Leonardo held very still near the door of the barn. Inside he could hear a melodic tenor voice resound pleasantly within the walls. He felt as if he was floating with the rise and fall of each note. The turtle relaxed and sat down on the lawn. He had always secretly admired his brother's harmonic voice. Michaelangelo had perfect tone and flexed the sound richly with volume and intensity. He rarely boasted the talent though, singing his fullest only when alone as if a sacred ritual. Leo hesitated to disrupt it, no matter how important his news was. He couldn't escape anyway if he tried. The song was almost...intoxicating.
Dedicated to the one, guilty or innocent
lost in this sea
yielded to the stream
who wouldn't ever be a winner?
Dedicated to the one always keeping hope
in front of a sorrow
in the cold of a room
Dedicated to the one searching his own freedom
I sing to life
to all its beauty
to every wound of it
to every caresse of it
I sing to life, and to it's tragic beauty
To pain and to strife, but all that dances through me
The rise and the fall, I've lived through it all
Dedicated to the one who always made it dry
like possessed, slipped through fingers
it was always already over
I sing to life
reflected into your eyes
easy and endless
promised land for us
I sing to life
sweet and even fierce
to this journey of ours
which still puts us in chains
It calls us...
Don't ever doubt
Don't ever doubt
Don't ever leave it alone
alone
... still ...
I sing to life
to all its beauty
I sing to life
sweet and even fierce
to this journey of ours
which still puts us in chains
It call us...
Fading into the words, Leo slipped into a realm of nostalgia. Some other time, some other place stashed away in the bliss of memory. He thought of their home in the sewers, his brothers, but most of all of Splinter. He was trying to fathom a life without his Sensei. It seemed inconceivable that after spending their whole lives unique and alone, that they could be left even more empty and desolate with the rat's future passing. The grinding sound of tender tissues fighting for air kept haunting the back of his mind. Why? Why Splinter? Why now? Hadn't the fates done enough?!
His reverie instantly seized when the door opened. Michaelangelo curiously approached the huddled shadow.
"I thought I heard you out here," Mike smiled thinly.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"That's okay. Sometimes you just gotta get it out, no matter who's listening." Mike sat down next to him.
They shared a comfortable silent moment.
Finally Michaelangelo spoke up, "Great night, huh?"
"Hmm?" Leo looked up, "Oh. Yeah."
Mike wasn't really satisfied with that answer. Leo barely gave the sky a glance! Seeing that strange melancholy expression slackening his brother's face, he decided to just let it slide. Michaelangelo studied the expanse again with extra vigor as if compensating for Leo's lack of it. The blackness cuddled winking stars that exploded across the velvet display. The sharpness and clarity of it all drained his thoughts away.
Leonardo tore his gaze from the ground and looked at Mike. He was completely enthralled with the scene, hardly even blinking. Leo wished he could see the world like Michaelangelo. Desiring the feverish control to manipulate the state of mind. He desperately wanted somehow to express that to him, but words weren't enough. Now was not the time or place anyway. Leo's own talent of direction came to mind.
"Mike? We need to leave."
When his brother didn't say anything, Leo wondered if he had heard him, "Mikey?"
"Yeah, I know. I've been waiting them."
"If they haven't come by now, then something's wrong. Casey's going to drive us into the edge of town to look for them. April will stay with Splinter."
Leo stood and brushed some loose bits of dirt and straw off.
"I'll go on one condition."
Leo paused at the strange request. He had been expecting Mike's full cooperation. "What?"
"You have to cheer up, kay? Everything will turn out all right."
Surprised, he flashed small smile, "I hope so."
Leo held out his hand and helped Mike up.
Beyond anything right now, he wished he could believe Mike's brotherly advice.
April wrung a cool wash cloth out in an adjourning bathroom before returning to Splinter's bedside. She placed it on his forehead with a gentle touch. He didn't react at all. His breathing was still ragged, but it smoothed out a bit with the dampening effects of sleep. Rest was all he could manage now.
April sat in the nearby chair and simply watched her friend fight this battle. The rhythm of his breathing was rapid, shallow, and lulling. Looking over him further, disbelief crept up her insides. How could this be the strong and wise mutant she once knew? This weak and struggling body roasting with fever? An exhausting sweat bordered his features creating dark and glossy clumps of fur. It was freighting to see one so strong in spirit broken this easily.
The rat moaned and tossed slightly. His eyes were violently shifting under thin lids.
"Omoiokoseba…gonen mae," he issued a string of mutters. She assumed it was something in Japanese. Then an idea came to her. Getting up, she rummaged through one of the dressers as quietly as possible. Emerging successful, April struck a match and lit some incense. The scented stream of smoke snaked upwards, overwhelming her senses all at once. It was spicy with that foreign soothing effect she always enjoyed. It quickly drifted and filled the room. As a result, Splinter had calmed in his slumber considerably. She briefly wondered what he was dreaming. Hopefully it was something worth seeing out. The last thing she wanted to do was explain the turtles' absence!
Hugging her knees and rocking unconsciously in the chair, April started to drift off. The incense had dulled her worry and fogged over her mind. Hearing a startling gasp, however, her eyelids snapped open. Splinter sat up, amazingly, and began to wrench in a bowl provided on a bed stand. After a few dry heaves, he slumped back in fatigue and shuddered with cold-sweats.
April approached, concerned that his eyes weren't focusing.
"Go back to sleep. I'm here for you," she picked up his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Much to her relief, he squeezed back. She lifted the covers that had pooled at his waist, and replaced them snuggly over his struggling chest.
"Thank you," he said softly, almost under his fading breath. With that finally expressed, he drifted back into limitless dreams.
Raphael and Donatello sat in defeated silence. Both were tied securely about the chest to a post. It was sturdy, easily sporting a diameter twice that of their shells and joined at the top with ceiling beams of a warehouse. 'What did the Foot see in warehouses anyway?' Raphael thought to himself, 'Personal preference? But then again he hung out in sewers, so who gave a damn anyway? Not him.'
Neither could remember the journey here nor how they were rendered unconscious so easily. They didn't even know how long they had been knocked out. The warehouse was black save for one light nearby. It revealed absolutely nothing time-wise. The welcome wagon, however, didn't waste a moment of haste upon their awakening.
The sound of a door opening echoed deep throughout the large, concrete room. Then…nothing. No footsteps. Sensing a familiar presence though, Raphael looked up. Donatello kept his gaze on the ground, not willing to give the intruder the respect of acknowledgment.
Oroku Saki stopped five feet from them and sat slowly. He offered a stare that was unsettlingly blank. No armor. No deadly blades thrusting out every which way. No mask. Just a man underneath the elaborate façade they had come to know so well. His chest was bare with white wraps around his abdomen matching baggy, creamy-silk pants.
Saki's muscles were well toned and solid. They jabbed out and sloped his physique making him all the more intimidating. But Raphael hardly found it that way. His skin was also smoothed with scented oil, allowing the low light to highlight and chisel in coordination with shadows. 'Those Foot-dimwits actually treat this freak like their God!' Raphael thought to himself and grit his teeth in a snarl.
"What the hell are ya' doin'? Kill us, damn it!"
"Not that we're suggesting anything," Donatello felt obligated to deflect his brother's rash command. Neither so much as batted an eye. Don withdrew, intimidated into foolish silence. This was Raph's show now.
"You've been waiting for this moment for twenty damn years! Do it!"
No reaction.
He continued boldly, "Or are you nothin' without that freakin' costume? Ooooh, or maybe you're too good for that! Too good for everything! Even for your own revenge now, are we? Hmm? That's right, you're above all that! The code, honor, betrayal," he paused for effect, "murder?"
Donatello carefully studied Saki during Raph's astonishing chides. With the last word, he thought he saw his pupils narrow within icy-gray rims. Saki's overall complexion, accented by raked scars and a mottle cheek, was acutely deformed with such a subtle change.
But Raphael caught on too late. Before either could take another breath, twin katanas were thrust and suspended before their throats within a fraction of a centimeter.
"When the rest of your clan arrives, you will suffer. Have patience," he breathed into their ears so softly that it tickled.
Saki jammed both of the swords into the post just above each turtle's head as if to cinch the final deadline.