Part 8

Impossible to hear anything distinct behind Splinter's door, but they tried anyway, sitting frozen and straining to listen. A low voice—their father's—spoke for a moment. Then silence. Then Leonardo's voice. Splinter spoke again.

Silence.

Long minutes passed.

Michelangelo leaned forward, tipping his chair dangerously far.

"Think he knows?"

"Shhh," Donatello hissed.

"He couldn't," Raphael whispered. "He would've known about me, too."

"Shhh," Donatello hissed louder.

"Leo seemed scared of something, though."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Donatello sighed. "Will you two—?''

The door clicked, slowly falling open. Michelangelo's chair slammed back to the floor and all of them sat straight, staring at their empty plates, glancing out of the corner of their eyes at their father's room. The doorway loomed, shadowed and empty, with only the flickering glow of candles out of sight.

Leonardo appeared, staring at a point far beyond the floor. He put his hand on the doorframe, mouth slightly open as he tried to form words. Just as he took a breath—

"Donatello." Splinter called from inside the darkness. "Come here."

Snapping his mouth shut, Leonardo looked like he'd been slapped. Donatello shared one more look with his siblings, all antagonism erased, then stood.

Still wincing at the curt tone of his father's voice, Leonardo walked by his brother as if in a daze. At Donatello's hand on his shoulder, Leonardo paused, touching his hand.

"Was it—?" Donatello started, then stopped, glancing at the door, hesitant to reveal anything.

Leonardo shook his head once, then let go and headed past him. At Raphael's whispered question, he visibly flinched and went to his room, not turning on the lights.

"Donatello." Calm, stern, Splinter's voice felt like steel.

"Sorry, sensei, coming!" Donatello no longer dawdled, jogging to the door and closing it behind himself.

"What the hell is going on?" Raphael said, sharing a dazed look with Michelangelo. "You think he—?"

"No way," Michelangelo whispered. "He would've scolded Leo in front of us. Calling us in like that...oh. Oh, no. Do you think he knows about...?

Raphael narrowed his eyes in confusion, and then his eyes turned impossibly wide. "About...us? I mean, Donny and Leo...? But then wouldn't he yell at all of us?"

Michelangelo bit his lip. "I mean, if he only figured out about them..."

"What?!"

Donatello's yell made them stand. In a fight, the sound of one of them crying out meant to stop and focus only on their brother. The habit had saved all of their lives at some point, but to hear it here in their home, with Splinter—their father...

Raphael took a step toward the door, but he couldn't bring himself to barge in. Splinter's room was too filled with the sense of his authority. But Donatello was behind that door and calling out. But Splinter—

Growling at his sense of helplessness, Raphael gave up on waiting to see if Splinter called him as well.

"Stay here," Raphael said, passing Michelangelo and following after Leonardo. He didn't have to barge in to Splinter's room if their big brother knew what was going on.

His brother's door was open. Swallowing once, Raphael leaned in, looking around. Bookshelves against the wall, but the cushions below them were empty. The low desk with a cushion for a seat...also empty. The paper lanterns his brother liked to use for light were off. In the back, the futon was also empty. But if he looked a little farther, there in the corner...

Quiet, moving slowly so his brother didn't think he wanted to fight, Raphael drew close, standing beside his brother as Leonardo sat pressed into the corner. His left hand slid against the wall as if trying to feel for a way out. His right hand lay flat against the floor.

"What is it?" Raphael asked, kneeling beside him. "Talk to me."

"I don't want to go," Leonardo whispered.

"'Go'? Where?"

Leonardo tried to breathe, drawing in only shallow breaths. His right hand pushed him tighter into the corner as he bowed his head, turning away.

"I don't..." He coughed. "I didn't catch all of it. It all went thin and high pitched when he said it."

"Said what?" Raphael huffed. "Leo—"

"He wants me to leave."

Raphael blinked. Stared at him in disbelief. Shook his head as if he had heard it wrong.

"Leave? Like, where?"

Leonardo moved his shoulder in a semblance of a shrug.

"I don't know. South...South America...something. He said something about...Guatemala..."

The idea was so sudden, so odd, that Raphael tried to remember if their master had said anything about South America in the past. Countries, drug trafficking, hell—even a single Spanish word beyond the occasional Mexican food Michelangelo cooked. Nothing.

"Why the hell would he say that?" Raphael asked.

"Training," Leonardo said. "To be better."

Raphael was about to ask 'better at what?' but Leonardo beat him to it.

"I don't..." Leonardo leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. "Better? What do I need to be better at that I have to leave for a year?"

"'A year'?" Raphael's jaw dropped. "What the hell?"

"He said it would be a..."

Leonardo stopped. Lifting his head, he looked up at his brother as a terrible thought occurred to him. After a second, Raphael realized what his look meant.

Four months alone had loosened the locks Leonardo had placed on himself. After a year, what would he be when he returned? If he returned.

The previous taste of freedom had turned poisonous to his brother. Leaving the family he loved...

"I don't want to go away," Leonardo whispered, his voice breaking.

Raphael sat down next to him, putting an arm around him. Leonardo didn't move, but Raphel felt the ragged breaths shaking him.

"You can't go."

As soon as he said it, Raphael knew how impossible that was. Leonardo obeyed their master. His thievery didn't contradict anything Splinter had said or taught them, not the letter of the law at least. Even Raphael, who liked to talk back and question Splinter's decisions, still followed them. If Splinter commanded their brother to go—

Gathering his legs under himself, Leonardo squeezed his eyes shut. Took a long shuddering breath, then let it out again. Breathed in. Out.

In.

And ran.

Raphael startled back, astonished at how fast he moved. Outside, Michelangelo called out something, audibly pushed his chair across the floor. The sound brought Raphael out of his surprise and he darted out, coming up short just by his own bedroom.

At the main door, Leonardo froze, glancing back at him. In his hand was the black scarf.

Raphael put his hand up, but just like his dream, he moved too slowly. Leonardo vanished into the darkness.

"Dammit!"

Ducking into his room, Raphael grabbed the pieces of his armor from beneath his bed and ran out after his brother.

Another advantage Leonardo held, Raphael realized, was that his big brother only needed to throw that scarf around himself. Raphael had to pause to step into his suit, zip it up—then step into his boots and buckle them. Although he'd worked the process down to only half a minute, he felt every one of those thirty wasted seconds. Leonardo could cross a dozen buildings in that time.

Then Raphael was sprinting, shouldering the pauldrons and drawing the straps taut across his plastron. Then his armguards, the steel plates, his helmet—he was at the storm tunnel at last, and he looked down each street that radiated away from him, scanned the walls of every building around him. Nothing. Clenching his jaw, he looked up to the rooftops—

No, the streetlamps. Against the gold sky of the setting sun, the flutter of black cloth drew his eye, the tattered edge waving in the wind. A row of streetlamps lined the road, and Leonardo climbed up the closest one, crouching on the top where the light didn't reach. Traffic was light, but the large mail delivery van coming closer was his obvious target.

Raphael knew he couldn't stop him in time. Instead he pulled his bike out of the storm tunnel and threw his leg over the side, kickstarting the engine in one thrust. As he navigated the cracked, graveled ramp, he spotted his brother timing his jump and landing on the van.

Spinning his bike in a one-eighty turn, Raphael skirted the edge of the heavy traffic barriers and drove after his brother, hanging just far back enough to spot his brother edging closer and closer to the rear. Raphael had to watch the traffic on either side of him and still keep close enough that he wouldn't lose Leonardo along the way.

Which was apparently over the bridge.

Across the Williamsburg bridge, the gold lights flashed overhead between the girders and cables. Raphael shook his head once. He'd thought that Leonardo would use the trains here or even head along the foot path. Instead his big brother was risking falling off a fast moving van in swift traffic in increasing darkness.

They made it across the bridge without incident, then continued down the street. Raphael wondered how long his brother would ride in that precarious position. Occasionally he saw Leonardo adjust his hold, turning his hand for a better grip. It wasn't an easy way to travel. Exposed to the winds, the confusion of light and sound, it would be all to easy for him to fall off.

Several blocks into lower Manhattan, the van made a left turn. That had to be the wrong way because Leonardo leaped as it slowed down, tucking into a roll and narrowly dodging a speedy coupé that ran the red light. Then Leonardo was up and running along the sidewalk into Roosevelt park. There were just enough trees and bushes that he could use for cover.

Raphael almost considered driving in after him, but there were still people inside and he wouldn't run the risk of hitting them. Instead he trailed along the street, falling a little behind as he kept from hitting cars around him, somehow keeping Leonardo in sight. Then falling further behind—there was a taxi parked in the bike lane and yelling cyclists to avoid, and then a fenced off curb under construction, and then a person in a motorized wheelchair who thought she could use the road like a car.

By the time he'd swerved or roared past every obstacle, he realized he'd lost his brother. He came to a stop at the corner, cursing and looking up and down the road. Nothing. No scarf, no oddly familiar shadow. Leonardo was—

Raphael blinked.

—standing on the opposite corner, leaning against a rusted mailbox, watching him.

Why was he—?

A heavy truck passed between them. Raphael hissed in a breath, startled as it flew by, and when it passed, his brother was no longer there.

Cursing, he glared at the truck...and found Leonardo holding onto the truck's rear locks. The steel rods that sealed the back doors provided enough of a handhold that he could hang on, at least while he wasn't jolted from the latches he was standing on. Precarious at best, that position would mean death if he fell.

Over his shoulder, from the corner of his eye, Leonardo made certain that Raphael saw.

"What are you doing?" Raphael whispered, revving the engine and following once again.

This time there were no detours, no sudden turns. The road roared below them, every crack and pothole rattling the truck and forcing Raphael to turn so he didn't wipe out. They passed block after block, finally coming up on Central Park, and Raphael wondered how far Leonardo intended to ride.

The truck swerved to miss a cyclist. Raphael froze as Leonardo lost his grip, sliding off the side—

Eyes widening, Raphael put his hands up to block as his brother didn't fall but stepped off into the air, landing on his bike's handlebars. Leaning back managed to counterbalance Leonardo's sudden weight, just barely, and then his brother was stepping on his shoulder and down onto the pavement.

Raphael put his foot on the ground and swung his rear wheel in a broad arc, riding up on the curb. His brother was sprinting, desperate to put as much distance between them as he could before Raphael's bike gave him all the advantage. They cut straight across the street, but Raphael pulled up short as Leonardo used a bench to run up and over something he couldn't see.

Ditching his bike beside the bench, he followed his brother, only spotting the low black fence as he went over. Now it was a straight chase across grass, Leonardo only ten or fifteen feet ahead. Raphael huffed as he ran. His brother didn't have on heavy armor, but then Raphael had been riding easy for the whole way.

He unslung his chain, spinning it for momentum before swinging it out.

"Here it comes!" he yelled, unable to bring himself to trike without giving his brother one warning.

Leonardo dove beneath the chain, rolling once and coming up again. He cut to the right, and only now did Raphael realize where they were.

The Museum of Natural History, with old architecture that gave Leonardo plenty of handholds as he broke right and all but ran up the side of the wall. Window ledges, decorative brick work and stone railings gave Leonardo a ladder up to one of the windows at the very top floor.

For a moment, Raphael thought his brother would smash the glass. He grabbed the first ledge, grunting as he hauled himself up to the second floor. As he climbed, he looked up and spotted a glint of light in his brother's hands. A knife, he realized. Leonardo was cutting something—

Gleaming, a square pane of glass tumbled past him, shattering on the ground. Raphael looked over his shoulder at the glimmering shards, then back up.

"The whole damn window?" he demanded.

Leonardo didn't answer, sliding in through the round hole he'd cut. Raphael cursed as the scarf slipped in like a snake following his brother. There were thousands of treasures inside that museum! Who knew what Leonardo was stealing, plucking out of their cases and sinking into his satchel?

He'd reached the third floor when the alarm blared. Lights came on in the entire wing, and then shutters slammed over every window. Raphael snapped his hand back, leaning out into empty air to look up. The fourth floor had been sealed up as well. How did his brother plan to—?

The fourth floor window rattled once, twice—the shutter exploded outward. Raphael recognized his brother's work, the steel frame bent in the precise center as it arched out in a straight line before falling. He dropped his chain again, swinging it faster and faster. First a kick to clear the escape route, and then—

Like clockwork, his brother leaped out into the air, plummeting headlong in a dive. Raphael gasped in horror even as he swung his chain. If he missed—if Leonardo landed like that—

Leonardo twisted, catching the end of the chain, and then he was swinging in a broad arc toward the grass. Raphael yelled as his arm felt nearly yanked out of its socket, shouldering Leonardo's weight and momentum, until his brother let go and rolled again.

"Ow ow ow ow..." Raphael groaned, dropping down one ledge to the next, favoring that arm. Even the straps across his plastron felt stretched out of shape.

There was no time to feel pain. Leonardo was already across the grass to the sidewalk. Raphael growled and landed heavily, lumbering across the soft ground until he could jump the fence and run on the concrete. His bike was too far back to retrieve. He'd have to chase his brother down on foot.

The streetlight was with them as they ran across the road, behind the row of cars so that they were black silhouettes against red taillights. A row of eateries lined the building directly ahead, their outdoor tables covered by an overhang that Leonardo leaped, using the fire escape to head to the roof. Careful to land on the overhang supports so he wouldn't fall through, Raphael followed up.

Here the buildings were tightly packed together. Raphael easily stepped from one to the next, but after a moment, he realized he didn't see his brother. There were no lights up here, and the glow from the streets didn't reach so high. Raphael turned a circle, scanning the rooftops, searching for even the smallest movement—

Something knocked against his helmet, and he spotted a small stone rolling to a stop at his foot. He looked up and saw his brother standing on the top of a roof access, directly in the white light of the moon.

Raphael narrowed his eyes. Was his brother playing with him? This was the second time he'd lost him, and the second time that Leonardo made sure that the chase continued—but slower now.

Both of them were winded, audibly breathing hard, and Raphael finally came into his own. A light build meant that Leonardo's sprints easily outpaced him, but in a long distance chase, Raphael had the power to force himself to keep going. Raphael kept gaining, bringing Leonardo closer to arm's reach.

Leonardo halted, his hands slapping the ledge as he looked over the wide street. Left and right, nothing but street five stories below. He turned, heading for the tall high rise beside them, but he came too close as Raphael cut diagonally.

Raphael's hand closed with a satisfying grip over Leonardo's forearm. His brother's startled cry turned into a yell as Raphael threw him against the wall, his shell slamming hard against the brick. There was a brief scrabble—Leonardo's uppercut knocked off Raphael's helmet—and then Raphael had caught his other wrist, forcing his brother's hands up by his head. Raphael leaned all his weight against him, one knee against Leonardo's, pinning him so his movements became very small.

They stood like that, panting for breath, standing nearly flush against each other. Leonardo tilted his head back, looking up at the sky, while Raphael pressed harder against him, holding him securely as he tipped his head, resting against the bricks.

"Tenacious bastard," Leonardo breathed. "Starting to think...you just like chasing me."

"You made sure I didn't lose you," Raphael said between breaths. "I'm starting to think..that you like being caught."

"Don't flatter yourself," Leonardo hissed. "I'm not caught."

"Oh yeah?"

Raphael squeezed just enough to make Leonardo yelp. The token struggles were so light that Raphael barely felt him moving against himself.

Plastron to plastron, holding his brother prisoner, Raphael forced him to stand still, acutely aware of Leonardo's physical presence. In forcing his arms up, he'd forced Leonardo on his toes, and even then his brother was looking up at him. The scarf lay between them, soft and light in the wind, still draped around Leonardo's shoulders, a dark hood over his face.

Under that hood, his brother's eyes promising violence if he was let go should have been all the excuse Raphael needed to beat him senseless. And he might have if Leonardo's eyes hadn't been so bright. Raphael studied his face, seeing the faint signs of emotion that his brother struggled to hide.

Donatello had been right. Raphael had known Leonardo for nineteen years. He knew all the subtleties of his brother's body, the way he fell silent when cornered. The ways he lulled his enemies into dropping their guard. And the way a drawn out fight peeled back every layer and left him painfully vulnerable.

Pinned down with nowhere to hide, Leonardo blinked too rapidly, struggled stupidly when he knew he couldn't slip free.

Raphael tilted his head. This theft, running around the city and smashing windows, had nothing to do with Raphael and everything to do with Splinter.

In his hands, Leonardo trembled, grimacing as his emotions began to win out.

Raphael knew that feeling all too well. And Michelangelo always had the same solution to make it better.

Raphael closed the inches between them and stole a kiss.