AN: Thanks for your reviews! Here is the next chapter, which I somehow managed to write in time for my rough weekly schedule (emphasis on rough). Hope you enjoy!

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Back to New York

At Raphael's police station, Detective Kurtzman was leaning over the wooden table of his small interrogation room in an attempt to impress his prisoner, a teenage mutant gecko.

The boy wasn't in the least being cooperative. He hadn't said a word since Raphael had brought him to the police station, hours ago, and was currently looking at his handcuffs to avoid meeting the detective's gaze. He still wore the muzzle they had put on him when he had tried to use his prodigious tongue to escape. It didn't prevent him from speaking or even drinking, but it couldn't be comfortable.

Detective Kurtzman sighed. It had been a long night. First, an anonymous call had informed him that a parcel bomb had been deposited somewhere in the subway. It was a false alert, but it had monopolized his cops' attention for hours. Second, a deserted apartment block had collapsed after an explosion, and he had nobody left to investigate – Raphael had been unreachable at the time. Third, he had learned that Raphael was, in fact, already on the scene – because the building had collapsed on him and his brother Michelangelo.

Although Kurtzman was happy that none of them had been seriously injured, he hoped that Raphael would do a better job of staying out of the press this time. Luckily, the journalists had been busy covering the subway non-event, and none of them was aware that an international star had almost died under tons of wreckage.

Kurtzman suspected that both events were linked, and that the mutant named Slash had orchestrated them in order to get rid of a personal enemy.

His scheme would have succeeded if the gecko Kurtzman was interrogating hadn't interfered in. He was apparently a big fan of Michelangelo's show.

Kurtzman almost felt bad for having to push him around, but he needed information. The boy was, after all, Slash's accomplice. It placed him very high on the police wanted list, and the detective wasn't going to miss his chance to learn about Slash's whereabouts.

That mutant isn't afraid of anything. We have to find him, and soon. Too many lives are at stake.

Behind the one-way mirror of the interrogation room, Raphael was watching the scene with a very unpleasant sense of guilt. He had promised Michelangelo that no harm would be done to the gecko, and although nobody had physically hit him, he was pretty sure his brother would have something to say about the muzzle and handcuffs.

Raphael had just come back from the private clinic where the doctors and nurses had insisted on examining him – heavily backed up by Michelangelo. But the medical examination had revealed nothing, and after a few hours, most of them spent napping, he had been free to go. The doctors had kept his brother, though, mostly because he was still blabbering nonsense. Raphael had, of course, refrained to tell them that Michelangelo was always blabbering nonsense after a traumatic event – it was his way to cope. He had left his brother with his plump manager, Timothy, and his body guards. Michelangelo would be well taken care of.

Besides, Leonardo would arrive soon. As far as Raphael was concerned, it was the only positive point in this huge mess – apart from the fact they were still alive, of course. The cop turtle had every intent to make room in his busy schedule to spend time with his brother – and hopefully rekindle his love for New York City.

After all, there was no place like home.

Kurtzman slammed his fists against the table and Raphael turned his attention on the interrogation again. His boss was getting frustrated; it was time to switch places with him. Maybe Mondo would open up to Michelangelo's brother.

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From his bed in the private room of the private clinic where he had spent the best part of the last twelve hours, Michelangelo glared at his manager, hoping that it would shut him up. With no luck. Timothy was wringing his hands, saying again and again how careless Mike had been for going out on his own, and what if he had been seriously injured, or worse, what if he had died? What had he been thinking? And why did he have these sticks with him, he knew it was bad for his image… Hopefully nobody had seen him…

"They are nunchucks, Tim, not sticks," Michelangelo corrected wearily. "And I knew what I was doing." He realized that this last part wasn't very convincing – not when he had almost died.

And indeed, Timothy wasn't convinced.

"Mike, you're precious to so many people," he scolded. "You can't risk your life like that."

At that point, Michelangelo decided to hide his face in his pillow. Maybe Timothy would get the message and leave.

However, his move had the opposite effect.

"Mike, are you alright? The doctors said to call them immediately if you had a headache…"

"I've no headache, Timothy," Michelangelo answered, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Although you're beginning to give me one. Can't you leave me alone?

Maybe he should have kept faking sleep. It had worked fine during the last half an hour, but he had got bored with that scheme. Why did everyone keep treating him as if he was made of glass?

To his relief, commotion at the door distracted his manager's attention.

"What's happening?" Timothy muttered. "I told the clinic that you were not to be disturbed under any circumstances."

If only you would apply that to yourself, Michelangelo thought, and he snickered in his pillow.

Timothy carefully opened the door, and Michelangelo caught the stern voices of his bodyguards talking to someone. When the door closed, he sighed with relief and checked the clock hanging on the wall. Another half an hour before Leo's plane lands. Time is passing slowly, he mused. He remembered that he still had to tell Timothy about his brother's imminent visit. His manager had been so busy panicking that Michelangelo hadn't felt like sharing the news.

"No, Sir, you have no business here," he heard Timothy say behind the door. "I don't know who gave you this address, or why you thought disguising as a turtle like him was a good idea, but you can go back where you came from. And what is this mask for? I'm sorry to say, it's ridiculous."

Fans, Michelangelo thought, amused. They would really try anything. Though Tim has a point, how did he get the address?

He took another look at the clock, and was disappointed to see that the hands hadn't budged.

Patience, Mike. Leo said he was coming, right? He's not going to break his word.

"Now if you don't want to leave on your own," Timothy's voice was answering the stubborn fan - Michelangelo hadn't heard him speak, it was surprising because people tended to be shrill and over-enthusiastic when they were near him, "I'm afraid I'll have to ask these gentlemen to see you to the door."

Such unnecessary violence. Maybe I should interfere? Michelangelo mused, looking again at the clock.

At the hands that still hadn't budged – had the clock stopped?

There was a muffled sound outside Michelangelo's room.

"Who are you?" Timothy shouted, and there was a note of fear in his voice –

And the clock had stopped – it didn't tell the right time –

And Michelangelo jumped right out of bed, burst the door open and almost trampled on his poor manager, vaguely taking in his two bodyguards groaning on the floor, while a blue-masked turtle with a backpack was lifting an unimpressed eye ridge at them –

And then he was hugging his surprised brother with strength, the warmth in his smile matching the sun's.

"LEO!"

"Hi, Mike. Glad to see you in such great shape," Leonardo answered, his voice coming out strangled because of his brother's choke hold. "You had me worried."

Michelangelo chuckled and took a step back to better look at him. Leonardo looked fine, a little tired maybe.

"Hey, that scar is new," Michelangelo suddenly frowned, noticing the thin line on his brother's left arm. "Aren't you supposed to be careful?"

"At least I'm not getting buried under buildings," Leonardo replied. "You still have to explain me how exactly that happened."

"Don't change the topic, bro," Michelangelo teased. It felt so good to be able to do it and see Leonardo's reaction, his eyes rolling while he half-smiled, although he would totally go to the bottom of this later and learn who or what had dared injure his brother, and…

Behind him, someone coughed. Michelangelo turned around to meet Timothy's disbelieving eyes.

"Leo?" The manager asked while the bodyguards stood up, watching the unknown turtle with suspicion.

And considerable caution.

"Hey, Tim, remember my brother Leonardo? He's paying me a visit."

"Leonardo?" Timothy repeated, blushing. "I thought he was… You told me he had left for another world, and so I thought…"

Michelangelo blinked before realizing what Timothy had thought.

"What? Oh no, no no no no no no! By 'he had left for another world', I meant exactly that. That he had left for another world. In another universe, you see?"

Obviously Timothy didn't, but to his credit, he still nodded bravely.

"Nice to meet you, then," he said to the blue-masked turtle, his voice a little strained.

Leonardo nodded politely. Michelangelo grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him inside his room.

"Thanks for everything, Tim, you're doing a great job. Keep making sure that nobody disturbs us!"

With a last apologetic nod to his two bodyguards, Michelangelo slammed the door in the face of the three baffled humans.

"Sorry about that," he told Leo. "I didn't think it was that late, and I didn't warn them."

Leonardo shook his head.

"At least they take your safety seriously," he answered. "Although your guards could use some training."

Michelangelo grinned.

"They are the best in the business, bro. And on top of that, they're good fellows. You didn't hurt them, did you?"

"Of course not."

Michelangelo waved at the room with a grand gesture of his arm.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. My apartment is bigger, but somebody insisted that I needed medical attention, so this room will have to do. Raph said he would drop by later - he's at the police station – but it's just you and me right now. You didn't get a hotel, did you? You can stay at my place for as long as you want to. I'll ask somebody to carry your remaining luggage there – where is it, by the way?"

Leonardo, who had been unpacking his katana while listening to his brother, raised an eye ridge. Michelangelo threw up his hands.

"You don't have any, do you? No problem. I'll take you shopping."

"I don't need anything," Leonardo remarked, an amused note in his tone.

"That's because you haven't seen the stuff they sell here."

Leonardo shook his head and sat on a chair next to Michelangelo's bed, tilting his head towards the piece of furniture to indicate that his brother should settle too.

"I'm fiiiiine, Leo," Michelangelo complained while he casually lay down, hands behind his head. There was so much he wanted to talk about, serious topics included, like what his brother had been doing all those weeks and why the shell hadn't New York been his first stop when he had come back to Earth?

But Leonardo was here now, and that was what mattered most.

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Author's Note: We now have three turtles in New York City. But where is the fourth? You might ask, and that's a very good question which shall be answered in the next chapter.

And I've learned that I had stories nominated in the Reader's Choice Awards, thank you so much to those of you who offered me that gift! It's an amazing feeling to know that actual people not only read my stories (making me squeal with delight, and being the very reason I'm not letting said stories gather dust unfinished on my laptop), but also remember them months later. (Aka happy author is happy.)