Confessional - Ch2

Title: Confessional
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: One-sided DonxRaph
Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles.
Summary: He rode into town on a Thursday...
Warnings: Cowboys! and Raph's mouth.

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Confessional

Chapter 2
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Friday


The knock came to his door late in the morning, long after the school bell had rung and the farmers had driven in with their goods. Donatello set his coffee down, sloshing the contents over the lip of the mug. Standing with plate in hand, he scraped the last of his late breakfast into his mouth, dumped plate and fork into the wash bin, and headed for the door.

Though the glass was frosted and warped with age, he could still make out the broad shoulders and stiff stance of the man behind it. His heart jumped and he swallowed, sending a little prayer heavenward before he opened the door to a dipped black hat hiding the face of the handsome stranger from the day before.

Donatello straightened, pushed his shoulders back and he smiled a charming smile that grew into a playful thing the longer that Raphael stared blankly back with a slightly opened mouth. “’Mornin’ Mr. Raphael; what brings you to my door?” he asked and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorjamb. The lack of his priestly collar at his throat and the opened revelation of his neck and collarbones was something he wasn’t familiar with around others, but the bob of the stranger’s throat and the way his eyes glanced at the open neckline, Donatello basked in the attention – even if Raphael's intentions were far from what he truly desired, he still saw him look.

“Ah, Padre.” Raphael forced out, bowing his head to him, then he yanked his hat off. “I thought this here were Mr. Malone’s place. Ya said the blacksmith was the last place on the street.”

Donatello grinned, nodding with a little shrug to his left shoulder. “That I did.” He offered his hand, “I’m Malone. Mr. Donatello Malone at your service.” Raphael took his hand hesitantly, eyeing him suspiciously from under the brim of his hat.

“Not everyday ya meet a blacksmithin’ priest.”

He chuckled and stepped aside, allowing Raphael to enter his home that resemled a barn that had been modified into a living space. Donatello led Raphael through a secondary door and into his work area. Wood and charcoal dominated the aroma of the ground floor, with horse filling the rest with iron a close third. Regardless, it was home. He had grown up here, apprenticing with his father, learning from him, exploring new techniques with encouragement. Donatello never could think of a better place to have grown up. He supposed even the fresh scent of the church couldn’t compete with hard work at the forge. “This way. Sorry the doors aren’t open. I had a late start this morning.” He turned quickly, hiding the blush coloring along his cheeks. Dreams were still a sin if one had inappropriate ones. “You mentioned your horse threw a shoe?”

“Just loose. Been cloppin’ along just fine; no nail or nothin’.” Raphael said, and Donatello felt his eyes on his back as he pushed open the barn doors, opening his shop up for the day. “Now wait here; why would a priest be workin’ as a smithy?”

Donatello shrugged his shoulder and slipped his worn leather apron over his head, wrapping the laces around his middle twice before tying it in front. “Well, I like doing it. This shop has been in my family since my grandfather settled here, and my daddy learned every trick he could about the trade. He taught it to me and… and I suppose I love creating things out of a seemingly immovable object.” He tilted his head and Raphael grunted, glancing down at the dirt floor of his workshop.

The man didn’t reply and instead turned away, walking out through the barn doors to retrieve his horse and Donatello watched as he pulled his leather work gloves on. Raphael stroked his horse’s neck, grumbling something to the gelding and gently led him into the barn. Donatello motioned toward the stall he should put the beast in, and Raphael did as directed, unsaddling his horse and tying the reins to the posts on either side to hold the horse steady. “Suppose that there is a good enough reason.”

Validation swelled in Donatello’s chest and he shrugged, turning away to gather his box of horse shoes.  “Thank you.” His voice dipped low, peeking at the man a third time. He shook his head whispering a prayer to God to keep his will strong. Donatello gentled his hand upon the horse, running his hands along his strong flanks and down his long legs, easing the horse’s hooves off the ground one at a time, inspecting each hoof and testing each shoe before setting to work. He pulled the gelding’s rear right leg between his knees, locking it in place with his own, and began prying off the loose shoe, dropping the old and bent nails into a bucket on his left.

“It’ll take me a few hours. I don’t suppose you’ll be at the saloon waiting?” he raised his eyes for a split second, glancing at the stranger.

Raphael shook his head, his hands unbuckling the Winchester rifle strapped to the saddle and slung it over his shoulder by the leather strap. “Naw, gotta try and find this fellow I’ve been trackin’ for the last dozen months.” He pulled the saddle bags off and checked each one before he huffed at the contents. Raphael effectively ignored him then, busy at work counting bullets and filling a bandoleer for his rifle.

Donatello stared at the man for a moment, indulging himself and allowing his eyes to caress the way this fellow moved. It wasn’t as if he were graceful, Raphael was just strong. Every time his hand grasped something, the way his shoulder would move and stretch the fabric of his shirt, and the way he settled back on his heels; it all had to do with power and control, and Donatello found he liked that about him.  

“So, you’re tracking down a man?” He asked, pulling out the last of the nails and setting the horse shoe aside, before he began to file the horse’s hoof smooth. “Are you some kind of bounty hunter?”

“Could say that.” Raphael inspected his six shooter, smoothing it down his arm as he checked the cartridges and the smooth glide of the barrel. He shook his head, snapping it back into place before he turned on him and Donatello straightened from the hoof, letting the horse’s foot drop from between his knees.

“What else would you call it? I can’t really see you as the type of man to follow another across the country to deliver some flowers.”

Raphael rolled his eyes and Donatello bit his cheek to keep his smile as small as possible.

“Look, I’m searchin’ for this fellow who leads a gang of thieves and rapists. He’s about seven feet tall. A real giant. Big and ugly; nasty scar on his jaw; and he’s got this branding on his arm of a dragon.” He motioned to his right arm. “He’s a real mean son-uv-a-bitch and I ain’t in a real talkative mood, Padre.” Raphael’s golden eyes flashed with an inner fire.

Donatello swallowed and nodded his head, because it was all he could do. Those burning eyes had haunted his dreams. Yet, his heart sank and he took a step back, gripping the file in his hand tight and swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah,” This wasn’t right. Raphael had a point, he was a man of God, he couldn’t allow him to go off and get himself killed. He glanced to the horse then back to Raphael, sweat gathering along the back of his neck. “I know that man. He rode into town about a month back. Him and his men killed old man Jenkins and took his land.”

His eyes practically glowed as he stepped in close, crowding into his space and Donatello inhaled sharply, smelling only Raphael’s rich musk with an underlying scent of gunpowder. “Where is he?” he growled low in his chest.

“You can’t seriously want to go out there after him? He killed every last man who went out there last time!” Donatello grabbed at his arm, gripping tight at his elbow. “You can’t just go charging in there half cocked. He’s got over two dozen men working for him, and that man threatened to ride into town and shoot us all if we disturbed him.” He couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t seriously going to put this town in jeopardy; was he?

“And you’re just sittin’ here while that bastard is out there on a murdered man’s land?” he leaned in close like a dark cloud breathing down his neck.

Donatello hissed right back and pushed into his space, his nose brushing across Raphael’s and he gained a step back from the stranger. “You don’t understand. He killed ten good men! I had to comfort their widows and children even as I laid them to rest. Sheriff Jones was the only one who got out alive from that hellish gunfight and he still can’t find a way onto that farm. That man even has guards out at night patrolling the hills with dogs sniffing for intruders. We’re going to need more than you to get rid of this criminal.”

“I can handle myself.” Raphael jerked his arm away, yanking his elbow out of Donatello’s grasp and jolting the turtle back into his body.

He stepped back and looked to the side, the file still gripped tightly in his other hand.

“I can handle myself.” Raphael repeated, adjusting the rifle on his back.

“I’m not saying you can’t, Mr. Raphael. Just looking at you, I knew you could. But you have to understand, I just don’t want to bury another good man.” He raised his eyes, catching the flicker of surprise that passed over Raphael’s face before the man pushed it away and hid behind that piss and vinegar glower.

“I ain’t a very decent man, Padre.” He folded his arms over his chest and Donatello swallowed hard, the fluttering in his heart suffocating him. “I’ve done things down right awful chasin’ men like him across the country.” He leaned forward, golden eyes spearing through Donatello’s heart. “I ain’t a very nice man either. I’ve done things that would make yer toes curl.”

Donatello shivered, unwilling to look away or pull away from this man. He was like an inferno, dragging him deeper into the blaze with every word he spoke and every action he threatened to perform. “Why risk your life?” his whisper traveled only between them and for a fleeting moment, Donatello thought he saw a flicker of confusion upon the man’s face.

“Why?” He rolled the question over his tongue and Donatello felt his cheeks flush, his fingers tremble, and he watched in the haze of a lazy morning glow as Raphael licked his lips and squared his shoulders. “Because if I don’t, no one will stop them.”

“We called for the U.S. Marshalls. They’ll stop those men-“

Raphael snorted and scowled down at him, shaking his head. “Like hell they will. Them Marshalls are all about the damn law in a lawless land. Ya have ta make a stand and let men like him know ya don’t allow their likes in yer town.”

“But there are other ways-“

“No, Padre! There ain’t!” He seemed to grow before him, wrathful and fearsome. “Ya’ll rolled over and let them settle in your town because ya’ll didn’t chase them off when ya had the chance!”

Donatello lifted his hand to touch Raphael’s shoulder, but he jerked his hand away and shook his head, thumping his fist against his thigh. “Yes, we had a window of opportunity to chase those men off, but Raphael, you have to understand, we didn’t know-“

“It don’t matter!” he pushed into his space again, pushing him back against the stable wall, hovering inches from his face and Donatello stared right back, licking his lips. “You protect first, ask questions later!”

Donatello sighed and tilted his head, gazing up at Raphael, imploring him to listen. “You’re right.” He breathed Raphael in, watching the man’s nostrils flare and he smiled. “I’m just a priest, what do I know?”

Raphael’s jaw snapped shut and he took a step back, his brow twitching.

Bending over and once again lifting the horse’s hoof, Donatello got back to work, measuring horseshoes till he found one that could work and took note of the areas he would need to strike to make it fit the gelding. “If we listened to your logic, we should have shot you on sight as you entered the town. And where would that have left us? One less man to help us, and one less bullet.” He raised his eyes and Raphael turned away abruptly, storming out of the barn.

Donatello sighed and turned back to the horseshoe, running his finger along the hoof, measuring it a second time before he left for his forge and buried the metal into the smoldering red coals to heat. It gave him time to pray for Raphael’s safe return; because he knew, deep in his gut, this was what Raphael had come here to do – to stir up trouble by confronting the leader of the bandits who lived outside of town.

“Please, Lord, keep him safe…” and Donatello fanned the coals, causing the fire within to swell and burn all the hotter.

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