Master Splinter completed the Crane maneuver, then pivoted around. Upon raising his head, he noticed something amiss out of the corner of his eye. He stole a glance over, immediately returning his eyes forward.

"Focus, Donatello," he said quietly. He moved immediately into the next maneuver without breaking his rhythm.

Donatello suddenly opened his eyes wide, looked down at the position of his hands, then turned to look at his brothers. He was about a quarter-step behind everyone else in the tai-chi form, which was a sure sign that he was zoning out instead of paying attention. "Sorry, sensei," he said quietly. He made the necessary adjustment, and continued on.

The routine came to a close, and the turtles walked over to grab their weapons. Leonardo began strapping his katana onto the back of his shell. "We all know where we're headed tonight?"

Raphael nodded and spun his sai around in his hands. "North."

Michelangelo added, "West."

Leonardo waited, but when he didn't hear from Donatello, he piped up. "Don?"

"Hm?" Donatello looked up, holding his bo in an abstracted manner. "Oh. Um, east, isn't it?"

Leonardo decided to laugh it off. "As long as you're sure. Let's go."

They began to file out the main entrance, but Splinter spoke up. "Donatello, please remain." The other turtles paused, but on Leonardo's signal, they followed him out toward the ladder that led topside.

Donatello sighed quietly and slipped his bo onto his back. He walked over to Splinter and knelt down.

Splinter looked concerned. "Is everything all right, my son?"

Donatello shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so, sensei."

"You appear to be...lost in thought. Much more so than normal. Is there anything on your mind?"

"I..." Twice Donatello began to speak, but stopped each time. Finally he shrugged. "I'm still trying to...work it all out in my head."

"Indeed?"

"You've said before - you've got to know what the problem is before you can solve it."

"Very true."

"I'm not sure what the problem is, exactly. I've got an idea, but...I still need to mull it over a bit."

"Well, if I can be of assistance, please ask." Splinter held up a warning finger. "And do not allow your guard to slip. The way of ninjitsu allows no room for error."

Donatello smiled. "I won't. Thank you, sensei." He got up, bowed, and headed out the door. Splinter looked after him, wondering. Donatello wasn't one to let his feelings show, let alone talk about them, so his current mood wasn't really discussed outright. But everyone knew what it was. Leonardo, if asked, would probably say that Donatello was "distracted". Michelangelo once mentioned that he saw Donatello "getting all think-y", and Raphael would grumble that Don was performing a physical feat that was impossible, even for a mutant turtle at his most limber. Only Master Splinter had given it any real thought.

From time to time, Donatello would get this far-off look in his eyes, and he'd find it hard to concentrate on anything. On one occasion, he had headed off on patrol without his bo (Raph still gave him hell for that). He would clam up and not participate in the dinner conversations that ordinarily he enjoyed so much. Instead, he'd sit staring at the candles on the table in some dreamlike state. Sometimes this mood would last a couple of hours, other times an entire week, coming and going without provocation. Master Splinter worried a bit, as the moods seemed to be becoming more frequent. However, Donatello seemed able to put it behind him when it was time to spar with his brothers, so Splinter trusted that Don wouldn't let his guard down on patrol. After all, patrol was not what it used to be.

The Shredder was dead, the Foot dismantled, and crime was at a low not seen in that area in some time. While this was a good thing, it wasn't good at all for Donatello's state of mind. Despite his efforts, he continually found his mind wandering, back to this not-quite formulated problem. Suddenly, a grunting noise caused him to look up, and he immediately had two thoughts. What was that? And where the heck am I?

He had led himself down a side street, and he was standing in front of an old, rundown house. The front lights were out, so it took his eyes a few seconds to make out the scene. An old man was trying to drag an old stump from out of the front yard.

I should probably help out, thought Donatello. Not exactly saving the world, but it's doing the right thing.

"Sir, did you need some help?"

The man stopped, stood up slowly, and squinted into the darkness. "Who is it?"

"Um, my name's Donatello. Did you need a hand with that?"

He couldn't see, only hear, the man smile. "Well, that's very nice of you...Donatello, did you say? Like the sculptor?"

Don smiled and headed into the gate around the front yard. "That's right. Where did you want that?"

"Anywhere but here! I was thinking around the end of the house, to the left there. Can you get that all right?"

Donatello reached down and hefted the stump up. It was heavy, but not painfully so. "Sure, no problem."

The man slowly led the way. Donatello patiently followed him around to the side of the house. The backyard was small, cluttered, and just as dark as the front. The man vaguely indicated an area. "Anywhere over there would be fine."

Donatello, moving carefully to avoid stepping on anything, half-dropped, half-tossed the stump against the wooden fence. He brushed his hands off, then turned around. "Good enough?"

"That's just fine, Donatello." The old man began reaching into his pocket. "Let me get you something..."

Donatello held up his hand. "No, please...sir. It wasn't any trouble at all."

"Surely I can repay you somehow..."

Donatello thought for a second. "Well, I am kind of thirsty. Could I get a glass of water?"

The man laughed. "Of course. Come on inside." He started up the back steps, pausing after each one. Donatello followed behind, frowning at the creaking noise each step made. It took the man a few seconds to unlock the door, but once he had succeeded, he waved Donatello inside. The man switched the lights on, and Donatello flinched slightly as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couple roaches scurry out of sight. The turtles had warred with roaches down in the sewer on several occasions, with the turtles never more than temporary victors.

In the full light, the man looked at Donatello head on, then shook his head. "I'll never understand the outfits you youngsters insist on wearing."

Don looked down at himself. He had put on an old, black, long-sleeve shirt, and a ripped pair of jeans cut short to fit his odd frame. He sighed. "Sir, this isn't an outfit. This is how I am."

"What are you? Half turtle?" The man got a glass out of the cupboard.

"Sort of. I'm a mutant." He steeled himself to whatever response he might get.

"Hm. A mutant," the man repeated. "Heard of 'em. Never seen one before, though." He thought for a second. "Well, don't let it bother you." He looked down at the glass in his hand. "This glass is dirty," he said, somewhat surprised.

Don smiled. "That's OK. I'll rinse it out." He took the glass from the man and headed over to the sink. "Do you live here alone, Mr...?"

"Samuels. Patrick Samuels. Yep - lived in this little place all by my lonesome ever since my wife passed away...ten years ago, now."

Don moved some of the dirty dishes out of the sink and began rinsing out the glass. "Isn't that a problem? Living here alone?"

Mr Samuels sighed. He pulled off his glasses and began rubbing his eyes. Finally, he said, "Kinda is, now. That's why I was out front."

"I was going to ask. It's sort of late to be doing yard work, isn't it?"

"Ahh, I couldn't sleep. Not with the city breathing down my neck."

Don turned off the tap, and took a quick sip of water. "What does the city want with you?"

Mr Samuels gestured at the whole house. "My house. It...isn't in the best shape. And I ain't as young as I used to be."

"So, what? They want to condemn?"

Again, Mr Samuels sighed. "My grandson's been on my case to sell it off. Property's worth a pretty penny."

"And you don't want to?"

"You wouldn't understand, Donatello. You're awful young - or seem to be, anyways. But I been living in this place for the last forty-five years, and I got no plans to move out now."

"You might have to, if they condemn." Don sipped his water again. "Can't you get someone to fix it up for you?"

"Can't afford it. Got a little money saved up, but not enough for a complete renovation. Only way I could get the money would be selling the place. Then, 'fcourse, I wouldn't need it."

Donatello smiled sadly. "Real Gift of the Magi set-up."

Mr Samuels brightened up. "Yeah, sort of like. You're a bright kid, Donatello."

Donatello smile became more embarrassed, but suddenly snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute. What about boarders?"

Mr Samuels shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't mind, I guess, but I'd have to clean the place up first. No one would want to live here the way it looks now."

Don put the glass behind him on the counter. "What about me?"

"What? What about you?"

"Me as a boarder. Well, me and my...my family." Don went on excitedly. "We couldn't give you much in the way of rent, but we could fix the place up for you, keep it clean, and Mike...Michelangelo, my brother...he can cook pretty good, so..."

"Hold on, there, Donatello. Your family? How big's your family?"

"Five - four of us, and our teacher."

"I don't have that many rooms. That wouldn't work."

Donatello set his jaw. "Well, we're living two to a room now."

"Sooo...two pairs of two and one left over?"

"Uh-huh."

"Hm. Maybe. But would your family want to live here with some old geezer like me?"

"You seem pretty nice. I don't think we'd mind living with you at all. Besides, you don't know where we're living now." Donatello gave the matter some more thought, then shook his head. "I shouldn't offer until I know how the others feel, actually. Is it all right if I bring them by, and we can talk about it?"

"Don't see why not - never hurts to listen, as my wife used to say. Besides, if your family's half as nice as you, Donatello, I'd be honored to meet them."

Embarrassed, Donatello didn't know what to say. Luckily, his walkie-talkie jumped to life at that moment.

"Leo here. Ten pm - report."

Mr Samuels eyed him suspiciously. "What's all this about?"

Donatello rolled his eyes. "Family." He plucked the walkie-talkie out of his belt and pressed the button. "Donatello here. Nothing to report. Leo, I need to talk with you, if you've got a second. Can I meet up with you somewhere?"

Oddly, Raphael answered first. "Something wrong, Don?"

"No, just need to chat with Leo for a bit."

Again, Raphael's voice came over first. "Fine. Leave me out. See if I care. Nothing to report, by the way."

Finally, Leo's voice came back. "Roger that. It's dead out here anyhow. Let's say we call off patrol early. How about Li's Market?"

Don smiled. "Perfect," he said into the walkie-talkie. I'll be there soon as I can."

As he replaced the walkie-talkie, he heard, "Michelangelo here - nothing to report, as always. See if the new Protectors comic is out yet, will ya, guys?"

Don smiled to himself, then held out his hand to Mr Samuels. "I've got to get going. Can we come by tomorrow evening? Say, around seven?"

Mr Samuels shook his hand, a bit awkwardly. "Sounds good, Donatello. This is the first sign of hope in this little problem I've got."