Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles, otherwise I would put them in more compromising positions like this all the time.

Chapter 18

Sunday

He stood at the front of the congregation. His robes had survived, but that was only because they were in the church and not his home when it burned down. He felt naked in front of the town, bruised, battered, scarred, and branded, and he didn't even have his personal Bible anymore to hold onto and take comfort in. He still bore the bruises of the town's attempt on his life, and it was all too much to stand there and pretend. He had been silent for far longer than he intended - because what was he supposed to say? Their eyes cut into his person in a way he never felt before, like he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, but needed desperately to run from them.

Donatello's heart pounded faster, and he glanced up at the congregation, and noted that most of their eyes were lowered to him. It helped, but not enough to feel as if speaking to them—which used to be easy— was a feasible possibility for him. Yet, he watched as few dared to look at him. He didn't know if it was from shame, them shunning him, or a deep and weary ache in their souls, but they wouldn't meet his eyes.

He himself felt the weariness, but he could never shun them— even after what they had done to him. He spent his life in love, in service to God and his children, and though his life had changed and would continue to change dramatically, he could never kill that side of himself. He wouldn't. He wouldn't allow his soul to harden when it was within his power to forgive and to love and to never turn his back on these people— no matter how much the feelings wanted him too.

He sighed and the congregation looked to him, raising their eyes and waiting.

He swallowed. Nodded. Raised his head and spoke.

"I'm… certain many of you wish to know why God has allowed this to happen. We have more funerals, more grieving to do. We'll need to rebuild; we have to heal… and many of us can't afford it. I wish I could tell you the why, but I can't. All I know for certain—" he stopped, his throat aching, and he knew he wouldn't be able to talk for long. The rope had hurt him too much for the typical sermon he would give. Short and simple it would be then. They needed to know, more than anything else, how to go on, even if they didn't want him.

He inhaled, lifted his hand to rub his throat, but stopped halfway and gripped the pulpit.

"All I know for certain," he began again, "is we are never given more than we are capable of handling. God doesn't want us to suffer, but that is human existence and there will always be pain and suffering in this mortal world. He grants us comfort when times are at the bleakest. He promises us that, though the pain will never leave, it will ease and become bearable. He loves us, and especially so when we are at our lowest.

"God's realm is perfect, without hate and fear, without pain and suffering. But we live in a mortal world where men make choices. Humanity is not yet perfect, so we must endure if we are to someday walk in His kingdom above. He will guide us through these times if we stay strong in faith and understanding. We need to unite as one if we wish to rebuild. By exemplifying all of His teachings, we will heal, and we will find joy again. It'll be slow, and some of us will have to seek forgiveness for questioning Him; but I can honestly say that though our free will was taken away by those men who raided our homes and ended the lives of our friends and family, God didn't guide their actions, but he did guide ours. That I know.

"I know we will have days of heartache for those we've lost, I know we will cry out in prayer, wanting answers that will not come. But if we hold strong, to God, to each other, and the faith in his power to guide us, our joy will return tenfold."

Donnie swallowed hard; this time unable to stop himself from rubbing his sore throat. His skin still hurt where the rope had rubbed against his skin. He had to be strong for them. He saw Mikey in the middle of the congregation, and he saw LH, sitting with Miss Milo and Leonardo of all people. Even Marshal Bishop and his group of men stood at the back of the church, hats off and in their hands as they listened to him. But it was Raphael, in the front row, whom he felt like he was confessing his sins too. He looked away from those burning eyes, his palms moist and his mouth dry.

"The… the events of the last few weeks have been… life altering. I do not claim that my trials have been harder than anyone else, but…" he couldn't look at them. He couldn't watch as the relief in their eyes told him just how much he was unwanted. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, the pain making him wince and twist his lips at the corners, and the heat behind his eyes threatened to spill over. He tightened his grip on the pulpit. "But I find myself on a crossroads, and I did cross a line. I killed a man and… and as a priest, I cannot stand here and council others. God placed a wicked man in my path, and I killed him because… it… it was the right thing to do. I love this town and the people too much to have allowed him to destroy you all like… like… he had… me." His vision blurred, and he focused on opening his throat, not allowing it to close up and choke tears free. "I would never hurt…" and he blinked his eyes quickly, staring at the pulpit because their faces would destroy him. "I have to believe it is what God wanted me to do." He nodded, trying to breathe.

His stomach twisted, "But… I am no longer worthy to speak before you. So after the funerals have been conducted this afternoon, I will hold my last Confessions. Tomorrow morning, I will step down as your priest, and simply become Donatello again."

The silence answered his fears more than anything. He stared at the pulpit, shaking. It hurt to stand for long periods, and his limit was growing close. He winced and shifted in place, glancing to Raphael, but the man was staring at the floor, his face slack in shock and, perhaps, a look of devastation sat there. Donatello didn't know why he felt as if he had betrayed him, but he did. It killed him inside. By stepping aside, was he destroying what faith people and this town still had? He hoped not. He looked to the rest of the congregation, trembling where he stood. They too looked shocked and distressed. A few women had tears in their eyes, the men tried harder to keep from looking floored, but it was the nodding of a few heads that ultimately told him he had chosen right.

God had led him true, and he hadn't misunderstood the impressions God had given him. Donatello nodded, shifting then nodded one last time.

"Our meeting will close early today because of the terrible events the last few weeks. Let us spend time with our families and aid those who are in the most need. Show one another the love of God, please, for now more than ever we need to stand together as neighbors and forget the petty disputes of the past. Let us show the new priest, whomever he may be, that we are a Godly people and we know what it means to stand in faith and righteousness together."

Then he turned away to leave, but the pain in his legs and back seized his muscles and he fell. Raphael was there before anyone else - and Donatello shook his head, pushing him out to arm's length, head bowed, because if he looked at him, he knew he would break another law in front of everyone.

"I'm fine." He whispered, pushing him back again before other people joined Raphael at the front to help him stand. It was Mikey who slipped under his arm, leading him to the room reserved for the priest to live in… not that he had been a very good priest. He had retained his earthly possessions; he hadn't been willing to give up his second great love of blacksmithing. This was for the best.

Mikey sat him in a chair, careful with him as if he were made of glass. "You doin' alright there?"

"Yes." He whispered, avoiding his eyes.

"You know you don't have to step down." Mikey said, stepping back to stand by the door.

Don smiled, glancing up at his friend. "Yes, I do. No one trusts me anymore."

"That'll change. Everyone will-"

"Have to remember why they liked me to begin with. That's not how it should work, Mikey. They should never have to doubt me. There is already too many questions and speculations. They… I would be nothing more than a reminder of their own actions and they would never be able to heal. I can't be that to them. I can't expect them to heal if I won't allow myself to either."

Mikey's face grew pale, and he shifted from foot to foot. "Right…" he peeked to the side and then to his shoes, shifting from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything. This is my choice. I prayed about it and… I feel this is the right decision."

"Alright. I trust you." He said, and he met Donnie's eyes this time, hunching his shoulder in agreement before he turned and headed out the door.

Donatello gave himself time to rest and gather his strength before he straightened his clothing, lingering in the mirror for the last time in his priest clothes. He smoothed his black slacks and shirt, donning his coat, something he never wore because it restricted his movements, felt suffocating. Today, it was the last time he would wear it. He straightened his collar and ran his fingers along the white square resting there, curled around his throat under the neck of his shirt like a band of steel, like silk, like knowledge. He ignored the bruises, the cuts, the swollen flesh and the words carved into his body, and he looked at himself in his clothing one last time, tugging his cuff into place as motes of dusk floated in the air around him like specks of sunlight as it caught the mid-morning sun— then he turned and walked away.

He moved as carefully as he could to the graveyard, arriving just in time. He said his farewells and prayed for the souls of those they had lost, and then stood by as dirt was placed on the graves of the dead. His knees trembled but he locked them to keep himself standing till the end. It was LH this time who was there to hold him up and help him recover before he made a fool of himself.

Well into the afternoon, the sun at its hottest, low and heavy in the sky and stifling each drawn breath, Donatello made his way back to the church. He took a seat in the front row and stared at the corner of the alter, his thoughts a comforting blank nothing. He couldn't be allowed to think of what this day had been, what this week had been, and the people in his life. He didn't dare think about anything, otherwise, he knew that he would wilt and be consumed with grief. So, he focused on prayer if he had to think, and he recited memorized scripture when memories consumed him and tried to force him to think about everything. He sat and waited the rest of the afternoon away, waiting for anyone to come to his last Confessional.

The sun cast a shadow across the front of the church, burning yellow light along one side of the cross, contrasted by darkness on the other. He wondered if that was what life was meant to be like - duality of light and dark. It seemed to fit; he just didn't know how. He figured he would ponder it sometime, just, not now. He wasn't even certain he would day again have light in his own life.

Donatello didn't want to blame anyone for not coming. He didn't want this to end on a sad note, but he was, he was sad no one had come. He looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together and biting the inside of his lip.

Boots thumped into the church, and Donatello smiled, small and sad, because he recognized those boots. He'd forever recognize that bow-legged stomping. He would forever listen for those boots, even if Raphael up and left them all the next day.

And wasn't that a thought.

"You got time for one more, Padre?"

Donatello paused, lifting his eyes up to Raphael, and the pair stared at one another, weighing, accessing. He nodded, and Raphael nodded, hand in his pockets and head tipped up to the ceiling while the one in the sling formed a fist.

"Good. Got some… stuff to get off my chest."

Donatello stood, slowly and carefully, easing himself from the seat as gentle as he could. Raphael reached to take his elbow, but Don shook his head, holding up a hand. His throat closed up at that moment, choked, and his eyes hot. If Raphael were to leave soon, he couldn't allow himself to grow more attached. He didn't have room in his heart for another moment to linger over and wonder, 'what if?'

He shuffled to the booth, slipping inside his half, and he waited for Raphael to follow, for his door to close, for the knock on the window. When it came, it was quiet, almost a brush of knuckles. He tried not to look, but he chanced a glance at Raphael through the grate, saw his burning eyes, and he shivered.

"I sinned this week." Raphael said, leaning back on the bench inside.

"Tell me of them so they may be absolved."

Raphael remained quiet, only the creaking of the floorboards where he kept shifting indicated he was still there. "I… I killed men this week. I thought ill of those who couldn't afford to help themselves, and… and I lusted."

Donatello closed his eyes, his brows knotting together. It shouldn't have hurt to hear it. He had known Raphael had slept with the whores. He heard about it just as others in town had.

"The men, I don't feel so bad about. They deserved the killin'. But I feel bad for blamin' people for being stuck where they are, and for the circumstances that put them there. I should have been helpin' them, not cursin' at them." He paused and considered something for a moment. "Is cursin' a sin?"

"Yes."

"Then I did some of that too."

He did smile a little at that.

"But, I think the lusting will be what gets me. I can't stop. No matter what I tried, I can't help thinkin' about 'em. Thinkin' about bein' wrapped up around 'em, or thinkin' about how much I wanna taste 'em. Is that something God forgives?"

Donatello nodded, his eyes growing hot. He swallowed, wincing as his throat protested, and he closed his eyes, feeling tears slide down his cheeks, his hands gripped tight in his lap to hold still and not draw attention to himself. The tears burned his skin, sliding under his jaw and along his throat. "Yes, if you have faith and believe." He whispered.

This was good for him to hear. This was a good thing to learn about and become accustomed too. He couldn't keep pretending.

Raphael grew quiet, and the silence went on for so long, Donatello began to wonder if he was waiting for him to say something more.

"Donnie…"

He jolted. He wasn't supposed to be named here. This was a representation of speaking to the Lord Himself on earth, not a man speaking to another man.

"I… I don't think I want forgiveness on that last one."

"But… why?"

But Raphael was up and out of his seat, slamming the door shut.

He felt himself pull into himself, back straight as he leaned against the confessional booth, hands in his lap, and he closed his eyes, breathing through it. He felt so small all of a sudden, alone in the dark. His cheeks felt itchy where the tears had left marks previous, but it somehow felt right to be uncomfortable. He would survive this, of course he would. He would never be able to forget and that would be his cross to bear till the day he died.

His door opened suddenly, Raphael's broad shoulders blocked out the light, silhouetting and making him look like an avenging angel such as his namesake was.

"You stayin' in here all night?"

"What?"

"Fine." He grunted and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room wasn't made to hold more than one person, and Donatello stood up, making room for him, trying to get out of his way, suddenly panicking with his lack of options to put space between himself and his greatest temptation. This sin-made-man, who confused him, delighted him, destroyed him, he raised the arm in the sling, the surprised look on his face and then he scowled said he forgot about it. He stepped back, fumbled with the thing, and yanked it up and over his head, throwing it to the ground— then Raphael was just there, crowding into the corner of his booth, leaned into him, hands resting on the wall on either side of his head, and Donatello forgot how to breathe.

Raphael hovered, his breath warm, and his clothing smelling like homemade bread fresh from the oven, and maybe a hint of whiskey— the good stuff— from LH's stash. Donnie shivered, looking away, waiting for him to speak, his face growing hot with Raphael's so close. Just as that first day, it was his eyes that snared him, drawing his gaze to look at him, captivated by the burning color - like coals in his forge.

"You frustrate me and confuse me." He hissed, his hand curling into a fist next to his shoulder. You drive me up a wall, and… and you make me feel like… I gots a home again." He whispered, dark and intense with a tremble to his voice. Donatello watched Raphael's gaze drop to his lips, his body leaning into him.

Donatello shivered, raised his hands and pressed them against his chest to push him away— but he stopped, staring at Raphael's fluttering pulse, feeling his heartbeat against his palm. He stared, scared, but if he let go now, he would never be able to remember what this felt like.

"This… between us…" Raphael's voice dipped, low and breathy, a tickle of noise between only them.

"You're leaving." The words tumbled from Donatello's mouth, his face twisting, his throat tightening as the heat rose upward. "Mikey told me you're leaving. Please… don't… don't do this if you're leaving." He stared at Raphael's throat because if he looked at him, if he saw his face, the warmth behind his eyes would spill over and he didn't know if he could live with showing this man the power he held over him.

Silence settled in the small room and Donatello's lip trembled, brows knotted and face twisting at the hollowness within.

Raphael moved his hand, and Donatello jerked his eyes up, tears falling free and fast down his cheeks as the man's fingers slid to his throat, warm and rough, thumbing along the collar of his garb.

"You said after Confession you'd be steppin' down."

He couldn't breathe because his heart jumped up into his throat, hammering away like a jackrabbit. He nodded and quivered, that thumb brushing his throat, teasing the flesh of his jaw. A calloused finger slipped behind the collar, and Raphael's eyes locked on his. The air thickened, Donatello's lungs sipped at the air between them, and with a slow, gingerly pull, Raphael eased the stiff white collar from his shirt, the rasp of cloth burning imaginary brands around his neck, matching the bruising of the rope. He gasped for air, his fingers curling into the front of Raphael's shirt. Raphael held the strip of white between them, never turning his eyes from his, and Donatello searched for words, searched for an answer to the pressure in his chest building like a scream.

"I did." Donatello whispered instead.

Raphael nodded, so close his breath rushed from his lungs, shaky and shallow. "That's good…." He nodded again, licking his lips. Donatello pried one hand from Raphael's shirt, reaching to take his collar back, but golden eyes darted down, watching his hand, and he stilled— he hovered over the cloth, over the symbol that defined him— had defined— and Donatello felt the weight of it resting between them, heavy and powerful, safe and daunting, and Raphael's fingers brushed his, eyes locked. Raphael eased back no more than an inch, but he pulled away from him and cool air rushed into Donatello's lungs and he took the white collar, grabbing it as if he hoped to hold onto something real.

As slowly as he would to gentle a mustang, Raphael took Donnie's wrist and guided his hand to the side, leaving him open, exposed in a way that mirrored his throat.

Raphael slid forward, nearly pressing himself against him, and his fingers on the pulse of his wrist. "Its you, Donnie." He said his name like a sin, small and burning, a sound he wanted to hear again and again.

It overflowed within him, spilling over the edges and he drowned a little, shaking like that time he had fallen in the pond during winter. He gasped for air, the stone wall of his resolve cracking, leaking out his hidden self.

"There's been a lust buildin' in me…" he whispered, speaking faster, his own face twisting up, but he looked desperate, like he thought maybe he wouldn't understand. "For you. I…. Last night I…" his exhale hissed between them, and Donatello choked, his breathing growing fast. "God might damn me, but, I ain't goin' nowhere. I need ya too much. And I'll burn willingly just ta have you." The strength of his words, the hard set of his jaw, the vulnerability in Raphael's eyes shattered him.

Like a dam bursting free, the pressure in his chest released and Donatello grabbed at Raphael, gripping onto his shirt, his face twisted with hope and terror. He shook his head, then nodded, and nodded again because if he tried to talk his words would come out like broken glass.

The light of the fading sun hit the tiny room, filling the space around them with light, and Raphael's eyes shone with fire just for him. Wrapped in light and promise, warmed from the inside out as Raphael pressed a palm to his cheek, Donatello's lips parted, knees trembling, and Raphael leaned in, nose bumping his, smoothing a line under his eye and wiping the tear that hovered there away— then he kissed him.

Donatello pressed back into the wall, a flicker of fear of the unknown tickling his spine, but Raphael sought him out, tasted his lips, and coaxed him into a kiss that delved deep into his soul and left flickering lights in its wake. Donatello gasped, grabbed Raphael's collar, and arched into him as if holding on for dear life.

Raphael blazed a trail into him, claiming him, branding him like the hot irons a rancher used— and it was so much more. Raphael planted a hot palm on his hip, tugging him close, and he slid his other hand around to the back of his neck, holding him close, cradling his skull, and he kissed him like he was searching for God. He kissed him and Donatello never questioned the peace that eased the knot in his gut. He kissed him, and Donatello fell into him, kissing him back just as his collar fell from his fingers, lost in the darkness of the Confessional, and he wrapped his arms around the neck of the man in front of him, pushing into him as he drank in his kisses like the starving man he was.

Donatello nodded, lip trembling, fingers digging into Raphael's shoulders; and with a shiver and a bow of his head, Raphael kissed him again, sealing the end of his tenure as priest within the confines of his last Confessional.

Author's Note:

I'll be honest, it got to about 5pm here, and I had been re-reading this chapter, tweaked it, and kept adding and deleting little tiny nit-picky portions of sentences all day... and then I realized, I was scared to post this chapter. This chapter, this scene, was the first vague idea I had for this story, and not much of it has changed.

... like... nothing has changed.

This scene was the carrot that got me writing this entire story. So, at 5pm, i realized I was scared to post the defining chapter that made this story possible...

and I hope it lived up to the wait.

I never wanted these two to have a big loud declaration of love... they honestly couldn't during this time-era I set the story in. But I knew it needed to mean something... it needed to be powerful and quiet... a gentle brushing of words that only these two needed to hear. This scene of leaving behind one chapter of their lives for a new... I knew I wanted it to feel heavy, but intimate and one that Donnie was finally ready for.

That's why last chapter's comment about Donnie being the one to kill Hun made EVERYTHING fall into place... it made this carrot a reality... because having Donnie step down made sense if he did it not because he was falling in love with a man, but because of killing one. Him getting Raph... he would have had him either way. And that was the point. but no longer being conflicted wasn't about him choosing between love or his service... it was about him always choosing what was right for himself. Don has never done anything he didn't want to do, because he has always believed in it. So him stepping down was because it was right for him, and him finally confessing to himself in that confessional he could also have Raph... it was really all about knowing he could have him to begin with.

That's also why the title of this story was Confessional... because by the end of the story, every character has had a moment where they confessed to themselves and others what they truly feel and think.

Anyway... I hope this chapter lived up to everyone's expectations. It really was the cornerstone of this story.

~Melissa