Cold Fire Rising

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

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After two more weeks, everyone on the Ulixes had become completely accustomed to the new Michelangelo. If an object lifted and floated randomly, say, one of Casey's golf clubs, Raphael would roll his eyes and move out of the way; if the object began to follow him, he would roar his brother's name and run to the bedrooms. Michelangelo would be either in his bed or in his chair, reading a comic book. He would glance up, the absolute face of innocence, and smile sweetly. Raphael would begin to growl something, and would be firmly but politely tapped on the back of the head. He would reach around, grab the golf club, have a brief tug of war while his brother giggled, and then the golf club would swoop in a dramatic gesture and fall to the floor. Mikey would let out a full belly laugh, and Raph would leap onto the bed and get him in a headlock, then start tickling, muttering idly about paint balloons. After a good-natured tussle and a few "Ow" sounds from Mikey, they would get Mikey in the power chair and join everyone in the common room, where various DVDs would randomly float in front of the couch until someone pointed at one.

Donatello was still stressing and worrying about potential headaches and seizures. And they happened. But at that point everyone had become skilled in soothing their resident psionic, from compresses to emergency anti-seizure pills to gentle touches. Once, when Casey was helping, Mikey trembled hard enough to fall out of the wheelchair, causing Casey to make a strangled terrified sound he'd never made before, catching Mike's weight and lowering him to the floor, keeping his arms around him. After that, there had been a debate over safety belts that Mikey had tuned out in favor of making a full meal in the kitchen without looking, and when April had gone for a snack, she'd squawked at the sight of chicken salad with avocado and celery on flatbread spread out on the table. She had stomped into the infirmary, munching on a sandwich, pointing at it, then Mikey, then at the sandwich, then back at Mikey, flailing her free arm and finally yelling "kitchen!" while Michelangelo laughed.

Lunch had been eaten silently, with great appreciation along with side eye stares and outright glares at a beaming telekinetic ninja.

The most recent migraine and seizure combination, however, tried to outright damage Michelangelo's heart, lungs, and brain functions, and gave Donatello a severe, terrifying panic attack. They both awoke in beds in the infirmary, frowning at each other and sighing in unison. Raphael stood between their beds, shaking his head and muttering "...the fuck am I gonna do wit' you two..." while handing out electrolyte drinks and cold packs. For two days, one was banned from practicing telekinesis while the other was banned from practicing science.

"See?" Michelangelo said as the second day wound down, "rest is good for ya!" At which Donatello rolled his eyes and twitched.

Michelangelo, however, still tried to be active, and when he attempted to sit up and swing his legs over the side of his bed, Donatello faced the doorway and hollered for their brothers. Michelangelo muttered "Snitch!" as Leonardo rushed in, gently bodychecked his baby brother, and lay him down, mumbling something about restraints.

"You know I'll just pop them open," Mikey said cheerfully.

"Not if we get Dr Honeycutt to knock you out," Leo threatened.

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

Mikey glared and would have retaliated his new favorite way, except that his still-going migraine was making it hurt too much. He huffed. Leonardo huffed back, and affectionately pressed a cold pack to his head, then asked Donnie how he was.

"Breathing is still slightly painful, but I no longer require an oxygen mask." Donatello coughed, hunching. "No more anxiety-driven delusions. I think April may have been right when she told me my restlessness and night terrors were caused mainly by the extreme stress I have been under these past four months."