Forget ninja senses. Michelangelo's husband senses were going off.

He leaned his shell against the counter in their food truck kitchen and listened to Mary Beth Shuster talk to Woody. Yes, she was a regular. And yes, she was a reporter interested in highlighting their food truck in an upcoming article. Which, he had to admit, was booyakashaaa cool.

But Mikey was also pretty damn sure that the reporter woman was currently flirting with Woody.

"Just be warned that you will have to share your secrets for the article," Mary Beth said.

"What kind of secrets?" Woody asked. He had hopped out of the truck to pull in their dinner menu when Mary Beth had arrived. They parked on this particular corner on Mondays and Wednesdays for the dinner rush and she usually stopped by at least one of those days to place an order for a small group from her office. She had talked to him about promoting the food truck in an article back at the beginning of the year, but then Franklin had arrived and Woody had disappeared for his surgery and recovery.

And Woody's disappearance had not gone unnoticed by Mary Beth. She had asked the college students who had been hired to run the food truck over the past couple months where Woody was and all she got in return was a shoulder shrug. And when she decided to try to contact him directly, she realized she didn't even know Woody's last name. So she went on a search through city records until she finally found the food truck's permits, which were under the name Woodrow Hamato. She hit a dead end after that, though. She couldn't find an address and the only phone number listed consistently went straight to voice mail. And so she'd been left to wait. Until this week, that is, when Woody and his bright smile finally reappeared in the food truck window.

Woody was back because he'd finally received the go ahead from his physician to drive again. He was thrilled to be out of their apartment building and enjoying full on spring time weather. And it felt pretty good to have all their regulars excited to see him. Most people asked where he'd been and quickly accepted his vague explanation of a health issue. Only Mary Beth had pushed for more details, which he assumed was part of her reporter nature. But when he gave in and told her about Franklin, he was surprised to have her scold him for not calling her to help him.

Mikey scowled at her insistence. He had been taking care of Woody after all. Perfect care of Woody. Even more so recently since Woody had insisted that Mikey stop keeping his hands to himself.

He listened as Woody assured Mary Beth that he had been well taken care of throughout the process, but she continued to lightly reprimand him anyway and then had insisted that she at least be allowed to help him out by writing the article they had previously discussed.

"I'll just have questions about your background," Mary Beth said. "Where the idea for the food truck came from. How you and the chef -,"

"Michelangelo," Woody said, unable to say the turtle's name without a smile. "My husband."

" – how you two met. How he managed to snag you so tightly," she said with a nervous chuckle that made Mike's husband sensor sound again. "I'll need to talk to him for the article as well of course."

Mikey glared at the counter he was wiping down and telepathically urged Woody to get back in the truck so they could head home already. He listened as Woody responded with the answer he always gave when someone asked to meet the chef.

"Michelangelo is pretty shy," Woody said. He could say the line as instructed by Leo, but Leo couldn't keep the goofy grin off Woody's face as he said. After all, Mikey couldn't be shy if he tried.

"So I guess getting him in a picture with you in the truck would be out of the question?"

"Definitely out of the question," Woody said. He turned and pushed their menu stand into the order station and locked up the back of the truck.

"Well, as long as I get a picture of you in the truck."

Mikey's hand stilled as he listened. He wasn't prone to growling, but he could feel the urge to do so now.

Mikey had listened to plenty of customers flirt with Woody over the years. Woody was the face of the food truck and Mikey had never been particularly bothered by it. Because most people kept it simple. And the flirting didn't last longer than their wait for their food before they were on their way.

But Mary Beth Shuster was taking it up a notch.

"Well the truck is really the main attraction," Woody hedged and Mikey did growl this time. Because Woody was clearly becoming uncomfortable and Mikey was trapped in the truck, unable to come to his rescue.

"Trust me, your face would certainly draw in customers all by itself," Mary Beth said with a smile for Woody. "Although, I would love to see inside your truck, Woodrow."

Woodrow. Mikey felt himself start to steam. He'd seen possessive Raphael over the years. After all, he was pretty sure he was never going to get the image of Usagi's bloody ear out of his brain. And he was also pretty sure that Mona being dragged to Machi's competition in the other dimension had been Leo putting his foot down about something. But he'd never felt such a possessive pull himself. Until this very moment.

"Or how about a ride-along? I could come over in the morning during food prep, help load the truck and then stick with you guys throughout the day. I'd write the article as a day in the life of," Mary Beth said, her face lighting up with excitement.

"Mike does almost all the food prep, so that wouldn't really work," Woody said. He moved around her on the sidewalk to walk to the front of the truck. "But if you want to bring a photographer, we can arrange a meeting place one morning before the lunchtime rush to get some shots of the truck." He opened the driver's side door and hoped she'd get the hint.

"Well I know you're busy most days through lunch and dinner, so maybe we can meet for breakfast one morning to go over the interview questions? Just you and me?"

"Sure," Woody said. He rattled off the food truck phone number, the one Donnie had made untraceable while also routing it to their personal T-phones, before shutting the door and starting the engine.

Woody parked in their underground parking lot and headed into the truck kitchen. Mikey usually had the entire kitchen clean before they even got home, leaving Woody to only help carry up the empty food prep containers to be washed in their impressive industrial-sized dishwasher. And while Woody found the containers stacked and ready to go, the kitchen was otherwise empty. Woody frowned as he exited the truck. Mikey was fast, but Woody hadn't heard the elevator doors to their building open or close. Nor could he imagine why Mikey would leave him behind.

"Mike?" he called out over the other cars in the parking lot.

A noise behind him had him slowly turning. He moved around Leo's car and then past Raph's motorcycle. He was about to pass Donnie's car when he was suddenly spun around and kissed hard by his favorite turtle.

Mikey wrapped one of his arms around Woody's back and pulled him in close as the fingers on his other hand began to move through Woody's curly hair. He moved his mouth down to Woody's neck and nipped at it gently.

"I like this game, Mike," Woody panted.

Mikey pulled away just so he could look at Woody. Woody's eyes were closed and his cheeks were pinked and there was already a small bruise forming on his neck from Mikey's teeth.

"No game," Mikey said, and he watched Woody's eyes pop open at the growl that he was also somewhat surprised to hear in his own voice. "I'm marking what's mine."

"All yours, Mikester," Woody whispered back as he felt his insides spark at the sight of a possessive Michelangelo. "Mark away."

Mikey grinned before he reached down to bite into Woody's neck again. He pushed his body forward until he had Woody pressed into the hood of Donnie's car.

"Buzzing," Woody muttered. He forced one eye open and grinned over at his turtle. Mike lay sprawled out on his plastron next to him and he reached over to poke Mike in the arm as his eyes shut again. "Somethin's buzzin."

Mikey muttered something in response and blindly moved his hand around on the floor next to their bed while his other arm reached out to pull Woody in closer to him.

"What up, D?" Mikey muttered once he managed to find his belt, retrieve his phone, and get his sleepy fingers to press the right button to answer the call.

Woody snickered a moment later as he heard Donnie's voice blast out of Mikey's T-phone.

"Michelangelo, what did you do to my CAR?!"

A/N: Thanks for the idea that sparked this chapter, StitcherBell – this one is dedicated to you