******
Vigils: Leonardo
******
Leo leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, studying the photographs and drawning on the opposite wall. Photos of April as a gap-toothed little girl with scabbed knees; April as a teenager, hair pulled back in an unruly ponytail; April's parents as a young couple, and again as senior citizens. Then there were photos taken many years later -- April and Casey together on the porch swing; a very pregnant April, highlighted against an open window as she gazed out over the farm; another shot of the porch swing, this time Casey with a newborn nestled fast asleep on his chest. After that the wall was given over to shots of April and Casey with their daughter -- Monet. Leo examined the most recent photo of the girl. She was dark-haired and pretty, bearing a definite resemblance to April as a child; but something in the set of her jaw reminded Leonardo of Casey.
Leo's gaze slid back past the photos, to the center of the wall where someone -- probably April -- had moved the photographs to either side. A group of four colored-pencil drawings in matching frames hung there -- the drawings April had made so long ago. The top drawing in the cross-shaped formation was of Donatello and Casey, leaning over the engine of the battered pickup truck they'd repaired ten years ago. Clockwise from that was one of Mikey, grinning and holding up a pizza box. At the bottom was a simple drawing of Raphael, leaning moodily over the edge of an apartment rooftop.
The last drawing was of him, sprawled tiredly in an old wooden chair with one leg extended and his chin resting on his plastron. Leo straightened up, and the floor creaked beneath him as he stepped across the hallway. He reached out and tentatively touched the glass protecting the drawing. He remembered that, all right -- as clearly as if it was yesterday . . .
*** ***
Exhaustion gnawed at the corners of his mind, dulling his senses; but even exhaustion was overshadowed by worry for Splinter, and for the brother who floated only a few feet away -- hovering between life and death.
He looked up only slightly when April crept in, as she always did at about that time of day. She knelt by the tub, scooped a few handfuls of water over Raphael's skin and ran her fingers gently over one of the worst bruises, then over the angry slash on Raph's right forearm. Then she stood again and turned to leave . . . but not before patting him gently on the shoulder and whispering, as she always did, "He'll be all right."
*** ***
*He'll be all right.* How he'd clung to those words, the only comfort April could think to offer him. There was nothing in the words to promise him that Splinter was alive, or that the Foot could be defeated; but they promised that Raphael would get well. And somehow Leo had known that if only Raph was all right, everything else would be okay.
Because despite how he'd pushed Raph, prodded him,jabbed him with his words and his disapproving glares; despite all of that, Leonardo loved his brother. He hadn't really realized how much he did until Raphael had come plummeting through April's skylight, bleeding and groaning. As they'd fled April's burning apartment and the city, Leonardo had cradled Raph's head in his lap -- and silently begged him not to die. Not yet. Not before Leo got a chance to say *it*. And all through those long, terrible days when Leonardo had waited by Raph's side, he'd been gripped by an awful fear -- that Raphael would die before Leo could say it.
Before he could tell Raphael he loved him.
Raphael had not died; but somehow, when the urgency had gone, Leo had lost the courage to say what he'd wanted to say. Ten years had gone by, and Leo had still never said it out loud. Instead he'd gone on holding a long, quiet vigil -- only this time he wasn't waiting for Raphael to wake up. He was waiting for the right moment -- a moment that, so far, had never come.
How many times had he almost said it? Once he'd even tried to blurt it out in the middle of a battle with the Foot. But -- Leo half-laughed as he let his hand drop -- he'd never managed to get the words out.
Leonardo, the fearless leader, couldn't manage to say four little words.
*Hesitation is the enemy of a ninja.* Splinter's voice whispered in his head. *It is a subtle and terrible opponent; and many who fall by its hand,*
"Do not rise again." Leo finished. He turned and took a deep, calming breath. It was high time he ended this vigil he'd been holding.
******
Raphael turned his head as Leo entered the bathroom. "Hey."
Leo nodded. "Hey." He sank onto the wooden chair that still stood by the bathroom door. "Thinking about Splinter?" He asked quietly.
Raph stole a quick glance at Leo's face -- searching for a lecture in the making. But then his face softened. "Yeah." He looked back to the tub.
They sat for a while in silence. After a while, Leonardo cleared his throat. "Raph . . ."
But Raphael had also chosen that moment to speak. "He loved me."
Leo blinked, startled by the sudden, matter-of-fact statement. "Huh?"
"Splinter. He . . ." Raph took a deep breath. "He loved me." He chuckled and turned around to face Leo. "Ya think that wouldn't be that hard a concept, y'know? I mean, c'mon. Twenty-six years, I shoulda figured that one out by now. But . . ." Raphael shrugged. "I guess I kinda knew it before. But now . . . it's like for the first time in my life I really *know* it. He loved me." His eyes met Leo's.
"He wasn't the only one." the words slipped out almost by themselves, and Leonardo slid out of the chair and onto the floor by Raphael. His eyes locked with his brother's. "I love you, Raph." A short pause. Then, he admitted sheepishly, "I've been trying to say that for years."
Raph's jaw dropped for a moment. His eyes searched Leonardo's, saying everything that he couldn't find words for.
And then Raphael reached out and pulled his brother into an embrace.
** Things we never said come together
** The hidden truth no longer haunting me
** Tonight we touched on the things that were never spoken
"I love ya back, Leo."
** That kind of understanding sets me free . . . .
*****************************************************************************************************************************
*** Concluded in Chapter Five ***
Vigils: Leonardo
******
Leo leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, studying the photographs and drawning on the opposite wall. Photos of April as a gap-toothed little girl with scabbed knees; April as a teenager, hair pulled back in an unruly ponytail; April's parents as a young couple, and again as senior citizens. Then there were photos taken many years later -- April and Casey together on the porch swing; a very pregnant April, highlighted against an open window as she gazed out over the farm; another shot of the porch swing, this time Casey with a newborn nestled fast asleep on his chest. After that the wall was given over to shots of April and Casey with their daughter -- Monet. Leo examined the most recent photo of the girl. She was dark-haired and pretty, bearing a definite resemblance to April as a child; but something in the set of her jaw reminded Leonardo of Casey.
Leo's gaze slid back past the photos, to the center of the wall where someone -- probably April -- had moved the photographs to either side. A group of four colored-pencil drawings in matching frames hung there -- the drawings April had made so long ago. The top drawing in the cross-shaped formation was of Donatello and Casey, leaning over the engine of the battered pickup truck they'd repaired ten years ago. Clockwise from that was one of Mikey, grinning and holding up a pizza box. At the bottom was a simple drawing of Raphael, leaning moodily over the edge of an apartment rooftop.
The last drawing was of him, sprawled tiredly in an old wooden chair with one leg extended and his chin resting on his plastron. Leo straightened up, and the floor creaked beneath him as he stepped across the hallway. He reached out and tentatively touched the glass protecting the drawing. He remembered that, all right -- as clearly as if it was yesterday . . .
*** ***
Exhaustion gnawed at the corners of his mind, dulling his senses; but even exhaustion was overshadowed by worry for Splinter, and for the brother who floated only a few feet away -- hovering between life and death.
He looked up only slightly when April crept in, as she always did at about that time of day. She knelt by the tub, scooped a few handfuls of water over Raphael's skin and ran her fingers gently over one of the worst bruises, then over the angry slash on Raph's right forearm. Then she stood again and turned to leave . . . but not before patting him gently on the shoulder and whispering, as she always did, "He'll be all right."
*** ***
*He'll be all right.* How he'd clung to those words, the only comfort April could think to offer him. There was nothing in the words to promise him that Splinter was alive, or that the Foot could be defeated; but they promised that Raphael would get well. And somehow Leo had known that if only Raph was all right, everything else would be okay.
Because despite how he'd pushed Raph, prodded him,jabbed him with his words and his disapproving glares; despite all of that, Leonardo loved his brother. He hadn't really realized how much he did until Raphael had come plummeting through April's skylight, bleeding and groaning. As they'd fled April's burning apartment and the city, Leonardo had cradled Raph's head in his lap -- and silently begged him not to die. Not yet. Not before Leo got a chance to say *it*. And all through those long, terrible days when Leonardo had waited by Raph's side, he'd been gripped by an awful fear -- that Raphael would die before Leo could say it.
Before he could tell Raphael he loved him.
Raphael had not died; but somehow, when the urgency had gone, Leo had lost the courage to say what he'd wanted to say. Ten years had gone by, and Leo had still never said it out loud. Instead he'd gone on holding a long, quiet vigil -- only this time he wasn't waiting for Raphael to wake up. He was waiting for the right moment -- a moment that, so far, had never come.
How many times had he almost said it? Once he'd even tried to blurt it out in the middle of a battle with the Foot. But -- Leo half-laughed as he let his hand drop -- he'd never managed to get the words out.
Leonardo, the fearless leader, couldn't manage to say four little words.
*Hesitation is the enemy of a ninja.* Splinter's voice whispered in his head. *It is a subtle and terrible opponent; and many who fall by its hand,*
"Do not rise again." Leo finished. He turned and took a deep, calming breath. It was high time he ended this vigil he'd been holding.
******
Raphael turned his head as Leo entered the bathroom. "Hey."
Leo nodded. "Hey." He sank onto the wooden chair that still stood by the bathroom door. "Thinking about Splinter?" He asked quietly.
Raph stole a quick glance at Leo's face -- searching for a lecture in the making. But then his face softened. "Yeah." He looked back to the tub.
They sat for a while in silence. After a while, Leonardo cleared his throat. "Raph . . ."
But Raphael had also chosen that moment to speak. "He loved me."
Leo blinked, startled by the sudden, matter-of-fact statement. "Huh?"
"Splinter. He . . ." Raph took a deep breath. "He loved me." He chuckled and turned around to face Leo. "Ya think that wouldn't be that hard a concept, y'know? I mean, c'mon. Twenty-six years, I shoulda figured that one out by now. But . . ." Raphael shrugged. "I guess I kinda knew it before. But now . . . it's like for the first time in my life I really *know* it. He loved me." His eyes met Leo's.
"He wasn't the only one." the words slipped out almost by themselves, and Leonardo slid out of the chair and onto the floor by Raphael. His eyes locked with his brother's. "I love you, Raph." A short pause. Then, he admitted sheepishly, "I've been trying to say that for years."
Raph's jaw dropped for a moment. His eyes searched Leonardo's, saying everything that he couldn't find words for.
And then Raphael reached out and pulled his brother into an embrace.
** Things we never said come together
** The hidden truth no longer haunting me
** Tonight we touched on the things that were never spoken
"I love ya back, Leo."
** That kind of understanding sets me free . . . .
*****************************************************************************************************************************
*** Concluded in Chapter Five ***