Fade

Part 7

By Dierdre

I would never get used to this. God, I didn’t want to get used to this. Ordering Leo around like some sort of dimwitted child felt wrong in ways I couldn’t begin to describe, and never failed to churn my gut with a sick, burning ache.

But there was no help for it, and so I took a deep breath and said, “Please get up, Leo.”

My eyes narrowed involuntarily as the seconds ticked slowly by. I hated the irritation I was feeling, but this was the fourth time I’d repeated the order and it had yet to illicit a response from him.

I grimaced and rubbed absently at my stomach through the loose weave of my sweater. If I could just get Leo to cooperate, then I could raid the fridge and see if there was any milk left. That was supposed to soothe the sting of a developing ulcer, wasn’t it? I’d have to look through Don’s old medical textbooks to make sure...

That last incautious thought constricted my throat like a garrote. I bit down on the glove that protected the palm of my left hand, teeth grinding lightly at the cloth as I fought to keep my vision from blurring. I was determined to stop this urge to cry every time I was sideswiped by an unexpected memory. I wasn’t any good to anyone if my eyes were always leaking like a matchstick dam.

I was still struggling to get myself under control when Leo suddenly unfolded his legs and stood beside me, his gaze fixed at some point beyond my left shoulder. Apparently the repeated command had finally sunk in.

I blinked rapidly to clear my vision and removed the glove from my mouth, breathing out a sigh that was a strange blend of relief and sorrow. I was grateful that he was finally listening to me, but it also meant I could now clearly see the blank expression in his coffee-colored eyes. The sight was heartbreaking even after all this time, and it always filled me with a strange desire to find one of his bandannas. Maybe having his eyes once again framed by bright blue cloth would make the vacant gaze less obvious.

…Probably not.

“Follow me, Leo.” I turned slowly and lurched out the door, stopping in the hallway until I heard him approaching with a feather-light gait a cat would envy. Even in his current sad mental state, Leonardo didn’t know how not to be graceful.

Opening the door to his room, I stepped inside and flipped the light switch. Fluorescent lighting flickered on with a deceptively cheerful glow, chasing back the darkness and revealing his chamber. Everything was still neat and tidy, but the carefully positioned furniture and his artistically displayed weapons collection was now coated with a fine patina of dust. This byproduct of disuse dulled the finish of his carefully restored pine bookshelf and even dimmed the reflected brightness of his twin katanas, positioned in a place of honor amongst the lesser weapons.

The others had treated their weapons with respect and care, but tempered with the knowledge that they were just tools. Leo, however, had always been different. Simply watching him during weapons practice was to incite an emotion that bordered on awe, for there was something almost spiritual about the way he handled the blades. His swords were precious to him and he treated them as if they were extensions of his soul, spending a least an hour each day in their care and upkeep.

At least, he used to. Seeing the dust gradually form on those swords was probably the most valid proof of Leo’s condition I could ever get.

I flipped back the warm quilt with its elegant Japanese print, and did my best to fluff the pillows. Task completed, I turned back to the doorway where Leo rigidly stood. “Come over here, please, and lie down,” I said.

It took two more repeats of the order before he complied, gliding past me and stretching himself out on the bed. I wrestled the blankets over his form and tucked them under his chin, before carefully easing myself into a sitting position at his side.

“Close your eyes and relax.” Reaching out with my good hand, I gently stroked the undamaged side of his face.

This method didn’t always work, but it was the best I could do, since I couldn’t simply order him to sleep. He may be catatonic and about as emotionally responsive as a floor lamp, but he was still a living being. I couldn’t just turn his REM cycles on and off like a light switch.

It took a few more minutes of coaxing, but his eyes finally fluttered closed. I continued stroking his cheek as he relaxed, one recalcitrant muscle at a time, his breath slowing to match the steady beat of his heart.

I waited until his mouth had dropped open slightly and he exhaled a soft snore, before withdrawing my hand. A smile quirked the side of my mouth; fleeting and tinged with an edge of sadness. He looked so normal when he slept.

“Good night, Leo,” I whispered.

I stood up laboriously and exited the room as softly as I was able, shutting off the lights. Glancing over my shoulder one last time, I eased the door shut as my shoulder muscles loosened in relief. That had gone better than it usually did. I loved Leo dearly, but it sometimes required more patience than I possessed to coax him into slumber.

It made me wonder how Raph managed when I wasn’t around.

Sitting at the kitchen table a few moments later, I sipped at a glass of milk as I waited for my laptop to power up. Maybe a few hours of internet surfing would calm my mind enough to let me sleep.

Apparently it worked, because I drifted off after only a few hours, leaning against the tabletop with my head buried in my folded arms. I slept deeply and without dreams, until I was abruptly startled awake by the sharp rasp of the sliding elevator doors.

Nearly falling out of my chair in surprise, I jerked upright and blinked rapidly to clear the fog from my vision. I yawned and glanced at my laptop’s screensaver, which flashed the time in whirling three dimensional letters. Four fifty-two. Raph wasn’t due back for a few hours yet, so who the hell..?

Seized by sudden irrational dread, I eased my good hand into my oversized backpack. The bag, left open and propped up against a table leg, provided no obstruction as I reached into it and wrapped my fingers around a familiar handle. The kunai had been a gift from Leo before his mental breakdown, and I prayed silently that I remembered how to use it properly as I levered myself to my feet.

There was no way to make it to the kitchen entrance without being heard. My leg brace made that impossible, so I opted to wait for the intruder to come to me. I couldn’t hope to fight him off, but I was still perfectly capable of pitching the sharp weapon and pinning him to the brickwork like a butterfly. Weapons throwing had been one of my favorite parts of Master Splinters training. I’d been rather good at it.

Holding my weapon at shoulder level, my grip loose but firm, I was poised to act the instant I saw an unfamiliar face. My heart pounded as I heard quiet footsteps approach, my blood stirring with the heady beginnings of adrenaline.

I lowered the kunai the instant I saw a flash of red and green, both relieved and oddly disappointed. No demonstrations of practical etymology for me tonight.

Raphael swept past me with only a cursory glance at my weapon, which I hurriedly tossed onto the kitchen table. It landed with a loud clatter as he opened the fridge and pulled out a half-full pint of orange juice. The door glided sedately closed of its own accord as he turned to me, thumbing open the container. That’s when got my first good look at him, and my somewhat sheepish greeting died in my throat.

“Christ, what happened to you?”

Raph didn’t answer, but instead tipped the container back and drained the remaining liquid in several long swallows. He was dehydrated and obviously tired, with torn skin and flakes of dried blood marring his chin and hands. As he finished with the juice and wiped a forearm across his mouth, the shift in lighting along the planes of his muscles revealed a swollen and deeply bruised shoulder.

My nose wrinkled. He stank to high heaven and looked like he’d been hit by a train. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark. “What happened, Raph? Are you all right?”

Recapping the lid, he threw the plastic container carelessly at the trash bin. It ricocheted off the side and hit the concrete, where it wobbled in unsteady revolutions. He didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll live,” was his only reply.

Seeming to believe that a two word answer would quell my worries, he turned partially away from me and fished around in one of his belt pouches. He pulled out a badly torn and crumpled piece of paper, glaring at it as if it were the sole source of all his problems. Frowning hard, he balled it into a hard knot with a single fist and sent it sailing into the bin, where it settled forlornly atop an old pizza box.

I pushed aside my immediate curiosity about its contents and clanked over to him. Reaching out to get a closer look at one of his hands, I said, “Those scrapes look nasty. Let me-”

Making an impatient sound, he stepped out of my reach. “Damn it, April, stop hovering. I said I was fine.”

He turned on his heel and slipped past me, vanishing into the darkness of the living room. I did nothing to stop him as, ever so slowly, my glove found its way between my teeth.

The words themselves didn’t have the power to deter me, for he said something similar every time I tried to treat his injuries. No, it had been the look in his eyes. Flat and as lusterless as corroded copper pennies, but lit from beneath by a profound and righteous anger that held the same potential for destruction as smoldering embers. I had seen that expression on his face only a few times before, and it had always meant destruction and messy death to any who stood in his way.

Too full of sinking trepidation to care a whit about the invasion of privacy, I limped to the trash can and swiped the paper from its pizza box stage. I glanced over my shoulder in a surreptitious, guilty gesture, and then carefully unwadded the fragile note.

My knowledge of kanji was limited, and the paper itself was so marred by grime and puncture wounds that it was barely readable, but I nevertheless grasped the gist of the message.

My eyes widened in sudden fear, as a sense of impending doom swept over me in a chilly wave. What had Raph gotten himself into now?