Author's Note: Whoa, I just realized this chapter is actually big. I hope you all enjoy and that it was worth the wait. As you all should know, the corresponding Dam chap to this one is "Umi no Uta"—by this point there is a decided gap between them, and that breach will continue to widen as we go along. Special thanks to all my reviewers, and to the people who hopped over and read the chapter I guest wrote in Kyt's What is Inevitable, titled "Speak of the Devil." The chap will also be posted on my site as a standalone at some point. And while we're on the subject, go read by beta/fandom wife/cowriter/ fellow Tart, Kyt (Kytyngurl2)—she's amazing. If you like my stuff, you'll love her family interactions and Raph angst. Also thanks to Tori Angeli for giving me some late-night feedback on this chap—her fic Eighteen Minutes is a must-read. Reviews loved, snugged, framed, and appreciated… especially now that I'm depressed after looking at grad school requirements…. Three languages for Berkeley, God help me.

Hikari no Dansu: Dance of Light

Warm water was something their family had never taken for granted, and something Donatello had in his power to give.

As children, Splinter had taken them every two days to an underground shower room, one used and abandoned by sewage workers, but which still drew warm water after some patience and tinkering with various handles. In the winter months, the old pipes froze and spewed rusted, icy water, so Splinter would gather the cleanest he could find in a bucket, bring it back to his burrow, and warm the water over a small flame outside the door, and scrub his cold-blooded sons down, before wrapping them in blankets to keep them from shivering. They loved water but dreaded the cold, the long-lasting claw that drove into their hearts and made them suddenly sleepy and sluggish, impeding their play.

When Donatello was ten, he was handed a book he'd mentioned an interest in by Raphael—a tome about piping and gas heating. Raph had had little clue why Don wanted it, only that he did, and one day tumbled in, grinning, after a long romp in the trash heaps, presenting the prize. Donnie had later spied his little brother watching in interest as he began assembling the many differently-shaped pipes and gadgets he'd found or sent his brothers in search of, until one day Donatello turned the faucet on the claw-footed bathtub they'd found years earlier, which they had hitherto always filled with heated water of their own making, and liquid poured out, and began to steam up the bathroom. Beside it was an immense metal bin, which clunked and clinked and shuddered, heating large amounts of water for the kitchen and tub—and since then the winters had been warm, pleasant, and far better than they had ever been. Since then Raphael had become a rather remarkable plumber—never afraid to get his hands dirty—and had even taught Don a few tricks in his day.

And since then, that tub had seen an amazing amount of hot blood as well.

The water had turned a brackish bronze color, as Donatello scrubbed blood out of the many cracks and gouges in Raphael's shell. He'd kept the liquid lukewarm, to stop Raph's blood from moving too freely—and now the innovation which the two of them had brought to their family and both helped to maintain was the instrument of Donatello's craft, the instrument of Raphael's healing.

"Now I have to cement the thing again"—

"Sorry, Don," Raph mumbled for the four-hundredth time, his voice monotone. "Not like I did it on freakin' purpose."

"You're such a handful, it's amazing you're still alive"—

"It's just a dent!"

"If it was just a dent I could take your shell off like a car door and bang it out."

Raph chuckled. "Be my guest."

"Hilarious," Don muttered, steaming. "I'm sure this is all one great joke to you, now you got to play hero"—

"Oh, yeah—I jus' love gettin' the shell kicked outta me"—

"More like into you, actually."

"Whatever. I might as well go find the Foot and say, 'Please, sir, may I have another?'"

"No one's stopping you, though Leo might direct his bondage jokes towards you instead of me from now on."

"Well, we sure's hell can't have that," Raph said, then glanced at the closed bathroom door. "Take yer time, though—you couldn't pay me t' be out there wi' the two a' them right now."

Donatello scrubbed a bit more meticulously. "Don't worry, we'll be awhile. And even if we weren't, I don't want to be out there any more than you do."

"Mikey's gonna have t' take a shower eventually."

"He can use the kitchen sink," Don said, distractedly.

"Gross," Raph muttered, grinning. "How ya holdin' up, Liz?"

Lizzie poked her head up, sitting on the toilet lid cross-legged, mixing a small batch of cement, hiding with them from the oldest and youngest brothers. She had remained productive, active, and helpful every second since they had emerged from the vents, aiding Raph, opening sewer lids, removing impediments from their path, grabbing supplies for Don—she sensed the odd tension between Leo and Mikey, which craved resolution, just as keenly as the middle siblings had. Donatello had said nothing about their encounter with Daphne Roberts, and turned his thoughts away from the fascinating creature, away from wonderings as to her—its—survival, focusing on his little brother. Should his mind wander to it again, he would see electrons, dendrites and axons, feel the pull to his degenerating samples, pondering when the process would end and the matter finally decompose entirely. Until then, he would never be released.

"Cement almost done," she commented, holding up the bowl. "Raphi okay?"

"Raphi drugged," Raph said, smiling. "Raphi very drugged."

"Raphi lucky he's not in a coma," Don commented, grunting as he pulled Raph up to push against the crack and make it less concaved.

Liz blinked, studying them. "Raphi use his mind—feel better by thinking."

Raphael almost giggled. "Mind over matter… Splinter'd be so proud."

Don chuckled. "More like painkiller overdose over matter, but have it your way. I'll never know what possessed you to take so many."

"I tol' Leo I usually take one, but 'e gave me three… he wuz makin' sense at the time an' I wasn't feeling too good, so I took 'em…"

Don stopped moving, alerting Raphael and making him turn slowly around, realizing he'd said something he shouldn't have.

"I mean, he doesn't know much 'bout painkillers, y'know? He"—

"Leo overdosed you?" Don appeared disturbed, the eyes wavering.

"He… he didn't know. It's not a big deal," Raph said, his voice slightly defensive; he could feel Lizzie's gaze, bouncing between the two of them.

Normally, Donatello would have seen through the defensive turn of voice, thrown away Raph's half-assed denials—but when it came to Leo—when it came to his older brother—when it came to o-nii-san—

"Yeah… he doesn't know."

Raph watched Don for a moment, quietly, seemingly coming to a conclusion, before he turned back around, and allowed his brother to continue his ministrations. It was the nature of the rift between them—o-nii-san standing silently in the aperture, unhealing, a wound untended and deep, scabbed over but ever there. Impossible to bridge the breach, as they had no language in common, and had never needed one.

"Hey, Donnie… you busy?"

"Can't you tell, Raphi? I'm reading."

"You're always reading."

"I like reading."

"I know."

"Well, did you need something?"

"N-no."

"Then… then what is it?"

"N-nothing."

"Are you stuttering again? If Master Splinter hears that, he's going to think you've been sucking on your hand."

"S-stop, Donnie, n-no one c-cares."

"You better not start crying again, or Leo'll be mad."

"I d-don't care! You're such a j-jerk, D-Donnie!"

"How am I a jerk? I'm just trying to help you!"

"You're n-not h-helping! And I'm n-not… n-not…"

"Stuttering?"

"I CAN SAY IT, DONNIE!"

"Stop yelling!"

"I'll yell if I w-want t-to—you're n-not the boss of m-me!"

"I'm older than you, for one—and if you yell, people are gonna think you're crazy."

"I'm n-not crazy."

"I never said you were."

"Then who're these p-p-people who'll think I'm c-crazy?"

"Just… people. Master Splinter and Leo and Mikey, I suppose."

"But n-not you, Donnie?"

"Sometimes I have my doubts."

"Like… like w-when?"

"Like… jeez, why are we talking about this? Aren't you supposed to be working on your kata with Leo?"

"What're you reading?"

"Something I found. Maybe you should go work with Leo so you don't get in trouble, Raphi."

"Where did you find it?"

"Raphi, I'm READING, why are you trying to be so annoying? Did Mikey put you up to this?"

"God, Donnie, I'm not TRYING to be annoying anyways!"

"Well, good for you, you finally found something you're good at without trying—congratulations."

In his weaker moments, it still made Don wince, to think of the sudden shocked, pained look on Raphael's young face—his untalented, lackluster little brother, who lived in the shadow of a swords master, a genius, and a massively outgoing, creative, and funny Michelangelo.

Donnie felt there had been something somehow prophetic about their names… Leonardo and Michelangelo were considered the greatest artists of their day, masters of their art in skill and imaginative hand; Donatello, less well known, had left behind a much more hidden legacy of architectural marvels and innovation echoing into the present through the mind of invention. Raphael Sanzio was a man out, a name known less for the artist and better for the angel. In Paradise Lost, he had been the seraphim who condescended to eat with Adam and Eve and inform them about the creation of the cosmos, the war in heaven, and the fall of Satan—he had supped with mortal humans, while other angels sat in their lofty towers, occupying a place between worlds. His name meant "God heals," and once upon a time, Donnie's brother had been a healer himself; and like an angel, fallen. He was mediocre, unstable, often a weak link, a puzzle yet simpleminded. Donatello could tinker with bodies and make them work again… but he had never seen himself as a healer. He could never soothe the problems beneath the skin, cure the origin of his family's ills.

He had always liked to think that everyone had a purpose, that the universe was inherently functional; he would like to think that healing was Raph's place, and that, when he finally grew up, he would discover it. But Donnie couldn't help but wonder, in his weaker moments, if Raphael's sole purpose was just to test the rest of them.

A loud thump made them both jump, and made Lizzie's head swing up like a hunted animal. Someone—Leo or Mikey—had pounded their fist into the kitchen table.

"Christ," Raph muttered under his breath. "I really hope that was Mikey."

"I sure don't—Mikey angry is a nightmare on legs."

"Better than stomach on legs."

Don found himself laughing. "He'll be that when he's done fighting. Like the girls who make themselves feel better with a gallon of ice cream."

--------

"I've got him from here."

Leo and Don supported Raph until they'd made it in the den door and halfway through the living room, where Don took control and led his little brother into the bathroom. Lizzie, with a small look at Mikey and Leo, slunk silently after him. The bathroom door shut. The sound of the shower. Leo took a deep breath, and gazed around, half expecting Master Splinter to emerge and ask them why they'd snuck out. It seemed he couldn't get fully used to their sensei's non-presence. He sat down at the kitchen table; Mike remained standing, watching his movements.

"You know," Leo commented, trying to sound as causal as possible, "none of us really knew you were angry about anything until you blew up. Seems like a dangerous way to handle things."

Mikey appraised him—it was a look that took Leo by surprise, but then, Mike was taking him by surprise a lot lately.

"Dangerous, dude? You're the one who wanted Raph in that costume again."

"Sometimes," Leo said rather wisely, "one must return to the moment of a defeat to deal with it."

Mike narrowed his eyes. "Stop trying to sound like Splinter, Leo. Freakin' hypocrite."

Leo smiled wryly. "And how is that?"

Mikey made a short, frustrated motion, before he regained control of himself, visibly reining in something he'd been wanting to say.

Leo folded his arms. "Go ahead and say it. I'm a big boy."

Mikey paced for a moment, glazed with confliction.

"I couldn't hear everything you guys were sayin', Leo, and I'm glad I couldn't, but… y'know, I'm not blind. I remember, four years ago, when Raph started gettin' the way he is—I mean, was, he's a lot better lately—and I… I mean, Donnie'n I talked about it, an' maybe we don't agree, an' maybe cuz he's smarter he's right, but… Don thinks you're the greatest thing since sliced pizza. An' you're big brother an' everything, an' I don't wanna think you ever did somethin' bad, but… but… I'm not blind, Leo. The more you try to be perfect, the more I can tell—you did somethin' bad to Raph. I've never said anything, so it's sorta… I mean, I'm sorta part of it, an' maybe Donnie is too—maybe all of us are. I won't pretend like I was a good bro either, but I never tried to say I was perfect… I've been nasty to Raph most of my life, mostly cuz I was… I… I mean, you guys… an' after whatever you did, he was like my best friend, he finally paid attention to me, and there's always you takin' him away… I guess sometimes I can't stand the two've you. The way you fight. The way you obsess over each other. Makes me crazy, but I jus' make it so I don't care. It's easier that way. I get mad for five seconds and then I stop caring, an' go play video games. Live and let live, y'know, dude?"

Leo took a calming breath. "You're… you mean, you've been jealous? All Raph and I have been doing is fight for the last four years."

"That's better than not mattering. Everything he does has to do with you. You're all he thinks about—he wants your approval'r something."

Leo blinked; he knew this in his heart, but it still seemed new to hear it. "It's nice to know that somebody cares about what I think."

Mikey brought his fist down suddenly into the table, making Leo sit down. "We ALL want your approval, Leo! Raph always denies wantin' what he wants most—he went the whole time you were gone sayin' he hoped you never came back, and sayin' we didn't need you, and he didn't need you, and that he didn't care about you—an' I know what it's like to be little brother an' left behind, dude! It… it just sucks!"

Leo rubbed his temples. "Mikey"—

Michelangelo narrowed his eyes. "It's Mike, Leo."

Leo stood, his eyes disturbed "Don't do that."

Mikey sneered slightly. "Why, Leo? Remind you a' something?"

Leo swallowed, and sat back down, composing himself. "Mike, you might think that just because I'm the oldest, I don't get how hard it is for you guys to sit at home while I get sent off for training—but I answer to Splinter, and everything he does is for the greater good of this family, and I have faith in that. I only stayed away so long because I… I failed against the ninja council, and I felt like I was missing the point in the jungle. I had trouble with the lessons, 'humility' and 'community'… I was too proud, and too convinced I was the best, on my own, and that the human world was just too ugly to be saved."

Mike snorted. "Save your emo bull, Leo. We don't have too many demands, livin' down here—we joke about it, but we could live without pizza an' TV an' monster movies—we lived ten years with nothin' but rice an' cold water. I jus' don't think you get that we want you around."

Leo blinked. "I thought you just said you hate it when I come around and Raph stops paying attention to you."

Mike sighed and rubbed the back of his own neck. "Yeah… but I hate seein' him miserable even more. Jus'… jus' don't tell him that, dude."

Leo folded his arms, suppressing a grin. "Well, well. So maybe he is something more than just your hero, Mike. Doesn't explain why you teased him to tears growing up, though."

Michelangelo appeared suddenly tired. "I dunno why either… just easy, I guess. You guys always thought I was so funny. An' Raph always got so worked up."

Leo matched his fatigue. "Being cruel is easy, Mike. I know better than anyone."

Mike glared at him for a minute. "I guess you're gonna leave me to figure out what happened, right?"

Leo looked away. "I'll give most anything for this family, Michelangelo. But me and Raph have something in common—there are some things that belong only to us. You can have our lives, but not our selves."

He could've swore that Mikey pouted for a moment, before looking tired again, and rather a lot older. "Whatever. I have a pretty good idea. Nice to see you kissed and made up."

They sat and stood, an invisible form between them, as ever. It was the nature of their relationship, too far apart, in priority and life philosophy.

"How you doin', Mommy Leo?"

"I'm trying to meditate, Michelangelo."

"Master Splinter wants you to do the dishes."

"That's Raphi's job."

"Nurse Raphi's PMSing, he can't do it."

"Knock it off, Mikey, I'm not in the mood."

"I wasn't makin' fun of you, what's the biggie?"

"It's just… annoying. What's wrong with him now?"

"Nothing."

"What did you do?"

"It's just that dumb closet thing I pulled last week. I said something and he got all butt-hurt an' went crying to Master Splinter."

"So you do the dishes, you're the one who did it."

"Master Splinter says it was your fault—you were there."

"And you're fine with that, huh? This's why I hang out with Raphi."

"Whatever. Not like you didn't laugh. An' Raphi an' Don think you're so cool."

Mike began to walk away, but paused, as the bathroom door opened. Don let the air in, helping Raph out with his little cement mixer in tow, before sitting them all down at the kitchen table. He watched his brothers apprehensively for a moment, while Raph cringed. Mike's carriage altered immediately.

"Hey, kiddo. What's the haps?"

Liz held up the spoon, dripping globules of cement. "Mixing. Raphi hurt."

As though reminded, Mike sat down next to Raph, who was keeping his head rather low.

"S'up, Mikey?"

Mikey patted him on an undamaged part of his shell. "You're gettin' pretty good at this bangin' up business—guess it's lucky for me you never drive the van."

"Now, now, Mikey," Don said, as he began cementing, "Raph's great with the vehicles. He just can't seem to keep himself out of fender benders."

Raph groaned slightly. "Yeah, yeah."

Leo tapped the table. "Tease him when he's not falling apart, huh?"

"How sweet," Mikey said in a sing-song voice. "Raphi and Leo sittin' in a tree, K-I—OW, LEO!"

Leo remained frowning at him sternly, after a sharp thwap to the head.

"So not funny, Mikey," Raph mumbled. "Ah, jeez, Donnie—whatcha doin' back there?"

Don had gone at one of the deeper cracks with a small metal pick, in fact, and was holding his tongue between his teeth. "Pulling out the smaller shell fragments, dirt, cement, and glass, from the looks of it. You're a mess… as usual."

Lizzie sat down, cross-legged, and gazed quizzically at Donatello. "Raphi save me."

Don sighed. "Yeah. Raphi just… frustrating."

Raph smiled wryly. "Yeah, an' I didn't save yeh, kid. Donnie did. I jus' smacked a couple a' ninjas around."

Leo stood; he placed a hand on Raph's shoulder and paced away, disappearing into the dojo.

Meditation. Replacing candles. Sweeping up fragments of dripped wax, watching the stalactites melted off table edges and frozen, off-white. The broom, swept into the east, sweeping away the evil, sweeping away his thoughts. A sprinkle of salt on the tatami mats, checking the tins of sencha green tea, powdering matcha, taking down the dried jasmine from inside some old, heavy volumes, grinding them down and adding them to an airtight container—jasmine to calm the nerves, green tea for contemplation, if he could hear himself think over the many other selves clambering for his attention within. Sweeping the dust from Master Splinter's low table, from off the little wooden box where four medals lay—awards of mastery, presented and unpresented, side-by-side, some kinetic and others only potential. Sweeping the dust to the east, to be eaten by the rising sun. To the east, where his father would find it, and swipe it away like a bothersome gnat.

Leo knelt, to a presence made known only by its absence, on the other side of the table. It pained him as the thought crept, like the frost, into his shell—someday he would climb the insurmountable, and rest on the other side of that table, and he finally knew it, fully, then, staring at the shadow of his unseen father. Someday, his relationship to his brothers would have to change forever. He would become Master Hamato Leonardo, o-nii-sama, the shishou, the leader of this family and this dojo; he would grieve his father, and he would grieve alone, sitting on a lonely tier above his siblings. It seemed impossible that he had chosen this, but chosen it he had—it ran through the multiplicitous streams that made up the laminated soil of himself.

To go from that thirteen-year-old child, who dreamt of nothing but his brother lying by his side, gazing out at unattainable sunlight, to the master…

Unattainable sunlight.

"Missed me, missed me!"

"Now I gotta kiss you?"

"Ha! Missed again!"

Sweep the evil to the east…

His knuckles were growing pale green.

"I just wanted him to like me…"

Honey eyes, dark depths, surface reflecting golden sunlight.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Raphael may not want to have been stuck in that moment, but Leo could not escape it… it screamed to burst out of him, to be known… in his confidence, it seemed nothing could hurt him ever again—so why not make it known? Why not drag it out of the shadows, stop it from being that unspoken secret? But like a child given succor beside his heart, he had nourished it close to himself, his secret, his possession.

Unattainable sunlight, refracting in bright, short-lived flashes…

He opened his eyes and he was lying in a tunnel, dry in the summer sun filtering down through a grid—foot traffic passed above them. Raphi pointed at a woman decked to the nines in leopard print.

"And that one's rushin' to the hospital cuz her heels froze her feet in the tippy-toe position, and she can't bear to show up to her podiatrist like that cuz she's got this massive crush on him. Your turn!"

"Her podiatrist? Where d'you get this stuff?"

"Donnie," Raphi replied, with a grin. "He's like a jukebox of crazy, long words that no one needs. I mean, why not call it a foot doctor? And why all these phobia names? Why not just say, 'fear of spiders'? It's actually shorter and makes more sense to everybody than arachnophobia, right?"

Leo chuckled. "Too bad the dictionaries are run by Donnies and not Raphis, Raphi. Japanese makes more sense, totemo subarashii."

Raphi grinned. "Mucho, très logicale, Leo-sempai."

"Sempai? That's for schools, Raphi."

"We're in school. The dojo's like school, right? And you always lead us through warm-ups and katas, so that makes you sempai." He said it without relish, only cold, hard sense.

Leo blinked, and looked back out at the passerby. He pointed to a rather corpulent man in a suit, checking his watch.

"That guy's cheating on his wife with a secretary and he's checking how long his alibi will last. Little does he know the secretary is planning his murder if he refuses to marry her without a pre-nup"—

"You're so weird, Leo," Raphi chuckled. "What's a pre-nup?"

Leo grinned at him. "It was on one of sensei's soaps—it's this paper people sign before they get married about how they'll split up their stuff if they ever separate."

Raphi blinked for a moment. "Oh. That's kinda… scary. She'd kill him just cuz he wanted her to sign some paper about stuff?"

"I dunno, it was on the soap opera, so I guess so. Some humans are bad like that."

Raphi licked his lips. "I know… I watch the news with Master Splinter sometimes. Lots of stabbings and shootings and this other one, evisceration"—

Leo stopped his words with a kiss. Raphi eagerly answered it, lying on his side—he drew back and came in again, after looking at Leo's face for half a second.

Heaven in the light touching of lips, gentle caresses in a life of brothers tumbling, fighting and punching, every touch accompanied by pain, the lessons of the tough—now feather-light over the arms, the ghost of a stroke, Raphael stealing his breath, nibbling his bottom lip

Had it happened, or was it a product of his fantasies, a hybrid of both, bastard child of his mind and memory?

Leo drew away slowly from the kiss; when he opened his eyes, savoring the feeling, he found himself back in the dojo, kneeling among sunless cold drafts, his dream vanished, and Raphael was no longer twelve, but almost seventeen, on his knees facing him—apparition, a blink of dreams, memory's tricks, an old man's folly, a mere figment of a long meditation, from which he must learn a lesson?

"Raph…"

"Leo," Raph said; his eyes had a steely resolve. How long had Leo been sitting here, staring at Master Splinter's empty place—the place he must someday occupy? "It's uh… you should have some breakfast."

"Raph, I have to… you're… no, that's not the right word…" How to say such a thing in English, when his internal dialogue, in shadowy moments, shifted into that hybrid speech, their secret language. "You're… kirei na." He heard the inflection as it warbled off his own tongue, the unstressed music—he sounded beautiful to his own ears. Truth was beautiful.

Raphael blinked at him. Leo must have been gone for hours, as Raph no longer appeared half-asleep, unable to focus himself—he was, instead, sharp and purposeful, but allowing Leo to say his fill.

"Kirei? My Japanese ain't so good anymore, Leo—but I don't think"—

Leo reached up, grasping his brother's shoulder.

"Clean. You're clean. Everything you ever did back then… it was innocent, and… and you really were my best friend. I couldn't've had a better one."

Raph's eyes drifted from Leo's heartbroken face to Splinter's absence, the ghost that haunted their steps and slicked their mental pathways.

"I can't be your friend. You got this whole life you're steppin' into, and you got the blueprints laid out for yourself. I'd only be in yer way—no matter what the two've us wanted. What we want… doesn't matter. Never has."

Leo searched that depth of dark honey, trapped sunshine in an oubliette. "And what d'you want, Raphael?"

"That… I mean, that belongs t' me, bro."

Leo felt himself smile; he was suddenly sure that something in him had indeed broken, though blissfully so—a broken piece in his wholeness. Broken silence. He drew their faces closer.

"You belong to me, Raphael. You always will, so long as I'm alive. You'd lay your life down at my feet, and you've already made me a gift of your sanity and your soul. You're a loyal person, after all—aren't you? For all the raging you do against me, now matter how much you run away—you always come back. A… bird… in the hand…"

"Stop." Raph's eyes were clear. "Leo… you were innocent too. Jus' cuz you know now… I mean, don't expect… jus' 'cause you seemed so old back then, doesn't mean you really knew any better than me. You were jus' better at makin' it look like you did." He again looked at that glaringly empty place, screaming silence, flashing darkness. He saw what his twin could see, an old connection descried from the bottom of immobile wells. "You'll be there someday, an' me… I'll still be over here, bro. I'm always gonna be backin' you up, but you gotta know… I'm not your friend. I'm your brother. No matter what I want, no matter what you want. You'll keep blamin' yerself forever—that's why… that's why… Leo—we gotta"—

Leo's hand dropped numbly. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears—deep, chill, dread. "No. It'd… I mean… it'd kill him to know…"

The resolve refused to melt from Raphael's eyes, joined by pain and something like guilt. "I shoulda told him back then, Leo—I thought he'd punish you and split us up. It was stupid… I mean, you needed help just as much's I did. Maybe you're the one who led the show, but I… I mean… I let it happen. I let myself forget. I let you take it all, and I let myself become… this. But before you even start thinkin' about takin' that place, we gotta put this to rest. We gotta tell Master Splinter—if he ever comes home."

Leo swallowed, allowed Raph to grasp his hand tightly for a second before releasing it. "And if he doesn't?"

Raph sighed—a massive, truly weary sound, shuddering and deep. "We'll tell Mike and Don the whole story. They both have some half-assed idea… we'll just get ridda the myths, start over."

Leo's eyes grew far away. "Start over? No… there's no starting over. We're brothers, we became a family—there's no starting over 'til we die, Raph."

Til we die.

Death is not an option for o-nii-san. Unless it is the only way in which he may atone.

Leo blinked, disturbed by a sudden thought and its ensign, a shudder.

"We'll… we'll tell Master Splinter. I'll atone before I'm head of this family—no matter what."

Raph watched him for a long moment, a slight frown between his eyes. They clasped hands in the air for a long moment, lingering in the heat trapped within the gesture.

Then it was gone, and they were alone, ensnared in respective mirror worlds, haunted by separate thoughts. Slathered in cold beds, able to hear the other's breathing but alone nevertheless, they lingered before the fall, poised on the cliff. Soon the secret would no longer belong to them. Leo let Raph pull him up, towards breakfast; he pushed down the urge to keep him in the dojo longer, to speak to him alone for as much time as possible, to stretch out the sanctuary indefinitely.

A flash, unattainable sunlight, pigeons flying into the sun, the cry of the mockingbird. Raphael was looking back at him. Leonardo wished he could freeze that image forever, an impression of light refracted upon the film of his eyelids. A moment of innocence. Unattainable sunlight… the only thing he had ever truly wanted for himself. A tendril of scent, the after-essence of memory, a shade of déjà vu—he blinked, and he is lying on the floor of a tunnel again, resting beside a friend whose eyes reflect his own, gazing into the hot fire of an untouchable star—warmth that bathes him still.