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When Leo found you in the compound’s restroom, splashing what was left of your canteen’s water on your face and gripping the edge of the sink too tight, you never imagined he’d ask you to accompany him on a water run.
Yes, it's a two-person job but rarely is he the one who sets out for it. Of course, it's a rather vital task, it’s just that Leo is often preoccupied with putting out small fires and drawing up escape routes and planning for the next Krang-affiliated crisis in general.
It’s Mikey who typically takes care of all things domestic—supplies, living arrangements, foodstuffs… décor.
With that said, you figured the leader's request was code for something and tried your best not to look so frazzled. He must have been on to you though, because his gaze dropped down momentarily to the water dripping from your jaw, then back up to your eyes where, upon contact, he tore himself away as if your stare had somehow stung. You swiped a hand under your chin and let your face air dry, following him out.
You never tell him when things are bad—he has enough on his plate—and it drives him crazy, not knowing what’s going on with you.
Somewhere in this mess, you’d developed a romantic relationship, one that’d come only after years of cloak-and-dagger pining and a close-knit friendship stronger than Raph’s power punch. You have to imagine it’s the exhilaration of facing life or death every day that finally pushed you together and, sometimes, you get just a little scared about what things would be like if you went back to living in comfort. Nothing would change, you know this in your soul but the fear is never rational in the first place.
It didn’t take long to reach the water supply you isolated a few months ago.
Donnie’s still working on a plumbing system of sorts, but there are always more pressing matters to take care of: injured team members, sick team members, protective gear... nukes. If you thought he worked a lot before, you didn't quite understand what such a term meant.
This was a short mission and you completed it quickly and effectively, so when Leo began scaling a structure by the pond, you quirked an eyebrow at him. He stretched a hand down toward you and winked. What more could you do besides oblige, letting him help you find your footing and climbing up after him?
And, so, you ended up here: sitting at the top of a ruin—of what used to be a convenience store, if you had to guess—speaking in hushed voices and letting the chill of a desolate city’s breeze pass right through your bones.
Leo’s never forgiven himself for his mishap, you know this, but he’s not someone who reminisces about your old world much. Until tonight, apparently. He tells you about the things he misses and the life you might’ve had—that one you like to worry about sometimes.
“I hate it here,” he admits quietly, defeatedly, brokenly.
You’ve never heard him quite so disheartened.
"Things were never supposed to be like this. I was going to take you on dates. We were going to go dancing…”
“Bold of you to assume I don’t have two left feet.”
“I know you don’t,” he says softly, not indulging you, which is a bit of a deviation from what you’ve come to expect from him. “Come on. You in something frilly and red… Me in the snazziest tux you’ve ever seen…”
You laugh through your nose, considering it.
And then his voice wavers. “I wanted dinner and a movie where we’d try to awkwardly hold hands over the armrest... and carnival dates where I win you a stuffed turtle and we kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel, sticky with cotton candy and fraught with nerves."
It’s been a while since you’ve heard the words cotton candy. You can practically taste the sugar at the mere thought, feel the way it’s supposed to melt in your mouth. And the nerves? Well, you’re pretty familiar with those.
He’s starting to speak faster, louder. "We could’ve gone go-karting and ice-skating and mini-golfing... I wanted beach days and road trips and breakfast in bed. Every cliché. I wanted it all, Y/N.”
If you were the person you’d been back then, you’d have been in a puddle just about now. But you’re not. You’re not her anymore and years of functioning from survival mode have hardened you in ways you’re not especially fond of.
You hold your breath. He won’t look at you. Of course, he doesn't. In this life, you keep your eyes on your surroundings at all times, unless you want to be Krang fish food.
You let yourself think about that life—the other one he’s describing, for once, without guilt. The life where you get to gaze at him atop a mountain, sun setting in the distance and picnic blanket soft beneath your knees, a cornucopia of your favourite foods laid out in front of you. The golden glow bathes the both of you in warmth and you swear you can hear the chirping of birds as they flitter and flutter between the trees.
A lump forms in your throat. You haven’t let yourself dream like this in a long time.
The two of you stare out at your own setting sun. Clouds of dust and debris make for a redder glow than the pink in your memory. The birds and trees are long gone.
There are things to be done before nightfall and you shouldn’t be out in the open like this but everyone deserves a break every now and then, right? Even the Big Leader Boss Man in Charge.
“That sounds nice... Sensei.” You tack on the nickname just to bother him and, even though you're only watching from your peripheral, you know for certain that he’s rolling his eyes and doing his best to tamp down the hints of a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
“A plan? A plan presupposes a future, Y/N.”
“Wasn’t it you who started the whole ‘hope is a ninja’s greatest weapon’ thing?"
“How dare you use my own words against me.”
You smile despite yourself and reach for his hand, bringing it into your lap and cradling it between both of yours. You’re thankful for the gloves he wears because you know his knuckles would be perpetually bloodied otherwise, palms sliced up, forearms bruised.
You don’t say anything and Leo must take this as you waiting for a real answer because he gives you one. And you almost wish he wouldn’t have.
“I said that when there was hope left to have.”
His voice isn’t much more than above a whisper, all cracking and gravelly and despondent. It makes you squeeze his hand a little tighter while you fight to keep your own voice level and easy.
“Ah, I still got a little fight left in me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. This is something, isn’t it? Not exactly mini-golf but I’ll take it.”
“If we… if we get back there, I promise I’ll hold myself to it.”
“To the plan?”
Leo nods and you chance a glance his way. The emotion in his eyes keeps you locked there with him and you find yourself nodding in turn, slowly and then more surely, to make him understand that you get the depth of what he’s trying to say. You’re here and you know.
Neither of you has ever been great with Serious Time, but it’s been years of burdens weighing heavy on you and everyone else. You suppose maybe you should be used to it by now.
You raise a pinky toward him, in the hopes that it’ll lighten whatever this terribly profound exchange is. “Pinky promise.”
You don’t miss the way he glances around hastily before his hand is behind your head and his mouth is on yours. You don’t remember the last time you kissed like this.
There are sometimes stolen pecks in the morning briefings before everybody piles in, or chaste goodnight smooches in the dark. And then there are the meaningful I-love-you-and-there’s-a-chance-this-is-goodbye kisses before particularly perilous assignments, where you pull each other in close and give it everything you've got, but rarely are they this. Soft and slow and something akin to sensual. You feel it in your cheeks and in your toes, and elsewhere, the way his lips move against yours delicately. The way he holds you, like he needs something to anchor him here in a world he wishes wasn’t real to begin with.
You’re never afforded the privilege to take your time and the reprimanding thought that this, too, is still too risky—you’re putting yourself in danger for nothing—tugs at you naggingly. You set that insistent, berating, irritating voice in your mind on fire and let it burn to ash. You’ve needed this badly—the both of you have.
It ends far too soon, but you know you don’t have much of a choice. Nightfall means more Krang bots and less chance of finding your way back to the base safely.
Leo’s breathing heavily by the time you pull away, forehead against yours and fingers in your hair. “I like the spit swear better,” he whispers, sending a shiver through you.
God, you wish you could think of literally anything even marginally clever to retort but the haze of ardour permits you to do nothing other than giggle. Childish, you scold yourself, and bite the inside of your lip to keep it at bay.
He keeps you close to him, arms hovering by the sides of your head, like he’s itching to do something else. Other things—lots of other things. But he can’t. No, he can’t—but god, do you want him to.
You smooth your hands over the tops of his chest one last time, over his shoulders and down again. “We should head back.”
“Yeah,” he says lowly, like he'd rather not. “Yeah.”
It’s nice when he lets you in like this. No one gets to see this side of him much anymore, the one where he’s just a little bit self-serving and the smallest touch petulant, a lot like he used to be. Ever since… ever since the incident with the key, he’s just been… different. You can’t say you don’t understand.
“I love you.” It tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it.
In that other life, it would’ve been something you said to each other often, casually, even—at the end of phone calls and after movie nights and when you'd actually snort at one of his jokes and he’d never been more mesmerized by you.
But, here, in this one… It’s harder. It means more. And it’s reserved for times that aren’t this.
“I love you,” he says immediately. “We should say it more often.”
Again, that little hint of his former self. He’s still here.
You grip his collar, clutching for him desperately and he holds your wrists ardently, letting you know that you have him.
You repeat those three words again, kissing him fervently for a few seconds more, longing for it to last a lifetime.
This is the moment where you decide it.
The Krang have to fall. And now it’s your business to see that they do.
.
.
.
.
.
If Leo’s being completely truthful, he didn’t think he’d still be in this all these years later.
Honestly, the only things keeping him going are you, Mikey, and Casey. He’d have ended things himself if it weren’t for the three of you.
After April and Raph and Donnie, the kind of pain he carries with him is suffocating, debilitating, unbearably agonizing.
The pursuit of freedom from this anguish is his primary goal at any given moment, behind only keeping you, his little brother, and the kid safe. To think that he once had objectives besides that feels foreign and odd. He once sought happiness out of this life. That seems so naive now.
Still, he plasters a smile to his face and wracks his brain for quips and wisecracks that will (hopefully) make what’s left of his friends and family laugh. He knows you’re all forcing it, but whatever gets you there at the end of the day is good enough for him.
You fight a lot more destructively than you once did. You strike to kill. There’s a small pang in his chest—dulled but jarring all the same from nearly two decades of habitude—every time he watches you slaughter something. He never wanted that for you.
He should’ve known it was only a matter of time.
It doesn't take Leo very long to realize it; you’re all being picked off one by one. It's a pattern he should be accustomed to by now, but crouching over your body... it hurts a whole different way.
You clutch at your side, putting pressure to the gaping hole there as blood begins to pool beneath you. You do your best to get back up. This place is swarming with Krang, there's no time for injuries.
“Stop,” Leo says gently, collapsing next to you, probably battering his kneecaps in the process. His weapons go clanging to the floor carelessly. Behind him, Casey and Mikey carry on this losing battle.
“Come on. Up,” you grunt. "We have..." It hurts to speak so you forgo the rest of the sentence and focus all your energy into getting on your feet. Are you up yet? It doesn’t feel like you’re up yet.
“Stop.” He’s begging now. It sounds weird in his voice. Leo commands, he doesn’t beg—not even for his own life and not like this. “Y/N, stop. Please.”
He puts his hand over your own, pressing hard enough to hurt but it still doesn't stop the blood flow. Tears stream down his face the whole time and it makes you feel like… maybe you’re not getting out of this one.
“Hey,” you grin crookedly. "Stop making that face. I still got some fight left in me."
He chokes out a small laugh as he lifts you into his arms, swallowing down sniffles. “M’ gonna get you out.”
But then Casey’s harrowing yell pounds against the walls of the medicinal chamber. They’ve got him.
Mikey’s beginning to break down the way he sometimes does when he uses his powers. The glow creeps dangerously close to his shell.
Leo squeezes his eyes shut.
You nod at him and he wishes you wouldn’t. He wishes you would be selfish for one goddamn moment of your life.
He shakes his head at you vehemently, unwilling to negotiate. This is not a plea bargain and he is not the guilty party.
But isn’t he?
The thought is too much for him and his knees fold, sinking him back down to earth, your form lodged protectively between his arms and chest. Your breathing is getting laboured and shallow, and it makes him want to drive his own katana right through his skull.
“Go,” you tell him warmly, because you know he needs the push.
“I can’t, Y/N. I can’t—“ He breaks off, a sob catching in his throat.
“Listen to me. Your team needs you. Those sons of bitches have to go down. You can do this, Leonardo.”
You're smiling at him so genuinely... He hasn’t seen that kind of smile in a while. It suits you.
The tears start up again.
He hates to intrude on such a pretty face, but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t kiss you. It's slow and the furthest thing from soft.
You’re the first one to pull away because you can feel it coming and you have to say it before it happens: “I love you."
Leo can’t say it back but that's okay. You know.
It’s just that… without you, he can’t really function. He can’t “take it day by day” or “keep going" or “move on” or any of those other things grieving people are told to do.
He starts to say your name but this time it's Mikey who screams.
"It's okay, it's okay," you rush out before the worst of it hits you.
He's sent into a blind rage, which is, honest to god, the only thing that saves them.
Once he’s out of it, all he can think is that this isn't right. Nothing about this is right. None of this was supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to happen with the others but it sure as hell wasn't supposed to happen with you.
If there’s one constant he's unequivocally certain of, it’s your being together. In every world, in every universe, dimension, and parallel reality... you’re meant to be together.
So he’s going to fix it. He'll sew up the damn timeline himself if he has to.
He just... needs you back.