#leoxapril

"April," he murmured, her 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 the 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. Eye 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.

********************************************************************

Previous: Ch 2

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.

He'd done everything he could, hadn't he? What more could he have given? His mouth pressed into a line as bitterness squeezed his chest into a tight, familiar knot.

The sound of metal slicing through bone made him jump. But it was only April unlocking the door. He ran a hand over his face, blowing out a breath, shaking off the clinging memories. Wishing to shed the burden they brought.

She jabbed the key into the lock, twisting first one way then the other. Grinding filled the air. With an apologetic smile to Leo, she tried unsuccessfully to open the front door again. Growing more mortified by the second, she tried casually ramming her shoulder into it as she turned the handle.

"Son of a –"

"Allow me," Leo offered with a light touch on her shoulder.

She stepped aside, offering him room to try, leaving the key in the lock.

He turned it and leaned forward, pressing his opposite hand on it and bracing his upper body towards the door. She could not help but admire the lines of his shoulders and arms. Simply put, he was a work of art. She'd known this, admiring all of the boys for their skill and healthy physiques over the years. They worked hard and it showed. But none of them trained with the precision, dedication and intensity that Leonardo had devoted to his art. And that showed as well.

With a soft grunt – which caught her full attention - and much less effort than it had taken April, he got the door to open. It creaked like a mausoleum entryway might in a horror film.

They exchanged glances and April slipped in front of him. She fanned herself, only to realize how that looked and immediately tucked her hands under her arms. She sidestepped, ducking her head.

"Thank you. It usually isn't that hard to open. Really."

He humored her lie and kept his conscience clear by withholding any comments.

She stood just inside the door, one hand propped along its edge, the other held out, inviting him in.

"Welcome to the palace," she said with a bad attempt at some mangled form of a curtsy. She swore at herself to stop acting like an idiot around him. Sure that her awkward joking was putting him off.

"Palace, huh," Leo said as he stepped inside, glancing up and around. "I should have worn my good belts." He turned to add, "Or at least the bowtie you had me wear at your wedding." As soon as the words left his mouth, all mirth dropped from his expression and an awkward, apologetic one replaced it. "Oh, uh." He stammered and coughed.

She brushed the air, shaking her head as if it was nothing. Which it was, really. She'd brought the unfinished bottle of wine from their dinner, placing it on a low coffee table in the center of the room.

"We don't have to tip toe around it, Leo. That period in my life is long over." She straightened up. "And I learned a lot from the experience. About myself. About what I really want from this life."

Their eyes met and held for an intense beat before Leo looked away. "That's good. To learn from one's mistakes is a humbling, but necessary experience."

"Yes. I think so. I think, maybe, I needed to grow up a little and in the process I shed some illusions that kept me from seeing the truth."

She stared at him, and it took some effort not to blurt it all out, right now. Just to get it over with. But the last thing she wanted was to frighten him away. His experiences with love had not been pleasant ones.

Her divorce with Casey was old news. They hadn't made it past the second year before things had become complicated and broken to a point that neither wanted to even attempt to fix. They'd never had a real chance, not really. She knew this now. Despite wanting to believe in them, then. But between her school, work schedule and wanting something like a normal life clashing with his vigilantism and growing dependence on alcohol to drive away the ghosts of what he'd seen on the streets, marital bliss became a lost cause.

And there was another reason it wouldn't have worked. Marriage was built on trust and loyalty, yes, but most importantly, love. There had been respect and, she had to admit, no small amount of lust, but love was something elusive for her when it came to Casey. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she thought it was how she was supposed to feel, she just couldn't. Not for him.

Love that stepped like a cat on the ledge, just out of reach, patiently biding its time, waiting to be recognized and accepted for what it was; who it was attached to. And though she worked hard at ignoring the impossible, it grew clearer with each passing year: her heart had only ever attached itself to one person.

And one person only.

He glanced at the clock on the wall behind him.

"Right. Let's get on with it, shall we?" she cleared her throat and stepped next to him, holding her arm up and off to one side, "this is the spacious living area."

The room was smaller than his bedroom. He nodded appreciatively.

A caramel-colored loveseat sat askew in front of a short bookcase and reading lamp. The back of it was adorned with a zig-zag crocheted blanket made up of blue, orange, purple and red yarn.

Leo felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He didn't remember seeing that blanket before.

April continued, "Please ignore the dust-bunnies and their larger cousins, the dust-gorillas. Any other wildlife found within the walls of this place are only temporary residents, I assure you."

He gave her a ghost of a smile. She beamed back.

On the floor was a basket full of yarn and works-in-progress. A squat coffee table held a few magazines and the wine bottle she'd brought in. Her television sat across from it, a potted plant that was long past desperately needing watering was next to it.

She motioned towards the hallway ahead and Leo followed her through the room. A few pictures dressed up the white walls. Mostly they were of landscape shots, trees, hills, a lake nestled between mountains.

He did a double take at a black and white photograph depicting a lighthouse bracing itself stoically in the midst of a storm. The sky was cut through by gray-tipped clouds. The white tower stood unrelenting as it was bashed by enormous waves. The spray and foam reached close to the top. Nearly overwhelming it.

He paused, taken with the scene. Captivated by the struggle depicted therein.

"Kitchen is just here," April said, breaking the enchantment, "complete with breakfast nook. Leo?"

"Sorry," he replied, appearing in the room. He took in the yellow walls, the black and white-checked flooring; ignoring the water stain on the ceiling above the refrigerator and the large crack between the floor and the window overlooking the narrow front yard and across the street, another low building, a warehouse or distribution center of some sort.

"Very, uh, nice."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a terrible liar?" she teased with raised brows.

"Sorry?"

She chuckled, "It's not the Ritz, but there's some perks that I wouldn't trade."

She opened a cabinet next to the oven and produced too glasses. They looked suspiciously like wine glasses to him. She set them on the counter and moved towards him. He stepped aside, still giving the glasses a wary eye.

"Best part is this way," she said, leading the way down another hallway just off the kitchen. She raised her foot higher as the linoleum gave way to carpeting. "Mind the bump there."

Along the right wall, Leo found family pictures displayed in simple frames. One of her mother standing next to Mr. O'Neil, who sported an impressive halo of curly red hair, styled into a poufy afro. They stood in front of a brightly painted van. They were standing in a sloppy embrace, both laughing. Young. Happy.

He spied another portrait further down. It showed April in a cap and gown next to her father wearing a suit and tie. His arm was draped around her shoulders. They stood in front of a large building and there was a crowd of people slightly blurred in the background.

Her graduation cap hung at an angle on her head and in one fist, she held aloft a scroll. Her diploma, Leonardo remembered. Her face was split by an open-mouthed grin as if one of her friends had quipped something scandalous just before the shot was taken.

Mr. O'Neil beamed with ruddy cheeks. Glowing with pride for his daughter. The sky above them shone blue and bright and Leo could almost feel the warmth emanating from it.

"Oh god, Leo," April said, suddenly beside him. "Don't look too long or your eyes might disintegrate. I mean, my face . . . my hair, ugh." She shivered.

"You look," he glanced up, meeting her eyes fleetingly, she thought he was about to say something else, "happy."

She ignored the twist of disappointment in her gut. "I was just a goofy kid back then."

He looked back at the photo. "We all were."

There was a beat of silence before April made a soft sound in the back of her throat. "The bathroom's right over here, no tub, just a shower and the, uh, necessities," she said, continuing the tour.

They moved forward only a few feet before she stopped at the end of the hallway before a door. She hesitated for just a second and then took the doorknob and swung it open. "And this is my favorite room in the house!" she announced as Leo peered around her into the wide room.

There was a desk in one corner, a rolling chair tucked beneath it. Piles of neat papers were stacked on either side of the laptop and printer which took up most of the surface of the desk. Next to that was her bed, which Leo's eyes skimmed over quickly to the opposite side where a window allowed for an unobstructed view of the neighboring roof and beyond that the low planes of the corporate park could just be seen.

"The tree flowers in the spring. So I'm told. You can see the buds forming."

He frowned uncomprehendingly until he spotted the thin branches poking up just outside the windows.

"It's a crab apple. I was thinking about making some jam."

He looked at her. Curious.

She shrugged. "I never made jam before. But I figured," she laughed nervously now, a burbling chuckle riding the tops of her words, "there's a first time for everything, right?"

Involuntarily, his eyes darted to the bed and locked there before he caught himself, ducking his head. He cleared his throat and pointed at the messy stack of books on the floor next to her bed. "You need a bookcase. Or to read less."

"Yeah, right," she said glancing around with a smile. "Not going to happen. And not enough room. So, the floor works just fine. Most of those will go back to the goodwill store once I'm finished."

They grew quiet. Leonardo and April stood in the doorway of her bedroom. Side by side. And a strange expectation seemed to press upon them. An invisible, but powerful force magnetized the moment. As if the next move either made would solidify some unspoken pact, some primordial determination that eluded conscious comprehension. Fate or something older.

The same force that had once brought creatures from another dimension hunting for her and her father. The same force that chose her of all people to be gifted with the lasting friendship, trust and loyalty of this impossible family. And the development of enduring, if not equally impossible, love for the man who stood next to her.

An unspeakable question hung between them. One that was more crafted of need and loneliness and abiding yearning than of right and wrong, action and consequence.

Leo, I need to tell you something. The words danced sparkling and sharp along the edges of her lips.

The silence expanded, pressing upon her breast, squeezing her fluttering heart until she felt she could bear it no longer. She suddenly turned her back to the room with a deliberate motion. The crossroads remained, even as she hurried away, back along the well-trod path which led them to stand there in the first place.

Not yet. I'll tell him, but not yet.

And the crossroads remained.

She moved down the hallway, saying over her shoulder, her voice as causal as she could make it sound, but coming out higher pitched than usual, "Well, that's it. My new abode. Like it?"

"It's," Leo started, looking as if he'd awaken from a daze, blinking with a soft frown puckering his brow. He shook his head to clear it. "April," he said as he reentered the kitchen. "Why here?"

"Hm?" The glasses clinked loudly as her shaking fingers took hold of them.

"Why move here? Your other place was larger," he counted on his fingers, "better maintained and in a better neighborhood. Your aunt's second hand shop," he added.

"That old shop," she shook her head. "Too many memories."

"Okay, but, with the sale of the building, couldn't you afford something, er," he trailed off.

"With air conditioning? Cable?" she laughed. It was a little too loud. Walking back into the living room, the glasses held between her fingers of one still trembling hand, she motioned with her head for him to join her. "This building has two things that sealed the deal for me."

He crossed the room, sat on the edge of the loveseat, elbows lightly set upon his knees. His expression kept the slightly distant look, but his eyes were clear. "Had to be pretty convincing."

She set the glasses on the coffee table, filling each one and ignoring the sound of polite refusal. She took her glass and perched on the armrest of the love seat, giving him the space that she knew he needed to feel comfortable.

His eyes remained staring at the glass before him filled with the dark liquid.

"Very." She took a sip and said, "No tenants in the building or neighboring houses so you can visit any time you want."

He tipped his head. "And the other?"

"Closer to you." She said it quickly and with a shrug, but from the corner of her eye, she saw him start.

"April."

"This wine is not bad for eight dollars. I was afraid it'd have been like drinking battery acid. But it's really nice. Fruity. Kind of smoky. I'm no sommelier," she chuckled and sipped again, "but I know what I like." She leaned forward, took the glass from the table and handed it to him. He stared at her, mouth slightly parted. "Roll it over your tongue and you can taste strawberries, Leo," she said, faltering a little as their eyes met.

He took the glass from her, cradled it in both hands but did not drink.

"It's okay to relax sometimes," she said and didn't mean for it to come out so defensively.

"I should," he moved to place the glass back down, "get back."

She fidgeted and made a sound of disappointed protest. "Wait. No, not yet."

He froze and then, slowly sat back. "It was just for a minute, remember?"

April slid off the armrest, the cushions buckled, bringing them even closer, mere inches away, nearly touching his thigh with her own. "I know. But . . . You deserve a night off."

He huffed with a crooked smile that was more bitter than happy.

"Really, Leo. You never have a chance to relax."

"I have plenty of time to myself."

"That's not what I mean."

She set her glass down and reached out. He looked for a second as though he might pull away, but then allowed her to take one of his hands into her own. His brow twitched as a frown formed and retreated. Her thumbs worked over the back of his hand, caressing the criss-crossing lines of scar tissue.

By inches, his eyes rose to hers.

"Leo, you can't do this to yourself. You can't keep shouldering all this," she said and stopped as he stiffened. "Alone. I mean, what I'm trying to say is that I'm here." She gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm here for you."

"I know," he said with a defensive note. "I know you are. And I appreciate it."

His tone was distant and cold. She wondered if he realized how he was pushing her away. She would not be deterred. Courage fueled by the wine and this rare opportunity of having him on neutral ground, urged her forward. She pressed on.

"So, please. Give yourself this night. Have the rest of the wine with me." He was shaking his head. She pulled his hand up towards her mouth and he froze as she kissed the back of it. Speaking just behind it, she added quietly, "Have this . . . this night with me."

He stood up, abruptly pulling out of her grasp. He moved in hesitant, faltering steps around the coffee table and stopped as though he'd forgotten where he was heading. He glanced around and then twisted to face her. There was something like panic in his eyes.

Way to go, April. You've just scared the crap out of him.

"I-I," he stammered.

Then, ridiculously, he dropped into a deep, stiff bow. Arms at his sides, bending at the waist, formal and rigid.

April sat with her mouth agape. At a complete loss.

He rattled off, "Thank you for the dinner. And the tour. Your home is very nice." He straightened and looked more wide-eyed and terrified than before. "I have to go."

April rose. "Wait, Leo. C'mon."

He started for the door. She stepped in front of him. He stepped back. "I need to go."

"No, you don't. You don't have to go." He glanced behind her, towards the exit. She struggled. "Look, I-I'm sorry," she breathed a nervous chuckle, positioning herself better to block his flight from her. "I didn't mean to offend you. I mean, about the wine." She twisted and slapped her thigh in frustration as she glanced at the bottle. "But you know, Leo, you're an adult. You're a grown man. If you want to have a drink, you're allowed." Her words were much sharper than she'd intended. She regretted it instantly.

His body went rigid. Eyes glued to the floor between them. Glaring as if the rug had said something rude.

"Y-You know I'm right," she backpedaled, stubborn, but softening her tone. Trying not to whine. "About needing to take a night for yourself. To unwind. All the pressure you're under. I can't stand it when I think about it sometimes. You're all alone down there. Splinter doesn't even recognize you half the time and your brothers –"

He looked up at her, guarded and wary. Something like fury dancing along the rim of his gaze. "I know," he said sharply. "It's my responsibility. My duty to care for him whether he knows it's me or not. Whether my siblings help or not." His voice shook with suppressed anger, and it was through a tight jaw that he asked, "What would you have me do?"

She braced her knuckles against her mouth. "I don't know," she said, voice tremulous, "give yourself a single night to-to heal? To restore your strength? To just be . . . to just have something for yourself? Is that really too much to ask?"

He remained stony, immobile, eyes dark and storming.

She shook her head, at a loss. She'd just ruined everything. Everything.

"I'm just trying to help you."

"I don't need help." He moved to step around her. "I need to go home."

She reached out and took him by the shoulders. Her fingertips held him in place and she felt him shaking. "Wait, please. Please, Leo. I'm sorry."

There was a chilled, tense beat of silence. Her pulse beat a deafening drum in her ears. But her heart seemed to freeze as his eyes raised, chary and bitter.

"What do you want from me?" he asked quietly. His words carried the suspicion, the hurt, and worst of all, the fear from the wounds he so clearly continued to nurse. Karai had scarred him. Inside and out.

Her voice broke, "I don't want anything from you." A lump formed in her throat, choking away explanations, excuses and pleas.

He dropped his gaze, looking torn, deliberating.

You've ruined any chance with him. You clumsy, stupid girl.

But she couldn't just give up on him. Not before they'd even had a chance. He deserved so much more than what had been served to him. His thanks for a life sacrificed to devotion, fealty and honor, to dwindle in the shadow of his dying father, to rot in loneliness and despair. She couldn't allow it. She had to try. At least one, last, best attempt. She had to.

April reached up, carefully placing her palm against his cheek. When he didn't move, forward into her touch or away, she took the opportunity and crept closer, until they were less than an inch from one another. His eyes rose, searching hers, still suspicious, still wary. Still frightened.

"I only want – what I've always wanted – for you to be happy."

"No."

But what he was refusing, she wasn't sure. Maybe he wasn't, either. It didn't matter. She knew what he needed even if it was in his nature to decline what was in his best interest, programmed to reject anything that even hinted at selfishness, jaded by the experiences of a time in his life when headstrong youth promised no harm could fall, no heart so real, so golden, could tarnish or break.

But he wasn't broken. Only scarred. And stronger than he knew.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, moving her hands to the back of his head, pulling him tightly against her body. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what might come next.

"Leo," she whispered. "It's always been you. Always."

He didn't move, only stood there, trembling hard.

And just as the feared realization that there was no way to breach the frozen sea which walled off his disfigured heart began to grip her in icy fright; just as her fingers reluctantly began to lift from the back of his head; just as her hammering heart started to splinter and fracture under the stress of love unrequited; just as her courage fled; his arms wrapped around her.

And he gripped her fiercely, holding her against his shaking body, making a strangled, muffled sound as he buried his face into the side of her neck.

* * *