I see that my three or four chapter story is now up to seven. Sorry about that, Chief! TMNT are owned by Mirage. I own a sinus infection at the moment.
Mikey bounded into Splinter's room, carrying breakfast for his father.
"Good-morning Sensei I brought HEY! How come Don got to sleep in here? That's not fair!"
His cheerful greeting had turned into something Splinter had expected-- shocked betrayal! More mistreatment at the hands of his beloved father! Once again, treated like a baby!
He had skidded to a halt, the tray with the simple breakfast that he had carefully prepared for his ill father threatening to hit the floor. Leo, right behind him, managed to rescue the entire thing, and carefully set it down on the small table next to Splinter's bed. He looked at the scene, trying to keep his own jealousy from flashing through, for it was obvious that Don had gotten to stay in here all night, helping their father in his illness-- had gotten to do what any of them would have liked to have done!
He looked at the face of his youngest brother, which was threatening to either erupt in anger, or collapse in sadness.
To Mikey it was just another indication that he was not considered a valued member of this family-- he was just the baby. But before his emotions could figure out the response he really wanted to make, Splinter motioned him closer.
Reluctantly he dragged his feet towards his father, trying to look only at him and not his traitorous older brother who was sitting on the bed, still wrapped in his blanket against the morning chill of the room, holding the cup of tea and medicines that he'd been handing to Splinter when Mikey had so gleefully burst into the room with his specially prepared breakfast-- complete with tea! Tea!
He forced himself to make what he considered a noncommittal, "adult" face as he faced his father. But his eyes were fighting him, wanting to let loose with a flood that would rival the drainage junction torrent for torrent.
He stood before his father, trying to be "grown up".
"Yes, Sensei?" he managed to say as normally as possible, as if Splinter needed to talk to him regarding his kata or his latest math lesson.
"My son," he barely whispered-- his voice was almost nonexistent at the moment, but he forced himself to speak. "Will you forgive me if I let you stay here tonight?"
At that, Mikey felt such guilt, felt as if he'd been slapped in the face with such guilt! He didn't want his father to ask him for forgiveness! He was the one being naughty! He was the one being a baby!
And this added to his hurt feelings, making him even more resolved to be a "grown-up."
The conflicting emotions he felt were apparent on his face, for Splinter sighed inwardly, wishing that he'd chosen his words more carefully. He was so tired! He wanted to pick his son up and he couldn't-- this illness had robbed him of his strength. But he managed to hold his arms out and enfold this reluctant son.
Despite his tears, despite his almost naked desire to be hugged by his precious father, Mike was strangely stiff and unyielding. He returned the hug, and swallowed down all his hurt and guilt, and acted how he thought a grown-up should act.
But he was really acting cold. Splinter could tell that this one was very angry, very hurt-- but he was simply too ill to do anything about it at the moment.
"Leonardo, help me to the bathroom please," he whispered, releasing this reluctant youngest and struggling to sit up. Mikey helped him as well as Don, but only because he was trying to be an adult, like the others.
Stubborn, mistaken child!
Leaning a bit on his oldest, Splinter was able to make it to the bathroom and back to bed-- chills were shaking him and the guys helped him get covered. He felt so miserable, so helpless, and so scared.
What about the children? The food will run out. They can not forage on their own. The surface dwellers will find them, put them in zoos-- or worse, labs! They will be killed, dissected, studied and written about! I cannot allow that to happen! I must get up, find them food, keep them hidden...
"Sensei, stay in bed!" Donatello said, desperate surprise in his voice snapping Splinter back to the present. Splinter opened his eyes to find that he had partially made his way out of bed.
The clock indicated that at least an hour had passed since he'd returned to bed. His uneaten breakfast was cold on the stand, staring at him forlornly. Guilt touched his stomach, and he ate a few bites of the cold, soggy toast, the chilled scrambled eggs. The tea was also cold, but he managed to drink it all down. It was one that he had discovered in the one little shop that he had managed to gain entry to during the nights, buying what he needed and leaving money where the shop keeper could find it. That had been two years ago, and so far the shop keeper had not prevented him from returning. The tea was unique, and he rarely drank it, saving it for special occasions.
And Michelangelo had gotten it down from the cupboard, and had patiently brewed it just the way Sensei liked it.
"Master Splinter?" Leo's hesitant voice cut through his foggy mind, once again focusing him on the now. He realized that he'd been crying.
Stupid flu!
"Yes, Leonardo?" Splinter, setting down the cup, settled himself back into bed, more in control of himself.
"Are you-- nothing," he lamely finished. "Raph and I are going to check the sewers again. And I'm going to peek at topside to see if it is still raining--"
"NO!" Splinter sat bolt upright, despite fever and pain and exhaustion. "I forbid it! I will punish you severely if you do such a thing!"
"Okay!" Leo tried to soothe his father, but Splinter was on an adrenaline rush of fear, acerbated by the high fever.
"I do not want you to leave the Lair! Donatello, hand me my robe! I will stay in the living room to make sure no one leaves! They are waiting for you! They are waiting to capture you all and make you into their research papers!"
"Sensei? Sensei, I think you should take this for your fever first," Donatello gently urged his irate father to take the cup that he was holding out. Splinter, blinking, took the cup and downed it quickly.
A coughing fit shattered the stunned silence that had been produced by their father's strange outburst. Raphael, who had come in with his and Leo's gear, dropped everything and stood beside the bed, passing Splinter some cloths he kept nearby for various reasons. Now they were being used to cough anything unfortunate into.
Splinter finally gained control of his fit, and was grateful that the tea and the few bites of food had stayed down. But now he felt as if he'd been beaten with a rod. He ached all over, he was hot and weak. Breathing was difficult; his chest felt so constricted.
"You must swear to me that you will not go topside!" he barely croaked, reverting to Japanese. His eyes locked into first Raphael's, then Leonardo's. "You must swear to me, on your honor, that you will not go topside for any reason! Swear it!"
"We swear it, father," they said in unison, also in Japanese. There would be no breaking this promise! When he spoke to them in the First Language, as they called it, they knew he seriously meant business! Even Raph would not break this promise, no matter how great the temptation!
Splinter continued to study them a few seconds more; then he nodded, satisfied that they would listen to him, and he sank back down, exhausted, on the bed, and fell asleep.
Don followed the others out to the kitchen, carrying the tray that Mikey had prepared. Mike was on the couch, watching the news.
"The news?" Raph's voice reflected the stunned surprise of his other brothers. "What's wrong with you? Are you sick or somethin'?"
Mikey didn't even deign to look at his brothers, especially his traitorous older brother Don. He continued to watch the boring old yucky news. But he didn't ignore them.
"I'm watchin' because I'm a grown-up just like you guys," he said matter-of-factly. "I can watch what I want I guess, and I want to watch the news. The weather report was just on. The storms have stopped, and it's a sunny day, temperatures in the high fifties to low sixties, with winds blowing at five miles per hour from the north/northeast."
Raph shook his head as if this confirmed what he'd always thought.
"I swear, Mikey, Splinter musta dropped you on your head when he first found us. Ow!"
This last came from the punch in the Leo had suddenly given his brother at that comment. Before Raph could retaliate, he registered Leo's face, which was screwed up in a bunch of positions trying to indicate silence and don't say that and later and other stuff that he could clearly think but not silently express.
Raph, however, got the gist of it, and rubbed his arm.
"I owe you one!" he couldn't help whispering just the same.
Mikey had tensed at the comment about being dropped, but forced himself to keep watching the dreary, dumb, awful, dull news.
Leo looked at his little brother with worry, then turned to Don, who still stood there holding the tray with Splinter's breakfast on it. He, too, looked with concern at Mikey.
"You guys gonna be okay while we're gone?" Leo asked him.
"Huh? Oh, sure! Don't fall in this time," he managed to tease, and easily ducked the blow that Leo had launched at him. Then he went into the kitchen and started cleaning up.
Leo and Raph took one more look at Mikey. The news was over-- yet he was changing to some boring talk show where funny looking surface dwellers discussed Important Stuff-- not a cool talk show where the audience laughed and the hosts talked about their children and interviewed movie stars.
"Well, see you in a little while," Leo said. Mikey, still focused on this boring, dumb, stupid discussion about the price of oil, merely waved absently at his brothers.
"Be careful," he said, eyes glued to the set-- like a grown-up.
With a final shake of their heads, the two moved out to inspect the tunnels.
In the kitchen, Don looked at the dishes that needed to be done. It was his and Mikey's turn, but somehow he felt that perhaps reminding his brother of this might start a fight. So he dragged one of the little stools that they used to help them reach stuff over to the sink and began the washing up.
He was ten minutes into it when Mikey dragged the other stool over and took up his chore of drying and stacking.
"I can do it alone if you want to keep watching TV," Don offered. "After all, you fixed breakfast."
"I can still do my chores. I'm not a baby," he calmly replied, still not looking at Don. They continued in silence.
"Look, I kept sneaking into the room last night," Don tried to explain, but Mikey wasn't interested.
"It's no big deal, Don," he said, and Don really could tell that Mikey was upset-- he usually only called him "Don" when he was mad. The rest of the time he called him "Donny". "You got to stay, and that was good. You know how to make medicines. Like a grown-up. It's no big deal, just a fact."
Yet Don could see from the corner of his eye the dark expression that kept trying to take over Mikey's face, trying to push aside the "grown-up" face he'd been maintaining since this morning.
They finished the dishes in silence. Mikey put them away, while Don swept the kitchen and wiped the table.
Don cleaned their bedroom by himself, while Mikey did the bathroom. They both then straightend up the living room, but neither one spoke to the other. Don was too nervous to; Mikey was too grown-up to.
Then Don went to check on Splinter.
He was awake now, and looking a bit better than earlier; more lucid, more relaxed.
"How are you feeling, Sensei?" he asked, climbing up on the bed to feel his head. Splinter smiled at this-- as miserable as he felt, it tickled him to see Donatello acting like he was the parent.
Then he thought of Michelangelo, remembering the hurt feelings of earlier.
"I believe that I am doing a little better my son," he said, voice back for the moment. "I think that the medicines we made are helping. But we will need to make some more. I fear that you will all come down with this illness before I am recovered."
"Oh, we'll be okay," Don replied offhandedly, jumping down and getting everything ready to start making the next batch. As he watched this little son doing what he himself should be doing, Splinter felt guilt.
This is not the way it is supposed to be, he thought, sighing. The children should not be taking care of the parent.
Michelangelo came in at that moment with a fresh cup of hot tea, and carefully offered it to Splinter.
"How are you feeling, Sensei?" he asked-- in his "grown-up" tone of voice, not as the anxious son from the day before, the anxious son who bubbled with joy even as he worried about his father's illness.
This inquiry was a polite nothing-- but Mikey thought that it was so "adult". He didn't realize that he was being what he professed he wasn't-- a "baby".
"I am feeling much better now that you have come to see me," Splinter said, gratefully sipping the hot fragrant tea. "Ah, that is soothing to my throat. How did you know I was longing for a cup?"
Mikey shrugged.
"I just figured. Is there anything else I can do for you, Sensei?"
Splinter smiled inwardly. If Michelangelo wanted to play this way, perhaps he would let him.
Or perhaps he would try to crack him, to bring back his son from yesterday and rid himself of this "grown-up" Michelangelo!
"Yes. Stay a while and talk with me," he responded. "I miss seeing you."
Mikey kept his face carefully straight and noncommittal. He looked around, and as the old rocking chair was the only place to sit (besides the bed), he with great difficulty dragged it close to the side of the bed, climbed into it, and crossed his legs-- which barely hung over the edge.
"Well, what shall we talk about?" Michelangelo asked, staring up at the ceiling in thought. "I could tell you about the price of oil."
Splinter looked at his son, wondering if this were a joke.
"You could?"
"Yes. I was watching this very interesting discussion on the television," Mikey nodded wisely. "Oil is going to cost a lot they say, because of the tensions in the Middle East."
Splinter, recovering from the slight shock at the topic of this conversation, played along.
"Indeed?" he asked, making his voice sound concerned. "That is not very good news I fear."
Mikey nodded in agreement.
"Yes, it concerns me a lot. And there may be a shortage as well, due to all this tension. That will drive the prices sky high, and they might have to ration it."
"True. That would be very unfortunate."
"Especially for this family," Mikey replied with great concern. "After all, if the price goes up too high, how can we afford to buy any?"
"That would be a problem," Splinter said gravely.
"I mean, look at all the popcorn we have! If we can't get enough oil to pop it with, what will we eat when we watch movies on TV?"
Splinter picked up one of the rags that Raphael had handed him earlier in the morning and held it to his mouth, coughing loudly to cover up his laughter.
At the coughing, Michelangelo the adult suddenly became Mikey the child, and without thinking he jumped from the chair to the bed, rubbing Sensei's back and saying it would soon be over, just as Sensei had done with him many. many times in the past, until the fit stopped.
Then without warning, Splinter grabbed Michelangelo into a hug, and before the "grown-up" could return, he tickled the child until his laughter rang out, filling the room with that heart-pleasing sound. Don, hearing it, laughed as if he were being tickled as well, and felt a great lightening of his mood. It had bothered him that Mikey was mad at him for last night.
"Oh, my son," Splinter said, tired but happy, cuddling the newly returned child. "I am sorry that your feelings were hurt by what happened last night. You are a great help to me, just as your brothers are. None of you are less that the others. How many times must I say that?"
Mikey looked into his father's feverish eyes, and then snuggled in close, hugging him tightly.
"I'm sorry I acted like a baby today," he said sincerely. "I'm sorry I made you worry. And I'm sorry I got mad at Don. And I'm really sorry I watched that boring old show! I hope they were wrong about the oil!"
"Do not worry about the oil for the popcorn," Splinter said. "I will make sure that we never run out. I swear it."
"So, you're not mad at me anymore?" Don asked as he brought over a cup of medicine for their father. Mikey, snug in the crook of Splinter's arm, shrugged with a grin.
"Naw, I guess not," he admitted. Then his face did darken just a bit.
"But I still owe you one!" he couldn't help adding.