Domino


Donatello, tongue poking slightly out from the corner of his mouth, unscrewed the glass canister. Fingers moving around and over it swiftly and gently.

"Come to poppa," Donnie mumbled. He twisted and set it carefully into the large duffle where two more sat.

Leo stood up from where he crouched, watching his brother disconnect the remaining vats of their collected blood. He ran a hand over his left bicep. A bruise was forming where one of the few lingering Foot soldiers had gotten in a hit with a metal bo staff. There weren't many when Don and he had arrived, and they'd made short work of the men. The rest of the compound remained empty and still. Eerie.

He turned his arm over and grimaced at the still-unhealed puncture wounds from where Sacks had injected the tubing to collect his blood. It was a mild concern, that he and his brothers had still not quite healed, but it was the least of his worries at the moment. He wanted to get what they had to and get out of here. Just being in the lab where he and his brothers had been tormented, treated like animals and stared at like circus freaks made his skin crawl.

Donnie looked up, "Uh Leo? You may want to also check the grounds, you know, in case they had any in the vehicles."

Leonardo nodded, mulled it over. "Is that even a possibility, though?"

Donnie shrugged. "We have to be meticulous, brother. If there's any evidence, no matter how miniscule, we need to dispose of it. Besides I can store this in case one of us ever need a transfusion."

"Okay," Leo turned. "Call Raph and Mikey. Let them know we'll be at least another hour. I'll go scout around."

He jogged down the long corridors, footsteps echoing as he made his way to the docking doors leading from the garage in the compound to the outside. The blast of frigid air made him falter. He turned and made his way to the van, pulled open the side door, and retrieved a long black coat. Shivering he threw it on. It helped, but not much. Winter was not a pleasant time for him or his brothers, and being out in the cold temperatures not only made him feel clumsy and muddle-headed, it slowed him down. Still, determined to follow through on Donatello's concerns, he began scouring the area for any evidence of more containers. Night was falling, making the drifts of snow stand out stark and bright. The swirling patterns of flakes illuminated in the twilight.

His feet moved through the trail the vehicles had left, though the tracks were quickly filling in with a light snow, heavy once it started to accumulate. He brushed off his shoulder, pulled up the collar of the coat and shuffled down a ridge. He stopped and braced one foot onto a boulder sticking up from the rocky ground. He leaned over his thigh. His eyes scanned the slope for any traces of canisters. A few yards down a piece of metal protruded from between two straggly trees.

He worked his way down, skipping and sliding part of the way from the steep incline. Snow bunched and rolled in mini avalanches around his boot-clad feet. He crouched and brushed snow away from the object; nothing. Part of one of the electrical harpoons they had used on him. He suppressed a shudder with the memory of the pain that coursed through his body. The agony it caused. Enough to make him black out. One hand rubbed the still tender area in his upper chest where he'd been shot, twice.

His face shot up as the wind brought a sound that was not the creaking of bare branches. He stilled, listening hard. Tilted his head. There. Again. Sounded like a voice, a moan. Someone in trouble.

He stood up, debating whether or not to leave it. It could be one of the men. Should he just go? The wind buffeted against him, billowing out the ends of his coat, causing the soft flakes to bite and sting at his face and neck. He pulled his coat around him tighter and for reasons he didn't understand, decided to investigate the source of the sound.

Further down the ridge, Foot vehicles remained where they'd left them; overturned, busted and dented. Steadily gathering snow, icicles clung from shattered rear-view mirrors. They glinted in the darkening twilight. A yellow hummer caught the corner of his eye and what he thought was something moving. He tensed.

The moan came again. It originated from that particular vehicle. He inched his way around the back of the wreck. He peered through the cracked glass, searching. He made out a hand, streaked in blood, fingers reaching and tightening around a strap hanging from the ceiling. Someone was trapped inside. Though a large part of his brain told him to just leave the soldier to his fate, Leonardo couldn't bring himself to be so heartless. He could at least pry open a door so the person inside could manage to escape, then they could get themselves up to the compound and call for help. While and he his brother would be long gone with what they'd come there to retrieve.

Glancing around and finding himself still alone in the forest, he moved to the side and climbed up to brace his feet atop the wrecked vehicle. The body of it rocked and groaned with his weight. Taking hold of the handle, yanked it with a grunt. The vehicle lurched and fell back. He swayed to one side, nearly falling off as his boot slid against the uneven surface, but steadied himself.

Inside, he heard a soft cry of distress. The soldier was female, he realized with a start. Not that he should be surprised, but Leonardo hadn't really thought about the fact that some of the soldiers they had fought were possibly women. He swallowed, feeling unsettled at the thought. Disturbed. The need to assist the person trapped renewed in a much stronger urge. He pulled again and this time the door wrenched free, slamming against the damaged side. Bits of glass sprinkled over the side. Leonardo, jumped back and off, shuffling his feet through the building snow, fists balled and ready for a fight; then when no one emerged, he crept back.

Peeking slowly over the edge, his eyes adjusted to the dark interior just as they met and locked on a pair of luminous green eyes gazing back into his. His mouth went dry. His heart stumbled. He coughed and collected himself. The woman had black hair with deep pink highlights, and her uniform was Foot. Recognition flared. She was the one that had shot him a second time when he'd gone to pull April and Vern from the cab of the truck. He'd only gotten a glimpse before his senses were rocked with the agony of the wire penetrating him and shooting him through with bolts of electric agony. Everything inside him screamed to retreat and get away from here as fast as possible. But a trail of thick blood worked its molasses-slow trek down the side of her pale cheek. Ice crystals laced the tips of her lashes.

"You're hurt," he said gruffly.

The woman merely blinked at him, oval face blank; eyes deep and watchful. Full of distrust and wariness. A gleam of something else; most likely, fear. She probably thought he was there to finish her off. His fingers gripped the sides of the doorway tightly. He ducked his head, but offered her no reassurances. Her body was twisted and bent at an awkward angle. He noted her trembling and wondered if it was fear of him or the cold that made her shake. Something inside him pulled tautly. His throat worked as he swallowed again. He could not leave, not now. He huffed and hesitantly, then with resolve, reached down. Her hand shot up, gripping his in a surprisingly tight hold. He froze.

"I am tangled in the seat belt. My leg is broken." She spoke with an accented voice, wavering slightly from the pain.

She released his arm. Without a word, he reached back and took a tanto from his belt. He lifted it so she could see and she eyed the blade with a blank expression. Was she afraid? If she was, she showed none of it on her face, despite her suffering. Leo couldn't help but be impressed. He positioned himself to lean further into the cramped space. Her free hand tentatively rested on the rim of his shell and shoulder. He felt her icy fingertips through the coat. Did his best to ignore the tingling that accompanied it. Chalked it up to a reaction from the cold of her skin. His head was but a few inches from her face and he glanced sideways at her. She returned his gaze and remained impassive and withdrawn. Watching him with a steady, determined expression. He wondered at her control. She'd been trapped here, in pain, for forty-eight hours; no idea of when and how rescue might come; discovered by one of the men she'd been ordered to capture and kill; but showed no sign of fright. No cowardice. It was impressive, to say the least.

His fingers traveled down, from the mangled interior behind her; finding where her opposite arm had tangled and been pinned behind and beneath her. He had to work the edge of the blade carefully so as not to cut into her. He felt her breath, hot and soft, ghosting across the back of his neck, felt his skin prickle and warm. Leo refocused, setting his jaw in a determined expression. The tip of the tanto slipped under the thick belt and Leo moved his wrist in a tiny up and down motion. The vehicle suddenly shifted from his weight and the awkward angle he was positioned in.

He lurched forward, into her, unable to halt his progression. His face smashed into her chest, his shoulders jammed into her. He felt her tense. Her shivering body going rigid and shuddering with pain. But she made no sound aside from a sharp inhale. He could smell the copper notes of her blood, the salty-sweet scent of her sweat, as well as the underlying notes of something more feminine; cherry blossoms. His throat closed.

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am" he said in a rushed hoarse voice, propping his hand against the side of her seat and doing his best to get his bulk off her. In a swift motion, he cut the strap as he retreated back, bracing his hips better so that he wouldn't crush her a second time if the vehicle shifted.

She quaked and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her eyes were narrowed and glassy. "Don't call me that again," she ground out between clenched teeth.

Leo blinked, gave an abrupt nod. "I'm going to lift you out of the vehicle," Leo explained slowly, his eyes locked on hers. She nodded brokenly. "It may hurt. Hold on to me."

Her hands shook badly as she reached up and took hold of his shoulders, her icy fingertips digging in and pinching the fabric into her fists. Leo eased his hands up under her armpits and started to drag her up and out. Her arms went around his neck as she pressed her face into his chest, into the same tender spot where she had shot him with the harpoon. He faltered for a fraction of a second, not wanting to cause her any more pain, but knowing there was no other way to do this. He braced his knees and inhaled.

"Here we go," he said softly.

"Get it over with," she ordered, her lips moving against his skin making him tremble before he could stop himself. He pulled her out in one smooth, swift motion.

Her body pressed into his. On a subconscious level, he took note of every curve, every sharp angle of her, every delicately layered scent on her; memorizing it to pour over later, when alone in his room and free to examine his motives and actions, he would think of her eyes, deep and mysterious, of her hair, matted with blood, but still like silk where it brushed against his neck and face; mostly, of the way she felt against him. So small, fragile; like an injured bird. How the surge of protectiveness washed through him. How he knew what he was doing was the right thing. That to leave her there would have been wrong; criminal. Unthinkable. Dishonorable.

He stumbled back, as gracefully and gently as he could manage. He felt her arms tighten around his neck; her mouth open, felt her teeth digging into the front of his plastron covered chest, sending a sharp but not unpleasant jolt through him. His breath hitched. He felt heat course through him despite the frigid air billowing around them. Shamefully, he felt himself harden. His face colored. He chastised himself for being weak; disgusted with himself.

She inhaled, sucking hard, and then went limp in his arms. A rag doll. Broken and helpless. Doing his best to keep himself calm, he gathered her up, mindful of her leg and hurried through the now shin-deep snow. Eyes wide, he took in the matted blood, the patches of bruising near her collar bone. She'd need medical attention as soon as possible.

At the compound, Donatello placed the duffle into the back of the van. He turned to greet Leonardo. "Did you find anything?" His face dropped. His eyes nearly popped out of his head from behind his glasses as he took in the bundle in his brother's arms. "What are you doing? Who is that? Is that one of the soldiers? It is!" he squeaked. Leonardo glanced at him but said nothing. "What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?" Don's volley of questions piled up as Leonardo strode past him into the garage. Donatello followed on his heels. "Where are you going? That's one of the Foot soldiers. Leo, Leo?"

With one leg, Leo kicked several crates out of the way. "Get a blanket," he ordered and Donatello stood in place, blinking. Leo turned his head. "She's in shock. Get a blanket."

"Leo," Donatello licked his lips and glanced around. What was going on here?

The look his brother shot him had him putting up his hands and hurrying out to the van, muttering under his breath that his brother must have hit his head or something out in the fields. He dashed back inside where Leo was carefully laying the woman down. He handed the blanket to his brother and watched him cover her. Noted the tender care that he used as he tucked it around her, patting her shoulder once, fingers lingering for a moment before withdrawing. Donatello blinked hard. What the heck was going on?

Leo sat back on his haunches. Rubbed his hand over his head and glanced over his shoulder at Don. "I couldn't leave her out there."

Donnie nodded, crossed his arms. He braced one finger against his lip, nibbled on it. "I understand. I do. Sure. Only . . . uh, I'd like to point out the obvious and state the fact out loud in case it hasn't crossed your mind – she's in the Foot Clan." He pointed to the symbol just visible over the edge of the blanket. "The Foot Clan, Leo."

"Call an ambulance."

"Right. Call an ambulance. Okay," Donatello looked around, at a loss. "Sure. Yes. That's . . . probably, uh, the right thing to do, I suppose. I'll do it on our way. Leo, you know I don't care for repeating myself but you do know that's one of the Foot. You know, the people who were working with Sacks. The ones that nearly killed us."

Leo stood up, moved in front of him. Their eyes met. "Call one now."

Donnie blinked, then slowly reached up and pressed a button on the modified Bluetooth connected to his gear. His eyes bounced between Leo's. His brother had lost it. "Okay, uh, calling one now."

Leo turned and glanced at the woman he'd rescued. His heart pounded and with some reluctance, he turned away. Donatello was just disconnecting as Leo nodded, "Let's go."

Without a word spoken between them, they piled into the van and peeled out, taking the back roads towards the city. Donatello gave him a sidelong glance. He shook his head, glanced at him again but kept his mouth shut. His hands slid back and forth over the top of the steering wheel. He shifted in his seat.

Leo broke the uncomfortable silence between them, "She'd been out there, alone, with a broken leg for two days."

Donatello considered this. Wondered what his brother was driving at.

"Will she be okay?" Leo asked.

Donatello blinked, frowned deeply. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. In a soft voice he answered, "Does it really matter?"

Leo started at the response, then pressed his mouth into a tight line, staring out the windshield to the black, winding road in front of the van, the passing trees a blur of white and gray and black. From the corner of his vision he noted his brother's bemused and slightly angry expression, felt Donatello's building irritation with him and couldn't help but wonder what exactly had he been thinking when he rescued her. He knew what she was and who she worked for: the Foot Clan. But she was just a soldier, a pawn. Probably just following orders. Got herself mixed up with the wrong group. If given the chance, he was sure she'd probably leave the organization.

Donatello's voice broke through his defensive line of thought, startling him into realizing that he'd just been making excuses for someone who wanted them dead. What the hell was wrong with him? His jaw worked. Enough of this.

"How about some music?" Donnie asked in an uncharacteristically rough voice, shooting him an intense look. Yeah, Donnie was pissed at him.

Leo nodded and flicked on the radio. A love song started to play, something about forbidden longing, and yearning. Donatello and Leonardo's hand shot out at the same time to hit the button to change channels. Both their fingers mashed the button, hard. They exchanged uneasy glances and then started to laugh. The tension evaporated and Leo braced the side of his temple against his knuckles, elbow against the edge of the door. Donatello chuckled, sounding relieved and more like his usual happy self. He tapped his fingers along the top of the steering wheel in time with the upbeat pop song now playing.

"Glad that's over," Donnie said and Leo couldn't agree more. Though to what part exactly he was referring, Leo wasn't sure. Either way, it didn't matter. He'd never see that woman again, and frankly, was relieved.

"Yeah," Leo responded and peered out into the darkness. Distantly the sound of an ambulance siren fired through the night and a sense of deeper relief flooded through him. He sighed and only then relaxed into the seat; partially listening to Don explain how he would store the blood for later use; his mind preoccupied as the vision of her dark green eyes danced along the edges of his consciousness.


A/N: You knew it was going to happen sooner or later. I love this pairing.