Part 7

As close as Raphael kept watch, he still missed his brother sneaking out of the lair. Even a ninja had to go to the bathroom sometimes.

In a way, discovering Leonardo's secret had only made Raphael's job harder. Leonardo no longer had to hide his identity from any of his brothers. As soon as the sun began to set, Leonardo waited for Splinter to make tea or meditate and then darted out of the lair, sprinting to give himself a strong headstart.

Raphael wondered why his brother bothered. He knew everything now. All Raphael had to do was follow swiftly behind and run him down just as he had before.

Which made it all the more frustrating when he didn't find his brother that night.

Or the night after.

Or the night after that.

Cursing, spitting mad, Raphael would come home exhausted from running around New York only to find Leonardo asleep, either in Donatello's bed or his futon. The satchel was always missing.

On the first night, or in the wee hours of the morning rather, he had stared at his brother for almost a minute. Resting on Donatello's pillow, Leonardo lay tense and drawn, in pain despite being fast asleep. He should have been resting all night, but his need to prove himself against Raphael meant that his shoulder healed slowly. A red splotch colored his bandages. If he hadn't needed stitches before, he probably did now.

Raphael had looked toward the lab where Donatello stood in the doorway. As guard? To see if Raphael would go through with his sudden urge to ransack the lab? Donatello leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, head down, looking just as tired as Raphael. And as determined.

Whatever. Raphael had scowled and slunk into the kitchen for beer. Donatello knew a hundred more places to hide something than Raphael could think of. Heck, a stolen necklace or gem could be dropped inside the van's engine. If Leonardo got his stolen goods home, then Donatello made sure Raphael would never find them.

On the second and third nights, Raphael started to feel anxious. He was reminded of how big Manhattan actually was. Had he been lucky that first night, catching Leonardo right after his heist? Or maybe Leonardo hadn't known about Nightwatcher then, hadn't known to lay low. And Leonardo only had to carry around a scarf. Raphael had to put on a whole suit of armor.

Which left Raphael just one choice.

On the fourth night, Leonardo left the lair a tiny bit earlier. Raphael had drawn dinner duty, and so Leonardo had grabbed his gear and ran, taking advantage of his brother's absence. He turned a corner, throwing on his scarf, heading to the storm culvert—

—and halted, stumbling a half-step.

Nightwatcher leaned against the concrete wall, idly swinging the chain in a circle, whistling some strange tune as he waited. Then the tune stopped as the black helmet faced him.

"How...?" Leonardo whispered.

"Switched with Mikey," Raphael said. "You just heard 'me' in the kitchen and didn't look."

Leonardo exhaled. "Well, at least dinner'll actually be good."

"Yeah, yeah, your cooking sucks, too."

Raphael pushed himself from the wall, moving to the middle of the culvert. He continued swinging the chain in lazy circles.

"Go home."

Leonardo didn't answer, watching the chain go through slow turns. That was the only thing he had to be afraid of. The armor weighed his brother down, but that chain could fly faster than Leonardo could run. He glanced around the culvert, noting the lines of the walls that he could use—

A chunk of concrete was gouged in a splash of sparks, landing at his feet before he realized that the chain had swung around. Then a second line smashed along the floor.

Putting his arms up in a block, Leonardo took a step back, then another, flinching as the chain flew in precise arcs past his head and into the wall. Concrete exploded and landed in broken white pieces as Raphael stepped forward, lashing the chain like a whip.

"Go home," Raphael said again. "Before you get worse than what you already got."

Back in the shadow of the entrance, Leonardo put his hand on the wall, then jerked back as the chain slammed only inches away. The shockwave rattled the bones in his hand and made his shoulder ache.

Leonardo stared at his brother for a long moment, swallowing once, staring past him at the glow of the city lights and the vast empty sky. And then Raphael pulled back the chain, swinging it in one hand with more purpose.

Biting back a curse, Leonardo vanished back down the tunnel. The hard footsteps of Raphael running in his armor followed him, hounding him to the lair. Halfway back, Leonardo turned, trying to take another smaller tunnel—

His bruised shoulder slammed into rough wood and something that rattled like wired fencing. Cold pain flared and made him feel like he'd swallowed nails. Stifling his pain, he staggered back and walked unevenly for several steps before he could force himself to run again. So his brother had blocked off the other major routes.

Raphael's low chuckle followed him all the way home.

The next night, Raphael was waiting. He heard a soft step in the darkness of the storm culvert, and then nothing. If Leonardo was standing there in deep shadow, he had a long wait. Raphael stayed until the thin sensation of being watched faded, until he was sure Leonardo had given up. Despite the hour he stood there, Raphael smiled as he went home.

The night after that, not Leonardo but Donatello came walking into the open air.

Blinking, Raphael stood and faced him.

"What, gonna tag-team me now?" he said. "He needs you to distract me?"

Donatello shook his head, crossing his arms.

"He's in bed. Figured I'd come let you know you can come back."

Talking through the helmet was too impersonal for this. Raphael slung it off and held it under his arm.

"'In bed'?"

Donatello half-shrugged.

"I managed to convince him that it's not worth fighting you right now while he's hurt, so instead he's resting up in my room."

"'Resting'," Raphael smirked. "So that's what you two call it."

Rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh, Donatello turned and headed back into the tunnel. Behind, Raphael caught up and drew even with him, matching his pace. With one hand he started undoing the buckles on his pauldrons. If he wasn't going out tonight, then he could start taking off the heavy gear.

"So how come you ain't angry?" Raphael said. "You're his accomplice. Don't you miss getting stolen goodies?"

"I have two nights worth of 'goodies' to tide me over," Donatello said. "I haven't spent it all yet."

"Three nights," Raphael said.

"Huh?"

"Three nights. Don't think I ain't paying attention. He went out three nights before I thought up wasting all this time to babysit him."

"Two nights," Donatello said. "He wasn't on the job on Wednesday."

Raphael frowned. "What?"

"He doesn't steal every time he goes out," Donatello said. "Heck, most of the time he was just crossing the city. He really is after Diablo Puerto, y'know. You blocking him like this isn't helping."

"Then maybe he should leave the cape an' cowl at home." Raphael glared, indignant that he was the one being put on the defense. "He's the thief, not me."

"Yeah, you just go out and commit violent assault," Donatello muttered.

"I'm knocking heads'a gangbangers and punks," Raphael snapped. "I'm making the streets safer."

"Leaving 'em tied up at the scene, right?" Donatello shook his head once. "And you think the police can make arrests off of that?"

"The point," Raphael said, "is that I ain't going around beating up innocent people. Or stealing from 'em, neither."

Donatello paused midstep, giving Raphael a long look, then shrugged again and kept walking. Raphael frowned. What was that about? A doubt crept up on him. Was Leonardo pulling a Robin Hood? Donatello was spending the money on themselves, though, so it wasn't like they were giving it to the poor. And Leonardo would've thrown it in his face, so his brother wasn't trying to be a noble thief.

Snorting in disbelief, Raphael undid his boots and pulled them off, carrying them in one hand. With the chest piece draped over his arm, he had to hop a few times to get rid of the lower pieces. For such bulky armor, it looped easily over his hands, its leather belts acting like handles.

"Anyway," Donatello said. "I kinda wanted to say thanks."

"For what?" Raphael asked. "Blocking your cash flow?"

"For getting him to stay home and rest a little." He shivered. "I hate doing stitches, and he wouldn't have needed them if he'd stayed in bed for awhile. I should be able to convince him to rest a couple more days."

"Great," said Raphael. "Then later I can put him on his shell again and encourage him to stay in for another week."

Donatello didn't answer.

"How many times you think I gotta kick his ass?" Raphael asked. "Until he realizes I ain't letting this go and he gives up that scarf for good?"

They were at the door to the lair. Donatello put his hand on the first brick to press, then looked over his shoulder at his brother.

"Why is this such a big deal with you?" he asked. "Why won't you let Leo do this?"

"Uh, 'cause it's wrong?" Raphael leaned back, putting his arms up as if it was a shocking revelation. "It's stealing. I don't know what crawled up your butt and died, but Leo ain't a thief."

"What if he is?" Donatello asked.

"What?"

"What if he is a thief?" Donatello said, facing him again. "What if this is who he really—"

"No," Raphael said flatly. "Leonardo ain't a thief. He left for awhile and got really mixed up while he was gone. He even said it himself—he wished just one of us had gone with him. Just one of us would've kept him on the straight and narrow."

"But that's the point," Donatello said. "He's always been with us until then—"

"Then we always kept him honest," Raphael said. "And we'll do it again. He ain't leaving the house until he gets it that he ain't dishonorable."

Donatello grimaced, upset with that logic but not countering it. He opened the door and walked in, heading back to his room. To his annoyance, Raphael stowed his armor under the couch and followed him, standing at the door while Donatello went and sat down on the edge of his bed. Leonardo lay on his good side, eyes squeezed shut even in sleep.

"I wasn't lying," Donatello muttered, touching his brother's hand.

"He ain't the only one I wanna see giving up the habit," Raphael said. "How long were you his fence?"

Bristling at the accusing tone, Donatello took a long breath and forced himself to exhale slowly. In his sleep, Leonardo turned slightly and curled his fingers around his brother's hand.

"You got him to back down," Donatello said softly. "This time, while he was tired and injured. What do you think he'll do when he's better?"

"Back down again," Raphael said. "Or I'll put him down."

Donatello drew his fingertip across the bruise slowly fading on his brother's shoulder.

"This was all you did to him. Exhausting himself, slashing himself...he did that." Donatello looked up. "You don't really get why he's doing this. Why he seemed to change so much."

Raphael grimaced. Donatello's big eyed act was second only to Michelangelo, but where their little brother begged like a puppy, Donatello could convince the whole family that he'd been wronged, wounded. That worrying at him was like swatting an injured animal. Standing between him and their brother, the effect only doubled until Raphael had to look away...

...and spot the scarf draped across headboard. His resolve hardened again.

"Oh yeah?" Raphael said. "Why's that?"

Shaking his head once, Donatello looked back down.

"It won't mean anything coming from me. Heck, I'd probably just make it worse trying to explain. You won't change your mind until he shows you."

"Shows me what?" Raphael said. "Come on, I hate it when you get all 'oh, you wouldn't understand my genius thoughts'."

"And I hate it when you act like you're wearing blinders," Donatello said. "Look, the next time you're chasing him, instead of getting pissy that he won't let you punch him, try actually watching him."

"Pfft." Raphael rolled his eyes.

"You know him," Donatello insisted. "You've lived with him for nineteen years. Now how about when you see him...you act like it."

"I'll study him when he's on the ground," Raphael said.

Donatello didn't respond. After a moment, Raphael went back downstairs, moving his armor somewhere safer. He joined Michelangelo on the living room floor, looking at the handheld camera that his little brother proudly displayed. Michelangelo showed off how he could hold the camera forward with the microphone in the back so he would be clearly heard but never seen.

"I was thinking of doing the East Freight tunnels first," Michelangelo said. "Y'know, something easy. Maybe Atlantic Avenue later? Maybe I'll get lucky and find the hidden underground train."

"The train's a legend," Raphael chuckled.

There were leftover pizza pouches on the coffee table, and he took one and idly chewed on the edge of it. His brother tended to leave them in the microwave too long, but the burned edges with the charred mozzarella and overly crisp pepperoni was, in Raphael's opinion, the best part.

"Hey, Mikey."

Raphael's tone had changed. Michelangelo put the camera down gently.

"Yeah?"

"Donny said something..." Raphael trailed off, tapping his fingertips on the floor. "I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't pay attention to it. He's just making excuses without really saying anything."

"What'd he say?"

"That..." He huffed. "That I don't get why Leo's doing this. I mean, it's fun running around, busting shit up. I get that. But to steal shit..."

"Well," Michelangelo said. "It's not really busting things up, right? It seems a lot more controlled than just smashing and grabbing stuff."

Raphael didn't agree, but he didn't argue. He stared at the pizza pouch as if the answers might be inside.

"And that Leo doesn't steal every night." Raphael shrugged. "So what the hell is he doing?"

Michelangelo chuckled. "That I can answer. I mean, think about it, Raph. If you knew that you weren't gonna find any heads to bust, would you still put on the armor and Batman all over the city?"

"I'd probably take the night off and sleep," Raphael said. He reached out and poked his brother. "Unlike some lard buckets, I don't get enough shut eye every night."

"That's not my fault," Michelangelo said, sticking out his tongue.

Raphael took that as an invitation, which ended the conversation for the night.

At the breakfast table, conversation was noticeably muted. Neither Leonardo nor Raphael baited each other, but they didn't talk to anyone, either. If asked, they passed along the sugar or syrup, pretending that the other didn't exist.

"So Don," Michelangelo started, putting his camera on the table. "How much light am I gonna need for this little guy?"

"Oh, is that the camera?" Donatello reached over and brought it closer. "Huh. You got that pretty quick."

"Well, I wasn't busy like everyone else," Michelangelo said, ignoring how the three of them tensed. "I didn't get a chance to look up the specs on it, though. I'd hate to run around under the city and only get a whole lotta darkness for it."

"...right," Donatello muttered, but the problem of the camera distracted him from his little brother's teasing. "Hm. It looks like it's got night vision, but that's gonna get pretty washed out at this resolution. You're gonna want to take along a utility light, at least 30 lumens. I've got a few in the garage if you want to borrow one."

"Whoa, really?" Michelangelo beamed.

"You'll just have to charge it up again—"

Splinter put down his teacup with enough force to make them all look up.

When he didn't speak, they glanced at each other in confusion. Raphael looked at Leonardo, and for that instant, their antagonism vanished. Leonardo mouthed a question and Raphael shook his head. No, he hadn't spilled their secrets.

Then Splinter took a breath.

"Leonardo."

Cold dread filled him. Leonardo was aware of his brothers staring at him, but he couldn't make himself move. Splinter's tone was not the usual scolding for the rare instances that Leonardo disobeyed, but their father could mask his anger well behind a stony face.

"Master?"

"Come with me."

Splinter stood, head raised, and walked back to his room without glancing at his son. Leonardo's eyes widened, and he looked at his siblings in vague shock. Donatello reached out and squeezed his hand quickly.

Michelangelo's smile was weak. "It'll...it'll be okay, bro'. It's just Splinter."

When Leonardo looked at Raphael, his brother was stunned to feel like he was somehow a lifeline that Leonardo was reaching for and simply couldn't catch. It made no sense. Raphael should have been happy that Splinter had caught on to something being wrong. Maybe Splinter yelling could make Leonardo stop being a thief. But when Raphael opened his mouth to try to say something, anything, all that came out was the same promise.

"I never told," he breathed. "I swear it."

Leonardo's look said that he believed him. Splinter's walking stick knocked against the floor, making his startled look at the doorway seem all the worse. Without a word, Leonardo quickly followed Splinter to his room.

The door closed slowly with a final click.