Leonardo inhaled deeply, pulling the scented air into his nostrils, filling his waiting lungs.
His ribcage expanded, his stomach grew, the breath pushing deep in his belly. He held the air within him, floated in the void,
revelled in the rare moment of nothingness. Stillness. Emptiness. His lungs deflated, breath pushing through his nose, recirculating
into the small room. The emptiness faded, it filled. The pungent musk of the burning stick before him. The plush support of the cushion
beneath his thighs. The muffled noises of life eminating from behind his closed door. The sounds of his brothers; a laugh track on the
television, the soft click of a computer keyboard, the impact of fist against a worn heavy bag, the crunch and slurp, even, of a late night
snack. The sounds of his family. He focused on his own self, the rhythmic, steady beat of his heart within him, the soft throb of his pulse
in his ears, his neck. The whistle of his breath, calm, soothing, almost silent. In. Pause. Out. Pause. In. Nothingness. Out. Emptiness.
He floated in the void.
A rustle jolted him. His eyelids peeled back. He looked at the source. His bed. It sat along the far wall of his simple room, unadorned,
low to the ground, currently blanketed in jumping shadows provided by the lit candles that sat by his knee. The impatient flames spat and
flickered, casting new and exotic shapes into the pressing darkness. Leonardo stared at the fire, studied the dance of the candles' tips, his
brow furrowed as they leapt and stretched. The restless flames ducked and weaved in a phantom breeze, unable or unwilling to calm themselves.
Slowly, the corner of Leonardo's mouth pulled up, a wicked smirk spread itself across his face. Exhaustion pulled at his eyes.
"You and me both."
The flames danced, celebrating his words.
Again, a rustle from the far wall. The bedding rose and settled. A sigh escaped his lips as Leonardo stood. He feet scooped beneath him as
his powerful legs lifted his weight in a smooth familiar movement. He walked to the bed, shaking his thighs between each step, loosening
the stiff joints, encouraging blood to flow to the meat of his legs. He stopped at the bedside, staring down at it's contents.
The Girl.
She had been deposited in his room soon after her arrival in their home. Donatello had completed tending to her injuries, had properly bandaged
and cleansed and sewn her wounds. Splinter had requested she occupy Leonardo's room for the time being, until she woke, until she was sound.
No one had objected. Leonardo had suspected he was not the only one of his brothers to swallow his words. He had watched Donatello chew on the
inside of his cheek as he propped the pillow under her head. He had noted the patience his brother had exhibited as he pulled the blanket around her weakened
body; those hands that were always so nimble, quick and agile, always occupied, always working, they smoothed the creases out of the worn linens so
very carefully. Now, Leonardo stood looming over the Girl as she battled in her fitfull sleep. The carefully arranged covers lay creased and bundled
across her, haphazard, where an uncaring arm or leg had blindly flung them. Her brow furrowed, and he watched beads of sweat form and slide
down her anguished face. The pillowcase beneath her was thoroughly damp, from her own fluids aswell as the dripping, cool washcloth Donatello and
Michelangelo would rountinely deposit on her forehead in a vain effort to calm the raging fire in her core. Her breath was fast, hard, raggid. She
panted through her open mouth, her body exhausting itself in it's desperate quest to rebuild. He watched her chest heave, barely filling to
capacity before it collapsed, losing it's precious content. Leonardo knelt before the struggling girl. Her face twitched, lips pursing, eyelids flinching.
Her face shone in the candlelight. Her skin glowed bronze, luminescent. He watched a bead travel from her hairline to her eyebrow, down the slope
of her nose, over a flushed cheek, to rest in the cupid's bow of her top lip. His nostrils flared. Leonardo was acutely aware of his own pulse throbbing
within his veins. He felt it thrum in his arms, felt it pool in his stomach, heard it pound in his ears. A harsh green hand sprung to the bedside table
finding the waiting bowl of water, and inside it, the drenched washcloth. He collected it in his palm, pressing the excess water from it, letting it drain
between his fingers. He wrapped his forefinger in the damp cloth, and moved it to her face. He dabbed at the cupid's bow of her top lip. The cloth was
drawn over her flushed cheeks, over her slick neck, over her hidden ear, finally resting on her forehead.
A creak in the hall, a hesitant step.
"It's ok, Mike. You can come in." He heard the shuffling footsteps, they stopped just inside his door.
"We weren't sure if you were meditating or what, but it's been a while since we checked on her." The voice remained at the door.
"Don was just in here not too long ago with his checklist."
"That was just over an hour ago," Michelangelo approached the bed. "Guess you were out of it, huh, bro?" A heavy hand landed on the crouched turtle's shell.
"How's she looking?"
"The same."
"Hmmhm."
"Raphael is done his.. de-briefing with Sensei, I assume." It was a statement.
"Yeah, a while ago. They didn't take long."
"Mmm."
"Come on, Leo. We both know Raph didn't push her. It was just an accident." The words rushed out of Michelangelo, riding the same breath as the heavy sigh that
followed.
Leonardo's chin clicked repeatedly as he clenched his jaw, pressing the top line of his teeth forcefully, harshly into the bottom. His hand still rested on the wet washcloth on
Angeline's forehead.
"Have you woken her?"
Leonardo shook his head. The gesture was stiff and jolting. His hand moved to the Girl's right shoulder. He jostled her. "Wake up." She murmured and stirred, but
her eyes remained closed. He tried again. Jostle, then "Wake up."
A harsh sigh rushed forth from his younger brother. He looked over his shoulder to see a piteous expression staring back at him. His brother stood, one hand on his hip,
head shaking lightly back and forth, a small sad smile, a smirk really, eyeridges raised in question. It was a look for a mistaken and over-indulged child.
"Leo, Leo, Leo. You can't just shake her and say 'wake up'"
"What?"
"You have to be charming." He pinched his fingers together, hand upwards to emphasize each distinct word.
"Charming. To wake her up you have to be... She wont wake up unless you're charming, is that what you're saying?" Leonardo's flat tone mirrored his skeptical expression.
"Try being cool. Smooth.." Inspiration hit, his eyeridges shooting upwards, eyes lighting. "Suave. Psh," a scoff, "step aside and let a real turtle handle this." Michelangelo's hand batted
lightly, quickly, impatiently at his brother's. Leonardo moved to crouch at the foot of the bed as Michelangelo came to crouch by the Girl setting a cup of water
down on the nightstand, nestled between a battered wind-up, glow-in-the-dark clock, and the bowl of water. He removed the cloth from her forehead and used it to
wipe away any remaining moisture from her face. Satisfied, he set it back in the bowl, sloshing some of it's contents onto the already damaged wood. His hand brushed
some damp hair from her face.
"Angie, Annngie, when will those clouds all disappear? Angie,Anngie, where will it lead us from here? With no loving in our souls, and no money in our coats, you can't
say we're satisfied. Angie, Angie, you can't say we never tried. Oh Angie, don't you weep, all your kisses still taste sweet. I hate that sadness in your eyes. But Angie,
I still love you, baby, everywhere look I see your eyes." He grew quiet as Angeline's eyelids fluttered on her cheek.
"Angie, you're beautiful, ain't it time we said g..Hey there!" Her large black eyes stared, glassy, into his face. His large thumb rubbed her left cheek, wiping at nothing,
simply comforting. "How do you feel?"
She blinked furiously, trying to clear her fever-fogged mind.
"Do you recognize me, remember my name? Come on, I know you do." He turned, displaying his cheek, "In profile." He turned back, waving his hands in front of his face.
Then finally, he revealed the oh-so obvious answer. "I'm the cute one! Mike! Aw man, I told Donnie he shouldn't wake you with his ugly mug of his, it shocks all the memory
right out of you. It frightening, I know. Terrifying really. And you ain't even seen him in the mornings! "
She blinked slowly. He offered a large, lop-sided smile. She blinked again.
"Genbu Michelangelo." The words were hoarse and quiet, barely above a whisper. They caused an open-mouthed grin to spread across the turtle's face.
"See, you do remember! Ha, I told Donnie that I was more cute than the fever was..hot?!" He scrunched up his snout having confused himself. "Thirsty?"
His hand swept beneath her neck, lifting her head. The muscles of his arm bunched and contracted, easily holding the weight as he brought the cup of cool water
to her eager mouth. The cup sat at her lips and Michelangelo tipped the contents delicately into her waiting mouth. Angeline drank greedily. As voraciously as
her parched and split lip would allow, swallowing all that her dry, raw throat could handle.
"Hey, uh, Leo. Could you grab a pillow off the couch? This ones soaked. Ok, easy there. Not too much."
Leonardo rose from his knees, sliding the pillow from beneath the Girl's raised head. He squeezed his hand in discomfort, testing the damp, plush object.
Michelangelo gently eased the cup from her mouth. "Not too much. It'll like, shock your system or something. There." He laid her head down on the mattress,
placing the cup on the nightstand. "Better?"
The Girl sighed, gasping slightly, tongue working to collect any missed moisture form her lips. He watched as those lips that had so eagerly worked the
water into her mouth now stilled. She stared up at him, eyes glassy. After a while; "'Kay, well you can rest again, and I'll be back in an hour, ok?"
He moved to stand. He stopped as he felt something upon his wrist. Her hand. He stared at the damaged fingers, flanked by metal supports, strapped
tightly by medical tape, on his skin. The fingers that could curled around his arm.
"Stay?"
He crouched back down, his eyes worried. "Hey, it's alright. My brother will be back any second. Leo, you know him. You wont be alone."
"No, not the other one." Her eyes rested closed, the effort of speech obviously draining.
"Ok, yeah. Of course I'll stay, babe. Close your eyes, thats it. Just rest. I wont go anywhere." Michelangelo sat on the floor, hand on her left shoulder, resting
his cheek on the edge of the futon. He heard his brother's silent footsteps outside the door.
"Here you go, Mike."
He arranged the pillow under Her head, collecting her hair on one side, then repositioned himself on the floor.
"Everything set here?"
"Yeah. I'm just going to hand around. You know, keep her company."
Leonardo looked to Angeline. Her face was calm, blank, already asleep.
"I don't think thats necessary. And Raphs about to unplug that game you've got on hold out there." His thumb hitched over his shoulder, in the general
direction of the living area.
"Yeah, thats ok. I've hit a save point." Mike nestled his cheek against the futon.
"Fine. I'll be in the dojo, if you need me."
Leonardo strode through the living room, glancing at the television as he passed. The screen was frozen in time, the only movement the large flashing
'PAUSE' in neon orange. Music blared from the set. A repetative, inane concoction consisting of no more than six notes.
He moved forward towards the training room, the dojo.
His brother had moved on from the heavy bag that hung across the hall. Raphael now sat in the near corner of the room. He sat on the long padded
bench that accompanied a varied collection off free weights. He hunched slightly, elbow on knee, pulling the heavy metal to his face, a look of
savage satisfaction gleaming in his eye with every successful repetition. Sweat glistened on his skin, reflecting silver and gold, highlighting his well-tended
contours. The moisture peppered his skin, coated the surface, and ran in rivulets between the bunching muscles. He channeled his breath in through
his nostrils, out through his mouth with each curl.
"Mikes done with his game, if you want the t.v."
"Nah, just that damned... music. He's got the fucking... volume up full blast." The words pressed out between reps.
"Oh," he turned to leave. He stopped at the voice behind him.
"You working your katas?"
Leo turned to see Raph watching him from over his shoulder, weight still in hand. Sweat dripped freely down his face, off the end of his beak. His swatch
of fabric hung loosely around his neck, blood red where the sweat had soaked it.
"I was going to."
Raph dropped the weight, stopping it's bounce with the pad of his foot. "I'm done cardio. Just finishing up here." He stood, moving to the assortment of
weights lined against the wall. Making his selection, he checked his spacing. He placed the weights on the floor, standing above them. Squatting with a
straight back, he picked up the weights, one in each hand, bringing them to rest before his abdomin. With a grunt, he splayed his arms, lifting them up and outwards,
until he stood, arms extended to the sides, shoulders pinched back. Slowly, he lowered his arms to their starting position, controlling the fall of the weights.
He breathed deeply, in through the mouth, then repeated the action, breath shooting from the mouth, grunting deep in his throat.
Leonardo stood at the doorway, watching his brother's back; watching the bunch and strain of the collection of muscles between his shoulder blades, and the
taut tension of his arms with each lift. Padding softly into the centre of the room, Leonardo breathed deep into his belly and began basic movements, simple
and familiar forms to awaken his body.
Raphael paused, arms rested, head bowed. He heard soft footsteps. Behind him, the air parted over smooth movements. He felt the sweat drip down his neck,
down his shoulders. He grunted as he felt his muscles burn, object to his continued practise. He let the burn spread, let it wash through him. He held the weight
a moment too long. Just a moment. Just enough to feel it, really feel the pain. He lowered the weights, let them drop to the floor. His head fell forward in
exhaustion. He licked his lips. A smile slid across his face.