Author's Notes: The conclusion to the Winter Interludes, a Leo POV that sets of the third and proper installment of the Click series. Hope you enjoy and thanks again for those that take the time to like or comment, it really means a lot :0)

The television murmurs and prattles away in the background, but I don't focus on the cookie-cutter sitcom flickering across the screen. The book open in my lap is far more interesting. I'm not the only one who isn't paying attention. Donnie sits on up on the couch, clicking away at his laptop. I know he's lost in concentration as the tip of his tongue slides out the corner of his mouth. I should turn off the television, but I'm not prepared to deal with the silence that will follow. So I leave it on, letting the inane jokes and grating laugh-track fill any need to fill the quiet with conversation.

Things are still not right between us. It isn't that they're bad. I can't pinpoint an exact moment when things broke. There wasn't a huge, catastrophic event that left us irrevocably changed for the worse. It was a slow, gradual slide that culminated in Donnie being captured. We weren't doing well before that and after, after is this; the long, painful silence between two people who have nothing to say to one another. I shouldn't let this fester. It can't continue. We're a team and I'm the leader. He can resent me, resent my decisions, but he will respect those decisions. I can't let my own fear or guilt keep me from setting things right. If things are broken between us there has to be a plan to fix it.

I snap the cover of my book shut and set it aside. There is no better time than the present. I turn, preparing an entire course of action in the few seconds it takes to look up at my brother. I expect to find him, nose inches from the screen, typing with a flurry of desperate keystrokes. He isn't looking at his computer. He seems to have forgotten it is even in front of him. There is a tremble in his arms that threatens to move throughout his entire body with every pained clench of muscles and lock of his joints. His eyes are wide and fixed with laser precision on the television screen. I follow his gaze, the cheap sets and bright colors of the sitcom pushed aside by the rushed voices of reporters and the crackle of camera flashes.

It's her. She's silent for once, standing behind a wall of stone-faced police officers and harsh-eyed lawyers clutching briefcases. The reporters rush the courthouse steps and jockey for position with microphones and recorders at the ready. Her expression never changes; cold eyes taking in the scene with a calculated air that hints at boredom of the entire situation. Her dark hair is sleek and held back with the same crisp and precise lines of her suit. Even in the face of possible federal imprisonment not a hair is out of place, not a line of makeup too-harsh or nail not meticulously manicured. If she is at all worried she isn't showing it.

The tallest of her legal team approaches the swarm of reporters. He acts as a buffer as she is ushered off into a waiting car with dark-tinted windows. He spews the usual lines, crying pleas of innocence and falsified evidence. It is the same song and dance they've been putting on since her arrest. The trial grows closer with each passing day and the thought never crossed my mind what that would exactly mean. It is going to be a media circus. Her face, those cold eyes are going to be everywhere; impossible to avoid, impossible to forget.

The picture on the screen snaps away to black and Donnie sets the remote down on the arm of the couch. The silence that follows pushes down from every corner of the lair, hulking and smothering with the weight of it. He's on his feet before I can even consider going to his side. I scramble after him, afraid of what he might do if left on his own. He goes for his lab as I knew he would and I take the steps two at time, afraid he might try to lock me out.

"Donnie?" I call out when I'm met with an empty room.

Panic starts to scratch and fray at the edge of my thoughts until I hear something close to a whimper from the direction of his computer desk. He is crammed into the small space beneath the desk, his knees drawn up to his chest and his thumb pressed down so hard on the opposite wrist the green skin has almost turned white. I drop to my knees and feel that horrible, crushing weight of uncertainty settle on my shoulders as I watch him struggle to take in a breath. I don't know what to do. I'm supposed to help. I'm the leader and I don't have a plan for this. I don't know the way.

"I…I can't," he says, each word more like a croak. "I c-can't…I can't breathe," he insists, clutching at the top of his plastron with desperate, heaves of his chest none of which seem to bring any relief.

"All right, it's…you're going to be all right," I assure him, inching forward to stop him from pressing on his scar. "Breathe in through your nose. You can do it. It's just like meditation. You got this."

"C-can't," he whimpers, shaking his head.

I reach out and take hold of his other hand as well. "You can, we'll do it together," I reply, sitting up straight as I take in a slow breath through my nose. "Come on, sit up. You can do this."

"N-no!" he cries and the sudden outburst of anger makes me lean back in surprise.

He tears his hands from my grip and pushes against the underside of the desk, rattling the computer on top. He clutches his knees and takes in another ragged breath. I don't know what to do. I'm failing him again. My chest tightens and I try desperately to push aside the encroaching doubt and failure that settles bitter in my mouth. I take in another slow breath and search for the calm and stillness I have spent years cultivating. The desk scrapes across the cement floor as I push it aside to reach my brother. There's a reason he always searches out Mikey, because Mikey gives him what he needs. It's tangible, steady reassurance without having to ask for it. Donnie doesn't need a lecture or a lesson in meditation, he needs the reassurance that he's safe.

"It's all right," I say quietly, wrapping my arms around him as best I can in the cramped space. "You're home, you're safe. It's all right."

He goes still for a moment, his breath catching in a strangle hiccup in his throat. I don't let go. The stillness fades away and he returns the embrace, clinging to me with more than a little desperation. I don't know how long we stay like this. The only sound in the room is the quiet hum of the lamps overhead and the occasional drip from a pipe off in the distance. His breath eventually evens out and his grip loosens around an embarrassed sniffle. He lowers his head against my shoulder, hiding his face from view.

"I…I'm sorry," he murmurs, sniffling yet again.

The apology cuts like a knife and the shame in it makes me wince. I tighten my grip and pull him closer. I need to make this better.

"It's all right," I say quietly, repeating the words like a mantra. "It's all right."

He sniffles and I think he might argue the point but instead he wriggles from my grip and pushes me aside. I sit back on my haunches and watch him scramble over to one of the workbenches along the wall. His movements are sharp and frantic and he's still wiping at his eyes. I move slowly, not wanting to startle him.

"Donnie…"

"No, Leo," he says, stopping me before I can start. "I can't…I can't go back there," he insists, his voice breaking on the last word. His eyes close and he takes in a shaking breath. "I need to stop her. I can't, you don't understand, what she did…what she'll do."

Lightly I rest a hand atop his shoulder and tighten my grip when he flinches. He's right. I don't know what she did to him, not really. We all know he was held captive, but he has kept the specifics a secret. I don't need to know. I'm not going to push him to talk about it. All I need to know is that she hurt my brother, that she's still hurting him and there is only one way to deal with someone who hurts my family.

"She's not going to get away with it, Donnie," I say, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. "She's rich, Leo," he says, his voice heavy with defeat. "They'll never convict her. You saw all her lawyers. She's going to buy her way out of this…"

"That doesn't matter."

The sharp tone in my voice leaves him silent. He slowly turns to look at me with quiet shock in his eyes. There's still a slight tremble to his movements and if he wasn't wearing his mask I'm sure I could see dark circles under his eyes. She did this to him. Part of him is still locked away in that place, the ghost of whatever happened clinging to every day since. He was always the dreamer, the thinker. He can make amazing and wonderful creations out of other people's trash. She took that sense of wonder from him, the spark in his eye replaced with a constant worry and fear. She took that from him. I'll take something she loves from her.

"She's going to pay for what she did," I say sternly. "One way or another."