'Part of me has died - and won't return.

Part of me wants to hide - the part that's burned.

…Once - Once . . . I would have laid down and died for you…

Once - Once . . . but not anymore…'

-Once by Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova

Chapter 21 – Finale

Three Days Later

"He's awake. He's waiting to see you," Donatello said to Master Splinter.

Master Splinter nodded slowly. He stared at the tea in front of him, lost in thought.

Donatello held a mug of coffee in his hands as he sat across from his father. He'd been on his leg too much these past few days, it ached something fierce, but it couldn't be helped. Leonardo had wanted to speak to Master Splinter sooner, but Donatello had advised against it. He didn't think Leo was quite strong enough for anything that might be too . . . emotionally draining on him. He nearly demanded to see his father last night so Donatello had relented.

Michelangelo piled the breakfast dishes into the sink. He'd been cooking so much, despite Donatello's warnings that Leonardo wouldn't quite be up for eating anything much until he recovered more. Besides that, Donatello suspected that Leo was suffering from depression from the heartbreak he must be feeling. He didn't speak to anyone except when Donatello asked about his wounds and if he was feeling anything new that he should be aware of. He had only drank some water upon Donatello's firm insistence; and he did that reluctantly. Donatello pushed his worry away. Of course he'd be down. That was to be expected. He just had to keep an eye on his older brother in case it went deeper or darker than just feeling down.

Michelangelo had made Leonardo a plate of breakfast despite his repeated explanation. With a shrug, he scraped it into the trash.

"Maybe he'll be ready for lunch. I'm gonna make a submarine sandwich extraordinaire! He'll have to eat some when he sees it. I'll fill it with all his favorite meats and veggies. He won't be able to resist."

Donatello's thoughts turned to April as Michelangelo went on describing his sandwich. He sighed. She had left a few hours after Leonardo had awaken. She didn't say goodbye to Donatello, he was distracted checking Raphael's bandages in his room when she left. The fact that she didn't say anything left his mind spinning and wondering; his heart confused and bruised.

Master Splinter stood up from the table, the chair legs screeched across the floor and Donatello winced. Splinter crossed to the infirmary. For now, Leonardo was still sleeping in there, but they'd planned on moving him in the next day or so, as soon as he was stronger. Splinter placed a claw against the door, paused for a breath, then opened the door and stepped inside, closing it softly behind him. Leonardo's face shot up. He'd been expecting him; waiting anxiously. He shifted in his cot, trying to sit up straighter as Splinter approached him.

"My son, please, do not strain yourself," he said, hands outreached.

"Hai, Sensei," Leonardo replied, still sitting as straight as possible.

Splinter sighed and sat down in the chair next to Leonardo's cot. He pulled it closer and gazed at his son. His face was drawn and bruised, deep circles filled the pockets beneath his eyes. His arms were covered in wide painful looking bruises; fingers, hands and wrists were wrapped in bandages, his legs as well; from the tops of his thighs down to his calves; one ankle was bound, the other foot was wrapped like his hands, his toes covered in bandages like his fingers. Splinter reached out to lay his hand on top of Leonardo's but drew it back as his son stiffened slightly with the motion.

They both spoke at once, "Sensei, I…" "You have endured so much..."

"Please, speak, my son."

"Sensei. I . . . I am so sorry. I have…brought only sh…shame to our family." Leonardo started in a small voice, interrupted by Splinter's intake of breath. Splinter closed his mouth; shook his head; indicated for him to continue.

"I sh-should have listened to you, Sensei. That day…when you told me…what needed to be done. When y…you warned me. I was wrong to question you. I was wrong to defy you. Sensei . . . you . . . were right. I . . . she . . . she b-betrayed…" his voice choked on the last word.

No, he didn't want it this way. He'd spent the majority of the night rehearsing this apology to Splinter. He wanted to say everything he'd planned to. His throat worked as he tried to get himself under control. But the pain in his heart was too great; it eclipsed his physical pain, made it seem trivial in comparison. With a trembling gaze and a quivering lip, he stared desperately into Splinter's eyes as he struggled to continue to speak, but suddenly two large tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. Splinter stood up from his chair with such force it fell backwards with a loud bang; he wrapped his arms around Leonardo's shaking shoulders. He felt his son's chest heaving beneath his embrace.

"Be still, my son. Be still. It was not your fault. Your heart is good, Leonardo. You are good, my son. You wanted to believe her love was true. You deserve love, Leonardo. You deserve someone who will love you as sincerely and genuinely as you love her. One day you will find that love. I know you will."

Splinter wanted to hold him and comfort him as he did when Leonardo was a child, so small in his arms. He wanted to chase away the demons hiding in the dark and protect his child from the nightmares in his mind. But now the demons were all too real and the nightmares had come to light, more terrible and undeniable than he ever imagined they could be. But he felt Leonardo's body stiffen beneath his embrace almost the moment he touched him. As he spoke, he felt Leonardo pull back and away from his arms. The movement small but devastating. The action hurt his heart, but he released his son.

He stood back for a moment staring at Leonardo who gazed fixedly at his hands resting on his lap. No more tears fell, but he could see Leonardo's chest heaving as he controlled his feelings; pulled them back; hid them away. Emotions played across his son's face that were too mixed to decipher. But there was still shame and guilt written plainly there. With a deep sigh, Splinter turned and righted the chair, sat once more on it.

"I-I think I need to sleep now, Sensei," his voice was low and unwavering.

"Hai, Leonardo. Rest."

He got up and turned to look at his son once more before exiting the room. Leonardo sat motionless, still staring at his hands, past his hands. A deep sorrow fell over his heart.

Ah, perhaps, given time, he will forgive me for being right.

The next night Michelangelo was bringing Leo a bowl of soup when he was stopped by the sight of Master Splinter standing just outside of Leonardo's room. One hand was pressed against the door; his head down. They had moved him out from the infirmary earlier. His legs were in a lot of pain and Donatello had to give him a sedative to help him deal with the agony. It put him to sleep and he missed dinner. Michelangelo figured he'd probably be hungry and had no way to get any food for himself and knowing his oldest brother, he wouldn't want to call out and bother anyone for something as trivial as hunger.

Michelangelo crept closer. Then he heard it. He froze, listening. The sound was muffled, as if Leo was doing his best to cover the noise, perhaps pushing his face deep into his pillow, but despite his effort they heard it. Master Splinter lifted his sorry gaze; amber eyes bright with tears and met Michelangelo's eyes. He could barely stand the sadness he saw in his father's face, but the soft, muffled-in-shame noises coming from Leonardo's room was so much worse to endure.

It was a broken sound; his muffled sobbing and choking. Michelangelo's heart cringed as he heard Leonardo suddenly cry out her name in an anguished filled voice. Michelangelo's heart dropped as his mind spun. His brother was hurting for her. Karai, after everything she did to him. Why? How? He stared at the cooling soup in his hands, suddenly remembering something Donatello had said to him before.

He was right, I don't really understand anything.

The sirens cried out in the night; wailing like lost children in the night. Crying and crying, it drove her mad listening to the sound. She caught the distant and fleeting whiff of smoke on the air. There was a fire in the city not far from here, somewhere in the neighborhood. She didn't have much time and cursed her sluggish body and wandering mind. Pushing her languid feet, one step at a time, she managed, somehow, to finally arrive at her destination.

The burnt out church loomed above her in shadow. The ruined building seemed to glare at her in silent accusation; every corner, every angle, seemed to grimace and shrink away from her presence. But then again, perhaps it was only the anti-depressants he'd put her on; to assist with the act she had to keep up. An ache, both delicate and severe squeezed her heart with each beat it took. Pain flowed through her veins along with blood. Her existence had become nothing more than one long sorrowful malaise. Her father and she were leaving for Japan in an hour. Just enough time left to do what she needed to do. It made her eyes burn to look at the church; so she didn't stand there too long; just quickly climbed inside as she shook the can in her fist and then began spraying. She had to be careful. Just enough for him to know . . . she hoped.

Another week went by and Leo started to train again, slowly. He still didn't eat much, preferring only broth, usually at the end of the day. Donatello's worry for his brother's state of mind grew. April remained distant and Donatello knew his moment to reveal his true feelings to her would never be recovered. She was giving them space to heal, she'd explained in one particularly long text to him. Donatello closed his phone with a frown; set it aside disgustedly. He needed to grow up and move on past this ridiculous crush.

All he needed to do to see true loss and heartache would be to glance in Leonardo's direction; lost in his own bleak world; training seemed to be the only comfort he found. What was his pain when compared to what Leonardo had experienced and then lost so brutally? Whoever said tis better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all, never must have been in love, he thought bitterly. What could he do to help his brother?

You could tell him the truth, a voice in his mind whispered. No. No way, Donatello argued with himself. Leo will get through this. He just needs time.

Leonardo continued to be withdrawn as the weeks pressed onward. Three months had now passed since his ordeal with the Shredder and Karai. He devoted longer and longer hours to the dojo, trained harder and harder as his body healed. He still ate little and spoke even less. He lost a considerable amount of weight. His slight body became harder, the muscle chiseled; his face less rounded; more angular. Even his eyes had become harder, a glint of steel seemed to have taken up permanent residence within his dark blue eyes. His entire body now resembled a living emerald statue carved from the hardest stone, reflecting perfectly the transformation happening to his heart.

Each time they went topside, Donatello began to notice he would pause at a certain intersection of tunnels. They would be jogging along, feet splashing through the murky water; Michelangelo and Raphael dashing ahead of them, teasing and pushing at each other, competing for speed and endurance as always; Donatello just behind Leo, when it would happen. His feet would slow, falter, until he stopped. He'd be still for a moment, gazing down the passageway. Until something would bring him back, snap him to reality and he'd turned as though nothing had happened and they'd continue with their nightly patrols and exercises. Donatello wondered.

One night, Leonardo was ahead of them, racing with Michelangelo along the rooftops when Donatello grabbed Raphael's arm.

"Hey, do you know where the tunnels lead before our last two lefts?"

Raphael titled his head, counting back; thinking. He frowned.

"Yeah, Donnie, I do. I wouldn't worry about it."

"What do you mean?"

Raphael shook his head, glancing at Leonardo running with Michelangelo along the parapet. He leaned his crossed arms up against the rough concrete barrier on the roof. Leonardo's form was lithe and graceful beneath the long black trench coat he wore. He started dressing in jackets, coats, jeans, anything, before going out now. No one said anything about it. One day he asked Leo, as casually as possible and Leo had replied flatly that he was cold. He didn't like to be cold. The night air was chilled, but far from being cold. When later he asked Donatello, he'd explained it had something to do with Leonardo's mind, something about the frost bite that nearly cost him a toe and several of his fingers. Which had frightened them all, since they didn't exactly have fingers to spare.

Raphael watched Leonardo's expression from the roof top. He heard the bark of exuberant laughter from Mikey. But Leo didn't laugh, and that was okay, Mikey was laughing enough for both of them. What mattered to Raph was that Leo was out with them, trying to be back to normal, and that was enough for Raph.

"Those tunnels lead to the church," he said significantly and with an aggravated sigh. "Why?"

Donatello's eyes dropped. Ah. "N-No reason."

A gentle tapping brought Donatello's attention away from the plans he was drawing for a redesign of the shellraiser. He looked up as April walked in and nearly fell out of his chair. The pencil he'd been holding in his mouth dropped; bounced off his lap and rolled to April's feet. She bent picked it up and held it out to him with a smile that made his heart stop.

"Hi, Donatello."

"A-April. I didn't know you were coming over."

"Sorry I didn't call first. I just wanted to drop by really quick. I can't stay long."

"Oh."

She slid her hands into her back pockets and looked all around the room, everywhere except for Donatello's face.

"Sit down," he offered and stood up awkwardly. Now they were both standing. April bit her lip.

"Look, Donnie. I . . . I wanted to tell you, uh, before you heard from someone else."

Slowly she held up her left hand. Something caught the light and sparkled.

"Casey asked me last night, in the park, under the full moon…"

He felt the world slowing down as she seemed to go on and on describing the moment forever; he was like out of a fairy tale, the handsome prince, he was perfect, the night was perfect, the moon was perfect, the stars were singing to them, the entire world stopped while he got down on one knee and gave up a collective 'aw' at the sight. He leaned to the right and caught the edge of his desk with his hand. If his desk hadn't have been there he was sure he would've continued pitching to the side until he hit the ground like a felled tree. The walls, ceiling and floor around him faded to black; his stomach curdled and did a sickening flop as it hit his feet. Someone else was talking in a forced and monotone voice and he realized it was him.

"Well, congratulations then, April. I'm . . . so . . . happy for you…"

Before he could move, she advanced, like a killer whale tearing into a hapless, unaware seal, she caught him up and embraced him. He felt his numb body go cold with her touch. Dizziness swept through him and it took everything he had not to vomit all down her back. She then had the nerve to plant a kiss onto his cheek.

He closed his eyes, thinking only for a second, that maybe this was just a nightmare, wished for it to be only that. Maybe wishes did come true. If you wished hard enough, if you wanted it enough, if you were good and worked hard and were honest and trustworthy and loving and devoted and gave wholly of yourself, maybe then just maybe the fates would be kind to you and grant one small wish.

Please don't let this be true. I love her too much for this to be true.

"Thank you, Donnie. For everything." Her voice was whispery and light with sweet emotions, blissfully unaware of the effect she was having on him; the pain she was inflicting with her shining euphoria. She glanced at her watch.

"Oh gosh, I really have to go." She beamed at him one more time before she turned to go. "Thanks again for everything. I'll let you know when we've picked the date!"

"Yes . . . please do that."

The door closed behind her; as it did it closed on all his feeble hopes and pathetic dreams. He didn't remember how he got there, but he was suddenly on his knees, pitching forward, gasping for oxygen as his hands struck the floor, cheeks wet.

The next night, Donatello stared blankly at the plans for the redesign of the shellraiser, crushing it up in his fists and launched it at the wall as someone quietly entered. He looked and did a double take then stood.

"Leo, what's the matter?"

He slowly raised his deep blue eyes up to meet Donatello's. There was a vague distant look in his eyes, as he asked,

"Do you have any kerosene?"

Donatello raced behind Leo through the sewers followed by Raph who was followed by Michelangelo. The large container of flammable liquid sloshed as it bounced against Leo's leg. He wasn't running, but more of a relentless determined march. How he kept ahead of them, Donatello couldn't understand. But he did and they were panting as they tried to catch him.

"Where's he taken us?" Mikey asked breathlessly for the fifth time from behind Raphael.

They came to the tunnel juncture and Leonardo did not hesitate but continued on.

Raphael raced to catch up with Donatello. "Donnie, what's he doin' with that?" He pointed at the container, his voice betrayed the fear hidden beneath his anger.

With wide eyes, Donatello said, "I-I think I know…but…"

Raphael pushed Donatello back and ran up to Leo as he ascended up the ladder. He went up swift and stealthily before Raphael's fingers could grasp at the edge of his coat.

"Hey, slow down, bro," Raph said, but it was more of a plea for him to stop. Leo ignored him.

"Yeah, where's the fire?" Michelangelo called out and Donatello glared at him. He stopped in his tracks. "What? What did I say?"

They dashed up the ladder behind Raphael and could just make out Leo's diminishing form in the deepening shadows.

"Shit." Raphael caught up to Leo, skipped around to block his onward momentum. "Hey, buddy, you really think this is such a good idea?"

Leonardo cocked an eyebrow in his direction but said nothing. He shouldered past Raphael and unscrewed the cap. The noxious fumes of the kerosene assaulted their noses as Leo moved around the ruined church, with jerking and ragged movements, pouring the liquid all over and up the sides of the dilapidated walls. He disappeared inside through their entrance. Donatello and Raphael started and exchanged a terrified look having the same horrible notion at the same time.

"Leo…" "Leo!" They called at the same time and scrambled through the opening where he had disappeared into. Michelangelo stumbling in behind them.

"What the heck is going on with you guys?" he asked but snapped his mouth shut as he looked past where his brothers stood in stunned silence.

The angel with the broken wings stood as she always had, in the alcove where the pillows and blankets that Leo and Karai had shared still lay, gathering dust and feathers. Over the front of her grey gown, in light blue spray paint, the exact shade of blue of Leo's mask, was a message.

'Remember me.'

The can of kerosene fell from Leonardo's fist. His shoulders shook. As if in a dream, he slowly pulled the protective wrappings free from his right wrist. The white shreds of the fabric drifted down around his legs to his feet, twisting and curling. With a hammering heart he stared at the tattoo Karai had given him. Her words as she showed him, '…so you'll remember me…' The memory cut into his heart and it bled inside him. The room spun and for one moment his vision went black. He trembled but remained standing; willing himself not to pass out. For a long moment no one moved, no one said a word.

Donatello wondered what was going through Leonardo's mind. A stab of guilt went through him. He steeled himself and clenched his jaw. He was doing what was right for his brother. He was protecting him where no one else could.

If he ever finds out, he will never forgive you, Donatello. Never. He had to keep the secret to keep his brother safe. He knew he was risking his relationship with his brother. He'll just have to never find out, Donatello reaffirmed to himself, his fists shaking at his sides. And he never will.

Finally, Leo dropped his hands to his sides as if all the strength had suddenly fled from his arms. From behind they saw his head drop. Then swiftly he stooped and picked up the container.

Mikey cried out, fearing the worst, "Oh man! Don't do it, Leo!"

"No, Leo, don't do anything stupid," Raph said, his voice shaky.

Leonardo lifted the container and started to douse the statue. Raphael, relieved that he wasn't dousing himself with the flammable liquid, still was shaken. He grabbed at his brother's shell, his fingers slipped against the fabric of his trench coat, but Leo shrugged him roughly away.

"No!" Leo shouted, his voice strained and harsh.

"Leo, please, bro. Calm down."

Leonardo flung the last of the liquid over the base of the statue, the blanket the pillows. He launched the empty container to one side. He reached up and grabbed the edges of the statue as Raphael grappled with his shell, trying to stop him before he hurt himself. Michelangelo and Donatello could only watch, mouths opened, in shock. With an agonized scream, Leonardo tipped the statue over, it broke through several burned out boards as it fell, raising a huge cloud of dust and ash. The head of the angel broke free and rolled into the shadows, one cracked wing broke free and turned to rubble, spilling across burnt wood and brick. The panicked doves fluttered and scattered above them until escaping into the dark night beyond. Panting heavily, he closed his eyes, then turned to Raph. His eyes were pools of despair and hatred.

"You . . . you got a-a light?"

Raphael, mouth hanging open, frowned and nodded numbly and produced from his belt a lighter. Leonardo nodded as he panted and flicked it a few times with his thumb. The spark snapping in the dim shadows.

"Wait, wait!" Donatello shouted as he shoved Michelangelo back, stumbling over the broken pews. Raphael grabbed Leo's arm and yanked him back just as the flame caught and he casually tossed it into the pile of soaked pillows.

The red and yellow flame erupted with a whooshing, breath taking noise. The brothers scrambled out from the building as the cracked and dry material within caught fire. They stumbled over each other and landed in an ungraceful heap on the stony ground outside.

Leo raised himself up on one elbow, still panting, watching over one shoulder as the flames rose up through the ruined building and filled the crevices in dancing, writhing fury. The fire light reflected in his storm-colored eyes. He felt Raphael's hand clasp him on his shoulder, pat him roughly and release. He looked at Raphael who nodded grimly, then to his younger brothers.

Slowly, he came to sit next to them. Together they sat and watched as what remained of the building succumbed to the merciless fire. They sat in silence until the sirens called them home.

A/N: Thoughts?

Epilogue in Chapter 22...