You're the Boss Ma'am

Part 11

(Donatello's POV)

   I don't remember when I fell asleep this morning, but when I smelled food - my stomach lurched me awake. I'd been feeling nauseous from smelling the antidote fumes for weeks in end - and as soon as I got to smell something normal for once, the growling that followed it was no joke. Groggily; my shirt was on, followed by pants and a few other pieces by sheer muscle memory- and by the time I'm fully conscious, I'm already halfway down the hall. Trudging through the rest of the house towards the kitchen, the smell of breakfast yanked me by the nose and had my ass in a chair in mere moments.

Michael, to my amazement, was already there before me chatting up a few of the other household staff. Breakfast had appeared to have started moments before, plates half-eaten and the others there chattered. A heaping plate was quickly put in front me, consisting of hashed potatoes, fluffy scrambled eggs, and toasted crusty bread slathered in rich melty butter. I had but moments before I gave into my hunger and practically inhaled the meal, grabbing seconds after gulping down a cup of warm, dark coffee.

Michael just stared the entire time, seemingly holding back a laugh behind his hands.

"Well, Don - if you were that hungry you could've said something. I'm surprised you even came down here to eat instead of going immediately to the infirmary."

I felt a small embarrassment, rubbing the back of my neck.

"I needed a few moments before having to deal with that smell… weeks of that stuff messes with my head."

I felt bad enough knowing that Anya was stuck in there and having to actually consume that stuff. I shuddered.

Michael must've noticed this, saying, "How much longer before Anya's out of bed?"

I thought for a second, with as slow of a recovery she'd been making…

"She won't be on her feet for a while, Michael. With the recovery process so slow, I don't trust her with moving around too much."

The classic smile of my baby brother faltered.

"She's been caged up in that concrete cage for a month and a half, Donnie - can't she at least move to a different room?"

"I can't risk it, Mike. One wrong move and she could go critical again - and Splinter will have our shells."

The tension between the two of us slowly thickened as the silence grew and crowd of household staff at the table shrinked and vanished to do their tasks, the both of us going separate ways after everyone left.

"It's for the best," I told myself, walking off back to the infirmary and my patient.

(Michael's POV)

  He doesn't know what it's like to be caged. To be forced to stay in one place and be unable to move. He was comfortable with solidarity, with being alone with nothing but quiet, blinding incandescent lights and his own thoughts. Anya was a creature that needed people, that needed color and light. She's a wild thing - much like I am. Wild things shouldn't be in cages.

I stormed off away from the table, my thoughts racing as they usually do. I walked around the estate, finding the greenhouse full of familiar and exotic flora that had been carefully tended to thrive despite the chilly weather outside. Opening the door, the blast of warm humid air sent gooseflesh through my body.

Inside was bursting with color, wonderful oranges and violets, vibrant golds and reds, and so many other colors. My hand crept to my back pocket for a brush that wasn't there, when I quickly retracted it. There would maybe time for that later, despite not having picked up a paintbrush in years. I marked the shapes of different kinds of flowers, some strange plants I didn't know of, and the odd tree or two, the wild yet elegant detail of this place proving my point from earlier.

After spending a good few minutes in there, the heat was starting to get to me - getting sleepy with the heat gently caressing against my body. I quickly rushed out and felt a quick chill as I entered the manor again, waking me up from the lull of warmth. Maybe it was just me, but looking through the window at that hidden oasis of color, perhaps she lets herself be caged.

(Raph's POV)

The mornin' watch went well enough, Anya driftin' off to sleep again after I snuck her meds in her drink a few minutes ago. Despite the obvious lack of color and inability to hold a simple cup by herself, she had been fightin' for weeks cooped up in here alone.

She used to hate that - bein' alone. There'd be nights she'd ask to have every light turned on in her room, clutchin' my arm as if the night threatened to swallow her whole. Those were nights that she couldn't sleep, where her room would be in splinters n' rubble while her tendrils lashed out at imaginary monsters as warped glass spears. Those were the nights I braved the onslaught of bein' gutted and tore away the dark.

No one talks about those nights, where her own room felt like a prison wrapped in ribbons and bows. Where Splinter was ruthless in carvin' away a territory from the old empire that belonged to a syndicate that doesn't exist anymore… and sometimes that ruthlessness bled into the family life. Those nights where gunfire would either be a lullaby or an onslaught of sleeplessness and fear - even I still have nightmares about it.

… None of us ever bring up the times before that - when we found a too-small toddler in a dead woman's arms who got caught inbetween a firefight…

I shook off the memories, a cold rush of reality bringin' me back as I watched Anya's chest rise and fall in steady breaths. Things had gotten better, she had gotten better. We all got better at dealing with it. But bein' in here too long, with no real light or anythin'... Puts me off.

I quickly popped outside fer a breather, keeping the door cracked just n' case. From the outside, it looked more like a morgue… but the warmth of the hall eased the chill in my bones and my head, disappearing back inside until Donnie shows up again.