#throat cold

(Follow-up to Day 5)

“That ‘little throat cold’ is just as stubborn as you are! Master Splinter told you not to push yourself, Leonardo, but did you listen? No! You—”

Donatello elbowed Raphael in the plastron, both to interrupt his rant and to get past him, setting a steaming water bowl nearby for added moisture in the air. “What Raphael means is it’s been nearly four weeks of hearing you cough day in and night out. You haven’t slowed down long enough to shake it and now you’re backsliding even worse. It’s gotta be bronchitis at this point.”

“And what Donatello means,” Michelangelo cut in, squeezing Leonardo’s uncomfortably warm shoulder, “is you freaked everybody way far out, dude! Making that mess of mucus on the dojo floor, and your face was practically as blue as your mask! Or—whatever color green and blue and sorta grayish make.”

“I-I thought I was getting better, honest,” Leonardo croaked. The tight, whistling pressure in his chest didn’t inspire confidence. “Think that pizza burning yesterday…all the s-smoke just re-aggravated everyth-hhhh—” Wheezing, he doubled over against the wrenching pain in his plastron. As Michelangelo thumped his shell, he gagged, depositing another glob of mucus into the cloth that used to be a cold compress. “Hhngh. M’sorry…”

“We don’t want your apologies,” Raphael huffed. “We want you to keep your shell parked right here, let Donatello shove his nebufier in your face—”

“Nebulizer,” Donatello corrected, doubling back to the entryway to retrieve it.

“—and rest. Trust us to take the lead for once.” Just let us help you.

He didn’t deserve their help after giving them a scare but…if this was how he could make it up to them…

Leonardo had always believed if he could still lift his swords, he should still be cleared to go into the field. Sure, it may make the mission miserable but duty called regardless of personal feelings. The team had gone to battle with turtle pox and came out the other side without much harm done. Why should a little throat cold be any different?

So maybe he wouldn’t be up for any rallying battle cries. That was why he opted for discreet reconnaissance, crawling with the others along the catwalks far above Shredder’s head as he fiddled with whatever death machine Krang had supplied this time.

“Donatello, see if you can get a good angle to analyze that machine,” Leonardo whispered, struggling to suppress a wince. Every word felt like claws tearing at the back of his throat. “Michelangelo, you and Ra—”

Without warning the claws caught, dug viciously in and he coughed, harsh, grating barks ripped from his chest with such force that he lurched and nearly tipped off the edge.

“Geez!” Raphael scrambled to steady him as he covered his mouth to muffle the fit. “I know we’re on the catwalks but you don’t need to commit to hacking up a hairball! Keep it down before—”

“It’s the turtles!” Bebop exclaimed, earning groans from Donatello and Michelangelo and another half-stifled, strangled cough from Leonardo.

“—they hear us. Right on cue,” Raphael sighed. “It’s almost like those guys got a copy of the script. You stay put, stealthless leader.”

“Yeah, catch your breath, compadre. We’ll handle this!”