Part 4
Early morning practice meant warm-up stretches, a couple of katas to loosen up, and then a handful of rounds of sparring. Leonardo dawdled a little longer at the candles than usual, lighting incense at the small altar of Buddha that Splinter favored. Smoke rose and dissipated, filling the room with a scent of sandalwood.
He winced, backing up a step. The scent was stronger than he remembered, pushing him away from the altar. Coughing once, he turned and joined his brothers where they knelt on the mat.
"I want to examine your evasive skill," Splinter said, seated at the front. "Michelangelo, Donatello."
At once, the two of them stood and bowed to their sensei, then turned and faced each other merely with a nod.
"Donatello," Splinter said. "You will evade as Michelangelo attacks."
Raphael grinned.
"Oh, this'll be short," he whispered, not daring to raise his voice.
"Michelangelo," Splinter said, with a glare at Raphael to show that he'd heard. "Instead of your normal weaponry, for this match you will use a staff."
"...aw shell."
Michelangelo huffed as he set his nunchucks to the side. His hands twitched at the empty feeling.
"Don't worry," Donatello said, tossing him the bo. "It's easy enough, even for you."
"Keep laughing. I'ma gonna-" Michelangelo's quip faltered as he fumbled with the staff, finally getting a grip and leaning on it with a cocky grin. "I'ma gonna sweep you right onto your shell."
Donatello's answer was his own smirk and a lowering into a defensive stance.
Splinter called the start of the match. Michelangelo swung high, swung low, then added several short thrusts that kept Donatello backing out of reach.
"Guess that's the only way to teach Mikey how to use something else," Raphael said. "Make sure Donny can't hit back."
"Don't underestimate Mikey," Leonardo murmured to him. "He's just rusty. Give him a minute and-"
With a yell, Michelangelo ran forward, swinging the staff downward as if it was a club. Donatello gasped and dodged right, which let the staff hit the floor and bounce back up into Michelangelo's face. All of them winced as Michelangelo yelped and went sprawling backward on the floor.
"-and nevermind," Leonardo sighed. "Pretend I said nothing."
"I always do," Raphael nodded.
Closing his eyes, Splinter shook his head once.
"That is enough of that. For the rest of the morning, Michelangelo, you will practice with the staff."
"...hai, sensei." Michelangelo didn't move.
"And you're using the practice staff," Donatello grumbled, retrieving his own. "I can't believe my poor bo didn't break."
"Mikey's head ain't that hard," Raphael said.
"Close, though," Leonardo added.
"Donatello, you may be seated," Splinter said. "Leonardo, Raphael."
Already knowing they'd be called, they both came up to the mat. Donatello raised his hand to receive a high five from his older brother. On the other side, Raphael nudged Michelangelo out of the way with his foot, giving him a shove that rolled him out of the way.
"The same," Splinter said, receiving their bow and waiting as they faced each other. "Raphael, you will advance. Leonardo, avoid his attacks."
"Heh," Raphael said, looking down at his brother. "'Cause this sure wouldn't work the other way. 'Less you got stilts?"
Michelangelo lifted his head. "Oooh..."
Their difference in height had increased over the summer, with Raphael enjoying a noticeable if painful growth spurt. Although he was only a handful of inches taller, it was something he could lord over Leonardo.
"Wouldn't need 'em," Leonardo said. "You getting bigger just meant you got slower in more ways than one."
From the sidelines, Donatello smiled eagerly. "Oooh..."
Splinter started the match.
Neither Leonardo nor Raphael moved, watching the other intently. It was not a sword fight, where the first strike was often the last, but they knew each other's moves intimately. A slight tilt of the shoulders, a faint twitch of a hand or shifting their weight one way or the other all telegraphed their first move. Even their breathing, quickened or measured, was a hint. With pride on the line, neither was willing to lose.
Raphael shifted right, knowing Leonardo's defense on that side was weak. A kick, a roundhouse, a lunge that used his full height to his advantage, had Leonardo moving backwards in careful, precise steps.
"Backing up is so amateur," Raphael said. "Try actually dodging something, huh?"
"Easy to say," Leonardo said, crouching beneath a high kick. "When you're not the one feeling the wind going by."
"Aw, am I punching too hard?"
As they moved, Leonardo grew increasingly aware of his sensei staring not at Raphael. Only at Leonardo. Even when Raphael slipped once on a smooth patch in the mat, Splinter stared at Leonardo to see his reaction.
This exercise was not about dodging attacks. This was about Splinter studying his moves to judge if something had changed.
Splinter had become suspicious enough to set this up.
Leonardo frowned. If he moved too fast, dodged a little too well, if he used a drop of any of his newfound power-
"Teacher's pet hoping for the bell?" Raphael said, play lunging just to make him jump. "I ain't stopping 'till I tag ya, shrimp."
Something in Leonardo twisted. How dare his brother talk to him like that.
"Then you'll be trying for a long time."
Leonardo stepped in close, almost to Raphael's face. Surprised, Raphael stepped back, throwing a punch that Leonardo slid to the side of. Raphael's knee came up, somehow missing Leonardo's stomach, and the kick aimed at his head missed by inch.
For the next minute, Raphael attacked but it was Leonardo leading him around the mat. Every blow always struck the empty air where Leonardo had been just a second before. Every dodge, sidestep and turn was tiny, almost imperceptible. To the untrained eye, Leonardo was water flowing around his brother.
To the trained eye, every step was precise and fast, impossibly fast. Not a single stumble or mistake, nothing less than masterful.
Raphael's frustration grew. He should have won by now. Practices like this shouldn't last this long, and he focused on every attack, all sarcasm and smart comments forgotten. Leonardo was less a real opponent and more like something made out of air, wisping with the currents made by every punch or kick.
Silence. Leonardo grew aware of how his siblings stared, wide eyed, of how Splinter held his breath. Startled at his own mistake, Leonardo realized that he was moving too fast, too fluid. He had to fix this now, right now, right-
Standing still long enough for Raphael's fist to connect with his shoulder felt awkward. He could have moved a half-dozen times before Raphael tagged him. The sudden force sent Leonardo stumbling backward a step, and he winced and put his hand on his shoulder.
"Ha! Finally!" Raphael crowed. This his eyes widened and he put his hand out. "Oh shit, I didn't mean to-I just got pissed and-"
"It's not that bad," Leonardo said, adding more pain to his voice than he actually felt. "I haven't been in the zone like that for awhile. Felt like a real fight."
There. As if he had been in a fight for his life, against Shredder. They all knew he could focus obsessively when his life depended on it, when all of their lives depended on it. And hopefully they wouldn't remember that they rarely saw him fight like that, that usually it was a swordfight where the two opponents held absolutely still. That this kind of match should never have brought that out in him.
"Well done," Splinter said, sounding relieved. "We will finish the morning's practice with katas."
Leonardo was not fooled. Splinter's shoulders dropped faintly in disappointment. His father was relieved that Raphael was all right, but his body betrayed how Leonardo had revealed nothing obvious.
Nothing but indignation that Raphael had teased him, like a pet teasing a master. And a vampire's speed, inches away from his brother and untouched.
He felt his father's eyes on him for the rest of the morning until practice ended.