PART THREE

Donatello was seized roughly by guards in heavy mechanized suits. They asked questions and barked orders in a way that made the musical language of the Omatran sound very intimidating. It was a difficult language to begin with, and though he had been working hard to increase his small vocabulary of useful words and phrases, understanding the flurry of commands coming at him in such a chaotic situation was proving impossible. He shook his head helplessly and touched his throat, trying to convey his incomprehension. The turtle looked around for his alien friend, but Glorpek was already being escorted away in the direction they had come. He had lost his place among the petitioners, as Don had suspected he would. It looked as though the guards would be kind enough to let him retrieve his cart of belongings before sending him back to the end of the line.

A smaller Omatran woman emerged from the guardhouse. Her pale blue-green hair was twisted up in a messy bun, and she wore a long grey coat and a fascinating eye-piece that immediately set her apart from the brute squad of mecha she-hulks which had apprehended him. Donatello knew that many generations of selective breeding had created distinct factions within Omatran society, and this new woman had the distinct look of a scientist or medic.

"Kesu, ma chia naravo, paya," she said coolly. Apparently that meant 'rip his arms nearly out of his sockets', because that's what the guards proceeded to do. Donatello cried out and thrashed instinctively but could not budge an inch as the woman with the eye scope approached holding a slim silver device in one hand. She activated the device, causing red gems on the end of it to glow, and swiped it twice across the turtle's brow before stepping away again.

Once she was out of arm's reach, the guards relaxed their grip considerably. Donatello watched the Omatran aim the silver device at a slender collar around her neck. He'd already worked out what the device was, and was not surprised when she began to speak English fluently. "There we are. Hello, Earthling. And such a curious specimen! Not exactly a common homo sapien, are you?"

"Nice to meet you too," the terrapin managed through gritted teeth – though, so far, it hadn't been nice at all. Still, Donatello was determined to be polite to Jhanna's people.

"And you claim to have a token from our beloved queen?"

"Until very recently, yeah," the restrained turtle grumbled, casting a dark look towards one of the guards.

"Zula," the guard supplied, stepping forward and holding out the bundle of dreadlocks in her armored glove.

"Excellent. Of course, we shall need to test it for authenticity before we inform Her Majesty. And if we find that you have lied about this, I shall very much enjoy dissecting you." She flashed her slightly pointed canines at him in what was not a friendly smile.

"Fine," Donatello growled, unwilling to be intimidated. "But your method of testing won't destroy the token, right? It's very precious to me."

The Omatran scientist pursed her lips and tilted her head, like she were cataloging an interesting reaction. "If all goes well, it shall be returned to you. I will see to it. Suns light your path, Earthling." She turned to the guards and spoke to them in her own language. Her precise way of speaking was easier for him to follow than most of the natives he had met. The guards were to take him to the… something room and were ordered to wait outside the door.

Donatello kept his head up and tried his best to presume he was being escorted someplace reasonable, like a waiting room or some kind of audience chamber. He rather hoped it wasn't the interrogation room, or the torture room, but the possibility did not fail to cross his mind. The six armored guards were silent and professional, steadfastly ignoring his few clumsy efforts to make small talk in their language.

Shunned by his captors, Don instead let his gaze roam the graceful archways and subtle opulence of the palace interior. Whoever designed this place had been determined to avoid the sensibility and economy of straight lines and right angles. The palace itself was like a woman, he realized, composed entirely of lovely slants and curves.

The juxtaposition of advanced technology and ancient traditions held a particular fascination for him, but every time he paused to study a glowing control panel set in the wall or dragged his feet to peer into rooms containing mysterious electronics, the guards would scowl and prod him with the butt of a weapon to keep him moving. He tried to look less interested after that, and wished he had the right words to insist that he was not a thief scoping out targets, just a huge nerd.

As they walked, they began to pass members of Jhanna's court. He had encountered Omatrans before during his visits to Federation planets, and they almost always struck him as beautiful. But those paled in comparison to the exquisite creatures who lounged and socialized in the halls of the palace. Inevitably they would halt their conversations to watch him pass, then start speaking again in hushed and hurried tones. He was surprised at the extremely risqué fashion choices favored by the nobility. Their clothing – if transparent wraps and robes, shimmering loincloths, and jeweled neckwear counted as clothing – was not overly concerned with concealment. For quite a few years now Donatello had dared to consider himself worldly and more open-minded to strange, new experiences than any of his brothers. If they could only see him now, stumbling over his own feet in surprise and wearing a semi-permanent blush. He had to fix his gaze firmly on the guard in front of him in an effort to keep his face from darkening further.

Once Don and his entourage had reached their intended destination, a guard held a door open and gestured that he should enter. He stepped inside and was caught flat-footed once again. It was not a torture room nor an audience chamber – it was an indoor pool. He shouldered off his pack and set it down near the entrance, then ventured further inside to study the room in confusion.

Coming in further, he took in more details that lead him to reassess his initial guess. He saw several floor to ceiling mirrors, alcoves holding soft folded towels, bins with various combs, blades, and other accessories. So it was not a pool after all, but a bathroom. A room for bathing, anyway, as there were no toilets anywhere to be seen. The tiered pools were lined with a substance that looked like marble, pure white shot with veins of silver and grey, and silky to the touch. Hanging plants spilled lushly from containers set high on the wall and many waterfalls cascaded from a series of tiered surfaces to pour into the basins, filling the air with the serene murmur of falling water. Natural light spilled down from somewhere high above him, and the air was hazy and surreal with rising steam.

As Donatello descended the shallow stairs to approach the water, something Glorpek had said earlier returned to him: They're quite concerned with grooming. Donatello glanced down to consider himself with a more critical eye than usual and noted the dust and dirt which streaked his calves, his ankles, and caked between his toes. He craned his neck over one shoulder and saw that the grooves on his lower shell were also packed with grime. Fair enough, then. It had been a very long time since he'd had the opportunity for a proper bath.

The turtle stripped off his mask and leathers and set them on the edge of the largest pool. He waded in to his waist and then dove to submerge himself completely. The heat sunk into his skin and quickly began to work magic on his sore and weary muscles. It was heavenly.

He only stayed under for a couple minutes, not long at all by his standards. Fantastic lung capacity was one benefit to being a mutant turtle. When he did break the surface, Donatello was nearly startled out of his skin by the sight of two scantily clad young men crouched at the edge of the pool, peering at him with wide-eyed alarm. The length of time he'd spent underwater must have worried them. "It's okay! I'm fine," he assured them with a smile.

Their concern melted quickly into friendly relief and they gave him a synchronized, subservient bow. A dark-haired boy with purple lips had a wide-brimmed basket and they set it between them and began going through it and speaking in their own language. Don looked at them, unsure at first whether or not they were talking to him. It was apparent after a moment or two that they were conversing with one another. He watched the pair curiously as they debated and decided upon tiny bottles and jars of cream. The young man with pale blue hair and silver lips had absently taken a comb from the basket, and the other had snatched it out of his hand and tossed it back in. He gestured sharply Donatello and seemed to laugh briefly at the other's stupidity. He selected a more appropriate brush with abrasive, wiry bristles and handed his associate that one instead. By now Donatello's friendliness had shifted towards extreme wariness as he realized that these were NOT fellow bathers. These were bath attendants or spa workers or something, and all these cosmetics and tools they were fussing over were likely meant for him.

He tried to protest, tried to explain that he was perfectly capable of washing himself, but these attendants took their job very seriously and could not be reasoned with. They tsked and continued to banter throughout his attempts to politely dodge their efforts, and kept babbling some explanation but the only word he could understand was 'queen'. The blue-skinned young men were so patient and playful in spite of his increasing grumpiness that Donatello finally gave up and decided it would be faster just to let them have their way with him. The moment they had broken him, the pair seemed to sense it and quickly descended in a flurry of soaps and moisturizers and exfoliating scrubs and other products the turtle could not begin to identify.

Donatello endured his beautification stoically. Their careful scrubbing and polishing of his shell actually felt pretty amazing, but he wasn't about to let it show. They nudged him out of the water and made him sit on the steps while one did mysterious things to his feet and ankles. Don had given up trying to comprehend his mandatory spa treatments. He was relieved when they seemed to be winding down. The dark haired boy stepped back and was looking him over, giving small nods of approval. When the attendant with silver lips held up a thin black stick and made a gesture indicating he wanted to line Donatello's eyes with it, that was the last straw. He exploded in a string of curses and feigned a lunge that made the young Omatrans put their hands up and retreat. Their laughter could be heard echoing off the curved walls as they fled.

The turtle considered his reflection in one of the mirrors after they had gone. He looked clean, but otherwise not so different than usual. Then again, he was not overly concerned with grooming, so maybe that was why he could not detect much of a change. He started to walk away, but glanced back at his profile and was surprised to note that whatever they had done to his shell looked pretty awesome. He turned around completely and viewed the mirror from over one shoulder. His carapace was dark and glossy, coated with something that helped the light to catch on every whorl and groove.

Donatello was surprised to find his leathers and mask had both been cleaned and coiled neatly into rolls. He glanced around but could see no one lurking in the shadows of the bathhouse. Granted, he had been fairly distracted with trying not to murder the over-eager bath boys. Donatello unraveled the items and put them on, all the while puzzling over how they had managed to clean and dry his gear in such a short amount of time. It was easier to focus on the wonders of Omatran laundering technology than the fact that he was going to be face to face with Jhanna soon.

He stepped outside and was not surprised to see the contingent of guards still standing there, exactly as he had left them. Donatello greeted them pleasantly and did not receive an answer. It was exactly the response he had come to expect from them. He did catch one of the guards glancing him over and giving his improved hygiene a slight nod that might have been approval.

They began marching. This time he did not pass any of the Omatran nobility, just a handful of servants hurrying to and fro. Donatello wondered if maybe they had been called away to a council meeting or some other important business. He knew better than to try and ask the all-babe mecha brute squad where everyone had gone.

In moments he would have his answer. A huge and elaborately carved set of double doors swung open as they approached it. The guards stepped aside, falling into formation just outside the entrance to the throne room.

Donatello froze in the frame of the doorway and his heart leapt into his throat.

There she was.

They looked at one another across the huge length of throne room. The dance of planets in their orbit and all the wheeling stars seemed to shudder and fall still. Silence struck the room like a terrible gong.

Great feeling rose up in him suddenly, like a wildfire trying to exit his body. He wanted to run to her. He very nearly ran to her, but somehow managed to retain what he had learned of Omatran etiquette.

He dropped his eyes with great difficulty. She was so powerful and lovely and something in her face had been shining like a beacon on the edge of a vast dark sea. But it was wrong to look at her. He didn't have permission yet.

Donatello walked slowly, calmly, and with slinking grace. He kept his gaze trained on the ground in front of him.

They were all here, he realized – all the people he had passed earlier, and more besides. They were lining the great hall, intent on watching the spectacle of a stranger from the battleground of Earth showing up after so many years with a token from their queen.

He ignored them, pretended not to see them. He moved slowly, calmly, gracefully, towards the only woman who mattered. Hundreds of lovely, cat-shaped eyes tracked his progress.

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally he reached the end of the expensive carpet. He fell to his knees and curled forward, setting his elbows on the ground, palms up and extending his arms towards her. "My Queen," he said in her language, speaking more softly than he had intended. Luckily the acoustics in the room were excellent and his hushed words were still able to reach her.

"Donatello," she said, and the unexpected warmth in her voice steeled his courage.

In addressing him, she had given permission for him to look upon her. He remained on his knees but slowly sat back on his heels and lifted his head to take in the vision before him. Donatello considered her new maturity and poise and thought her more beautiful than ever.

"How long did you travel to reach this planet?" she wondered.

"Two years and seven months, Your Majesty. Roughly thirteen million light years."

"Councilor Kaleni's people tell me that you spent many days waiting among the petitioners." The hint of a smile toyed at the corners of her dark blue lips. "Is that what brings you here? You have come all this way to bring me a petition?"

She was speaking to him in English, so he followed her lead and reverted to his native tongue. "My Queen, I come bearing your token." He should have stopped there, but more words tumbled out of him. "And failing that, then… then, yes. I do petition you." Great,he thought with a surge of panic. Way off-script already.

Queen Jhanna narrowed her eyes and leaned forward with intrigue. "Explain yourself."

"I brought your token," Donatello began. "And I would have come with it sooner if I'd understood what it meant. But really, I came because… ever since we met, I've been unable to forget you. I'm pretty sure that I'm in love with you." He swallowed hard, glancing down and then up again. "And I don't know if there's a time limit on tokens. I don't know if I am worthy. Maybe you are promised to another by now, or your feelings for me may have changed. And if that's how it is, then… I petition you." His voice crept higher with emotion. "Let me serve you. Please, My Queen. I will do anything, be anything that you require. Just let me be near you. It would be enough."

The turtle bowed his head and waited. He didn't dare lift his eyes, but his heart began to thunder as he heard her rise from the throne and step down off the royal dais.

Her flowing gown whispered over her calves as she approached. A gentle hand touched his head. "Rise, Favored One," she said. "Rise and be mine."

Donatello looked up into her shining eyes and watched her mouth form a radiant smile. Her hands stretched towards him. Surging to his feet, he wrapped her in his arms.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Donatello or any other Ninja Turtle. The lyrics which appeared in this fanfic are "She's So High" by Tal Bachman. It's a great song which is also not owned by me. No money was made off this fanfic. Also there's no point in trying to sue me because right now I am pretty broke.

Author's Note: I wrote this fic for turtle-sketches who said she was dying for some more Jhannatello. I had no idea it would take so long or turn into such a massive undertaking, so thanks for your patience. I also want to thank gladrial01 and pointlessquotehere for looking over my early drafts and showing me such support. Finally, apologies to everyone I ignored or neglected while this fic was being written. Please remember that I still love you, even when TMNT fanfics have consumed me.