Cold Fire Rising

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

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Leonardo had sweated his way through every kata, and every fight sequence, he could think of without actually destroying the simulated dojo. He had switched to rooftops, to streets, to woods. He had programmed in single opponents, double, triple. He had exhausted his mind. He could no longer think. Shakily turning off all simulations, he collapsed to the blank floor of the holodeck and panted.

It wasn't enough. None of it was enough.

He sat and meditated for two hours.

He stretched and stood, cracking his neck. He returned to the controls and programmed in the weight room.

For the next three hours, Leonardo let himself go. He punched. He kicked. He lifted. He struck. He sliced. He yelled.

He yelled and yelled and yelled.

His mind was completely blank. His eyes had glazed over. He completely ignored the shrieking aches in his muscles. He didn't notice the bruises forming as punching bags hit back, as he slammed into objects, the walls, the floor. He programmed in a tall, thick wooden block and attacked it ferociously with katanas and body, screaming, howling, burning his throat. No, it had been too long since he had done this. Finally, he stood there, gleaming with sweat, gasping, growling. He stared at a part of the wooden block that did not have any marks on it. He bared his teeth and hissed at it. Something in the back of his brain broke free and surged forth, red and enraged and wailing.

Leonardo reared his head back and bashed his forehead into the wood. He screamed again.

And again.

And again.

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Raphael was quietly pacing the back part of their living area, wondering what book he could read to his brother next.

A tingle shot through his spine, and a feeling he knew very intimately coursed through him like reverb from a good punch.

Without thinking, he hurried to the simulation room. He heard screaming. He heard Leonardo screaming. He ran, heart pounding. Oh, that was not good. He knew that sound. He made that sound. Especially when-

"Oh, fuck."

He skidded to a halt, and for precious seconds he stood there, wondering if he should call Donatello first, or intervene, and what would happen if...

"Fuck it," and he rushed full-speed into the simulated weight room and tackled his screaming brother with enough force to bring them both crashing to the floor, upsetting free weights and dummies which tumbled and clattered.

Leonardo was still making the most animal of sounds, blood all over his face, his navy blue eyes wide and filled with... with so many things it scared Raphael. He didn't seem aware of anything. He was howling, wailing, snarling, growling, and he twisted in Raph's arms, head thrown back until the veins in his neck throbbed. His eyes went almost stormy gray and suddenly they were boring into Raph's eyes, unseeing, unthinking. Teeth bared in a grimace. Raphael had just enough time to mutter "Well, shit," before Leo wrenched free and aimed a punch at his face.

Raphael ducked and rolled, wincing in sympathy as the fist connected with the floor loudly and terribly. Thinking quickly, he kicked out and struck the back of Leonardo's head, knowing it would make the head pain worse but also knowing how it felt to be in that state. "Snap out of it! Leo! Get a grip! Listen to me!" He was on his feet, realizing that those probably were not the best words, because he hated when he heard those words. But he couldn't think of a calming phrase. There was no time to think. He was under attack; he needed muscle, not mind.