Disclaimer: I don't own anyone mentioned/implied in the following story. Never have, unfortunately never will. This is simply your taste of what might happen if I did. :-) I'm just a poor college student who loves to write. I am not making any money off this story and never will. Absolutely no infringement is intended.
Warnings: Implicit slash, but NO incest.
Sorry about previous spoilers. Having never seen the Lost Season, I assumed that what I had learned about it was common knowledge. Whoops. But any references to it are gone now. Spoiler free. Enjoy :)
Looking back, Leonardo realized he should have figured it out sooner. The hints had started early and appeared frequently; some thin and barely traceable like a whisper in darkness, but many anvil-sized and lit with neon bulbs.
He didn't figure it out when his fascination with the art of Ninjitzu surpassed his brothers to the point where he could spend ages looking at pictures of young warriors in battle. Their bodies, packed to the core with strength and grace and intensity, poised like springs with incredible peace of mind, kept his young eyes entranced for hours on end. When he meditated, he pictured them: silhouettes on a hill, the pride of ancient Japan. Even their eyes whispered pure power. When he practiced, Leonardo pictured the young ninjas all around him and put everything he had into copying their every move perfectly, hoping to impress them with his skill.
He didn't figure it out the night Raphael discovered a Playboy magazine and miraculously managed to slip it past Splinter's watchful eye. His brothers pored over it all night, but Leonardo didn't want to see. The thought of Sensei catching them quenched any feeble curiosity he might have had, but the thought of his warriors finding out nearly made him sick.
He didn't figure it out when fight scenes interested him more than romance movies; when perfect and untouchable warriors claimed his thoughts sooner and longer than their beautiful female counterparts.
He didn't figure it out when She first came into their lives. She and her laughter, her practical but brazen ways took them all by storm. As the first female in their lives, she must have known how quickly she became the object of a sort of communal crush. Late at night they would whisper to each other what made her so gorgeous, clever, brilliant, brave, perfect. After Casey's arrival the whispers stopped. It took Raphael less than a week to move on, Michelangelo took a couple months, Donatello took more than a year and Leonardo took the same to realize he had been over her before it even began. Somehow.
He didn't figure it out when the second She burst uninvited into the scene, with her angry eyes and dark fighter hair. He deeply admired her warrior's intensity, sympathized with her plight, and when his brothers assumed more, he agreed because it made sense.
Leonardo didn't even figure it out when He entered their lives for the first time. He with his gaze so striking in its intensity, his fierce but wise and peaceful demeanor, was every bit the warrior Leonardo had always admired and something more. His skills made catastrophe after catastrophe better; his presence brought the only smile to Leonardo's face in months of anger and darkness. This new warrior became a leader in his army of imaginary fighters, and still Leonardo didn't figure it out.
Leonardo began to suspect something unusual the night they spent in his world. In return for their hospitality at Christmas, he invited them to festivities of his own traditions, and they whispered into the night long after everyone else had fallen asleep. When their eyes met, Leonardo realized for the first time that the warmth in his stomach did not come from the campfire.
Leonardo continued to suspect when the warrior images that had focused him for so long began to get in his way. He stumbled and struggled and tried to brush aside something that would not stay hidden. They assumed it was her and Leonardo let them believe it.
Leonardo more than suspected on that strange and fateful day when he opened and crossed through the door between worlds on his own. He didn't know what would happen, what he wanted to accomplish or even if he knew how to get there, but he knew that something had to be done before he burst.
Leonardo stopped suspecting when he finally found him. He was standing on a hill, silhouetted against a sunset as red as blood. His feet, spread apart, anchored him to the ground and his arms were still as stone, but ready to whip out his sword in less than a moment's notice. He studied the countryside, ready to spring into action if the tiny form below proved an enemy. He stood, as fierce as a hundred demons but as calm and graceful as a dancer. God he was beautiful. Leonardo's voice, hoarse and shaking, called his name, and he looked. Leonardo balked under those blazing eyes, but a small smile followed and suddenly there were no more questions. They met on the crest of the hill, where the sunlight set one side of their faces aflame and the slowly creeping night cloaked the other in something both familiar and unknown.
From then on, Leonardo knew.