DISCLAIMER: I'm lazy. See the first chapter.

The gray-haired man looked down his long nose through his spectacles at the small array of photographs on his desk. He nodded in approval.

"Very nice work, Miller," he said, his deep British voice sounding grim but pleased. "A small error in counting means nothing to me. Three of these... whatever you call them... will gain me... us, "he said quickly, "because of course you deserve a share in whatever we earn..." Miller smiled and nodded. "Three will earn us just as much as four could have. The importance is in the discovery itself. You will, I presume, opt to stay on as my photographer?"

Miller touched his cap and bowed. "Of course I will, sir," he said in an accent that was, if anything, even thicker. "Wouldn't want'a miss it for the world."

"Wise lad," said the man. "Lord knows I do not have the eye for professional photography that you posess. And you, Miss Cartagan?" he gave an expectant look to the young woman standing behind him.

"It's Doctor Cartagan," she corrected him in a curt American accent.

"Yes, yes, of course," the man replied. "My mistake. How silly of me. We will, of course, need your Doctor's expertise in further researching these... these..."

"They look to me to be reptiles, sir. Or amphibians. But I'm leaning towards reptilian."

"Right. It's too bad only one of them is in the light. I should wonder if all three are that same shade of green."

"Me apologies for not being able to capture more of them in the moonlight, Sir Ratcliph," said Miller, bowing again. "Stealthy creatures, these ones are. It took me a month just to get a decent photograph of one of them."

"I understand. And," he turned to Cartagan again, "The blue? There, around his eyes? Is that a trick of the light, or is part of his skin actually that color?"

"Neither, sir," Cartagan replied. "I believe that that is a piece of cloth. See the loose piece there behind his head? It looks like something he tied around his face."

"I can account for that, sir," Miller added. "The other two had 'em too. Couldn't make out the colors, but you can see bits of them blowing about in the shadows. The silhouettes are a bit difficult to decipher in places, but they appear to be all the same shape."

"And those... around his belt?"

"I believe those are..." Cartagan furrowed her brow and bent to look closer, "Swords, sir."

"Curious," said Sir Ratcliph. "Very curious. I should like to learn more about these strange reptilian creatures. Mr. Miller, you will continue your rounds, gathering as many photographs as you can. Dr. Cartagan, you will accompany him, taking notes on their behavior. Do not make contact with them, but, if you can, try to follow them to see where they go. If we can find where they live, we should be able to capture them more easily. Understood?"

Cartagan and Miller nodded.

"Very well," said Sir Ratcliph. "You are excused."

"Hey, Mikey," said Donatello, entering the kitchen. "You're up."

Mikey gave his older brother a weak smile. "I got bored," he said, his voice slightly hoarse, "and hungry."

"Even your comic books got old? Wow," Don raised his eyeridges, "That's a first."

"I dunno... I just didn't feel like readin' them. Not when I'm stuck in bed all day. And, like I said, I'm hungry."

"Careful what you eat though," Donnie advised him, "I get the feeling chocolate-chip pizza isn't the best thing for you right now."

"I know, bro," said Mikey, pulling out a can of Chicken noodle soup, "I know. We're takin' it easy today."

"Good." Donnie smiled, satisfied. But his face quickly turned to concern when Mikey started to cough. "Geez," he said, "That doesn't sound any better." Michelangelo shook his head.

"Doesn't feel too great either."

"Maybe you should sit down and let me do that..." said Donatello. Mikey gave him a skeptical look. "Oh, come on. I open the can, pour it into a bowl and put it in the microwave. Even I can handle that."

"This from the guy who boiled pasta so long it became macaroni broth..."

"I'll be fine," said Don, exasperated. "It's all technology, right? Give me a little credit here."

Mikey gave him a jokingly nervous look, but was actually relieved for the chance to sit down. He leaned his head on his hand, not noticing the look of concern that his brother gave him.

"So," he asked, "How's the painting coming?"

"Great," said April, entering the kitchen. Mikey's face lit up. "We're almost finished, but don't worry. I'm saving a spot just for you to do whatever you want with as soon as you're feeling better."

"Really? Like, whatever I want?"

"Yeah..." after catching sight of Mikey's ecstatic expression, she said, "Within reason. Have fun, but keep it... you know..."

"Aw, come on, April," said Mikey, "It's me."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Donnie laughed.

"I told her it was a bad idea," said Raph as he sat down next to Michelangelo. "Who knows what you'll get up to... but she wouldn't come off it."

"Where is it?"

April, Don and Raph exchanged grins. "The ceiling of the living room," she told him.

"No way!" Mikey cried. "The ceiling?" April nodded.

"The other Michelangelo did it, didn't he? I thought you'd like it."

"Awesome! Thanks, April! You're the best! The ceiling! The whole thing is mine? That is just so aws-" a sudden coughing fit cut off his burst of excitement.

Raphael patted his brother on his shell. "Careful, Mikey," he said. "Don't hurt youself."

Mikey's cough lasted for almost a minute, during which it became deep and painful. Donatello placed a glass of water in front of him.

"Take it easy, bro," he said as Michelangelo took a long drink. "The soup will be ready in a second."

April and Raph gave Mikey incredulous looks as Don returned to the kitchen. "You're letting him cook?"

"Hey, I heard that!" Don came back with a steaming bowl. "It came out just fine, thank you."

"Wow," said Raph in approval. "It actually looks edible."

"Smells it, too," April commented.

"It's from a can," Mikey told them.

"Oh."
The door to Raphael's bedroom opened slowly. The boy in bed turned his head and squinted at the sudden light. A small figure, opening the door with his foot and carrying something in his two hands, stood silhouetted in the light.

"I made you soup," said Mikey's small voice. "Are ya hungry?"

Raph wasn't, but he smiled weakly. His family had been taking such good care of him since he woke up that he felt bad refusing his little brother now. The fact that he'd almost died had shaken everyone, but especially Mike. The poor kid almost never left his side now.

"It's Cam-buls," Michelangelo explained, setting the bowl carefully on Raph's bedside table. A little sloshed up the sides; it looked as though some had already spilled on the trip from the kitchen to the bedroom. "Sensei hadda help me with the can opener, but I heated it up by myself."

Raphael smiled. "Thanks, Mikey," he rasped.

"Mas'er Splin'er says you shouldn't talk yet," Mikey replied. "Not 'till you're better-er. Here," he held a spoonful of hot chicken broth to his brother's mouth, "eat."

Raph was still too weak to protest this baby's treatment. He opened his mouth. It tasted pretty good; maybe he was a little hungry after all.

Splinter, standing unnoticed in the doorway, smiled. The soup stains on the carpet could be taken care of later; it was worth knowing his son was going to be okay and that the bond between brothers had strengthened.

It wasn't until Raphael had fallen back asleep and Mikey stood up that Sensei left the doorway.