It is not easy being a single mother raising four teenage boys alone. With a combination of discipline, guidance, and love, I seem to have managed it, though with my sons' newfound freedom above, the nights do become somewhat lonely... ((An RP-blog based on the AU idea that it was Yoshi who died in the fire, and Tang Shen was the ninja master who moved to New York, bought the turtles, and mutated into Master Shard. Largely an askblog, though she will RP on special occasions, and I will likely be writing a LOT of AU ficlets, particularly about Catmum and baby turtles)) ((Catmum art by the fabulous and talented wtf-skittens/futureorangeturtle))
Blinking, Donna let Shard tow her through the silent lair, obediently silencing her footsteps as they moved. Despite her size, Shard was every bit as good at sneaking around as Splinter was, and Donna’d be lying if she failed to admit that she was getting a kick out of the conspiratorial sneaking.
As they moved through the shadows, Donna found herself drawing closer, needing to reassure herself that Shard was still there in the darkness. “Sensei,” she whispered. “Where are we going?”
“Come and see,” Shard said, and led Donatella into the little closet that served her as a workroom. Letting the little one investigate as she would, Shard made her way to the little collection of drawers that were for her own personal projects. When she came to help her work on the shop, April knew to leave these ones alone.
“I know you have your lovely kanzashi from your sister,” Shard said, pulling something from one of the drawers. “But I thought, should you ever need to be a little more formal, this might be of use.”
She held up what she had made for Donatella’s inspection. Though not a full kanzashi, the fall Shard had made to look like a spray of blossoms or willow leaves could be easily attached to one. In the light of the workroom, the violet and iridescent crystals scattered throughout the organza leaves glittered merrily.
“I had thought to save it for a special occasion,” Shard said quietly. “But recent events have made me think that perhaps the best time is now.” When she had gone through her workroom after her children returned from their grand adventure, she had been struck by the thought that she might never have had a chance to pass these gifts on. But she did not think that Donatella needed her to spell it out.
“There is one for each of your sisters,” she added conspiratorially. “But they must come and get them from me. I shall take my payment in hugs.”
tmnt-fanatic-4life reblogged your post:Mother’s Day Traditions
OMG! @shardsoftangshen! This is absolutely beautiful!! I am in tears…..i love it so much. I just love Shard! And your...
[[My goodness, you are so very welcome! Thank you for letting me know you enjoyed it. I always wonder if it’s worth sharing these little ficlets here. <3]]
Shard didn’t know how they first heard of the holiday. It hadn’t been from her, she was certain; she had lived without a mother for so long, and then without a child, it had never really been all that important to her. After her mutation, she had so many more things to worry about than holidays in the world above.
She suspected Donatello was the initial culprit; at six, he was already a voracious reader, and so desperate for any new reading material that he would grab whatever papers that washed into the sewers. There were times she was run off her feet ensuring that everything he read was truly appropriate for young eyes (some of the pages in the more adventurous newspapers were more than a little questionable), but given how the city plastered itself with ads and brochures whenever there was the slightest provocation to spend money, she should not have been surprised that some of them found their way to the sewers and into her son’s curious hands.
Of course, once Donatello planted the seeds with his brothers, they would have found fertile ground and blossomed quickly. When she emerged from her room all those years ago, she had been greeted by the sight of a little green blur fast retreating from the dojo, accompanied by the pattering sound of tiny feet. She sighed, with a fond shake of her head, making a note that they would have to work on moving silently, and moved on in search of her elusive children.
Her progress through the house was met with a great deal of whispering and pattering feet, and she made another note that she would really have to do something about replacing the burned-out lights. It was far too dark a place to raise growing children, and it made finding them in the shadows extremely difficult, especially given the fact that they were half-trained ninjas.
They led her a merry chase, did her babies, she would give them that, and she was growing concerned as she followed the quiet giggles back up to the dojo. She was ready to drop the whole thing and engage in pursuit in truth when she stepped through the door to find them sitting in the little pool of sunlight streaming through the grate above.
“What is all this?” she asked, folding her arms as she eyed the too-innocent expressions on all four faces.
“Happy mother’s day, Kaasan!” Leonardo piped up, his brothers chiming in with practiced tones, some lagging only a little behind the others. Leonardo glanced at Michelangelo, his expression turning to aggrieved impatience, and he gave him what was clearly meant to be a surreptitious elbow in the bridge of his shell.
“Oh, right!” Beaming, Michelangelo pulled his hands out from behind his back. In them, he held a cluster of trash. On closer inspection, it appeared to be various pieces of red paper bound with twist ties and wire into… into…
Oh. They had made her a bouquet.
As Shard sank to her knees before them, reaching carefully for the paper flowers to avoid any pricks from the wire, her boys watched her anxiously.
“Did we miss it?” Donatello asked. “We used the numbers on the papers to try to get it right, but we were worried we might have missed it.”
“Told you we should have gone up to check,” Raphael muttered.
Shard was still stuck on the numbers on the papers until she realized that there must have been any number of “only 5 days until Mother’s Day” advertisements washing up with the trash.
“Indeed I am glad you did not go up to check,” Shard said sternly, but softened the words with a smile as she set the flowers aside and opened her arms. “And today is the perfect day, my sons.”
Quickly exchanging the grins of successful conspirators, they piled into her arms, and her purr thundered through the room as she gathered them close, her tail wrapping around them as she kissed each one in turn, to the sound of their usual laughing protests.
“Do you like your flowers?” Michelangelo asked, his little hands knotting in her houmongi so that he could climb up higher and nestle his head beneath her chin. “We worked real hard.”
“They are wonderful,” she said, shifting her arm so that he’d stop slipping and yanking on her collar. “But truly, my sons, you are all the gift I need. I am not so old or so stern that I will turn down time with my children.”
Raphael snorted quietly. “That’s not a good present. We gotta give you something.” He blushed at her look, and hid his head against her. “I wanted to give you food, but we didn’t know what to do.”
Ah, yes. She had been introducing New Year’s and traditions enough that they’d have some idea there was a special food that should be prepared for a holiday. She had to think back to remember what was appropriate in this circumstance, though.
“I believe,” she said, “that helping your mother with the chores is one of the traditional gifts in this case.”
Raphael looked up in alarm. “Time is good,” he said quickly.
Frowning, Leonardo elbowed him. “We’ll help,” he said firmly.
Shard laughed, hugging them close and nuzzling them all in turn. “I have an idea that may incorporate all three,” she said. “I believe something with egg is appropriate for today, and we still have one or two we can use. Why do you not come spend time with me, and help me make something warm for breakfast?”
The looks of joy on their faces told her she’d hit on it, and egg was still something of a delicacy given how difficult they were to scavenge. They tumbled to the floor before taking her hands and tugging her to her feet, presenting her with a ceaseless flow of chatter as they led her to the kitchen. Managing four enthusiastic six-year-olds through the cooking process was more of a challenge, even for something as simple as tamagoyaki (or as close as she could come while improvising with the ingredients available to them), but the added work only served to make the dish all the sweeter. As she sat with them, watching them exclaim over their creation as their bouquet sat in a place of pride in a nearly-clean jar in the middle of the table, she thought, perhaps, there was something to this day after all. Perhaps, having lost her mother so young, she had avoided it more than she had admitted. But truly, she could think of no greater gift than this precious moment with her children.
When she woke, she had been certain someone was watching her, but the room was empty when she opened her eyes. She smiled quietly to herself. Ten years had greatly improved her children’s stealth, but a mother always knew when her children were trying to sneak something past her.
Truth be told, given all the recent excitement and her sons’ remarkable tale of their voyages in the stars, she had forgotten about the day. But her sons, it appeared, had not, and the chase was as much of a tradition in their family as any of the more official ones. And so she moved through the house, hands folded neatly behind her back, her ears twitching occasionally at the sound of a muffled giggle, or a particularly heavy footstep, followed by a hissed “Geez, Casey, you think you could try to make more noise?” Then came the muted sounds of a scuffle and a quiet hiss from Leonardo.
Ah, yes. The number of children may have grown over the years, but they were no less dear because of it. Eventually, she found her way back to the dojo, and to the children waiting beneath the tree.
The chorus of “Happy Mother’s Day!” was different every year, as voices changed and new voices joined them, but it never failed to warm her heart.
“What is this?” she asked, keeping with the tradition as she knelt before them, though she could not hide her delighted smile, holding out an arm to April as the girl broke ranks to hug her. She nuzzled April’s cheek, for she well understood the strange, bittersweet pangs this day held for her.
“We just wanted to do somethin’.. Y’know… uh... “ Casey began to blush beneath the stares of the others, and thrust a large bouquet of carnations toward her. “Here.”
“Dude!” Raphael cuffed him lightly upside the head as Shard took the flowers. “We practiced.”
“Everything’s clean, too,” April added, with a look that Shard well understood. She knew the pain of trying to coordinate all of her children in a cleaning effort. She was fairly certain Leonardo was also a motivating force, but he was far more used to it. With a commiserating look, she leaned forward and gave April a quick kiss on the cheek. Of all the children, April was the only one who never protested (except, occasionally, Casey, but only ever if they were alone).
Michelangelo pressed in impatiently, holding out a steaming bowl toward her. She took it with a look of confusion, along with the spoon that Leonardo offered. “You made chawanmushi?” she asked, the unvoiced “without me?” hanging on the end of it.
“Murakami helped,” Donatello said. “He had some ideas to make it really special.”
“We’ve got everything ready for tamagoyaki downstairs,” Leonardo said. “But this year we wanted to do something for you, too.”
And at last, she understood. Her children finally knew something of what April experienced every year on this day. Over the years, though they had maintained their traditions, they had almost become rote. This year, her sons had a chance to re-examine what this day actually meant to them, and had changed it accordingly. They knew her well enough to know that it was the time spent cooking with them that she enjoyed the most. But they were, in their own ways, finding ways to address what they still could not quite bring themselves to talk about.
The chawanmushi smelled delightful, and she’d no doubt it tasted it, too. There was fish in it somewhere, and if she didn’t miss her guess, someone had added the tiniest amount of catnip for spice. But there was something important she needed to do first. Carefully, she set the dish aside, and opened her arms.
Though they were all too big for it, somehow they managed to pile into her lap all the same, April and Casey only a fraction of a second behind. She held them as tightly as she could, reassuring them as best she was able that she was here, and that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
And for once, not a one of them protested the kisses.
“Oh,” Donna said quietly. Of course Shard would have figured it out. Donna leaned forward and wrapped her arms more tightly around her feline sensei. Splinter had been the worst thing in the world, but at least her mother’s fur was dark, hiding the worst of it. The thought of Shard’s white fur…
Shuddering, she pushed away the terrible thought before her clinical brain could finish filling in the gaps. Burying her face against Shard’s chest, she let out a long breath. “I’m so, so glad you’re okay, Sensei.”
She knew, one day, she and her sisters would have to go on without their mother, as would her brothers in this reality. But she wasn’t ready to face that. Not for a long, long time. And she was so glad that, for this moment at least, she didn’t have to.
With a gentle laugh, Shard gave a quick, affectionate lick to the top of the child’s head. “As am I, my child. There are a very great many for whom I am thankful this day. And I am pleased to know that you and your sisters are home safe. Thank you, sweetheart, for delivering this news.”
Reluctantly, Shard loosened her hold, cupping Donatella’s earnest young face between her hands. “Now then, precious, it is very late and I am too much a mother to keep you much longer from yours. But before you go, there is something I would like you to have.”
Flowing to her feet, she took Donatella’s hands and pulled the young turtle up with her. “Come. But quietly. We must not wake the boys.”
Donna couldn’t hold back the startled laugh as Shard’s tongue rasped across her cheek; it never failed to take her by surprise, and the combination of love and embarrassment made the heat rise to her cheeks.
But her laughter faded at the reminder of just why she had needed so desperately to seek Shard out, and she leaned into the touch on her cheek, one hand rising to cover Shard’s, to remind herself.
“Master Splinter’s just fine,” Donna reassured her, knowing that despite Shard’s complicated feelings about her mother, she did care for her as a part of the Yoshi she had known. “We’re all fine. It’s been… it’s been really hard, which you probably know already, but we made it. I just had to check up on you, that’s all. I needed to make sure that you’re–”
She cut herself off suddenly, unable to finish that terrible sentence. They’d averted that future for their own mother, as her brothers here had done for Shard, and even the thought of speaking it brought a bitterness to her tongue.
Setting aside the wash of incredibly complicated relief that coursed through her at the confirmation that Donatella’s mother was unharmed, Shard ran a hand over the young turtle’s head, washing away the shadows of the word the child could not speak.
“I am very much alive,” Shard finished for her. “Thanks to your brothers.” At the expression on the girl’s face, she laughed gently, and touched her nose to Donatella’s. “Oh, my Brilliant Baby. I am not so clever as you, I admit, but I am wise enough to figure out what my very concerned children were not telling me.”
Donna’s eyes stung. She was unprepared for the strength of the relief that surged through her, and it bore her forward until she was all but running as she threw herself into her other mother’s arms. With a sobbing breath, she buried her head against Shard’s shoulder, holding tightly to her robe and the soft fur beneath.
Once she’d determined that Splinter was all right, she had been fairly certain that the Splinters of the other realities were okay, too. But Shard was another matter, and she hadn’t realized just how afraid she’d been that Shard’s reality had taken yet another branch away from her own.
“Sensei,” she said, raising her head when she felt she could trust herself. “I’m really happy to see you, too.”
“My darling girl,” Shard said, holding the young turtle close and stroking her shell as she clung. She had been a mother long enough to know when solace was desired, and she nuzzled her cheek against the top of Donatella’s head, even as the purr began in her chest.
She held the child as long as she needed, until Donatella at last raised her head. Smiling, she cupped Donatella’s face in her hands and delivered a kiss to the little one’s cheeks, tasting the salt of hidden tears as she did so. “I am to take it, I gather, that you have had adventures much like the ones my sons have just endured?”
But her face shadowed at the sight of the unshed tears that still glimmered in her child’s eyes, and her thumb traced gently across the girl’s cheek. “But you and your sisters are all right, sweetheart? And your mother, is she well?” Could it be that something had happened to Yosh-- Yotsuba in the other world?
“…so I guess that’s it.” Donna looked down at her list for a final check before returning her gaze to her doppelganger on the screen. “Looks like everything matches up.”
“Pretty much,” Donnie replied, looking up from his own list. “Quantum symmetry strikes again.” His gaze softened, and he placed a hand against the screen. “I’m glad you’re okay sis. Thanks for checking in. I was worried.” He blinked, clearing his throat. “I mean, we all were.”
Smiling, Donna returned the gesture. “You too. Give my love to Leo and everybody.”
“I will,” Donnie said, and even though the communicator only opened an infinitesimal breach in reality to let the signal through, she could feel his affection reverberating through it. It was an affection she returned in kind, and he grinned at her. “G’night, Donna.”
Blowing him a kiss, Donna closed the connection and ticked off another box on her checklist with a sigh of relief. One of the problems with gathering so many extra-dimensional siblings was the stress of having to check up on them after every crisis to make sure they were all still okay. But so far, so good, and there was only one reality left to check. She’d left it for last, for it was the only one that she couldn’t reach by communicator.
With a quiet groan, she pushed away from her desk and walked to the centre of her lab. “This is so unscientific,” she whispered as she closed her eyes. Clearing her mind of her annoyance, she let out a slow breath, and wanted.
When she opened them again, the desk chair wasn’t empty any more. Donnie sat in it, slumped across the desk as he snored quietly, surrounded by a dozen unfinished sketches. With a fond smile, Donna fetched a blanket from the store cupboard and draped it over his shoulders. She couldn’t blame him. She’d done the same when she’s arrived home, trying to record every bit of technology she could remember in case she needed it later, lest she forget any of the details. That was one question answered, at least. But she had a bigger one, and when she was certain Donnie wasn’t waking up any time soon, she left the room seeking the answer for herself.
As in her own home, it seemed like the others were long asleep, but there was a dim light shining through the screens at the top of the stairs. Holding her breath in anxious hope, Donna silently climbed up to the dojo and peeked around the doorframe.
Shard had a good number of things on which she needed to meditate. She had heard the children’s tale more than once now, and still it sounded more like one of the programs Leonardo favoured than any kind of mission report. And what the children could not bring themselves to say still weighed heavy upon her heart. So she remained in the dojo after shooing Leonardo out with a promise that she would rest, and sank deep into meditation as she listened to the sounds of the children gradually fall silent until she remained the only one still awake.
When she heard the hesitant footsteps emerge from Donatello’s lab, she at first thought that her clever son had roused to take himself to bed. But the stride was just a little longer than Donatello’s, and she opened her eyes in time to see that he shadow that fell across the threshold was just a little longer. So when the curious brown eyes peered around the doorframe, blinking behind the purple mask, Shard opened her arms in welcome.
“Donatella, my dear child. It is so very good to see you.”
It was not unheard of, to be sure. Though they would try to hide it from their brothers, one or the other of her sons would often seek out their mother’s comfort if something was particularly troubling them. But to have all four of them together, at once, was an occurrence rare enough she could count on the claws of one hand the number of times it had happened since they had decided they were grown up, too old for such things.
Michelangelo came first, which did not actually surprise her. He was often the first to seek her out after long separations, and though she did not yet know the details, she knew that for her sons, they had been apart from her far longer than she from them. All of her children bore healed scars she did not recognize, and she made a point of cataloging each new mark that her babies brought home. Her youngest came in quietly, but with no attempt to hide his presence, toddling over to her with sleep-heavy steps and dropping down on her futon with all the grace of a beached seal. He wriggled in next to her and pressed his head against the deep fur on her chest, his fingers knotting in it even as her arms came around him and he fell quickly back to sleep.
Leonardo came next, which did surprise her, particularly given his protestations of a need for sleep that deferred the telling of whatever incredible tale they had just lived. His steps stilled as hesitated in the doorway, and when she glanced up, his careful expression told her that he was assessing the situation and weighing his presence against Michelangelo’s. But when she inclined her head, he took the invitation without hesitation, curling up against the small of her back, but facing outward, toward the door. She far preferred sleeping on her back, but trapped as she was between her sons and their obvious, if inexplicable, need, she could sacrifice her own comfort for one night for their sakes.
Raphael followed not long after his brothers. His familiar steps came, strong and deliberate, but masked by a veneer of stealth. He did not want to be discovered, clearly, as his steps froze in deliberation at the sight of the two brothers already occupying her increasingly crowded futon. But when Shard carefully shifted her hand to pat the blanket, he came at once, shoving at Leonardo to clear himself a space and draping himself across her legs. Ignoring his little pout of defiance, Shard ran a soft hand across his head before settling herself back down again.
By this point, she was not surprised when Donatello wandered into the room much later, stopping short as his eyes adjusted to the dark and he spotted the other turtles scattered around her. His eyes were raw and red, and he smelled of solder and grease and the other strange perfumes of his science. She’d barely seen him on their return home; he’d just vanished into his laboratory, murmuring something about “write it all down before I forget.” But he was here, now, drooping with exhaustion, and he came to her when she held out her hand, settling himself next to Michelangelo with a soft, weary sigh.
Their presence kept her awake long after their breathing evened out into the long rhythms of sleep. Every so often, one of them would shift, clinging to her through their dreams, and she watched them closely, her face dark with concern. They had been parted before, and it had not been long since the reunion in which they had found her wandering mad in the sewers and brought her back to herself, but even that had not brought this reaction from them. It was certainly not the sort she would have expected following a triumphant victory, no matter how trying the circumstances leading up to it. There was only one thing she was certain of: for whatever their reasons, her children needed her. So she petted each one of them in turn, their quiet murmurs as they nestled closer bringing a smile to her face, and followed them into sleep.
When Michelangelo brought out her brush the next morning, it confirmed her suspicions that something was amiss. It would be another week, at least, before she was in need of a good brushing, and Michelangelo of all her children ought to have known it. But the raw need on her baby’s face silenced any objection she might have made, and if they all gathered closer than usual as they awaited Casey and April, she did not mention that, either.
She did notice the looks they cast toward the white fur on her stomach as she slipped her houmongi down around her waist, and the way Michelangelo lingered around the corresponding place on her back as he brushed. He spent a long time there, and each time the brush crossed that particular spot, his fingers followed, digging into her fur a little as though searching for something.
April, too, gave her the same look when she and Casey arrived with breakfast from Murakami’s. Casey was, at first, too deep in his usual response to seeing her without her robe, turning several shades of red and looking anywhere but at her. It usually amused the children to no end, for the turtles ran about in stages of undress on a daily basis without any untoward reaction from him, but their jibing lacked its usual enthusiasm, and in time, Casey, too, stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
At long last, with their friends present and “awesome Earth food” they had evidently missed in hand, her sons and daughter finally deigned to explain the events of the previous night. They told it in turns, passing the narrative from one to the other as they passed around the food, sometimes tripping over each other in their haste to clarify a point or to defend a questionable decision. Shard listened with wide eyes, disbelief giving way to amazement as they spun their incredible tale, and at last, she began to understand something of their reaction and the way they clung to her. It explained, too, the odd events of some weeks past, when her children had arrived home fram patrol early with strange twins of themselves in tow, and returned later that night with no memory of the events or answers to her questions.
But there was a gap in their story that grew more pronounced as they told it. A hole in the narrative in the shape of her silhouette. She had refrained from commenting, at first, though it bewildered her. Had she not been distracted by the strange children in futuristic garb clinging to her as though the world was ending, there was no power on Earth that could have kept her from following the other set of her children onto that ship. But as the tale continued, leading to its end, she took note of the way the children pressed closer to her. The way all of them, Casey and April included, found reasons to brush their hands against her. The way Michelangelo kept up his brushing long after her fur had any need for it.
Donatello took up the telling of the story as they neared the conclusion, filling in the gaps with a technical knowledge the others lacked to explain the threat of this black hole machine and the presence of their duplicates. And as he reached the point at which their circular path diverged from the old and a new future began, the look on Leonardo’s face slipped the last of the missing pieces into place.
She remembered the desperation with which he had cried her name, alerting her to the Shredder’s treachery. In truth, she had not expected that even one as twisted as Shredder could stoop to such levels of dishonesty -- not even he, she had thought, would risk the destruction of the world and the child they each laid claim to for the sake of spite and jealousy. She would not have caught his strike in time had Leonardo not warned her. Only now did it occur to her that the warning had come seconds before the Shredder could have begun his strike.
She understood, at last, why the children stared. Why Michelangelo’s hand had come to rest over the place where the Shredder’s blow would have fallen, searching for the wound that was not there. The wound that would, had it been delivered, have most assuredly been fatal.
Her children had watched her die. They had seen her die, and pressed on, and returned to save their world.
And in doing so, they had saved her.
As the tale came full circle, ending where she had come in, the children fell silent, watching her in expectation. Drawing a trembling breath, Shard shook her head, clearing it of the shadowed thoughts of that other path. Briefly, for the most fleeting of instances, she caught a glimpse of falling petals and a breath of their sweet perfume before the sights and smells of home reasserted themselves. “Oh, my children,” she said softly. “My dear, brave children. I am so very, very proud of you.”
Leonardo knew. As her eyes met his, she saw the moment when he realized she had figured it out. She did not think that the others had, but it did not stop them from piling into her arms when she opened them, and if her fur grew damp from more than one set of tears, the kisses she rained upon them, earning a chorus of laughing, shaky protests from human and turtle alike, ensured that those responsible could not be identified.
Yet it was a long time before any of them were willing to let go.
Shard is wood and water. Strong, tall, and rooted deeply in tradition and heritage, but flexible, flowing around the obstacles in her life (though sometimes with turbulence) and changing the course of her life as a result.
It seems that the boys made Splinter a giant hamster wheel. Have your children ever gifted you with a size appropriate cat accessory? Perhaps a scratching post or feather wand?
Raph was yelling again. Mikey had started to lose track of what Raph was ticked about. Easier to ask what he wasn’t mad at; it was a much shorter list. Mikey shifted in his porthole, his hands curling more tightly around his cocoa. He’d been drinking a lot of it lately. Better slow down before he had to pee. He was still too embarrassed to admit that he hadn’t figured out the bathroom.
Raph’s voice got louder, and Mikey sighed. So this time it was Donnie. Mikey’d gotten it a few times, too, but he didn’t mind as much as the others. It wasn’t that he liked it, but he got it. When Raph was mad, it meant he didn’t have time to think about or feel the other stuff.
Stomping footsteps passed by below, and he’d thought they were going to pass by. But they stopped, and much more lightly, returned. “Mikey?”
He glanced down over the rim of the porthole, trying his best to look surprised. “Oh, hey Raph.”
The look on his face said plainly that Raph had been about to yell again, but something in Mikey’s voice stopped him. Instead, he leaped up to the porthole, and Mikey shifted as best he could to accommodate his brother in the cramped space.
“What the heck are you doing up here, anyway? Leo’s been looking for you for hours.” Raph sank down next to him, shifting until his back pressed against the opposite side of the curving window, and he shuddered as he looked outside. “I’m still not over that. It’s weird not seeing... well, anything. Doesn’t it give you the heebs?”
“Nah,” Mikey said, curling more tightly into his side of the window. “It reminds me of when I used to look up through the grate, and Sensei would tell me about the stars.”
Raph’s face darkened, and Mikey could feel another storm brewing, so he pressed on. “Donnie said she made half the stories up, but I didn’t mind. I liked the one about us.” He grinned, leaning his head against the window. “Sometimes I’d fall asleep during the story, and wake up and catch her scratching the tree when she thought no one was looking.”
An answering snort drifted from the other side of the window. “Who the heck did she think she was fooling, anyway? Like we weren’t going to notice the giant claw marks. ”
“Katana marks,” Mikey corrected, as Shard always had.
Raph snorted again. “Right. ‘Cause we totally don’t know what actual katana marks look like.”
“Even better was when we’d get on her nerves and she’d make that noise and go ‘meditate.’ One day I accidentally walked in on her. Guess what she was doing.”
“I don’t think I wanna know,” Raph said warily.
Mikey just grinned wider. “Remember all that yarn we got for her when she was trying to figure out new stuff she could make to sell in her store, and how it just kinda disappeared?”
Raph’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
Mikey nodded gleefully. “She was rolling around in a giant pile of the stuff.” His laughter joined with Raph’s until his throat tightened, and his laughter cut off on a crack. “Raph... I--”
“Don’t,” Raph said sharply, and he sighed at the expression Mikey turned on him. “I just-- Mikey, I can’t yet...”
Mikey just reached over and patted Raph on the arm. “’S’okay, brah. I get it.” He offered the steaming mug. “Cocoa?”
After a moment, Raph took it, and sipped quietly. Eventually, his arm came to rest across Mikey’s shoulders, and they sat together in silence, looking out into the stars.
The other members of the family have been trying to figure that out for years. They know he has one, but neither Shard nor Leo will tell them what it is. Though it is the subject of the next baby story when it shakes out enough that I can actually write it. The story may or may not be called “Baby Blue” (which is not his baby name).
Why do Shard's turtles call her Mum instead of Mom if they were raised in New York?
Two reasons. One, Shen’s English tutor when she was young was a Brit teaching overseas at her father’s school (loosely inspired by an acquaintance who spent time teaching English at a monastery for what he described as “baby ninja monks”), and two, because Shard’s equivalent of Splinter’s “stories” are British period dramas, and it rubbed off.
When Shard comes across a frustrated Donatello in her garden, a much-overdue confrontation reveals some painful truths about the past two years, but plants the seeds of hope for the future.
This is a story that’s been in the works since season one, but after recent episodes, I finally figured out how it all shook down. It’s Shard!canon, but a very, very similar conversation also takes place with Splinter in Falling.
Happy, happy birthday to jinja-neko!
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