I feel like I owe all of you cookies and hugs and deep apologies. I knew in the writing of this story that it was going to be heartrending – it was heartrending to me to write! But I always knew where I was going and what was to come. My beta thinks you each must have the fortitude of a battalion to get through all I've done to you so far. I'm very glad you do. As this chapter will show you, all is not lost.

The theme for this Act, as correctly guessed by at least 2 of you, is "One Last Breath" by Creed. Very appropriate for poor Donnie, huh?

Next week we begin Act 4. Fair warning – the only Donatello you'll have in the whole of that Act is in thoughts and recollections. Act 4 is all about the rest of the Hamato Clan.

There's one funny-ish story I want to tell you – maybe it'll soften the blow of everything else. So, in this Act, Professor Honeycutt is going to offer his first name, his given name, for the first time. When I initially wrote the scene in which he provides it, the canonical character of Professor Honeycutt had never been given a first name in any instance of TMNT, so I made one up from the surname of the actor who voiced him for the 2003 series and called him Zarus. Some weeks later, however, the 2012 version of TMNT decided to give him the name of Zayton. I was both highly amused and also annoyed that I was so close but not quite right! It took my beta a month to convince me to change Zarus to Zayton for consistency.

Last of the housekeeping notes: right at the start in this chapter, Leatherhead tries to help Donatello handle his emotional breakdown by physically restraining him. This is NOT the recommended method for dealing with someone in a similar state unless you explicitly know from them that they find that method helpful. Many people who struggle with trauma or anxiety can be made even more upset by unwelcome physical contact. Leatherhead, I assume, is aware this, but decided to take the chance given the extraordinary circumstances. I would be grateful if you wouldn't use that as an object lesson in real life, though.

I sincerely adore all of you for sticking with me. The payoff may be long in coming, but I hope you find it worth all the pain. Or maybe the pain is a reward in its own right. Either way. I can't exactly be sorry for breaking your hearts – I can only promise to fix them as we go.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Escape

Thanksgiving evening, Leatherhead and the Professor made their way to visit Donatello; April had asked them to ensure he was not alone on a day dedicated to being with one's family. They would have gone earlier, but they wanted to be sure they allowed enough time for Don to visit with Leonardo and Master Splinter in Edo first.

The sound of an eerie wail reached them the instant they opened the door to the turtles' lair.

Professor Honeycutt tipped his robotic head. "I wonder what could produce such a noise?"

But Leatherhead froze as fear washed through him before he shook himself. "Hurry!"

Honeycutt ambled after him into the lair as best as he could. "But what is it?"

Leatherhead took a breath in through his nose. "That sound...it is like that made by my heart when the Utrom were forced to leave me behind."

The pair found Donatello curled up on the ground, howling an unnatural dirge of pain interrupted only by shallow, gasping breaths. His face was flushed and his eyes were red, swollen and unseeing.

"Donatello!" Leatherhead was certain he had never moved with such speed as he did to reach the side of his friend.

"Oh, my boy." Professor Honeycutt was not quite as fast in his awkward body, but he scraped his metal knees on the floor as he slid to Donatello opposite Leatherhead. He reached his hand out but Leatherhead caught it before he could touch the prone turtle.

"Don't, Professor. He's in the midst of a profound panic attack. Almost a mental breakdown. And with his combat experience and previous mental traumas, there's no telling how he'll react. He may not even perceive us as his friends."

Professor Honeycutt drew his hand back. "Then what do you suggest? We cannot leave him like this!"

"Go to the medical bay. Find a small dose of a mild sedative. I will try something first, but if I fail, we may need to drug him. Though I would prefer to avoid it if possible."

"As would I."

Leatherhead waited until Professor Honeycutt was out of range; if he made a mistake, he did not want Donatello's senselessness to cause harm to Honeycutt's surprisingly fragile body.

"Forgive me, my friend."

And with the speed his original species might use to attack prey, Leatherhead jumped on Donatello and wrapped his whole body around the much smaller turtle.

Donatello's keening changed abruptly into an outraged roar and he began to strike out with fists and feet made savage and mindless. But Leatherhead was much stronger than Donatello and had already positioned himself to have the advantage of leverage, so he merely endured the struggling.

Professor Honeycutt returned. "I have the sedative. Should I administer it now?"

"No," Leatherhead said, swinging his jaw out of the way of Donatello's attempt to hit it with his own head. "Wait."

After what seemed like an eternity, Donatello's actions began to slow and his strength drained away. As his body subsided, so did his vocalizations.

And into the quiet, Leatherhead spoke in a voice that rumbled through his whole frame. "Donatello. My friend. Breathe with me."

Leatherhead took a long, slow breath in, counting to eight in his head. He held it for four beats, then breathed out over twelve. After a pause of another four beats, he repeated the process, deliberately holding the young turtle against his chest so he could feel the rise and fall, breathing audibly against Donatello's ear.

On the third cycle of breathing, Donatello gave a slight gasp before attempting to imitate Leatherhead.

"Good!" Professor Honeycutt said with as much encouragement as he could pour into his vocal processors. "Good, Donatello. Try to relax. Focus only on your breathing."

Leatherhead gave the professor a nod and continued his measured example.

Five endless minutes later, Donatello blinked his eyes as though waking from a stupor. "L...Leatherhead? What…?"

"Hush, my boy," Professor Honeycutt interrupted as gently as he could manage. "Listen to your body and focus on your breathing."

Donatello frowned but closed his eyes and obeyed, grounding himself on the steady beat of Leatherhead's heart right against his head.

A few minutes later his eyes flew open. "My brothers! My family!"

"Calmly, Donatello." Professor Honeycutt held up a hand. "Calmly. Continue to breathe, please."

Leatherhead shifted his grip on Donatello so that he was no longer restraining him, but he did not let go of the younger turtle; rather, he adjusted so that he was holding Donatello in a full-body embrace. He did not interrupt his own breathing, but he rumbled deep in his chest a tone so low it was more felt than audible, a reptilian purr.

Donatello closed his eyes once more and leaned into the comfort Leatherhead offered, attempting to keep his breathing slow and steady. But a few tears made their way down his face.

The transition, when it came, was sudden. Donatello's breathing sped up slightly, and his tears came faster. And then he broke into a heart-torn sob of pure sorrow.

"Oh, my boy," Professor Honeycutt whispered.

As he watched Donatello bury his face in Leatherhead's chest to cry, he recalled several things all at once.

The first was how young Donatello was. Even by the standards of D'Hoonib, which Professor Honeycutt had always thought were a little too aggressive, Donatello would not be considered a full adult for several years more, and that was assuming he aged as the people of D'Hoonib did, which the Professor was beginning to doubt. Terrapins were notoriously long-lived, and if the turtles' transformation was anything like what Leatherhead had described of his own, Donatello could remain the human equivalent of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old for many more years, perhaps even decades.

For all that he had built such amazing things, accomplished astonishing victories, Donatello was still an adolescent both biologically and emotionally.

The second was that Donatello's mental state was much more unstable than he had ever realized. He had known, of course, that all the turtles had been through various traumas, and that of those, Donatello had often fared the worst – as in his torture at the hands of the Triceratons or his experience in an alternate dimension. But now he could see that those different mental wounds had built up in Donatello's brain, creating emotional scarring that rendered him more vulnerable to extreme states of depression.

Additionally, there was something he had seen in Leatherhead's notes once, something about psychosis as a side-effect of the mutating virus that had swept through the sewer and had infected Donatello; Donatello himself had mentioned a similar possibility after his poisoning in the dimension where his family remained. And all that without taking into account the fact that all four turtles had probably suffered a fair number of blows to the head and dangerous concussions from their battles over the years – and Donatello had suffered at least one such injury recently. Added together, the potential cognitive damage was extensive and could result in any number of psychological difficulties. No wonder the extreme emotions he must have been experiencing had come to a head in such a violent manner.

The third was that he could not, under any circumstances at all, proceed with the plan of which he and Leatherhead had decided to inform Donatello. At least, not unedited. Not now.

But that very plan might contain within it the solution that could be the saving of their friend.

Donatello cried until he was spent, and though he was clearly exhausted and more than a little embarrassed to find himself still wrapped in Leatherhead's embrace like a babe, Leatherhead did not release him until he was once again breathing normally. Only then and without a word, Leatherhead stood with Donatello in his arms and deposited him on the couch before gesturing for Honeycutt to sit beside him.

Then Leatherhead wisely made himself scarce to give Donatello a few moments to compose himself.

"I...I'm really sorry," Don said in a voice raw and aching with emotion. "I didn't mean to...you know. Lose it."

Professor Honeycutt found he was still somehow biological enough for his heart to break. He rested a metal hand on Donatello's shoulder. "My boy. Please. No apologies for this. I only wish you had called upon us sooner before your grief and pain were so great." He paused. "That is...I know you have been rather lonely, but I had not realized…"

"They're never coming back. And they don't want me with them."

Professor Honeycutt would have been alarmed at the lack of affect in his friend's voice had he not seen that it was born of titanium self-control, a deliberate attempt to maintain calm.

"I see."

"And it's...like they're dead. They're dead all over again and it's my fault even though it isn't. Even though they're not actually dead. But...it feels like it did then. Except worse. So much worse. Because this isn't a dream or an alternate reality. This is reality. My reality. And...I don't know if I can live with it."

He closed his eyes. Professor Honeycutt noticed that he was continuing to breathe in Leatherhead's pattern.

"Of all the things that could have happened to us...I never thought they'd just...abandon me. We might have all been killed in battle. Or maybe we'd drift apart naturally as we got older. I didn't want that, but it was a possibility. I never thought…they'd leave me. That we wouldn't be...family anymore."

Professor Honeycutt knew his body was not much use when it came to offering physical comfort, but he tried to rub Donatello's shoulder as best he could. "Even you cannot see all the possibilities in the universe, Donatello. Though I perhaps wish you had, in this case. You might have been able to prepare yourself."

"Yeah. And with April and Casey gone…"

"You are not alone." Leatherhead approached, padding on silent feet with a mug of tea in his hands. "Donatello. My friend. Whatever else happens, we will not abandon you." He looked straight into Professor Honeycutt's optics.

Thank goodness, Leatherhead. You have come to the same conclusion as I. Now we must approach this delicately.

Donatello nodded miserably. He accepted the tea from Leatherhead and sipped at it.

Leatherhead perched before the couch so he could see both Professor Honeycutt and Donatello and waited. Perhaps even without realizing, he began to emit that almost sub-sonic rumble, filling the air with the vibration of his presence and concern.

When the cup of tea was drained, Donatello looked up, equally drained and empty. "It's over, isn't it? There's no point in doing anything anymore. There's nothing left for me to do."

Leatherhead looked to Professor Honeycutt who gave a subtle nod.

"What more would you wish to do, Donatello?" Leatherhead asked gently.

Donatello blinked at him and a bit of the wildness of before crawled into his eyes. "What does it matter? Everything I've ever done has been for my family and now…" He shuddered and deliberately took a deep breath. "Is this all there will ever be? Unless I give up everything that makes me myself and see if they'll take me back – if I can stand to live in Usagi's world, I guess. Their world now. But...I can't do that. I'm all I have left. Is that selfishness? To want to be myself even at this cost?"

Professor Honeycutt spoke carefully. "I don't know if I would call it selfishness. I might call it courage, though. Integrity. Tenacity."

Don shivered. "It would be easier if it was selfish. Then I'd just give up."

Leatherhead asked, "But you won't?"

"No. If I stop being me, it's like a surrender. I gave my word of honor a long time ago that I would never surrender myself. Would never stop being myself. That's...if my promise is all I have left...breaking it would be a worse failure than leaving them. Or being left by them."

Leatherhead closed a hand on Donatello's trembling fingers clutching the cup. "Worse for whom, Donatello?"

He swallowed thickly. "I don't know anymore. But I can only be myself. Even if I have to be alone to do it. It's the only thing I've got left to hold onto."

Professor Honeycutt straightened his posture and tapped the young turtle on the shoulder until he had his attention.: "Donatello, I owe you my life. More than once over. I don't entirely understand your concept of honor, but I believe it would be mine to keep you company in the stead of your family if you will permit me."

"Thank you, Professor." The words were small, almost choked out, but the shade of relief they expressed was profound.

Professor Honeycutt nodded. "Now, my boy. If I am to be your only remaining family…"

Leatherhead's low rumbling cut off with an annoyed snort. "Excuse me, but you are not. I, too, owe Donatello a great deal and esteem him highly. You are not the only family he can claim. And I, at least, share something of a genetic legacy with him."

Donatello fidgeted slightly, but he did not pull away from either of the pair anchoring him.

"Yes, all true. My apologies, my friend." Professor Honeycutt missed the biological ability to sigh; some means of expression really required more than a voice processor. "Anyway, as I was saying, I believe if we three are to constitute a rather unusual new family of sorts, I believe it is time for you to call me by my given name. Both of you."

That sparked the slightest return of Don's more typical interest. "I didn't realize you had one."

"Neither did I," Leatherhead said, eye-ridges raising in surprise.

"Names on D'Hoonib are not quite as they are here on Earth. For example, when one joins the military, one forfeits one's family name entirely, only to be known by their rank, unit, and given name – it is one's promise to give one's life fully to the armed forces. For civilians, if one has a complicated family history or one is of the higher, ruling classes, one may have multiple family names to ensure all branches of one's lineage are represented. Thankfully, I am not numbered amongst those, which is also what permitted me the freedom to pursue my interests as a scientist rather than a politician."

Donatello was watching him closely, but Leatherhead's snout was curling with slight impatience. He realized he had gotten somewhat off track and quickly returned to his point.

"Anyway, my given name is Zayton. And, if I am being precise, my family name is not quite pronounced Honeycutt, but rather Honn'i'kedt. Though Honeycutt is an acceptable approximation in your language."

Donatello nodded, attempting a smile and not quite spectacularly failing.

Leatherhead squeezed Donatello's hands between his own. "My friend. There is something we must tell you. And," he glanced to Zayton for a quick confirmation before continuing, "something we would ask you. But I do not wish to see you distressed again."

Donatello sighed. "I promise I'll try not to freak out on you, Leatherhead."

"On the contrary, Donatello," Zayton spoke up, "I would vastly prefer that you be open about your feelings with us. To be alone facing such devastation, it is not healthy. It is not that we would not gladly undertake the task of helping you through your pain, but rather that we do not wish to upset you anew. You have suffered enough for one day."

Now Donatello closed his eyes. He breathed slowly a few times before facing them again. "Okay. Honestly, whatever it is, I'd rather get it over with. I really will try not to lose it. But tell me now so I can stop wondering about it."

Leatherhead took a breath, maintaining his grip on the turtle. "Professor...that is, Zayton and I have made something of a breakthrough. We have been successful in our attempts to reestablish contact with the Utrom Homeworld. They...have invited us to rejoin them."

All the air in Donatello's chest went out of him as though he had been punched in the gut.

"It really is a better situation for myself," Professor Honn'i'kedt said quickly. "And I will be able to continue my more delicate scientific research, too, when I again have access to their more advanced technology. And as for Leatherhead…"

"They raised me. They were my family." Leatherhead's voice went soft with reverence. "I belong with them."

Donatello forced himself to breathe even as his heart broke. "I...I understand. So...when are you going?" And he could only pray his voice did not shake.

But it did, and even if it had not given him away, the sorrow in the rest of him, from his eyes to the very lines of his body, did.

"Listen to me, Donatello," Professor Honn'i'kedt said. "We do not want to leave you. We want you to come with us."

That was unexpected enough that it abruptly stopped Donatello's burgeoning return to panic and he blinked. "Wait. What?"

Leatherhead nodded. "My friend. If you cannot bear to leave this planet, to leave New York, I will sacrifice a life with the Utrom to remain here with you for as long as you wish. It is the least I can do. But it is also possible that no sacrifice is necessary. If you have nothing left to bind you here, perhaps remaining amongst these memories is not the wisest course of action for you."

"The Utrom would welcome you, Donatello," Zayton added. "And in the Utrom Collective there are many different kinds of species. You might be unusual, as Leatherhead is, but you would not have to live in secret any longer. You could study science with us in the open, even publish your findings and receive the recognition you so clearly deserve. The possibilities for what you could accomplish are unlimited!"

Leatherhead leaned closer. "You are already parted from your family, but with the use of your portal stick, distance means nothing. You could reach them as easily in Miyamoto Usagi's dimension from the Utrom Homeworld as from here. And I am also certain the Utrom would not begrudge you the ability to come back to Earth if you so chose. You would not be trapped with them if you found life there not to your liking."

"And if such is your choice," Zayton said, "I feel certain Leatherhead and I would accompany you in return. You should not have to be alone, my friend. We are not abandoning you. We merely wish you to consider a change of scenery."

Donatello looked back and forth between them with something like shock.

"Donatello." Leatherhead's voice went almost tentative. "I am sure you must recognize that your reaction today to your grief, while understandable, is also worrying. The Utrom are some of the finest minds in the galaxy. I intend to seek out their assistance with my rage and my own inner demons. I believe you, too, have wounds within that could use help. Professional help."

That brought a broken chuckle from Don. "Oh, probably. I'm a mess of neuroses these days."

"You do not have to decide right now," Professor Honn'i'kedt was quick to say. "You may take all the time you wish, though I hope you will not object if we remain here with you rather than leave you on your own again."

"No, that's fine. Honestly, I'd welcome somebody making noise around here. The quiet…" Donatello shivered. "Who knew quiet could drive you mad?"

Leatherhead said nothing, but he did resume his low, comforting rumble once more.

Zayton looked more critically at Donatello, then rose from the couch. "My boy, I believe that some proper nutrition will also assist you in feeling more like yourself. And while I do not need to eat for my own body's needs any longer, I have downloaded a vast repository of this world's cooking books and recipes. I will go see what I can make of your well-appointed kitchen, if you don't mind."

"No, go ahead."

While the professor sailed away, Leatherhead at last released Donatello's hands. "My friend?"

Somehow, Donatello seemed so small as he sighed. "Yeah?"

"I hope...you can forgive my...presumption...in trying to assist you in a manner that may have been...overly invasive of your personal space and dignity. It was a gamble, and one I undertook only as a near-to-last resort. I hope we have not done you more harm in our attempt to care for you."

Donatello let out a laugh that was dry and cold. "Leatherhead, I'm not sure there's any way for me to be any more hurt than I already am. I mean, I'd rather not try it and prove myself wrong, but…" He let out a breath and met Leatherhead's eyes. "Just by trying to be my friend, no matter what you did, it was better than me handling it on my own. Besides, you gave me a hug and it's been...a while since I got one from someone not worse off than myself. So, thank you."

"You are more than welcome. Then you are not distressed by the possibility we have suggested?"

Don shrugged. "Right now I'm more numb than anything else. I think you hugged the shock right out of me. So I'm...I'm going to have to think about it."

"By all means, Donatello. Our offer stands and has no time-limit. If you wished to leave today, we are all but prepared. If you wished to remain here for a week or a month or a year, we would not begrudge you the time. The decision is entirely yours."

Donatello looked at his hands. "It's hard to believe you'd give up your chance to go back to your own family for me."

Leatherhead put a large palm on Donatello's shoulder. "After I lost my Utrom family, and though my initial encounter with you and your brothers was brief, I was content to die knowing that I was not entirely alone on this planet. And when you and your family liberated me from Agent Bishop, you took me in as though I were one of you."

He paused, then ducked his head slightly. "I know that your relationship to your family is rather different from mine with the Utrom. But I know the pain of being left behind. It was you who eased that pain for me. The very least I can do is return the favor, my friend. Even if I am but a poor substitute for what you have lost."

"You're not. You are different, but that helps, too." Donatello closed his eyes. "It would be worse if you were exactly like them." Then he opened his eyes and tipped his head curiously. "Does that mean it's hard for you to be friends with me? Because I'm a scientist like the Utrom?"

Leatherhead actually chuckled. "No. For you are very, very different from my Utrom family in ways that I can barely describe. But I am confident you would see as much for yourself if you wished to make the journey."

Donatello's expression took on a closed-off look and he rose. "I should...go check on the perimeter."

Leatherhead stepped back to give him room. "As you wish, my friend."

He watched Donatello make his way towards his lab, only looking away when the doorway cut off his line of sight. Then, ears pricked and listening carefully, he joined Professor Honn'i'kedt in the kitchen.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" he asked in a whisper.

"I do not quite know. I have my auditory sensors turned as high as they will go, so I will be certain to detect it should he find himself in distress again. But beyond that...it is difficult to say."

Leatherhead looked at the various ingredients already arrayed on the counter. "Was it too much? Too soon to ask him? Not that we could do anything else. We cannot leave him alone here."

"No one should be left alone in a world of dangers and enemies," Zayton replied with conviction. "And as harsh as it sounds, I believe now was the perfect opportunity to present the idea – if only because now is the moment he is most likely to accept. And I intend to take advantage of Donatello's own confusion and grief if it will help remove him from here."

Leatherhead looked at his friend in surprise. "You're angry. Why?"

Zayton cut into a potato with unnecessary force, his voice turning cold and clipped. "My own people turned on me, too, Leatherhead. Of course, that was more to do with an insane warmonger who wished to use my intelligence for destruction. But I was chased across my homeland by my own government and would have become the worst force for evil the Alliance ever had at their disposal but for that boy and his brothers."

"The turtles did not turn on Donatello."

"Didn't they? Didn't they cast him out of their society because he is different? Didn't they scorn him for his intellectual ways? No, the Hamato family is not even remotely as savage as my own people of D'Hoonib were, but they did cast him out. They sent him back to a world where he can never be safe, where at any moment one of their enemies might find him and harm him with no one to help him. They may not be the ones chasing him with guns blazing, but they put him into the path of those guns and turned their backs on his plight."

Zayton realized the potato he had been cutting had been reduced to slivers and discarded it.

"You know it as well as I do, Leatherhead. Within that boy lies some of the greatest untapped intelligence I have ever seen. And his heart is as gentle as he is brilliant. Those gifts should be nurtured, honored, encouraged. His family has chosen to ignore them. I will not do the same to him. I will not have him fall into evil hands that his genius be turned to destruction as mine almost was. And I will not stand by and let that which is a blessing be treated as a bother!"

Leatherhead let out a snort, not of rudeness, but agreement. "I understand. But we cannot pressure him. I, too, think he is better suited for life among the Utrom and not only because it is safer and healthier for him than remaining here on this planet alone. But it must be his choice."

"I know. And I will not do him the disservice of abridging his decision, I assure you. There has been enough of that for all of us, I believe."

Leatherhead nodded. "Then let us give him a few minutes to compose himself. If I know Donatello as well as I believe I do, he will make his decision quickly. The more difficult part for him will be accepting it – and all it means for him."

"Yes. But in that, we shall help him. And when I next speak with the Utrom, I will have Mortu summon the appropriate experts to support him in every way possible. If I do nothing else, I will see Donatello healthy and strong in mind and heart once more, and then recognized for his natural gifts."

"In that, my friend," Leatherhead said as he set himself to help prepare the meal, "we are entirely in agreement."

-==OOO==-

Donatello still felt numb.

He stood dumbly in his lab for a few minutes, staring at his computer array.

I wonder how long I was...out of it...before they came.

He glanced at the clock mounted above one of his monitors.

Huh. More than three hours, but not eighteen hours like after Raph. I guess that's...good? He shook his head at himself. Shell. I really do need some kind of help. Imagine what the guys would say if they saw me having a screaming fit like that.

But following those thoughts led back to madness, and Donatello wrenched himself away before the bubbling grief could consume him again.

I can't believe Leatherhead and the Professor invited me to go with them. Imagine getting to actually stay on the Utrom Homeworld, not just visit it like we did for the Shredder's trial, but really dig into it. I wonder what kind of computing systems the Utrom use on their own planet when they aren't hampered by the technology of Earth. I didn't get to see much of it while we were being treated for our injuries. I bet I'd have to learn a new coding language.

Donatello took a few more steps forward and reached out, touching the pads of his fingers to the edge of the desk he had built and configured so carefully.

What would it be like to leave?

Don swallowed convulsively. The idea burned inside, but he didn't know if it was a blaze of excitement or a newer, deeper pang of loss. And yet there was already a sense of farewell skipping across his heart as he ran his fingers along the edge of his nearest monitor, his eyes trailing across the array.

How can I leave my own planet behind?

An angry thought that sounded like it bore Raph's voice answered, They did.

I guess that's true. And it's no more of a commute back here for me than it would be for them.

Donatello shivered. At least I wouldn't be leaving anyone behind.

He turned and peeked out the door of the lab. Leatherhead and Zayton – How strange to think I've known him all this time and only now find out his real name! – were orbiting one another in the kitchen with the sort of familiarity Don remembered with an ache.

They really would stay here with me if I asked them to. Even though they're both alone without their people. They've both been separated and cut off, too. They understand.

Can I really ask them to stay on Earth just for my sake? Can I ask them to give up their chance to have their lives back for me?

Donatello closed his eyes. He felt like it should hurt more than it did.

I don't want to stay here where everything is a reminder of what I've lost. I don't want to wake up in silence for the rest of my life. I don't want to live in this shadow of everything that used to be. If I have to be alone either way, I might as well be alone where I can do the right thing for the friends I have left.

If I have to be alone, the least I can do is make the best of it for Leatherhead and Zayton.

I bet Leatherhead and Zayton think the Utrom Homeworld could even be as great for me as Usagi's world is for my family. Even if I can't imagine ever feeling okay again. Not if I'm feeling it alone.

I wonder if anywhere will ever really be home again.

I'm not sure it matters.

Whatever it is, it can't possibly be worse than this.

And just like that, Donatello's heart shifted. Almost without any will of his own, he had decided to leave.

On one level, his brain began assembling a new Moving Book, a shorter one certainly, detailing all the preparations he would have to make. There were new security measures to implement to completely seal the lair to protect it from incursion with no one there to monitor it. There would be things to pack, though not much overall – what was the point bringing computing equipment that wouldn't be compatible with another planet's technology? And Don already intended to erase his entire computer's database, keeping for himself the only copy. Like the EMP he had sent to the previous lair, he would leave no scrap of information behind should all his defenses fail, would not risk his enemies finding anything that might lead them to Casey and April or to his family if they ever decided to visit. But there were other things he would keep with himself.

Only things that belonged to him, though, with a few crucial exceptions. He could not take so much as one of Leo's candles with him. Not only would that feel like stealing, but he couldn't go forward with a tether leading him back. Donatello was going to make a clean break, as clean as possible.

But while his brain meticulously decided what he would pack and how soon to erase his mainframe and which laptop to bring (until he got an Utrom version and converted all his data), his body was in motion.

Now that he had decided, it was time to say goodbye.

Donatello crept from his lab across the main room to the dojo first. He didn't take anything yet – the time for actual packing would come soon enough – but he looked at the room as though he could memorize every square inch of it. And he did. He brushed his hands over the weapons racks, the weights, the new scrolls that lined the walls. He walked the mats beneath his feet and stared upward to the beams and ropes hanging above.

When he shut the door behind himself, it was as though the room already belonged to someone else, someone who had lived long ago, someone who would never return.

He skipped the garden in the subway car because it was as meticulous as he could make it, not being a practitioner of rock gardening himself, and he already knew every stone and statue by heart. Also, the chimes on the door would sound and Don did not want to be interrupted.

His throat swelled with a painful lump as he pushed into Master Splinter's room.

Tears gathered in his eyes at the teapot that sat waiting, cold and empty and unused. He did not, could not look too hard at those belongings of his father's that had not already been moved to another dimension, nor at the blank spaces where the rest had been stored once – before everything that mattered was removed to another world, another life. He focused only on reaching the family's altar at the end of the room. Hamato Yoshi's likeness was long since gone to Usagi's dimension, but his name still hung on a banner above the incense that Don had dutifully lit each day.

Before this, he dropped to his knees.

"Master Yoshi. I hope you can understand my decision. Maybe this is how it was always meant to be, for me to follow your path and join the very beings you gave your life to protect. I will try to serve them with honor as you would."

Don fought the urge to sob and switched to Japanese. Not only was it a more correct way to address Hamato Yoshi, but it was also a language that required more focus for Donatello to use, and the more he focused, the easier it was to contain his emotions.

"Master Yoshi, I ask you to please watch over my family. Our Clan is still an honorable one, even if I have been dismissed from it. I will go into the universe as Hamato Donatello just as my brothers and father are still Hamato in their new world. Please guard them as you have always guarded us. Keep them strong and may their battles be victorious."

Donatello dropped his forehead to the mat and closed his eyes.

"Excuse me for leaving, Master Yoshi."

He rose and left without looking at anything in the room. When he shut the door, he knew he would not set foot in there again.

Professor Honn'i'kedt and Leatherhead were still in the kitchen, so Donatello crept upstairs.

In Michelangelo's room, Donatello paced a slow circle, his fingertips brushing over the posters and drawings pinned to the walls, noting the empty spot on Klunk's kitty tower where the cat would have slept, absently shuffling the pens on the desk ready for the most artistic of the turtles to return to drawing the comic that was half-done. When he retreated to the doorway, Donatello waved, blinking back a few tears, before he exited and shut the door behind him.

In Raphael's room, Donatello perched on his brother's hammock, hung at the precise height Raph preferred. In the center of the space stood the proud, rebuilt Shell Cycle with the brand-new helmet swinging from the handlebars. Don noticed that the helmet was swinging at the same approximate rate as the punching bag suspended in one corner and idly set the hammock to swinging at the same pace. But as soon as he moved, their formerly-steady rhythm broke due to his impact on the air currents in the room. He closed his eyes and rose from the hammock, almost feeling the disruption in the air, the ripples of wrongness that surrounded all that Raph had become. He left and shut the door with a shuddering breath.

In Leonardo's room, Donatello faced the carefully-repaired screens and hangings he had arranged where Leo would see them when he woke out of meditation.

"I don't know what you would say about what I'm doing," he whispered. "I'm not sure you get to have an opinion now, though. You're the one who decided you weren't my leader anymore."

He fought against a thick pain in his throat.

"I wish I could blame you for all of this. You led us there, you accepted the position as Heir, you sent me home, you sided with everybody else. You didn't try to fix what happened to us. But… I can't blame you, Leo. I'm not sure any of this is anyone's fault. Maybe it was just...momentum. Inevitability."

Don's whole body shook for a moment before he forced it to stillness again.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, big brother. I wonder if you are, too, sometimes."

He shook again, then straightened up to his full height. He bowed at the waist.

"Thank you for everything, Leo. Be safe in the life you have chosen. I will do my best to maintain the honor of our Clan...even if you never know it. Take care of our family, Leo. And take care of yourself."

As he rose and turned, his eyes fell on the bookshelf he had hung, filled with the books he had collected that he thought Leo might have liked. With a sensation like breaking off a piece of himself, Donatello pulled the Moving Book from his belt and added it to the bookshelf, slotting it between tomes on strategy and combat.

He was leaving it behind. He was leaving all of this behind. It hurt, but it was also a tremulous relief to feel nothing where the weight had been, familiar and damning, for so long.

He could not stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks when he moved to quit the room, carefully shutting the door behind him.

"Donatello?"

Leatherhead and Zayton were gathered at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him with obvious concern.

Donatello scrubbed a fist across his face and took a deep breath. As he walked from Leo's door to meet them, he felt as if his whole life were already falling away, as if every step, even though he was still inside the lair, was carrying him to someplace new. Someplace alone.

"My friend," Leatherhead said, extending a hand.

Maybe not quite so alone after all.

Donatello kept his shoulders up and his head high as he descended the stairs to face them, allowing Leatherhead to put a warm hand on his shoulder.

When he spoke, his voice was steady and his broken heart faded into quiet.

"I'm coming with you. When do we leave?"

-==OOO==-

End of Act 3

-==OOO==-