At the top of this hill, you’re going to break up with Leonardo.
It’s a beautiful late afternoon. Endless fluffy clouds, sweet breeze, perfect temperature. Donnie’s sensors have been quiet all day. Food is plentiful, water is clean and cool, faces are smiling. Hope is tangible, cupped in your hands, sipped, nourished. These things are never permanent, but it’s a perfect day.
And you—you’re about to ruin it.
He’d found the trail on his last patrol, he’d said. There are even a few trees, still, untouched by the war that has stolen so much. A little sanctuary of life, not too unlike the bunker deep underground the Hamato Clan has built with blood. It’s vibrant, enticing your eyes to bounce from place to place, unable to focus on one piece for too long when something just as lovely is naught but a few paces away.
There are no birds singing about, not anymore; but your ears ring all the same with the low murmurs Leo strings through the air like fairy lights. Promises he’s made and plans to keep; stock that needs to be taken for supplies; his nagging suspicion that Donnie’s still not getting enough sleep even though he promised he’d try; Raph getting used to his new mechanical limbs one day at a time; Mikey deciding to just let the hair grow out instead of trying to keep it shaved; April asking him to ask Donnie if he can artificially trigger menopause because she’s so tired of having to deal with her periods in all this mess; Casey Jr.’s first training session, his chubby little arms making it difficult to swing a sword until he pouted and pointed at Donnie’s bo instead.
It’s a constant stream that erodes at your heart. Leo’s always thinking about everyone else. Not once since the day the Technodrome fell from the sky have you heard him be selfish. On the contrary—
—your eyes fall to his arm. Where it would be. Guilt swallows you whole, breath seizing like a steel claw upon your lungs to keep you dizzy, and you look away.
Your memory of the night a little over a week ago is as sharp as if you could relive it at will. Silently waiting in the lounge in his shirt as they’d left on a night raid, holding it to your nose as if swimming in his scent would keep him safe. The air tearing open with familiar blue light and bringing with it the stench of blood. Donnie’s eyes wild as he yelled for you to grab some towels. Raph, mangled, barely alive; Leo clutching at his shoulder above a bloodied stump; Mikey coughing crimson even as he scrambled to unsteady feet to help. Later, the only warmth in your body coming from their blood coating your hands, face wet with it or tears you didn’t even know, Donnie telling you they’ll all live, but barely. That Leo had pushed Raph out of the way. Saving his brother, losing his arm. How his last conscious words had been a request for Donnie to check in with you.
You. Weak, useless, pathetic. You had been the last thing on Leo’s mind. Just the thought makes you sick.
It’s an old scar you carry on your heart. The knowledge that you’re not enough. All you’re good for is helping with the bunker: moving things around, trying to stay positive, making warm food if you’re lucky. In return, all you give him is worry. You’re just one more imposition on his mind, one more thing for him to think about, an albatross about his neck. On the edge of death, he’d thought not of his brothers, or himself. He’d thought of you. His last thought, a burden. Wretched.
He’ll never say it; Leonardo is endlessly, endlessly kind. He knows your heart is a delicate, fleshy thing. That you’re nothing without him. He’d never even think about ending it, especially not to admit a weakness he pretends he doesn’t have. So you’ll do it for him. The last act of love you can give him: letting him go.
…But you’re weak. Terrified. Selfish. Greedy for each last little second you can claw to your time. So you’re quiet, trailing just a little behind him on this last walk you’ll take with him like this. One last memory for the long cold nights where you’ll forever be sleeping alone, knowing at least that he doesn’t have to worry about you and satisfied with that.
Yeah. At the top of this hill, you’ll break up with him.
It comes, closer and closer, with each step. Too soon. You’re not ready, you think, throat going tight, fingers clenching into fists, fighting the urge to clutch at his arm and beg him to let you stay. Panic lies acrid, metallic on your palate. You swallow it down. Infuriated, you keep silent, and put one foot in front of the other, marching forward ruthlessly. No. You will be strong, for once in your life. You’ve asked him to carry you for too long. No longer. No more. No more.
The incline crests, and despite your resolve, you’re stunned and unable to speak.
Beautiful isn’t exactly the right word for the view before you. A hellscape, ruined by Krang, stretches out as far as the eyes can see. And yet, you can think of no other to replace it; there are no enemies, no victims, no worries to be seen. It’s a quiet stretch of the world, tucked away, expansive and hidden all at the same time. Something strong tightens in your stomach like a wish. The world can look like this again. The fight isn’t hopeless. You’re all still alive, years and years and years after it was said you wouldn’t be.
“I wanted to share it with you,” Leo says after a quiet moment of just breathing, drawing your gaze to him.
Just like that, your chest rends and bleeds. He’s haloed in the setting sun, eyes looking out over the view from where you’re standing; calm, relaxed, mouth set into something that’s just a hint of a smile. Nothing is forced. His shoulders are low, mask dancing in the wind like little fingers are playing with the tips.
“This?” you ask, speaking for the first time since he took your hand and portaled you out of the bunker to the bottom of the trail, surprised when you hear the croak in your voice.
He, too, seems surprised. He turns and looks, but when his eyes settle on you, his face melts into something even warmer than the sun.
“Man, I didn’t think it’d make you cry,” he teases, reaching out his hand and brushing his thumb along your cheekbone, first one, then the other. “Though I guess I can understand it. I kind of wanted to cry the first time I saw it, too.”
“You did?” you say, soaking up his touch, the way he looks back over the scenery with an expression you don’t quite have words for but feel, a little, like you understand all the same.
“Yeah. I can’t really explain it. But I knew I had to bring you here.”
“Me?” you echo, making him look away from the sprawling landscape and instead to you. “Why me?”
The relaxed look on Leo’s face frays a little on the edge, and you watch as the lines between his eyes deepen. “…I’m tired,” he says, his hand falling to your throat to let his fingers caress sweetly to your nape. “I’m so tired. Everything always hurts. Every day, we lose someone. Some day, it’s going to be someone close to me. I’m scared. I don’t want to fight like this anymore. I want—I want to sleep in. Read my comics. Take you on an ice cream date. I wish I could go back in time and get that key so none of this ever happens, and we can just have a normal life.”
You feel your mouth round in surprise, shocked to hear what he’s saying, then even more when he uses his grip on you to pull you a little closer, press his forehead to yours as he closes his eyes and sighs in relaxation like he’s sinking into a warm bath.
“You work so hard. Do so much. I wanted to bring you here. Let you breathe a little,” he whispers. “I don’t give you enough. You deserve better than me. I’m sorry.”
It’s the breeze on your cheeks that let you know you’re crying again. With a sniffle, you raise your hands, cupping his cheeks and just holding him close. Nuzzling him a little, rubbing your nose against his beak, savoring the familiar feel of his skin against yours, the way he presses kisses to your face like he’s sipping a fine wine.
It’s hopeless. You can’t do it, you decide, threading your fingers in the tails of his mask, caressing the edge of it with your thumbs, opening your eyes and seeing the full weight of the adoration in which he bathes you the moment he looks upon you. Golden, rich, the dying embers of the sun cast him in an aureate glow that makes your heart wail at the agony of ever not having this. You can’t do it. You can’t live without him.
Weakly, smiling, you close your eyes again and whisper the confession. “…I was going to break up with you here.”
Leo freezes, his face stricken, lips pressing together hard with resignation.
But you continue, soothing him before he misunderstands. “I didn’t want to be another burden for you. I feel… guilty, sometimes. A little selfish for wanting your eyes on me when you have so much. I know you worry about me, and… I thought I could make it easier if… if you didn’t have to.”
The incredulous barked laugh isn’t the response you’d expected, but it fits so, so perfectly for the way he looks at you like you’re mad. “Are you—? You’re kidding, right? You are the opposite of a burden,” he swears, vehement and even a little rough as his hand finds the small of your back and hauls you into his plastron. “You’re the only reason I haven’t lost my mind, or snapped and killed Donnie when he gets into one of his moods, or lost hope, or—or—You—I’d be lost without you. Don’t—Don’t ever say that again. I need you. I need you.”
The words are a balm on your wrenched heart. Tangling your fingers in his cloak, you hide your face in its folds, burning from the inside as you feel him tuck his beak into the corner of your throat, scenting you, pressing you to his mind like a flower. You tremble in his hold, brows furrowing hard, heart thundering against your rib cage until it hurts.
“…It’s… It’s really beautiful, here,” you whisper, words trembling, face turning towards his so you can silently ask for a kiss. No guilt, no worry, only honey and blue blue blue.
His mouth is soft against yours, making it feel a little like you’ve walked down an aisle and met him at the end. It brings back an old, ancient memory, before the sky had fallen, before he’d smugly called you his, before you’d slipped into his bed and given up the cot you’d used before. The first meaningful look, the first time his teasing hadn’t landed as much of a joke as it had before, a memory of sweet candy and bashful smiles.
Smiling against his mouth, you pull away just enough so you can remind him of it, too. “You know, you never did get me that other ring,” you murmur, lips catching against his from your proximity and leading you to kiss him again, then once more when you can’t resist.
“Not my fault you ate the first one,” he says, grinning in a way you haven’t seen him do in years.
“Not my fault you gave me my favorite flavor,” you retort back with a raised eyebrow, causing him to huff a laugh.
“Maybe it is, though,” he says, looking at you with eyes that are so affectionate you wonder how you could have ever possibly thought to take this away from him. “Enchanting me like this. Making me want to spoil you. Getting me wrapped around your finger and dooming me to a lifetime of wanting to keep you.”
You don’t know what to say to that, too flustered, too dazzled, too smitten, too too too. But for this, too, Leo has an answer, as he reaches to the end of his cloak where he’s gone and tattered the edge again. You make a vague mental note to sew it back, as you always do, only to gape when he takes it in hand and clumsily tears a long strip from it.
“Leo!” you protest, momentarily miffed that he’s made your future work more difficult; then quieted when he nods down to your left hand.
“Help me with it. I’m only half as good at knots as I used to be,” he says cheekily.
It takes you a moment to realize what he means, but the moment he does, your throat folds shut after a single choked noise tip toes out. It takes some effort, him with one hand and you trying to coordinate with him, but slowly you get the strip of blue tied around your wrist in a messy bow.
“There,” he says, holding your hand in his, smiling fondly down at the way he’s marked you as his, his thumb brushing against the side of your adorned wrist. “It’s not a ring, but it’ll do for now.”
“Leo,” you warble, looking hungrily at his face, pulse singing in your veins when he meets your gaze and smiles easily. The last of the golden light clings to his skin like jewelry, and you hold your breath until you can’t any longer.
“You’re stuck with me, now. No take backs,” he says, clasping your wrist in a firm, steady hold. “When we win. I’ll bring you back here, and we’ll do it for real. Promise.”
Gently, you wipe under your eyes and nod, filled with so much you can’t even begin to pluck it apart. “Y-Yeah. Promise.”
Satisfied, Leo threads his fingers together with yours, giving you a coy smile that makes him look easily ten years younger. “All right, let’s head back. I’m looking forward to a warm meal and an even warmer bed. I’ve been practicing, and I think I worked out how I can still do that thing you like where—”
“Don’t,” you cut off, feeling your face burn hot when he laughs like he’s a teenage boy again, teasing his partner about sex for the first time. Charmed, stupidly in love, you decide to indulge him a little. “Shame. I’ve enjoyed being on top.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Leo promises throatily, pulling you close and nipping at the edge of your jaw, then chuckling when he has to catch your fumbled step down the hill. “You good, sweetheart?”
“…Asshole,” you mutter, though your smile is brighter than the last few minutes of the hallowed sunset behind you, eyes catching on the way your long shadows melt together and stretch on and on and on.
