i. nightmares

She knows what they see whenever she passes by, and it's funny how easy she can read the slight shifting of their stances and the subtle roll of their eyes to avoid hers. It's in the way they talk, how they kept commenting about the weather and how it would be a nice day for a trip in the forest. She wouldn't reply, of course, but she'd grin, and somehow, their eyes would get dimmer at it.

She knows what they see—Raph sees the stray hair falling down her face messily, curling against her cheek as sweat rolls down from her forehead; Donnie sees the dark shadows under her eyes, the foundation just a shade too light for him to be fooled; Mikey sees the pretentiousness in her smile at a joke, his lip jutted out childishly as he notices the strained curve of her mouth.

They see an empty body, one with ebony hair and sharp eyes, and she's not sure whether she should applaud at their keenness or cry at how close their getting. Maybe she should do both someday, when the world falls apart again and her life is taken away by another madman.

It's the thoughts like these that fill the world with butterflies and rainbows and unicorns and all that crap.

She shudders, but it's not the imagery of a sugary pink land made of bunnies and glitter that made her feel ill. No. It's the burning eyes that bravely glare at the pasty skin of her face, the puffiness of her eyes and the tensed posture of her shoulders as she sat on the sofa, quietly watching the reruns of Chris Bradford's 2 Ruff Krew with little interest.

If Raphael, Michelangelo and Donatello see the hollowness, then Leonardo sees the storm inside her that's on the verge of breaking loose.

She blinks, her fingers thrumming against the plush. There's a cold dread at the pit of her stomach, and it grows colder when he starts toward her.

"Hey," he says, and she tilts her head at him, willing herself to relax—or, at least, pretend that nothing's wrong. "Can I talk to you?"

"Are you sure you want to? 'Cause, a lot of people think I'm crazy, but I can tell you, I'm not. I swear, those tux wearing men downtown are actually robots controlled by some kind of pink brain-aliens—brailiens?—who speaks in broken English. But, they don't know … I've really seen them! I know the vigilantes who defeated them, even," she tells him.

Leonardo raises an eye-ridge, and she waves a hand for him to come closer, and when he does, she whispers, "And, between you and me, I think I like the one wearing the blue mask. He's adorable and so cute and—"

She bursts out laughing when Leo takes one hasty step back, cheeks flushed red, eyes becoming a swirling heart-filled mess. "That's not … I just—uh, I'm not sure … you think he's adorable?—Ugh. Come on, Karai, I'm not messing around," he grumbles, one hand covering his flustered face.

"If you're not looking to be teased with, then you're in the wrong company, hero. I'm sure Donnie would—"

"Oh, for the love of—! Tell me what's wrong, Karai."

It's not even a plea, because he knows she'll answer, and she can feel tears instantly well up in her eyes, because—"God damn it, Leo!" she shouts, and each word hurts like flames burning her tongue. She's crying, she's aware, but she doesn't wipe it away. It's just Leo anyway—cartoon-obsessed, socially-awkward, freaking-hero-complex, stupidly adorable Leonar-dork.

It's just Leo, so why is she inching away from him?

"Karai …" It's a gentle call, and she's not sure what exactly happened next, but she remembers confessing about troubled nights and harrowing pasts and terrible nightmares, and she remembers warm arms around her sides, gently holding her like she's some kind of porcelain, and she remembers familiar gasps, sharp and surprised, outside the living room, followed by the deafening silence that had lulled her quickly into slumber and into—

Fire—it licks at her feet and her arms, and she raises her tantō just enough to block an assailant, sparks flying as steel hits steel. She's wounded and tired, but she knows that if she ever pauses to even catch her breath, then the monster would win—

She feels her bones crack, and she falls to the floor, paralyzed, and she sees Oroku Saki stand in front of her, contempt and hate raging in his eyes. "You disappoint me, daughter," he growls, "Now, you will be punished for all your failures." He walks away, each step he takes erupting in web-like cracks, and the world shifts so abruptly in flashing bright colours. It morphs, and she's thrown upwards. She wants to vomit, the vertigo from being tossed around catching up to her in waves, but in the end, she goes with thrashing instead, wriggling against the binds that had shackled her limbs, the chains appearing out of nowhere and holding her against a billboard.

The city below her hummed with life, but the only sound she could hear is her own strangled voice, muttering over and over: "it's all my fault; my fault my fault my fault my fault …" Because, it really is. If she hadn't tried spiting Saki, going after his treasuries and burning what fortune she could find; if she hadn't been weak and succumbed to that accursed brain-worm's bite; if she hadn't laughed at Leo's words the first—the second, the third time; if she hadn't believed every lie oh dear beloved Father has ever said … if she hadn't. Hadn't.

If she hadn't existed, then maybe, what happens next wouldn't really happen.

That the explosion and the fire that had just occurred isn't real.

And that Father—Hamato Yoshi—isn't falling and please oh god no, please, this isn't real this isn't real this isn't real!

"It's real, daughter. Too bad you weren't there to listen to his cries and see him crumble. Too bad, too bad indeed."

She wakes up to tear-stained pillows and throbbing temples and aching shoulders, her body convulsing uncontrollably. Whispers of the nightmare murmur out to her. She shuts them out, and forces herself to abandon the bed.

Rambunctious and cacophonous laughter resounded from the kitchen, and she wishes she could just shrug away the night terror to partake on that happiness. A sigh escapes her lips.

Short but rhythmic raps on the door announces the presence of Mikey, and she snaps her head at him when he enters. It isn't really weird for him to come into her room, but what is odd is the teddy bear he is currently holding gently on one hand and a small slip of paper on the other.

"Mikey, what are those—?"

"IheardaboutyouhavingnightmaressoIthoughtthatmaybeIshouldmakeyouasleeppartnerbecauseahwellnevermindthecardhaseverydetailsomaybeIshouldstoptalkingrightnowandletyoureaditthere'swafflesinthekitchenandsomejuiceso—bye!" he shoves the toy and letter into her arms, and scurries back out of her room, pausing only to give her a fond grin.

"Weird." But, Mikey has always been unique, and she loves it. Loves him. And, looking at the plush toy with black button eyes and brown fur and mismatched threads before reading through his sweet and short message (Her name is Kawai, isn't she cute? She's on the mission to fight of all evil mind-dwellers—and give you lots of cuddles! - M), she decides that she loves them, too.

And, when she goes to the kitchen for breakfast and finds Donnie offering her hot ginger tea instead of that unpleasant orange juice they'd kept cold, the taste of spice and sweetness so perfectly in harmony—"Sensei's blend; he'd like you to taste it," he explains—she learns that she loves it as well.

Then, when she's gazing tiredly at nothing in particular, Raph just drags her by the hand to show her the latest video games he had asked April to buy for him. He challenges her on a PvP battle, and whenever she wins, he just sticks out his tongue at her and starts the game again. It isn't quiet and it doesn't make her retreat to the confines of her mind, and she loves the noise and the good-natured banters and the expressions of disbelief on his face at her repeated victories.

She doesn't thank them—she doesn't know how to express her gratitude in words—but she smiles. It's truthful and honest.

They're her family now, and she loves them; green faces and little strange ways and all.

But, as the day has gone and the night has begun, she's trembling all over again, the peace and love she felt vanishing at the sight of the clock. 20:12. Her one hand reaches towards the wall for assistance. She doesn't want to sleep, but she's tired. It sucks, having to choose between 'to sleep or not to sleep'.

She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to force down the sigh that's ready to leave her. "Leo, I know you're there." A twirl and a half-hearted smile later, she sees his body come out of the shadows, an unsure look on his face that makes him look constipated. She smirks. The amusement leaves her quickly, and she asks if he needs anything.

He tells her that she forgot something on the way to her room, and when she blinks in confusion, he takes her in his arms and plants a kiss on top of her head. "Goodnight, Karai." And then, he's gone, the awkward and blushing mess that he is.

She pats her head. "You dork." Smooth dummy. She shakes her head and continues on, but as she wraps herself with blankets and nuzzles Kawai close, she realizes that, yes, the nightmares wouldn't really stop and the guilt wouldn't go away, but, someday, it will.

Isn't there a quote about sunrise and hope and new beginnings?

Karai sleeps.

a/n: the two finale episodes of the fourth season broke my heart and left me drowning in feels. but finally! leorai made some major progress and im, once again, left drowning in feels. welp. the fangirl inside me plus the current tendencies i have are in need of an outlet so there. have this very and/she/but/because/then-redundant, grammatically-wrong, angst-ridden, fluff-riddled and pretty much unsure-romantic-genre story.

feedback is very much appreciated