"Take this sinking boat and point it home

we've still got

time." -Falling Slowly, The Swell Season

Chapter 3 - Finale

In the blissful seconds so dense and secure while he held her, April fooled herself into believing that it would be just this simple. That this unfairness life had placed upon her back, this weight made of fear, doubt and forbidden yearning, would finally sever and crumble beneath the confession of her truth. The weight of her whispered disclosure crushing away the years of denial. The neglected heart would shine as though never abandoned, and race as a streaking comet freshly burst from the cosmos.

He straightened, shifted slightly, and in that mercurial movement, she knew. It was a withdrawal. From the tender moment, from the truth, from her.

"April," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret; pulling away still farther; as if he didn't realize that her heart was leaving her body, retreating as he removed himself from against her; tearing in long elastic tendrils still clinging, caught between them both; unable to stay with one or the other. Impossible to choose.

"I . . . we . . ." he shook his head. Swallowed. He kept his eyes downcast, until, as if thinking he owed her more, he raised them.

She could not hide the fear or the disappointment. She did her best to fight back the tears forming. Felt them stinging.

His face was apologetic. Eyes full of sorrow. His hands were at her shoulders, a bridge, a barrier, a blockade, keeping the distance between them. Keeping her separated from what remained of her heart, still attached to him.

He shook his head again, struggling to find the right words. At a loss, he did what was foreign to him: he gave up. "I should go."

He released her and moved around her stiffened body to the door. Pausing for a moment, he turned, hand on the knob, "April," he started; his voice was the pattering rain against the morning window, dancing along her back, pleading for understanding, "in another place . . . another – time, maybe . . . but," he dropped his head. Sighed deeply. He lifted his free hand with a helpless gesture and there was a imploring, sad chuckle that trebled his tone, making it quiver into broken thirds: the sorrow, the pain, the anger.

"What about him, April? He'd never . . . I couldn't do that to . . . him."

She'd been content to stand and let him walk out the door. Rallying her dignity and strength for a round two, perhaps tomorrow or a week from now. When stronger. When she'd be sure not to make a bigger fool of herself than she might right now if she attempted to speak.

Because she was not going to let him go that easily. She would not allow him to use his brother – the one who'd left him behind – be the reason he kept happiness at bay. Not any longer. But his words came like a blow. She wheeled around, eyes teary, but blazing. Unable to control herself.

She opened her mouth only to find the space empty. The shredded petals of her heart fluttered as it sank into her knotted stomach.

"Leo?"

She dashed out the door, face darted about, but there was no sign of him. "Leo?!"

She turned back inside and slammed the door shut; punched it with the flat of her fist; kicked it until her toes protested the abuse and sunk to the floor. Her hands dragged through her hair, elbows on knees. She wiped her nose and sniffed; hard.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she said as she banged the back of her head against the door.

She had to be subtle – handling this delicate situation with precise care. Instead, she basically thrust her heart into his stomach and blurted take it or leave it! A giggle bubbled out from her gritted teeth, she banged her head against the door once more, but gentler; rolling her eyes. "Okay," she said aloud, "maybe not that awkwardly."

Still, it could have gone better.

She'd confessed her feelings. He hadn't immediately rejected her. That was a good sign. And it was clear he was torn about what to do once he was presented with her feelings. There were signs that he shared her feelings as she had ventured to guess at – but never took the time to examine the possibility too closely.

There were a few factors that made things tricky. But one in particular.

The largest obstacle between them was one that she had no idea how to remove. It was the oldest and largest: Donatello.

They had to work this out. They had to. Donatello had always held a special place in her heart, but it just wasn't the place that he'd hoped for. It never had been. It would never be any different. Her heart had been stolen a long time ago. Maybe it wasn't fair that it had been Leonardo and not him, but she could no more control her love for him than make traffic on Forty-Third Street move with any efficiency.

She'd even tried. Keeping his feelings in consideration. Keeping the entire clan's benefit in mind. What would it do to the family? She certainly hadn't wanted to be the stranger that dropped into their sheltered lives only to cause ruin and pain. No, she had never wanted that. Never.

And years had passed and she'd put her real feelings on the back-burner. She'd given someone else a chance, someone she thought was better suited to her; certainly Casey was a distraction, for a little while, at least, but her thoughts would circle back to the one who'd put himself in harm's way time and again to protect the rest. The one who fell for a girl that was destined to pry him apart at the seams. And that's exactly what she'd done.

And though her old hatred of the snake-girl rose up again to constrict her heart, April couldn't help but wonder, had she acted on her feelings sooner, had she confessed to him before, would she have saved him the pain? Or only caused more, in a different way? Maybe she had some blame to carry in this. No matter how she shook it, the picture reformed the same way, time and again: with Leo being hurt in some way.

"Gah!"

What's the use of going over what if's and could have been's? April sniffed again and her jaw jumped as she clenched it. She was too old to do this to herself any longer. The brothers had gone off to find their happiness, in their own ways, and it was time that she and Leonardo had a bit of that contentment pie.

He deserved it and dammit, so did she.

She pushed up from the floor, the toe of her right foot still throbbed, but she smoothed out her shirt and grabbed her keys. "You're not getting out of this that easily, Mister Hamato."

# # #

She'd only been behind him by a few minutes – it couldn't have been longer than that, because the back entrance was left open. A thrill of fear stabbed her.

Why would Leo leave the back open like this? Something must have caught his attention immediately as he got home. Oh god.

Splinter.

She hurriedly squeezed through and rushed into the lair. Her footsteps slowing as she picked up the sound of voices. One was aged and small, pinching her heart with every wavering syllable. But it seemed to switch from being confused and maybe frightened to angry and harsh.

"Please, Sensei. You should have never gotten out of bed."

"But my stories were . . . they were . . . I was about to miss my stories! And I could not find the remote. Where . . . Ah, so you found it."

"It's okay, Splinter. I picked it up from the sofa where you just set it. Please, it's better if you could sit down if you won't come back to your room with me."

April stepped just within the doorway, peering around the corner to see Splinter, agitated and groping at Leonardo's arms as he tried to gently coach him to sit in the couch. The old rat's robe was falling over one shoulder and even in the dim light, she could see where the fur on the back of his neck and head was gone in patches. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs.

Splinter shook his head. Struggling. "No, I can't. I . . . I was looking for Michelangelo. It is a prank. That rascal –" His voice broke into a wet hacking cough.

April's stomach clench and her throat close in sympathy. A lump fused in the center, solid and thick. She wasn't sure if she should step in or just leave. But didn't mattered little, for she couldn't move. Riveted to the spot, witnessing a part of what Leonardo had been dealing with on his own, for so long.

Leonardo was next to him in a second. "No, Sensei. There's no prank, everything is okay. Please sit down. Let me get you some tea."

"Yes it was! It is! I am no fool! I am no fool!"

His voice rose and it was clearly angry. He swung his arms about, knocking Leo back with his forearms and elbows, making the young man wince and ease away in hesitant steps.

"You think I am," he broke off into more hacking; the wet sound dragging through his throat as though he were half-submerged in gelatin. "H-ack! Ack! GHK, grhk, uh, no. I am no. Fool. Yes he has pranked or joked or s-something! I have tried but, grkhkrk, cannot make the television work and Donatello," Splinter's voice grew hoarse and sorrowful as if he'd been wronged, "He will not come out of his lab."

"Father, the television is broken, the-the screen is shattered, do you – can't you see, father . . .?"

"What?! Father!? Father!? No." He shook his head furiously. "No, no, no. I lost her! I did not want to fight him! I told Shen. I told her, where . . . where is Shen? I will explain. Violence begets . . ."

He marched forward, but stumbled into Leonardo's grip, only to fight and struggle. "Unhand me, fiend!"

"Sensei, please. Calm yourself."

Splinter blinked dazedly at him, then around the room.

"What was I . . . Wh-Where is Donatello?" He straightened and lugged free. "Donatello! Grk, hk, hk, Ack! M-Michelangelo! I want my -" He started to shrug out of Leonardo's reaching grip, tripping to one side, tail lashing. He twisted more furiously, "Let me go, Raphael! Raphael, do you hear me?!"

"Raphael isn't here," Leo said as he released him and stood back, but continued to hold his hands out as if ready to catch his master should he tumble.

The rat yanked on the belt of his robe, shrugging harshly until his shoulder was once more covered. Still through the fabric, the bony angle of it shown plainly. He wiped the foaming spittle from his bottom lip with a clawed hand which shook. His breath was labored and ragged. Painful sounding.

"If-If your brother was here, what would he think of this behavior!? You are lucky that I sent him away! Karai nearly had him killed that last time he snuck away - and you! Where were you when your brother went to speak to her – alone – like a fool. He should have known! Hrghk! Did I not warn him!? D-Did I not?! Gk, hrghk!"

Leonardo's mouth worked, but no words came out. His face lowered and along with it, his entire body seemed to fold into itself.

"I told him to stay away – that she had made her choice! It was done!" His hand cut through the air. "H-Arghk, gk, gk, gk, grk! She would not be returned to me as she once might have – my daughter." His tone dropped. "My daughter. My daughter. Miwa. Why . . . My son . . . failed me."

Leonardo's face mottled and turned ashen. His eyes shut slowly.

Splinter, unaware of his son's anguish, looked around, face slackened and lost. "Why . . .? It is so dark. Why are there no candles lit? Where are the candles? Where . . . are my sons? My son . . ."

Splinter moved to take a step. He collapsed. Without a sound. Without a breath. Without warning. Crumpling forward as if all the bones in his body had suddenly turned to ash.

"Father!?"

Leonardo was on him as April dashed from where she'd witnessed the entire scene.

Leonardo looked up at her from the floor where his father's body bucked and shook. His face was a mask of misery and terror; his hands darted helpless and frantic all about his father's body.

"A-April! He's-He's convulsing!"

With shaking hands, she helped Leo turn him to his side, cradling his head from slamming against the floor. Leonardo bent over him, murmuring in a low mostly calm voice that belied the fright he was no doubt experiencing, that it was okay, to breathe, that everything was okay.

It seemed like it would never end. It seemed to go on for an hour. A day. Their lives compressed into the prickling seconds made only of terror and despair.

But it had lasted less than a minute.

Splinter lay, panting, grimacing; his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, his bleary gaze traveling, lost, along the ceiling, never staying on one point for very long. His chest rose up and down rapidly and his fingers and toes twitched and jerked involuntarily. He opened and closed his mouth in loose effort. Foam pooled and slid into a puddle just besides her knee.

Leonardo's eyes were locked on his father's face; April's upon Leonardo.

"He's okay," she said; her voice a whisper.

She felt Splinter's head nod.

"Yes," he wheezed. His once powerful voice a meek whimper of sound.

"Splinter, I'm," he choked, "so sorry." His head dropped near to touching Splinter's chest. "I'm so sorry."

Splinter reached out, barely able to raise his hand up, patting the air as though he'd gone blind, and April feared it might be the case, as his eyes searched blankly along the brittle branches of the tree in their home, until his fingertips found his son's head. He gave him a tiny pat and then stroked him with the lightest of caresses.

"Son," he murmured. "My son. My good . . . boy. Leonardo."

Leo's eyes gleamed brightly, even with his head lowered so far, April could see. His shoulders shaking, arms steady, braced on either side of Master Splinter. He breathed heavily, his chest expanded and collapsed with emotional exertion.

The tide of impeding loss crashing upon the stony walls, cracked and worn, but holding; still.

April watched him; she sat, holding her breath without realizing. She saw how close he came before he stopped it. How he controlled himself; not allowing himself to break.

And as it was, as it had always been, to her, a sight impressive, beautiful and strangely humbling. She wanted nothing more than to take him into her arms. She would shield him from the storm. He could shatter in her arms and she would reconstruct him. He would be safe to fall apart. She would protect him. She would not fail putting the pieces back, for it was a picture she knew better than her own soul.

If he'd only allow it. She would.

He shifted and then as gently as if he were collecting the fragile wings of a multitude of fallen butterflies, he gathered his father's shrunken body up into his arms. And if she blinked she would have missed it, but his hands trembled imperceptibly as he reached down.

He rose in one smooth motion and twisted, carrying his father back to his room to lay him upon what eventually, inevitably, would become his death bed.

But not tonight, April prayed with fierce concentration. Not tonight. Please.

She stood up on wobbling legs and somehow made it to the kitchen without falling flat on her face. Wiping her cheeks upon her shoulders, she found them moist with tears. Sniffing, she chided herself. Deciding that was enough. She had to be strong for him. And she would.

She pulled out the tea pot, the dark ceramic one with the cracked bamboo handle; filled it with water and placed it on the stove. She pulled two mugs from the cabinet and rummaged around until she found the oolong tea she knew Leonardo especially enjoyed.

The clock above the sink ticked away time and she busied herself with rinsing out the rest of the dishes they'd left from her lasagna. She stacked them neatly and with as little noise as possible, turning to glance over her shoulder every few seconds to see if Leonardo had emerged from Splinter's room yet.

The tea pot's shrill, low whistle, ghostly and distant, but unnerving nevertheless, made her jump. She braced a hand against her heart and shook her head, feeling foolish. She filled first one mug, then the other and turned to find Leonardo standing at the table. Head lowered, but with calm disposition.

"Oh." She asked, feeling the need to fill the hollow stillness occupying the space between them, "how is he doing, Leo?"

"He's dying."

The mug nearly toppled out of her hand as she set it down in front of him. His hand shot out and righted it, slopping only a little of the steaming liquid onto the surface. His fingers tented above the mug and he turned it slowly in place.

"He'll be -" She choked on the sentiment, unable to find the courage to lie in the face of the truth. Her mouth pressed together and the lump that had formed earlier was now an enormous boulder crushing her entire chest from the inside out. "Oh, Leo. Is there, ah . . . anything I can do?"

He shook his head slowly; still turning the mug as if he wanted to ever so gently screw it into the surface of the table.

"I want to be angry."

Her face shot up.

"At them. At him."

"They don't mean to hurt you," she said. "And . . . Splinter's lived a long, good life," her voice caught on the last word.

"Has he?"

The question was sharp and April rolled her lips into her mouth.

He shook his head. Clarified, "I'm not mad at my father. Not for this."

She didn't know what to say. There was too much to sift through in the past. Too much.

"If he'd have just spoken to you, a long time ago. At the beginning of it all. If he'd have just," his chest heaved and the twirling of the mug stopped, but his knuckles grew white as he pressed on the rim, "said something. To you. Then you could have let him down easy."

Realization dawned on her. He was speaking of being angry at Donatello. Not Splinter.

"He was just a kid. We were all just kids."

"Yeah," he said it with a burst of air. He removed his hand from the cup, with measured care. "Just kids. Only we played with lethal weapons and slaughtered half a clan to save the face of another."

Her heart was too loud in her ears. "Leo," she said. "It's been a long night. You should just try and get some rest now."

"I can't."

She moved towards him around the table and he stepped away from her. She froze.

"I can't sleep."

And if she hadn't noticed before, she did now: the darkness beneath his eyes half-hidden by his mask. The scars criss-crossing his face were silver tracings of a life lived too close to the edge of darkness. Filled with too many wounds to tend. Inside. Outside. None of them ever truly healing in their entirety.

"Insomnia?"

He nodded, not looking at her. "Since his fall around the first of the year, I think. At least."

She closed the distance between them by taking tiny, incremental steps. As if cornering a flighty foal. She reached out and took him by the hand. "Come on," she coaxed him towards his room.

To her surprise, he followed without resistance and with a glance over her shoulder, she noted he looked spent. Maybe he was simply too exhausted to put up any more of a fight.

She led him to his room, pushed open the door, crossed the tidy space to his bed and turned so that the backs of his legs were against the mattress. She placed her fingertips along his shoulders and eased him down.

He sat heavily. The springs squeaked.

She tried to move his upper body down towards the pillow, but now she met resistance. Their eyes met briefly before he looked away.

An idea came to her. She climbed slowly into the bed next to him, moved to kneel behind his shell. He watched her from the corner of his eye, head turned aside, then ducked his head and faced forward as she began to massage the corded muscle of his neck and upper back.

He said nothing to encourage her or discourage her.

She didn't care. She seized the moment. Wasting no time, she set to the task.

She drove her thumbs into the hard, unyielding flesh, kneading and rubbing, working at the stress; fighting it back and out of his body. Her hands slid down just behind his shell where she could feel the lines of his shoulder blades.

Here his skin was unmarred by the scars of battles against enemies. And would-be lovers. Here he was still innocent.

She knew it was not the only place.

He made a soft grunt as her thumb found a particular balled knot just between his upper spine and shoulder blade. She worked all around it, until; finally, the tissue grew malleable. He sighed deeply.

Hands vibrating from the workout, she slipped back with some reluctance. Patting him on the shoulder, she leaned forward and said to the side of his face, "Now that should help, a little. I hope."

He only nodded.

She crept around him on the mattress. He sat, half-turned, considering his pillow, not daring to look at her. She moved and stood awkwardly for a moment, before she made to go. "Goodnight, Leo. Things will look better come the morning."

"Wait."

He continued to stare at his pillow, fingering the blanket with one hand at his side. She raised her brows in question, but felt her heart speed up.

It's only to thank me, she told herself. Nothing more. The words she was expecting to hear did not come.

"Would you," he looked up at her, dropped his voice to a whisper, tipped his head shyly to one side, and struggled a moment before he finished the question.

"Will you stay. Please?"

Heart at full gallop, she found she could barely answer. Her voice came out a pitiful peep, "Sure." April shook her head and coughed, "If-If you want me to do that. I can. I can stay. Tonight." She pointed to the ground. "In the lair, or, um, oh, you mean, you mean . . . with you?"

He continued to stare up at her with his unique brand of infinite patience that she couldn't ever comprehend.

She said carefully, "If that's what you really want. Then, yes."

There was a ghost of a smile chased away by the shadow of grief.

"I would like you to," he leaned forward, reached out and took her arm, slowly sliding down to hold her hand, he pulled gently on it until her feet got the message and she inched towards the bed. "I don't want to be alone tonight. Not tonight."

She nodded. With both hands she reached out and stroked the sides of his face. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Okay."

He reached up and took her hands in his and brought them to his mouth. He kissed her fingers, turned her hands over and kissed her palms. Keeping his head down, he added, "Just to, uh, for the company. I don't think I'm going to get any sleep. Not tonight."

He raised his stormy eyes to hers, "Is that . . . okay?"

She nodded, "Yes, Leo. That's perfect."

He eased back with a deep sigh, and April felt the tension give way like a physical, but invisible presence cloaking him. She climbed into bed with him as he laid himself down. She curled around to lay near, wanting to be pressed up against his side, but not wanting to cross any lines, too soon; all the while hoping she wasn't getting too close, or crowding him, or making him uncomfortable. Hoping that the morning would truly bring a brighter outlook, but knowing the worst was to come. The fear gripped her heart and weakened her, but she felt his arms encircle her and pull her closer. Against him.

His mouth pressed to her temple and she heard him whisper, "I'm afraid, April. I'm . . . really afraid."

She wrapped one arm around him and beneath her hand, she felt his heart racing. "It'll be okay. I won't leave. Not unless you want me to."

She felt him tremble.

"No. I want you to stay."

He grew quiet and the sound of his steady breathing was the only noise in the room. April thought that maybe he'd fallen asleep, despite his surety that no sleep would come to him tonight; when he suddenly spoke.

"A long time ago, I wanted this. I remember when he noticed you. We all just stopped to stare. Everything in the city suddenly became . . . uninteresting. You were . . . amazing. I never thought, heh, well, we all thought you were something special and after that first battle with the Kraang." He shook his head.

"I wanted to talk to you, after we rescued you. Just so I might get to hear your voice. But it didn't take long to realize that I wasn't alone in my feelings. I couldn't act . . . Donnie, he'd fallen so hard."

April felt the familiar slinking guilt tug along the bottom of her heart. The need to apologize, to explain that she never meant to hurt Donatello, or anyone.

But Leo had gone on, "I did my best to focus on what was important. Rescuing your father. My family, the team. Then I met . . . and everything got . . . complicated." He sighed and the sound of it was heavy with too much remorse. "I wanted to bring her home. Where she belonged. I wanted – I wanted to give Sensei his daughter back. And . . . I thought she'd be happy once we cured . . . but I was wrong. So wrong. About everything." He shook his head again.

Now he sounded bitter, and a little lost, "I lay here going over all the choices . . . the slip ups. What drove them away. Why they left. I made too many mistakes . . ."

She could keep still no longer. "Shh, no. You did what you thought was right. You always acted in everyone's best interest. As far as Karai . . . that was out of your hands. It was never your choice. And it's all in the past, now, Leo."

They lay in stillness, listening only to the occasional creaking of the pipes lining the interior of the walls. She ran her tongue across her lower lip.

"Don't ever doubt that your brothers love you. They grew up and found their own paths. There's nothing that you did or didn't do that drove them out. Families change with the years. It's normal and expected. The threats are gone. There's no need for a team. You're just a family, now. All the pressure, the planning, the stress of making strategies, of keeping them safe . . . Leo, you can let that go."

"I don't think I can."

"I'll help you."

She looked up, staring into his eyes, so wounded and open, so vulnerable and frightened. But also, so full of yearning and love. It stole her breath away.

"Thank you, April. For being here tonight. For always being here when we need you. When I need you."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Not for anything, Leo."

Slowly he lowered his face until their lips met. He kissed her softly.

When she opened her eyes he was looking at her, tracing her face with his eyes. A half-smile worked across his mouth. "I'm sorry I waited fifteen years to do that."

"Let's not wait that long for the next one," April said.

He smiled, murmuring, "Sounds like a plan."

She pressed her mouth to his once more. Kissing him deeper, longer, with all her heart.

A/N: Thank you for taking this little detour with me from my other fics and my usual pairings-fiction. It's nice to stretch the old writing muscles and try something new from time to time. I hope you enjoyed it.

I have a very dark story that's been rattling around in my mind for a long long time now, one I'll have to revisit once my other stories are finished - yes, even Lost in the Gloaming! But yeah, one where Leo is left behind to care for a very sick, very troubled, Master Splinter. Heh. *zips lips* That's all I'll say.

See you in another story!