heaved a sigh as the sparring continued noisily. He sensed Raphael and Casey unconsciously block their minds out to all but the physical exertion they both exalted in.
“At least they are happy.” reflected Splinter. He knew the fierce joy that could be found in battling and defeating an opponent. But he despaired that his son and his friend may never appreciate the quiet, deep contentment and ethereal knowledge that could be found in the realms of the astral plane.
Next Splinters’ mind travelled through to the kitchen area of the apartment. There Michelangelo was immersed in the music from his walkman, grooving around the kitchen preparing dinner for himself and his brothers. As Splinter connected with Michelangelos’ mind he was almost overwhelmed by the steady thumping of the bass and screech of the synthesisers as Basement Jaxx roared at full volume into the turtles’ ears. The lyrics of the song mirrored in Michelangelos’ mind as he mentally sang along, daydreaming he was a rock star;
“Where’s your head at, at?”
“That is a good question, my son.” thought Splinter, giving his own head a shake to still the ringing in his ears. Michelangelo stopped for a moment, as if unsure of what he was doing next. As the volume of the song faded away into oblivion Michelangelo found himself wondering if Master Splinter and Donatello were ok, what were they having for dinner?
Michelangelo felt a pang of loss for the old days when all the family were together, living in Aprils’ old building. So much had happened in the two and a half years since then and sometimes it felt to Michelangelo as if everyone had changed just a bit too much, grown just a little too distant from each other. Sure they had finally avenged the death of Splinters’ Master, and the loss of their home, Aprils’ home, by killing the Shredder a year and a half ago. Then they had helped to clean up the resulting gang wars that broke out in the power vacuum left in the New York underworld by the Shredders’ death, and had even brokered a peace deal with the remains of the Foot. To Michelangelos’ way of thinking they should be living easy now, with no need to fear any further reprisals from the Foot or having any real mission to work towards.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” thought Michelangelo. “We need a goal or something.” He furrowed his brow, then shrugged and put the matter out of his mind as the next song blared into his headphones. His goal right now was to make sure the teriyaki chicken didn’t burn on the grill.
Splinter had followed his sons’ contemplations and marvelled at the difference between the wisdom that Michelangelo could sometimes reveal, almost accidentally, and the non-stop frivolity that he usually spouted.
“Hmm, kids.” thought Splinter with a smile. As he turned the skewers on the grill Michelangelo found himself smiling too, he was sure that Splinter and Donatello were fine.
Finally, Splinter let his mind roam up to the top floor apartment. There April was sat at the kitchen table feeding Shadow from a bottle whilst reading something on the screen of the laptop set-up before her. Splinter did not understand the language of the computer program April was working on, again this was a gift he did not share with his adopted daughter. April was so engrossed with her work that her mind did not respond at all to Splinters’ gentle touch.
Shadows’ mind was full of simple thoughts of warm milk and sleep. She smiled a little as Splinter sent her a feeling of love and security. She then closed her eyes, let go of the bottle she had almost emptied and fell asleep. Her dreams were vague, unformed.
“Like a story before it is committed to paper.” mused Splinter. “I hope it is a happy one.”
Splinter drew his mind back into himself, content that his family were all safe and sound. He stood to watch the sun setting over the hills in the distance and stretched his aging muscles. He felt the stiffness in his body begin to dissipate as he started the trek back to the farm house.
As he approached the darkened house through the gathering gloom, cautiously as always, he noticed the lights on in the barn.
“It appears I am cooking again tonight.” Splinter murmured to himself. Leaving Donatello to his own devices Splinter entered the house and started to prepare the evening meal. He did not mind cooking; he had always found the act of preparing a meal pleasant. He was also glad in a way that Donatello was the only family member actually living with him at the moment. Of all his sons Donatello was the most patient, and the one most inclined to entertain himself. One of the traits Splinter did feel he shared with his son was the ability to enjoy ones’ own company.
As Splinter finished preparing the meal he heard the sounds of Donatello washing up in the trough outside the back door.
“Good evening, Master. Have you had a good day?” asked the turtle as he entered the kitchen and started to set the table.
“Yes my son, I have had a good day. I trust yours has been productive as well?”
Donatello smiled to himself. Splinter was still spending the majority of his time alone, often out in the wilds of the countryside surrounding the farmstead. But at least he was starting to become more responsive and interested in conversation when he did return to the house.
“Yeah, I finally managed to fix the exhaust manifold on that darn bike. Hopefully I’ll have it running soon.”
Splinter served out the meal onto the waiting plates.
“Vegetable stir-fry again Master?” asked Donatello, sounding a little disappointed. During her last visit April had made sure the freezer was stocked to practically overflowing with all manner of food. However, every time Splinter cooked he made the same basic food, with no meat. Donatello didn’t mind it overly much, but it was starting to get a bit monotonous. For lunch he had even dug out the Mega-meat-eaters Pizza that Michelangelo had buried at the bottom of the freezer;
“For special occasions, like when we visit dude.”
“There is a saying; He who cooks decides the dish.” Splinter gently admonished his son.
“Sorry Master, guess I do get a bit too caught up with my projects most nights.” The two exchanged a smile and a comfortable silence fell as they ate.
After the meal Splinter relaxed at the table as he watched his son start to wash the dishes. He realized with a shock that Donatello was beginning to lose some of his muscle tone. He had always been the leanest of his sons, eschewing the additional hours of working-out his brothers undertook in favour of tinkering with gadgets or reading. Not that it made Donatello any less effective in combat; he had an innate understanding of the physics of momentum and torque, and a keen awareness of his surroundings. His gift with technology and scientific mind allowed him to use this to his advantage. Donatellos’ style focused more on the manipulation of his opponents than overcoming them with pure force. Indeed his physic was more like that of a dancer than a fighter. Still the months of training alone were starting to make an impact on him.
Donatello performed sets of kata each morning, and spent time working out in the small gym the four brothers had set up in the barn whilst they had all lived here. He had also focused on rebuilding the strength of his leg, now that the bone had knit back together satisfactorily. While this temporary disability had also impacted on Donatellos’ ability to exercise over the past few months, Splinter still felt his muscle tone should not have deteriorated to such an extent. His son was obviously beginning to miss the benefits of sparring with an opponent, or three.
Splinter felt a small doubt start to manifest in his mind. Was Donatello missing the old training regimes that Splinter had started the boys on years before? Of all his sons Donatello was the least likely to start a fight, and could live quite happily immersed in his research and projects, not needing the path of Ninjutsu to give his life purpose or structure. However, Splinter had also taught them these skills as his way of ensuring his sons would be safe. Despite their newfound peace with their oldest enemy there would always be those who would want to hurt his family, simply because they were different. The art of Ninjutsu was Splinters’ legacy for his sons, his way to care for them even when he could not.
“And that time may be soon approaching, if it is not already here.” pondered Splinter in silence.
“Would you like a cup of tea Master?” asked Donatello as he put away the last of the clean cutlery.
“Please, don’t call me that.” muttered Splinter, staring out of the kitchen window into the depths of the night.
“Sorry Master?” asked Donatello, surprised.
“I am no ‘Master’.” stated Splinter. “I am merely a student who presumed too much”. He stood and left an astonished Donatello watching after him as he left the kitchen and ascended the stairs to his room.
Donatello cringed as he heard his fathers’ bedroom door click shut. He felt as if he were helpless to aid him, as if Splinter was locked in a cage that Donatello could not break open. Splinter had not told his sons the details of what had happened to him whilst they had been in New York for the final confrontation with the remnant factions of the Foot. However, all the brothers had agreed that something had changed in their father. He seemed far older, quieter and more withdrawn than ever before.
When his brothers had decided to return to New York with April, Casey and Shadow Donatello had asked to stay behind. At first Splinter did not seem to want him too, but once Donatello had explained that he felt he needed time to himself to come to terms with all that had happened and to recover from his injuries Splinter had relented, simply saying;
“It is your choice to stay, so be it”.
Donatello had hardly seen Splinter at all during the first few days after the others had left. Splinter had not even returned to the house to sleep at night, preferring his own company in the surrounding woods. It was almost as if he had reverted to living as a rat, as he had once been.
Since then Splinter had gradually started to visit to the house. At first just to hide away for a few hours, Donatello assumed to sleep, then to take the occasional meal. At first Donatello had simply left food on the table when he left the house, finding it had been taken upon his return. After a few days of this, the turtle had woken earlier than usual. When he had entered the kitchen to make himself breakfast Splinter had been there; hunched over an unsliced loaf of bread he had been eating dry.
Not breaking the silence, Donatello had cautiously moved around the kitchen to fix himself some cereal. He had sat at the opposite end of the table from Splinter, keeping his eyes averted, showing his father the same respect he would a wounded animal. Splinter had slowly finished eating his fill of the bread then left the house, not to be seen for the rest of the day. After this however, Splinter had started to join his son for breakfast, and later dinner. He even seemed to be returning to his old self a little, responding to queries and even starting a conversation occasionally.
Donatello was still concerned for his father, despite these improvements. He had some medical knowledge, gleaned from the internet and old text books he had managed to get a hold of. But complex psychology was out of his league. The mind wasn’t like an engine or computer that could be simply stripped down and rebuilt when problems occurred. Donatello had suspected that Splinter was seriously depressed about something that had happened, and that he had lost some of his confidence. But this request from his father had just left no doubt in the turtles’ mind that this was the case.
He found himself wishing that Leonardo were here to talk to. Leonardo always seemed to know the right course of action to take, especially when his brothers felt lost. Donatello thought of calling him, but knowing that Leonardo would leap at any chance to return to the farm to aid his father he started to think twice about it. Is that what Splinter needed right now, or would he just withdraw again? Unsure, Donatello decided to sleep on it.
---------- ----------
Leonards’ meditation was broken as Casey flew through the curtain in the doorway and landed heavily on the mattress next to where Leonardo was sat in the lotus position upon the wooden floor.
“Howdy Casey. Time to finish your training for today?” deadpanned the turtle.
“Yeah, guess you could say that.” groaned Casey as he rolled upright.
“Good.” stated Leonardo as he stood and helped Casey back to his feet. Raphael poked his head through the curtain.
“Heh heh, you ok Case?”
“Yeah, but just you wait green boy, I’m gonna get you for this!”
“Not today though,” Leonardo sternly interceded. “It’s time for dinner by the smell of it”. Raphael scowled then shrugged.
“Yeah, whatever Leo”.
As the trio made their way into the kitchen, Michelangelo was finishing up serving out their meal;
“You stayin’ for dinner Case? I made enough for you and April if you want.”
“Thanks Mikey, can I have it to go? I doubt April has left her computer today, what with her boss breathing down her neck to get this damn program finished. That jerk shortened the deadline to tomorrow afternoon this morning!”
“No probs!”
Michelangelo started to pack the rice, veges and chicken into a couple of recycled Chinese take-out containers. Then he grabbed out a couple more containers and packed some of the dessert pizza he had made into them for Casey to take as well.
“Apple and cinnamon.” winked Michelangelo, in answer to Caseys’ questioning look as he handed him the containers.
“Cool, April’s favourite! Anyways, better catch you guys tomorrow. I should give April a break from Shadow tonight at least!”
As Casey left the apartment to head upstairs Michelangelo sat down with his brothers.
“You know it’s a shame that Donnie’s not here to help out April, sounds like her boss is just gonna keep tightening the screws.” bemoaned Michelangelo. Raphael grunted his response around a mouthful of food.
“Yeah, but Don has his own issues to deal with at the moment. We just have to help out the best we can in the meantime.” replied Leonardo. “What time did Case want us up on the fourth floor to help fix that radiator tomorrow Raph?” Raphael scowled up at Leonardo from his plate.
“So Splinter’s just an ‘issue’ now, huh?”
“That’s not what I meant Raph, and you know it.”
Michelangelo shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the tension between his brothers mounted.
“Hey guys, not tonight huh?” Both Raphael and Leonardo turned dark looks toward Michelangelo. Then Leonardos’ face softened;
“I’m sorry Mike.” he apologised. Raphaels’ scowl deepened as he glanced between his two brothers. Then shaking his head he picked up his plate, slammed his fist onto the table and strode towards the living room.
“You sure are!” he shot over his shoulder at Leonardo as he left.
Leonardo clenched his fists in anger and made to stand up, but Michelangelos’ hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Don’t let him get to you Leo, he’s just hurting too.” Leonardo shot his brother a quizzical glance as he sat back down.
“Hurting?”
“Yeah, we all miss Master Splinter, worry about him too. I just wish we could all be back together again.”
“Me too, Mikey. I thought Splinter would have wanted to return to us before now.”
Leonardo paused, and then sighed.
“I’m afraid that he is disappointed in us.” he admitted quietly. Michelangelo slowly put down his chopsticks.
“Why?” he asked. Leonardo couldn’t look his brother in the eye.
“Because we…, I… made a pact with the Foot.” conjectured Leonardo. Unsure what to say Michelangelo waited for his brother to continue. “What if Splinter feels we have betrayed him, feels we have somehow joined his enemies, dishonoured ourselves…, him?”
“I don’t know bro, but I don’t think so. I mean, how can peace be dishonourable? We still got the Shredder in the end, and he was Master Splinters’ enemy right?”
“I guess so.” mumbled Leonardo.
