A/N: Usual disclaimer. I own no Turtles, only Kame. He was being ninja today, hiding on a camo bag, but since I have no mutagen, he remains a simple box turtle.
Thanks, as always to the owners of the TMNT for allowing fanfiction to exist.
Thanks to my amazing betas, Melody Winters and to Fair Drea, for reading and suggesting, and for helping keep me sane when life threatens to swallow me whole.
Song is "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry
~A hero's remorse~
A lone attendant, sitting in the back of the church, listened stoically as a man in a black robe and white collar spoke, his tone low and soothing.
He'd deliberately chosen a place where the shadows were darkest, slipping in unnoticed as other mourners walked boldly up the aisle to comfort the grieving. He watched as a boy, barely out of his teens, patted the hand of a middle-aged woman a bit awkwardly. The woman leaned over, embracing the boy, who froze for an instant before returning the hug fiercely. His shoulders shook in time with her harsh sobs.
The casket was trimmed with white satin, and delicate baby's breath peeked shyly around the edge of a wreath of daisies. More flowers, carnations and several inexpensive offerings were placed tastefully around, seeming almost inappropriately colorful against the somber background of the dimly lit church.
If I die young bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
One bouquet had been placed on the casket, a dozen white roses without a card or any indication who'd sent them. He was moved by the acceptance of the gift, the only thing he'd been able to do to express his regret.
I'm sorry. If we'd been quicker…
A wide-shouldered Black woman was walking up to the slightly raised platform that passed as a stage, wearing a white robe and a deep blue sash. The color seemed appropriate… the color of night, the color of the sea… the color of tears.
"Oh Lord my God… When I in awestruck wonder… consider all… the worlds thy hands have made. I see the stars…"
The woman's voice swelled, lifting the words to the very ceiling of the ancient church and beyond. "I hear the rolling thunder…" The very rafters seemed to shake with her voice. "Thy pow'r throughout the universe dis-played…"
The song went on, extolling the grace of a God who oversees all, surrender, love and awe wrapped up in words so deep and simple the beat seemed to match his heart, even as the service came to its anticlimactic close.
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
He watched as four burly men lifted the casket. By the bored expressions, they were parishioners of the church, doing their duty for a family too small to provide pallbearers for its fallen, sympathetic in their duty but unmoved personally by the loss. The woman walked out of the church behind them, dignity keeping her head high. He noticed her hair was still dark. She was young… too young to be burying a child.
Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh and
Life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
ain't even grey, but she buries her baby
He'd already slipped out of the pew, standing off to the right of the doors as the sad procession made its way out. A pang of regret stabbed through him, but he stood silent, watching them pass by from the shadows.
I'm so sorry.
It wasn't until he noticed the young man, walking a few steps behind the mother, that the emotion hit him like a tidal wave. The young man was carrying a guitar, her guitar, in a cloth case on his back. Even her instrument had come to the funeral, as if to mourn for the fingers that would never again strum its strings, never again draw forth its melodies.
The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had just enough time
If the priest had looked over his shoulder, he might've noticed the figure slipping out of the church behind the somber parade.
Even though the denizens of New York moved aside to let them through, they never paused to acknowledge death passing by. The men might as well have been carrying a couch or piano, for all the attention the people on the street paid them. They stepped aside, without meeting the mother's eyes, without so much as a glance at the sad little box.
They don't even notice, he thought, tugging the hood of his jacket a bit further forward. Just like the night she died. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. Nobody paid any attention.
He knew he was taking a chance… an unacceptable chance, his brother would say, as he moved down the street, trailing them, keeping his head bowed. The early morning light was gaining strength now, the grays fading toward the drab colors of what looked to be an overcast day.
If I die young bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Odd timing, he mused. Sunset seems a more appropriate time for for a funeral, than dawn.
The funeral procession had only a few blocks to go before they arrived at her final destination. A man in grubby overalls opened a gate, allowing the priest to lead the small parade into the cemetery. No one noticed a figure slipping over the fence, concealing himself behind a small copse of trees not far from the fresh mound of earth next to a neat square hole. The earth and the edges of the grave were covered with a thin carpet of green, made to look like cheery grass, covering the dark reality of the earth's maw gaping wide, eager to swallow the offering.
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
The pallbearers lowered their sad burden gently onto the rails placed specially for the purpose, backing away respectfully as the mother came forward. She carried herself with such dignity, the watcher nodded in silent approval. She whispered a few words, making the sign of the cross before stepping back.
The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had just enough time
The young man approached. He slipped the guitar out of its case, and strummed a few bars. If he'd been able to hear the nearly-silent breathing of the figure in the trees, he might have noticed the way it hitched.
The chords slipped from the guitar, winding their way through the cold granite stones, clear as an echo. The watcher wondered if the young man knew he was repeating the last song she'd played on those very strings.
And I'll be wearing white when I come into your kingdom
I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger
I've never known the lovin' of a man
But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand
There's a boy here in town says he'll love me forever
Who would have thought forever could be severed by
The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had just enough time
"Thank you, John. She loved that song. It was her favorite, you know."
The mother's voice was so soft, the bystander had to strain to hear it.
"I know, Mrs. M."
The boy laid the guitar almost reverently back into its case. He held it out to the woman, but she shook her head.
"No, John. I want you to have it. I know she would have wanted it that way."
He paused for a moment.
"Thanks, Mrs. M," he said quietly.
The observer saw him straighten, maturing before his eyes. John slung the guitar carefully over his shoulder, settling the strap across his chest before putting a gentle arm around the woman's shoulders as she turned away.
The woman seemed to crumble just a little, leaning into the boy.
"I always knew she'd be famous some day. She was gonna sing for the whole world to hear." Her voice broke, and her shoulders were shaking again. "She was gonna be on the radio, like that girl from the tv. You know she was good, John."
"She sure was, Mrs. M. She was gonna make it some day," replied John, his voice cracking.
The woman straightened, reaching up to touch the boy's cheek. From his place, the watcher could see the strength sparkling in her eyes.
"She was a lucky girl, John. She was a lucky girl to have a guy like you. You're a good boy, John."
"Thanks, Mrs. M."
So put on your best boys and I'll wear my pearls
What I never did is done
A penny for my thoughts, oh no I'll sell them for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner
And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'
Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'
From his place, the hidden figure bowed his head. If a tear escaped him, no one would have seen it from where he stood in the shadows.
If I die young bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
He stood there for a long time, long after the priest led the grieving mother and boy away, long after the bored pallbearers filed out, long after the cemetery workers wandered off, leaving the casket covered with a tarp. They would return later, with heavy earth-moving equipment, to finish the job, to lay her to rest, probably after they'd had their breakfast in the little diner around the corner.
He stood guard until the rays of early-morning sun were threatening to destroy the last of the fast-fading shadows and reveal his presence.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry we were too late. I'm sorry we couldn't stop those punks before… I'm sorry I never got to hear the end of your song.
Send me away with the words of a love song
The ballad of a dove
Go with peace and love
"Fearless?"
The voice had him spinning, crouching, reaching for the hilt of the weapons he wasn't carrying. The long swords wouldn't fit under the hoodie without drawing too much unwanted attention.
"Splinter is worried about ya. He says it's getting' too late ta be up here. Come on."
A brother stepped out of the shadows, coming closer. The sun was forcing its way through the clouds, cutting through the gray determinedly. The early rays lay soft and warm on the skin of his outstretched hand, the deep green tone reflecting with the darker spots and shades of almost-brown, revealing the beauty rarely seen in the treacherous light of day.
"You shouldn't be up here." The admonishment was automatic, a long-ingrained response to a brother placing himself in jeopardy.
"Neither should you. Come on."
He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder.
"Hey, Bro."
He turned to meet the amber gaze, but instead of derision or mocking, or even anger, he saw understanding in his brother's face.
"Come on, Leo. Ya did what ya could fer her. Ya made sure she was found, an' ya made sure dem punks didn't get away wit' cuttin' 'er throat. Ya done good, Bro. Ya know we can't save 'em all. We do our best, but… ya know, it's a big city."
"I know, Raph." His voice was calm, steady… tired.
"Let's get you home, Fearless."
"Thanks, Bro."
"Hey. I got yer back."
"I know. Hey, Raph?"
"Yeah?"
"When I… you know, if I go first…"
"It ain't gonna happen, Leo." A glare.
"Well, when it does," he ignored his brother's growl. "When it does, I… I want you guys to…"
He shook his head. He didn't really know what he wanted. Not that he hadn't considered his own death before, but it had always seemed like a minor concern next to his responsibility to them.
"Don't worry about it, Leo. We'll always take care o' you."
Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket
Save them for a time when your really gonna need 'em oh
Leonardo sighed. Raphael clapped his brother on the shell. "Come on, Bro. Let's go home."
The sharp knife of a short life, well
I've had just enough time
So put on your best boys and I'll wear my pearls
A/N: I'd like to dedicate this to the memory of a song that ended too soon, in honor of those who barely rate a mention in the newspaper, the "Jane Doe's" whose names are not considered important enough to discover and publish, whose passings barely register as the world spins on at its normal frantic pace.
No life leaves the world unmarked by its presence here, no matter how brief.
My deepest appreciation goes out to the real-life heroes, the ones who know they must sometimes fail, and go on doing what they do anyway, facing their own limitations unflinching. Surely that is true courage.
~Nunca olvidado.~