Sentimentality

"How do you know when you're in love?" Raphael stared, long and hard, at his brother. His very intelligent brother. His enigmatic brother. His…his…his brother. Brothers just didn't go to each other about stuff like that, did they? Raph couldn't remember them ever doing it before—and was grateful they hadn't. He was awkward, just looking at him. What did he expect him to say?

"What the shell're you askin' me fer?" His brother shrugged, and had the nerve to look down at his feet, as if embarrassed.

"You're the only one I thought I could ask." Raph stared, long and hard, at his brother. Until his brother thought it wise to elaborate.

"Well. You know Mikey. I doubt he's ever loved anything other than his comic books, video games, and food. If I asked him, he'd probably just laugh and tease me about it forever." Raphael nodded. He knew about Mike's sense of "humor" all too well.

"Still don't explain nothin'. There's still—"

"I couldn't ask Donnie, either." Just as Raph's mouth opened, Leo continued.

"He's so…analytical. Not that it's a bad thing. But I have a feeling asking him would lead to a discussion on the brain and psychological reasoning behind feelings. And then perhaps a biology lesson and tips on safe sex." Raph snorted. He went to talk again.

"And Splinter just isn't an option. I love our sensei, and I regard his opinion to be viewed with the highest honor, but, let's face it, no-one wants to go to their dad looking for love advice." Raph stared, long and hard, at his brother. His brother stared back at him, eyes unreadable, and tipped his head back. He had permission to speak again.

"Coulda' asked April. Or Casey. Or somethin'." Leo shook his head again, and sighed.

"No, I couldn't—"

"You ain't in love with one'a them, are ya'? 'Cause I think April'd be some tough competition, bro. 'Fraid to say you ain't as pretty as she is."

"Ha, ha," Leo replied. "I'm asking you seriously, Raph. I need advice. Are you going to give me any, or send your poor brother away?"

Raphael considered this. Really considered this. He still wasn't sure why Leo was going to him, of all people, for advice on love. Not when all he could really think about was who the shell their enigmatic, fearless leader had got his sights set on. Not when he pushed his emotions inside and behind a mask of anger. Where was the love in that? Where was the mushy shit Leo undoubtedly expected him to spew at him? Or, maybe that was it. Maybe Leo didn't want the mush. Maybe he just wanted the cold, hard facts. Raphael could give cold, hard facts.

"S'got nothin' ta' do with any of that flowery mush people usually go on about. S'just…wantin' to be around 'em. Wantin' to do stuff for 'em. Make 'em feel better when they're down. Wantin' to touch 'em when fists ain't involved and no-one's got hurt. S'when you get this tight feelin' in yer chest when they get hit and you dunno what happened to 'em. When you realize you don't care how ya' feel, so long as they stop frownin' and start smilin', 'cause just seein' 'em smile's enough to make ya' feel better." Raphael ran a hand over his face and let out a noise of disgust.

"Guess I'm gettin' mushy, too. Go ask someone else." Before he could leave, Leo stopped him, one hand on his shoulder.

"Raph."

Raphael grunted.

"I think you should tell him."

It wasn't until later, when Raphael stood, pacing, in his room, that he finally realized Leo wasn't in love with anybody. And, for just a brief flash of a moment, he considered getting revenge for that awkward discussion. But it was quickly gone. Replaced by something else. A sense of thankfulness, perhaps. Maybe now he'd work up the courage to initiate his own conversation on love. Mush be damned.