(drabble) Gotcha (4 of 4)
by KC
Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles.
Pairing: Michelangelo/Leonardo
It's rare when it's just us in a fight. Usually it's all four of us against a big gang, but tonight it's just me and Leo up against what's gotta be all the Purple Dragons. Sometimes even I'm amazed at how well we work together, shell to shell, when Raph isn't there throwing insults and Don isn't there using big words that totally confuse me. Not that I don't get what he's saying most of the time, but sometimes Donatello can take an hour to say something simple, know what I mean?
Even though Leo's a lot more serious than I like to be, he keeps things as simple as he can. His orders don't get long, he doesn't use huge fifty syllable words and he likes to win. Okay, so half of his orders are "Mike, pay attention" and his short words tend to be "Mike, knock it off," and if he likes to win, then he really hates to be ignored, so he'll smack me if I miss one of his orders.
It's not my fault, though! Fighting gives me a real rush of adrenalin, makes me bouncy. And nunchucks are nothing if not bouncy. Leo's swordsmanship is based all around focus and follow through. Nunchucks--well yeah, I gotta focus and follow through, too, but it's not the same. Using a sword makes you think in straight lines and curves. With nunchucks, I gotta think in spirals when I'm spinning 'em like propellers, angles every time I make a hit, even squiggles when they bounce off someone's head. Fighting's different when your weapon's floppy in the middle. Kind of like constantly wrapping cotton candy around a stick, keeping balance without losing any of that pink sugar.
But after a few minutes of fighting, the fight's over. The alley looks like it's paved with knocked out Purple Dragons, and those are just the ones that didn't have the sense to run away. Whole gang laid out and run off, and all I got are a few bruises and some scraped knuckles.
"Woohoo!" The rest of my family doesn't believe me, but I say every victory should be properly celebrated with a little dance. "Go us! Go us! That's what you get for fighting the Battle Nexus Champion and his sidekick, uh..."
Wow, I didn't think coming up with sidekick names was so hard. Don't think he'd like Battle Boy. Guess I could always go with Fearless Leader, but he doesn't like that one, either.
"Mike...knock it off."
Told ya so.
He'd wiping his swords off on the nearest body. You think I'd be used to that by now, but not really. I gotta get blood off my nunchucks sometimes, too, but they're varnished wood. A little blood on his swords makes 'em rust real fast. And it's never a little blood. But I can handle it as long as none of it's his.
Police sirens coming closer, so we take off around the corner and take a few backstreets 'till we're safe in a dead end, away from the street lights. Y'know, one of these days I wanna have a human friend who's a cop. That way, after a big brawl like tonight's, I can lurk in the shadows and wait for him to stand all alone under a streetlamp smoking a cigarette telling me about investigations and clues. And Leo would hide even farther in the shadows and glare at me and tell me how risky that kind of behavior is.
And Leo and me wouldn't have to run a couple blocks to satisfy his paranoia about keeping out of sight, so we wouldn't be sore after running with injuries. My bruises wouldn't pound in time with my heartbeat and Leo--
"Dude, what's wrong with your--"
"It's nothing." Leo gives me that look, the exasperated quit worrying I'm fine one, and stands up straight, letting his hand fall from where he was holding his side. I don't see anything shiny, so I guess he's not bleeding. I look back up at his eyes and...oh. His eyes are definitely shiny.
My shell's up against the wall just as I recognize that look. He gets like this after a fight sometimes. Dunno if it's the adrenaline or the fear that we might get hurt bad someday, or maybe he just gets excited after a good brawl. Kind of like Raph, but don't ever tell 'em they're kind of alike. They hate that.
Not that I mind this. Weeks of trying to get a little interest out of him, and then this? Like a storm after drought. I could drink him in all night. Probably will, if his wandering hands are anything to go by. It's all precision with him, of course. He knows where to touch, what to whisper, when to pin my hands against the wall and when to let me go 'cause my hands're useless. This is what I was missing, when he gets so close that it feels like I'm gonna disappear into him and--
He winces.
There's just a hint of a hiss of pain, but that's all I need. My hands work again and I put them on his shoulders, pushing him back gently. He looks a little annoyed, but I think it's more because he hates it when we notice if he's hurt or bleeding or dragging a broken leg.
"Mike..."
I don't sound like that when I whine, do I? Okay, he's not really whining. Mostly.
"Leo, you're hurt--"
"It's not bad," he argues. "Probably not even cracked."
Yeah, like that helps. I move to touch that spot on his side he's favoring and he flinches, then shuts his eyes as I press my hand flat against it. I think he's right that nothing's busted, but still, his breathing's off. Believe me, for Leo that's a big thing.
"We better get you home."
Weird to be the one saying that. If this is how he feels, though, all protective and worried and wanting to be sure, then I'm glad I get to be the goof-off most of the time. The sad, frustrated look in his eyes doesn't make it any easier.
"But we never get any time," he whispers. "We may not get another chance for weeks."
"Not with your rules," I say. "How about trying my rules for a change?"
He gives me another look, nervous and a little lost. I love that look--well yeah, I like all his looks--but this one's rare and it's so easy to poke him to go in the right direction when he's a little lost. It happens more often than everyone thinks. I know how tempting it is to just give in and trust someone else when you don't know what to do. And we both know that this set-up just isn't working.
He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to. When I see his gaze slip away and he glances at the pavement, I know I've won.
Gotcha, big bro'.