Future Flash-6 months from the morning after the night before
White out conditions. Whipping winds and blowing snow. Bitter cold. A lone figure hunkered down on a rooftop, braced against a chimney. Both invisible.
The wind tore at the thick wool blanket he wore as his only defense against the weather. Just now there was some comfort in the numbing cold. It eliminated so much, distilled thought down to its essence.
What was it he had said to his brother? It wasn't that long ago, a couple of months, but the conversation kept returning to haunt him.
Just wait and our path will be revealed to us….
Right. And last night, Raph again. Now asking him now what motivated him. And he couldn't answer. At one time he could.
If he fought through all his own mental gymnastics, if he fought his way down to the truth, he knew he was just going through the motions. He knew all this bloodshed, all this wasted life they found themselves caught up in, came down to a last ditch effort to hold themselves together. Some twisted shot at finding, or perhaps, creating, meaning. The hope for some resolution, some tangible outcome, may be what motivated his brothers, but he saw through it, even if they didn't . And he knew, too, that he had to do this once more. One more kata. Their lives depended upon him leading them through it, and again, doing it perfectly.
So you see I have come to doubt all that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs. The only truth I know is….
What was that song? How did it go? The only truth I know is….
What?
The bitter winter, and this unfathomable war that somehow they, he, held some responsibility for causing, threatened to devour him. There was more at stake here than defeating some external enemy. Whether or not they survived as a family, as a concept, hung in the balance. This was his stand.
Leonardo's last stand.
His breath was warm in her hair, his hands moving over her, tracing the curves, the warm, soft places, with such unlikely tenderness. She could feel him moving, surrendering to some part of himself separate from mind, some part that gave him permission to abandon whatever held him in check. She pulled him closer, reaching to meet him as he began to lose himself, let go. And accepting him, drawing him to her, so sweet….
She awoke with a start. It was still dark. Freezing cold in the small room. That was so real…she could still taste him…still feel him….
She reached for her daughter, curled beside her, and covered her with the quilt. She kissed the tangled fluff of pale blond hair. The child sighed and settled deeper into the nest of blankets.
Her breath hung white clouds in the room. Better get up and start the fire. She rolled to her side, on the other side of the bed, drawing her knees up so as not to strain the tender muscles supporting her abdomen. She sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, pulling her shawl around herself and contemplating the round melon of a belly where her lap had once been.
Alex's last stand… she thought. No, his last victory…no, his last….
Just his last.
She knew it wasn't a very nice way to think about an innocent, unborn child. She rose and tip-toed a little stiffly into the main room of the small cabin. Belladonna lay sleeping, snoring softly on the low cot. It was unusual to be out of bed before her teacher, but lately dreams and discomfort drove her from sleep more and more.
She hefted a large log into the fireplace, checked the damper, and picked up the small hatchet. The coals were still warm; it wouldn't take much effort to ignite the splinters she shaved from the block of wood.
She would probably love this child when he was born, just as much as she did Rose. Rose was Alex's too, after all.
Just…why did she have to keep dreaming…?
A gust of wind sent a rattling flurry of ice against the window, making her jump.
Better get busy, get going, get doing something…before the sadness catches up with me again, and I simply stop….