Despite hardly eating anything over the last twenty-four hours, Donatello pushes his food around his plate. His mind has been consumed by speculation, trying to puzzle together the details of this meeting with Mr. Mortu. He hardly even notices when Mikey asks for his leftovers, sliding over his plate with a far-off look in his eyes.
What would Mr. Mortu have to talk to them about? He already had the chance to show them all the Shredder's background the day they broke into the TCRI building. Don remembers it all like he lived it himself- how the criminal Ch'rell had tormented the Utroms stranded on Earth for centuries. How he'd taken on the name Oroku Saki and built his evil empire based on lies and deceit. Compared to the centuries of strife the Utroms underwent at the hands of the Shredder, his family's experience seemed like the tiniest drop in the bucket. It's the entire reason why they would have sacrificed everything to stop him.
Almost did sacrifice everything.
So why hold a meeting about the Shredder when it was so obvious what damage had been done? Now the Shredder and Karai were gone, and he just wanted to leave it at that. Donatello assumed the Utrom government needed to hash out the details of what happened on that ship, but why keep the details secret? It all seemed way too fishy.
The unanswered questions are still buzzing in his mind as Glurin guides them out of the restaurant and back through the dusty streets. They take a type of hovering taxi to a nearby hospital called Q'in Korag Zenul, or "Second Home for Healing", a research and medical facility that caters to the menagerie of off-worlders found around the landing ports.
"I've been told that a colleague of mine has taken over your family's case. We were both part of the group stranded on Earth all those years," Glurin says, and Don listens, even though his eyes are glued to the bustling world zipping past them. They pass a market. A massive glass structure full of blue-white lights. Webs of membranous tissue draped like forgotten holiday decorations between shining metal buildings.
"I remember she had developed a deep interest in the biology of Earth creatures, and has done extensive research on your type of mutation. I'm sure she is quite excited to meet you."
That grabs Don's attention from the window, a knot of worry twisting his stomach. Mike fidgets nervously in the seat next to him, shooting him nervous glances.
"What kind of research?" Don asks sharply, his good hand clutching his casted arm.
"I'm not sure of the details. Dr. Xenios was always... reclusive. Very much absorbed in her work. She spent most of her time in the laboratory, and seemed to only leave to collect more specimens."
Xenios. Somehow, the name sounds familiar, but Don can't quite place it.
The rest of the ride passes in anxious silence until their ride stops near the hospital's visitor entrance. They all clumsily pile into the parking lot with a wary type of urgency.
As Don awkwardly helps his brother stand with his crutches, Mike whispers in his ear: "They wouldn't like... try to dissect them, right? I mean, they're supposed to be helping us. Right?"
"Not the Utroms," Don murmurs. Though as they approach the front doors, his heart is beating faster than it should be.
The hospital's entrance sat in stark contrast to the cramped restaurant, and reminded Don more of the intricate, lofty buildings he had seen in his travels to Y'Lintia. The atmosphere was clean but welcoming, and the space was bathed in the familiar warm orange glow that seemed to come standard with Utrom architecture. In the main lobby, two towering, spiral columns held up the yawning glass arch of the ceiling, offering glances of the dusty red sky peppered with traveling ships.
There, Glurin has to hand them over to a hospital representative with the appropriate clearance; an utrom named Korobon who ushers them through the cluttered hallways on his hoverpad, weaving past a colorful menagerie of patients, staff, and visiting families. Some of them stop to stare as they limp their way through the crowd, pointing and whispering in their native tongues.
"They know you are part of the group responsible for stopping Ch'rell," Korobon tells them, not bothering to slow for the sake of conversation. "News travels quickly."
If Mike wasn't so nervous for his family, thoughts of dissection tables and the chrome edges of circular saws still whirring in his mind, he would've eaten it with a spoon. Instead, he keeps close to Don, trying to ignore the throbbing in his leg and the pain in his armpits every time the crutches dig in. It's hard to focus on anything else when the guy they were supposed to be following moves just a little too fast for their beat-up selves to keep up.
The deeper into the building they travel, the more distinctly Utromian the architecture seems to become. Electric lighting on the walls turns into gelatinous, glowing orbs that pulse with tiny veins. Hard materials turn to yielding membranes that pulse and squirm with some unnerving kind of purpose. One hall has a pale yellow ceiling coated in rubbery spikes. Another leads to an unnervingly fleshy type of elevator that shoots up three floors through a slime-lubricated tunnel.
During this whole stomach-turning excursion, Don tries his best to keep his expression schooled and his mind from wandering in unsavory directions, though the elevator even gets to him. But at least he's polite enough to dial it down. Mikey, on the other hand, is being his usual pain-in-the-butt self, groaning and making faces wherever they go.
As the membrane-like elevator door opens to let them in, his ever-tactical brother wrinkles his nose and says: "I get the whole 'everything is actually alive' thing, but does it all have to be so freaking nasty?"
Don elbows him in the side. Hard. Hard enough it almost makes him topple over on his crutches. "Just get in, shell-head."
Mikey, being the ever-mature one, sticks his tongue out as he hobbles by.
"Honestly," Don says as he piles in after, pressing a curious hand to the yielding elevator wall. "I find it fascinating. The techno-organics here are almost seamless. Could you imagine what humans could do with this kind of science?"
"Uhh, no thanks," Mikey the Brat snarks back as the elevator door squelches closed behind him. "I like feeling like I'm, you know, not being eaten alive all the time. Tell me this door doesn't look like a giant butthole to you," he says with a grimace, using a crutch to point at the pucker in the closed elevator door. "Talk about nightmare fuel!"
Don snatches a hold of the crutch, talking lowly through his teeth. It takes all the self-control he has to keep him from yanking it away and beating him over the head with it. "Can you just try being polite for a change?"
"It is all right, Donatello," Korobon assures. "It's common for other worlders to find the utrom way of life uncomfortable. Our hospital tries its best to hybridize different styles of architecture with utrom technology to make our patients feel more at home."
But Don doesn't want the tourist experience. He wants, more than anything, to keep an open mind about this place. He wants to learn everything he can about the utroms and their technology. It's so incredibly rare to have an opportunity to actually learn something on an alien planet that doesn't directly correlate with their immediate demise. For once he has the chance to ask questions without a gun pointed at his back.
These people are scholars. Real scientists and doctors who were dedicated to doing real good in the universe, and they had no problem with answering his questions. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he doesn't intend to let it slip away.
But most of Don's mind is still occupied with processing. He spends their journey through the odd halls and strange lobbies trying to take a mental inventory of everything that's happened in the last two days. They were on their way to visit their more injured family, and with fresh fear in his mind over this Dr. Xenios and her research, he needed to sort things out. It's how he mentally prepares, comparing the past to the present day. "Counting his blessings" isn't exactly what he'd call it, but it does give him a dose of cautious optimism. Going from blowing themselves to smithereens to actual, real medical care was a staggeringly positive trend toward good outcomes.
Those statistics alone are enough to steel his nerves for the road ahead.
But their escort doesn't lead them to their family right away. Much to his chagrin, they're first ushered into a conference room of sorts, with a long, oval table in the center. A wall of windows offers a breathtaking panoramic view of the city, showing glimpses of where a nuclear green body of water meets the arid landscape. Three Utroms Don assumes are doctors were already gathered around the table as Korobon asks them to take a seat.
Happy as he his to get off his feet, Donatello already has a knot in his throat, not looking forward to yet another grim conversation about his family's current state. It has to be bad, if the doctors are meeting with them like this beforehand. And with that seed of fear still taking root in both their minds, he just wishes they could skip this part altogether.
"Donatello, Michelangelo," Korobon begins, regarding one of the two identical-looking utroms perched at the table. "I would like you to meet Dr. Shonchin. He is the biostasis specialist responsible for your Master Splinter's care. And Donatello, I believe you've already met our surgeon, Dr. Obligado."
"We spoke yesterday," Don replies with a polite smile, somewhat distracted by attempting to one-handedly juggle Mike's crutches for him while he maneuvers into his seat.
"And then this," Korobon continues, "is Dr. Xenios. As I'm sure Glurin has told you, she's an expert on mutant lifeforms, and is one of the many Utroms that had been stranded on your planet. She will be responsible for your family's long-term care."
Compared to the other two doctors, who looked like almost every other Utrom they'd encountered, Dr. Xenios was a deep crimson. And, of course, she was female. The startling rarity of utrom females made her unique on its own, but Donatello had little time to consider it. This was the doctor who specialized in mutants. She had done countless centuries of research on Earth, and probably knew more about their type of mutation than even Don did. Just being in her presence made him want to attack her with questions, some of them born from the dark, paranoid part of him triggered by the words mutation and research used in the same sentence.
"I've been very eager to meet you both," Dr. Xenios says with a toothy smile as they all settle in. "Though before we start, I wanted to personally thank you for what you and your family have done. I know you all have suffered, but for the countless lives you have saved in return, we could never thank you enough."
"Um... You're welcome," Don answers lamely, rubbing the back of his neck. "Though things didn't turn out exactly as planned. We're just lucky that ship picked up our distress signal."
"Yeah, I mean," Mike chimes in, "it's not like we could let a major bad guy like the Shredder escape off to space to do whatever he wants. Though I think if I had to do it over again, I'd break something else. Like a finger. Broken legs really blow."
Don was just about to elbow him in the bridge for ruining the moment when Dr. Xenios broke into a grin. "I'm sure. I hear the cast material can be pretty itchy."
"You have no idea," Mike whines gustily. "It's like someone poured a whole ant farm down there!"
"An ant farm? Now that's quite an analogy."
Though Don would rather they just move on to the important conversation, he's glad she was taking time to indulge Mikey a little. Part of him still doesn't want to trust her, but he can feel his worry begin to dissolve. She has a great bedside manner. He can tell. Maybe she even stands a chance against his more bull-headed brothers once they decide they're feeling better. Now that's an obstacle he isn't looking forward to tackling.
"Heh, yeah, I guess I got a whole bunch of 'em," Mike sighs, looking a little too strung-out to turn on the charm full blast. "There was no way I was gonna sleep last night while we were waiting for Raph to get out of surgery, so I just kept imagining stuff. How is he, anyway? Isn't that what we're gonna talk about?"
"One of many things, yes," Korobon says. "I suppose we can start from there. Dr. Obligado?"
"Of course," the surgeon begins, clearing his throat. Spindly arms emerge from his hoverpad, ticking needle-like fingers across a holoscreen projection of Raph's chart. "At this point, we're considering Raphael's status to be critical. Aside from the obvious crushing injury to the shell, he has sustained massive trauma to his internal organs. His liver was fractured in two places, and his spleen had been ruptured from the impact. He also has signs consistent with pulmonary edema, also resulting from the trauma. Most of the damage we were able to repair with a bioplastic technique, which serves as a type of bonding agent filled with regenerative cells that can simulate the body's natural healing processes. His shell itself was repaired with a similar type of epoxy."
About halfway through his speech, Donatello groans internally. Even without sedatives on board, Dr. Obligado was difficult to listen to. Fascinating, but difficult. Though he may be a genius, Don's fields of knowledge leaned more toward engineering; physics, mathematics, IT, mechanics. His medical knowledge had limited itself to basic first aid and some extensive research on anatomy and genetics. So some of this was going over his head, and the high probability that this was the Utrom definition of layman's terms was more than a little humbling.
Mike, on the other hand, is about the same degree of lost as he always is. His eyes had traveled out the window in a matter of seconds, one hand absently scratching at the top of his cast. He isn't even going to bother trying to understand it all. He'd seen what everyone looked like yesterday. That's enough for him.
"At this point, we're treating with IV fluids, anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, oxygen therapy, and heavy pain medications. He was also transfused with a round of synthetic blood product during surgery, to combat the splenic hemorrhaging. For now, he seems to be responding well. His latest round of bloodwork looks much better, and his blood pressure is returning to normal."
"So he'll be okay?" Mike asked.
"His recovery will be extensive. He'll be on strict bed rest until the bioplasty has stabilized, and it will take time for his vitals to recover. But he is doing as well as can be expected, yes."
Don's mind is overflowing with questions, but the most grating one is "How long?"
"We will need to keep him hospitalized for at least the next few days to weeks, depending on his ability to heal. His case has been transferred to Dr. Xenios, and she will be sure to keep your family updated as his condition progresses."
"Is there any way I could have a copy of his records?"
"Of course," Obligado answers. "I will have a copy transferred to your suite's database. We will make sure Glurin shows you how to access it."
"So we can still see him?" Mike asks.
"Yes."
"And what about Leo? He's still getting out of here today, right?"
"Yes, he will be ready to be discharged in about an hour," Dr. Obligado answers. "As you may know, he presented with a significant stab wound to the left shoulder, penetrating almost to the point of full impalement. I believe his shell was the only thing that stopped the blade from protruding out the other side."
A flair of anger flashes through Mike's gut. Anger at Karai. Anger at the Shredder for doing this. The only thing that keeps him calm is knowing they were both dead. Leo doesn't deserve that. None of them deserve any of this.
"Though the wound was significant, the procedure itself was very non-invasive, mostly involving the ligation of bleeding vessels and repairing the damaged tissues. His scapula has been shattered, and I do have concern for the underlying shell, but there was little for me to do but give him injections of regenerative cells into the surrounding tissues and restrict movement of that arm until it heals naturally. He was also given several units of synthetic blood product to combat anemia due to the repaired hemorrhage. For now, we are still waiting for final test results and a fresh bandage change, and he will be sent home with pain medication and antibiotics, and instructions to report back to the hospital for daily bandage changes until further notice. I assure you he has been doing quite well."
"Thank you," Don says. He'll never be able to thank any of these people enough. Their generosity has been staggering.
"I guess that just leaves Master Splinter then, huh?" Mike asks, wringing his hands. "Is he still in that chamber thing?"
"He is," Dr. Shonchin answers. "Unfortunately, not much has changed. We have been able to keep his heart at a normal rhythm, though I do not think he would be able to maintain it without assistance."
"You're sure nothing's changed?" Mike pipes, grabbing the edges of the table and leaning forward in his seat. "Like, at all?"
"As I said, his heart..."
"You said he couldn't keep his heart normal out of the chamber," he snaps. "I'm not stupid."
"Mikey!"
"What!?"
"Please."
Don had no idea what's gotten into his brother all of a sudden, but he's obviously missing something important.
"But I..." Mike falters, his eyes wide and desperate. "He has to be better."
"Mikey..."
Mike leans into his brother's touch, Don's good hand resting heavily on his shoulder. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing that touch meant everything was going to be okay. But they can't be sure of that, can they? Not even Don can be sure.
"But I saw him... He told me he was gonna be okay," he says quietly, sinking dejectedly in his seat. "He has to..."
A vision, then. It had to be.
"I know," Don murmurs, trying to pretend they didn't have a whole audience of onlookers. "Just... give it some time."
All Mike can do is nod, his whole body sagging under the weight of disappointment. He hadn't been expecting Splinter to come walking out of that chamber like nothing happened, but he thought at least something would've changed. Isn't that what's supposed to happen after a vision like that? Splinter told him he'd be out soon. He promised.
Or maybe it was all just some dumb hallucination from all the drugs they were pumping into him. It's not like him to think that way, but sometimes it's hard to be the optimistic one all the time.
"I wish we could give you better news," Dr. Xenios says quietly.
"Yeah. Me too," Mike sulks, his eyes glued to the table.
"I have to admit, your case is very near and dear to my heart. As you may know, I was one of many aboard the expedition ship that had crash-landed on Earth centuries ago. During my time there I had a chance to encounter a mutation very similar to yours. He became a very dear friend of mine."
Her voice had taken on an edge of sadness that soothed away any lingering anxiety. This doctor hadn't done research on mutants. She had done research with a mutant, and her love for her friend was obvious.
"What happened to him?" Mikey asks, his eyes soft with compassion.
"When our base on Earth became compromised, he was accidentally left behind during the evacuation. I'm not sure if he was able to escape or if he was... if he was destroyed with the rest."
Realization is like a lightning bolt striking Don from above, almost jolting him right out of his seat. "You mean Leatherhead?"
A breath of weighted silence hangs in the room. For a moment, the doctor only blinks.
"You know Leatherhead?" She asks slowly.
"I knew your name was familiar," Don grins.
Dr. Xenios. But Leatherhead had always called her Dr. X. Don remembers hearing fond stories of the kind utrom who raised him. She had found him in a runoff tunnel during a research expedition many years ago. In those days, he was just someone's abandoned pet, a normal infant croc she'd taken pity on. She had brought him back to their base and gave him the care his previous owner could never provide. Then later, after an accident that exposed him to the same mutagenic compound that had mutated Don and his family, the good doctor had raised him like her own son. And as the croc grew in both body and mind, they became research partners, continuing her studies on mutations both natural and chemical and helping him to better understand himself.
Don remembers being secretly jealous as his friend told stories of conducting research projects and working on transmat devices with someone who had not only been a mother to him, but an intellectual equal. Leatherhead had been the first to understand and work with him, the first living being to ever teach him something about science he didn't already know. But usually the jealousy was quickly replaced with sadness for his poor friend, who had been separated from his utrom family the day they had broken into the TCRI building. Poor Leatherhead, who had been abandoned twice in his life by those who once cared for him.
In the end, maybe Don was the lucky one after all.
"He made it out alive...," Dr. X murmurs in disbelief.
"Leatherhead? Yeah, he's practically family," Mike drawls, grinning. "Like a weird uncle or something. He was actually one the friends that helped us get on the Shredder's ship in the first place. You should've seen him. We totally couldn't have done it without him."
"This... This is unbelievable," she breathes. "I had thought..."
"Hey, how do you think we got out alive, huh?" Then, Mike has a realization of his own. "So I guess that makes you like his mom, right?"
If possible, Dr. X looks even more taken aback. "I... I suppose so, yes."
"So then I guess that kind of makes you our family, too. Sort of. Like extended family."
Despite everything, Don couldn't help but smile. The mention of their sensei hurt, but meeting Dr. Xenios, knowing she was the one taking care of his family, just knowing that they were in good hands, eased a little bit of that anxious knot of worry balled up inside of him.
"I'm glad you're their doctor, then. We're not really used to anyone but family taking care of us."
"Y-yes. I'm very glad as well. Both to hear that Leatherhead is okay, and to help your family any way I can."
"So," Mike says, plastering on his most charming smile. "You think we can go see them now?"
Dr. X's stunned expression melts into a smile. "Of course."