Title: 10:02
Author: sss979
Rating: R
Summary: In the three years since their last fight with the Foot, the clan has slowly disintegrated into nothing.
Warnings: I can't write a PG book about ninjas. Sorry. There's going to be sex and violence.
A/N: This is the part where I confuse everyone who's got me on an author alert by posting two different series for two completely different fandoms. Anyone who's interested in hearing more on that can feel free to pm me. Also, for those of you who may recognize me... yes, this is the Kunoichi Series reborn. I promise nothing on whether or not it will be finished or what it will contain. But later books in this series, which never posted, have weighed heavy on my mind for years with several original plots I've never seen. So I am rebirthing this series, completely rewritten. How far I go with it this time will depend on the kind of feedback I get. Canon for this piece is 2k3 SEASON ONE ONLY. I include in season 1 the attack on Saki's fortress but NOT the Utroms. Shredder is human, the fight happened, and the man Leonardo beheaded did not get up and walk away.
PROLOGUE
August 22
-2 years
9:28. Leonardo's eyes lingered on the clock for a long moment as he finished with the dark-colored rag and slipped his swords back into their sheaths - one at a time, very slowly. It was almost ceremonial. No, it was ceremonial. As it damn well should be. These weapons were sacred, if only for the amount of blood they'd spilled in the two years since he'd forged them. He remembered every blow of that forging, in that bitter cold barn of Casey's. He remembered it as clearly as if it were yesterday. But it wasn't yesterday. It was a very long time ago. And a lot of blood had been spilled since then...
9:29. He took in a deep breath as he stood, walked to the door, and slipped quietly out of his room. The lair was quiet. There was no telling where everyone was and really, would he even want to know? Even Mike had pulled into himself in the past few months. Maybe it had been even longer than that. He'd lost track. Somewhere in the haze of memories, he knew that some things had once mattered: life, clan, family. Honor... They were all abstract concepts now. Abstract concepts that he clung to, but obscure nonetheless. What was life, now? What was the clan? They lived together, relied on each other as much as they were forced to. They all had a common interest, after all: survival. But the days of training together, running together, fighting together... those were all gone. Common circumstances meant they had to see each other once in a while. It didn't mean they had to know each other.
9:30. He grabbed his jacket on his way out of the lair and into the dark, damp sewer tunnel. It was raining again. He could hear it echoing in the tunnels. The sound of running water from the drainage juncture, the dripping of the rainwater through the cracks in the ancient brickwork. Many of these tunnels had been built over a hundred years ago. Layer upon layer of subways and sewers. It was amazing that they were as well-preserved as they were.
9:32. He started off at a jog. Five hundred thirty two steps later, a sharp right turn, and a tight fit through an opening in the wall of the subway tunnel. Two hundred feet to the left, carefully avoiding the electrified tracks, there was a platform. He pulled his hat lower as he climbed up, moved past the warning signs on the gate, and into the crowd of New York City's night life. If anyone noticed that he'd appeared out of the darkness, no one cared.
He didn't look up, didn't glance around. It would be the same as it was last time. The same as it was every Monday night for the past 83 weeks. He couldn't keep track of the last time he'd seen his brothers, but he knew exactly how many times he'd walked this route. Up the stairs of the subway station, past the people all out to enjoy the night. Hopefully their plans weren't ruined by the rain. Ignore them, and they would ignore him. Half of them were probably drunk already anyways. It was already 9:37.
Out into the dark street, avoiding the light from the street lamp on the corner. The prostitute in the pink boots was on patrol, and the Mexican who sold the stolen cell phones. The runaway teenager was sitting against the corner of a pawn shop with his guitar, strumming tunes that he'd long ago forgotten the words to. He wanted to go home, but there was no home to go to anymore. So he sat there, night after night, thinking about how simple life had been before reality set in. Leonardo pitied him. He also identified with him. Deeply.
Leonardo turned right, away from Times Square and the hoards of people who would be there. They would be admiring the lights and drinking themselves stupid on overpriced margaritas and mudslides. He didn't want to see them. Instead, he walked past the souvenir shops that couldn't afford the rent on the strip, right by the man with the newspaper stand and the flowers. He'd notice the purchase that Leonardo made as he passed by, but they wouldn't make eye contact. Five dollars on the counter, another red rose - an even exchange. Leonardo's pace never slowed. Sixteen more steps, and double back through the alley. Swipe the card in the doorway and descend again, down into the subway station. 9:42. The train's doors were just closing. Let it go.
Off the platform to the side, right back into the darkness but not off the edge. Wait thirteen seconds, catch the bar as it passed. Leonardo pulled himself onto the back of the last subway car just before it picked up too much speed. The schedule had been memorized long ago. The orders came from the part of his brain that had relived this night more times than he could count. Every waking hour, he lived it. It was never really far from his mind.
Change trains at West 4th Street. Off of the A train and onto the F. Take it all the way to Brooklyn. Stay out of sight. The platform would be nearly empty. No tourist attractions here. No reason to be out on a Monday night. Off the train and across the platform. Up the stairs and back outside. It was a different world, here. The light mist from the rain wasn't illuminated with neon lights and laughter. It was dark. Almost cold, in spite of the fact that it had been one of the hottest days of summer so far. At least, it seemed cold. Maybe it was all in his head. It probably was.
9:57. Jump the iron fence. The gate had closed hours ago, before dark. It kept stupid kids out. It didn't keep him out. Cool grass. Damp and slippery. Careful not to lose his footing, Leo wound his way through the markers. Somewhere in a far corner of his mind, he was surprised that the grass even grew along this path anymore. He would've thought he'd worn a groove by now. He was sure he passed through the same markers every week. Sometimes more than once.
10:02 He stopped. He didn't need to check the face of his watch. He knew without looking. He swallowed hard, and knelt down, placing the single rose three inches in front of the tombstone. The grass had long ago re-grown over the plot where she was buried. It didn't make it any easier to look at, knowing that it had been so long since they'd put her in the ground.
He sat down, legs crossed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He wasn't sure how long he remained. Hours, maybe. Or perhaps only a few minutes. Here again, like it was some sort of penance. Maybe that's exactly what it was. But if it was penance, absolution should be following someday. Some kind of relief. Anything to ease this burning in his chest. As it was, he could barely breathe every time he knelt down beside her.
"Are you okay?"
Intruder.
Instinct told him to reach for his weapons. Experience told him not to. Eyes open, he immediately found the source of the unfamiliar voice, and he cursed himself for not hearing her sooner. But his thoughts were a blur. It was no wonder that he was unaware of his surroundings. That's no excuse...
"I'm fine."
His eyes narrowed as he squinted into the hazy, rainy darkness. She was standing just a few feet away. What was she doing here?
"You are aware that the cemetery closed five hours ago." It was only partly a question. "If they catch you here, you could be arrested."
"That doesn't seem to stop you," she pointed out.
She took a few steps closer, and he stood, keeping his fight or flight instincts at bay until he knew what he was dealing with. Who was she? More importantly, what did she want?
"I'm Leslie."
That answered the lesser of the two questions.
She was holding out a hand. He didn't take it. She didn't know yet who - rather, what - she was talking to. He didn't want her to know. Though he knew it was rude, he really didn't want to encourage her. He turned away.
"You really shouldn't be here, Leslie," he stated. "There's an armed security guard who does patrols. You very well could be caught."
"Yes, I know." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lower her hand again, slipping it into the pocket of her black raincoat. "His name is Terry. He's a friend of mine."
Glancing back, he studied her for a moment, uneasy with that explanation. It gave her a right to be here; it didn't give her a reason.
"I came by a few days ago to see my mom and he was telling me about this guy who always jumps the fence and comes in here at ten o'clock every Monday night."
10:02, Leonardo corrected silently.
"I thought he was out of his mind. Apparently he wasn't."
Leonardo stared, cautious. If someone had known he was coming here, why hadn't they ever tried to stop him? He wanted to ask how they knew he was there. Instead, he opted for retreat.
"It was nice meeting you, Leslie."
"No wait, don't go!"
He only made it two steps before her voice stopped him.
"It's just..." She hesitated. "It's just that up until now, I really thought I was crazy that I still come up here twice a week to see my mom. But I see that she," Leslie looked down at the tombstone that Leonardo had been standing over, "died over a year ago and you're still coming every week."
He eyed her carefully, watching her entire body rise and fall with the deep breath she took. He was waiting for her to get to her question.
"I still feel like there's this big hole," she continued. "And it's been almost two months. Does it ever get any better?"
His eyes narrowed at her, not speaking.
"I'm sorry." She was blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. She finally had to employ the use of her fingers, dabbing at the corner of her eyes. "I shouldn't be -"
"It's okay."
She was embarrassed. It showed in the way she turned away from him.
"It does get better," he finally said. "It has to. But I couldn't tell you when it'll start. It hasn't started for me, yet."
"Really?"
"I'm sorry."
She nodded slowly and wiped her eyes again, brushing away the last of the tears. Then she took a deep, cleansing breath.
"My mom's buried right over there." She pointed, and he followed her gaze. "I keep coming back with this idea that someday I'm going to say goodbye and mean it. But it just doesn't work that way, does it?"
Leonardo hesitated on the threshold of the conversation. If he crossed it, he was stepping into her world, and almost inevitably letting her into his. He didn't want to do that. But that hurting part inside of him couldn't seem to help it.
"How did she die?" he asked.
"Hit and run accident. She was dead before the paramedics even got there."
"I'm sorry."
She forced a smile, and shrugged. "They caught the guy, at least. Hopefully they lock him up for a good long time."
Leonardo's eyes lowered. To the ground, then the rose, then the name on the tombstone. He wished he had a nice, concise explanation like that for why he was here.
"Was she your sister?"
The question caught him off guard. "Huh?"
Leslie gestured to the engraving. "She was too young to be your mother."
"Oh. Yeah, she -" Why lie? "- was my sister."
Lie because it's easier.
If she was a sister, it meant that certain questions wouldn't come up. Questions like "how did you meet her?" and "how long were you together?" He didn't want to answer those kinds of questions.
"January 21st." Leslie crouched down, running her fingertips over the date. "That's my brother's birthday."
Leonardo smiled tightly, but he didn't respond.
"How did she die?"
"She was murdered."
"Oh, God." She stood again. "Did they ever catch who did it?"
"No."
"That must have been horrible."
"Yes."
"Do you have any other family?"
This was getting too personal. Too uncomfortable. If he started talking about his family, he was saying too much. "I should go."
"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly. "I don't mean to pry. I really don't."
"It's okay." No, it's not. "I just need to get going."
"Well, I'll see you later, then. Okay?"
She held out her hand once more, a friendly gesture. He didn't take it. Instead, he gave her a slight bow, enough for her to recognize that he was, in fact, acknowledging her. He just didn't want to take her hand.
"Leonardo," he offered quietly.
She smiled as she withdrew her hand again and returned the nod. "Nice to meet you, Leonardo."
