T h e.B e a u t i f u l.S t r a n g e r

I don't remember the name of the movie, Leo. We never watched them much, did we? Neither of us. It was always Mikey and Raph who hogged the remote. I think you knew Leo. I think that's why you suggested it. Just one more time. One more movie. One more night. One more. My choice for once and you insisted I choose, not forfeit. I can't remember which movie it was.

I should, but I don't.

I wish you'd chosen the movie.

I think you knew. That it was your last day. But you didn't spend it alone. Or doing what you loved. You spent it with us. Me. Or maybe this was what you loved. We needed something. Something to hold onto when it happened. We would. You knew.

Goddamn it! If you knew why couldn't you stop it? Why? You were the leader. The big brother. The one who was suppose to keep it all together, but you're too damn selfless. You were. Were. You idiot. Why? For who? For who?

I can take care of myself. You knew that. But it didn't mean I didn't need you. It didn't mean that, do you hear me?

I cried you know. I cried when I heard. Sat holding your spare bandanna to my forehead in my room, begging you for your strength when I left. For the strength to face them. To pick up the shattered pieces of Father. Of Michelangelo. And Raphael. To save a brother. Because I failed to save you.

It was an ambush. I wasn't surprised. You were too good to be taken down honorably. Too damn good.

Raph found you. He didn't say why he was out, but he didn't let anyone else see. I screamed at him, I lashed out. He wouldn't budge.

I wanted to see you one last time.

I never did.

Your phone was intact. Why did you protect us? Why? I want to scream at you.

But you're not here.

Gone.

And…I'm not angry anymore, Leo. It's almost peaceful, the pain. Numbing. Life's short. You get to grips with that. The time. How fleeting it is.

But I have a final question.

Does a dove see its own reflection, and know it as itself? Or does it see itself as a stranger? Does it see itself clearly and without bias? The beauty, the flaws. Does it live its whole life with the stranger at it's back. Always following. Never leaving. Always there. And in it's dying moments, does it see itself, stunning and pure or does it long to be the beautiful stranger that haunted each waking moment?

You would have liked that.

Do you know the answer Leo?

Drabble so to speak. Something that has no real place. Leonardo is dead, and Donatello laments.