[Author's Note: This is, in fact, where this story ends. It is the last chapter. Sequel intended.]

Wildcard sat at her allotted table in the lab, peering from her computer programming textbook to the laptop. She squinted at the project, and then recognized code where she'd failed to properly use the auto-complete; her foresight had accidentally confused her into thinking she'd already tapped ENTER.

Clickclick, tappity tap, ENTER! There, much better. Click, click, click.

Their robot spider successfully twitched! YES! Progress! Sandro was going to be so proud of her! She was making da tings happenz!

Her phone buzzed and she blinked over at it. Then she grabbed it with both hands.

"Donnie?" Wildcard asked with slowly mounting dread. "The temporary bartender canceled. My dad needs to work tonight."

"Ooh dear," Donatello responded sympathetically right before an arc of electricity exploded from his very unusual torch and rippled up the length of his golden-plated project. He lifted up the welding mask and looked over at her. "Does he have a babysitter for you?"

Wildcard stared bleakly up at Genius Turtle for a few long seconds. "I'm going to end up in New York," she squeaked before interrupting herself with: "No! I'm not allowed!" She dropped her phone and slapped her hands over her face. "DO NOT BOTHER SANDRO AND HIS PARENTS! LET THEM HAVE THEIR DAY TOGETHER. Arglfargl." She kicked her feet, slumped over the table, and rolled slightly from side to side.

"Well... You could stay here," Le Tall Turtle suggested with a naturally shy shrug. "It... it might be good for your psychological rhythm, for example, to stay on the same schedule..."

Disbelieving, Wildcard peeked out hopefully between her fingers.

"Trouble is, I have nothing for you to do." His brows furrowed. "I can't really use your help for this because it's still a prototype, I only have one, and it's still only ninety-five percent predictable. If I shock myself, it's a burn; if you shock you, I'll need to get out the defibrillators. Plus I need to keep working while the glassy ionic structure is still partially malleable..." He bit his lower beak ridge thoughtfully, and then cocked his head her way. "Mikey's scheduled for patrol tonight. Do you want me to tell him he's off the hook?"

Wildcard sat up and thought about it. "I..." She looked at her robot and then up at Donatello. "I mean, if it doesn't sound completely crazy to you, I can entertain myself. I've got the hexapod to work on. There's the dojo and the weight room and video games. I can set up a prank for Sandro to encounter upon opening his door on his return to the domicile... I need to practice some awesome dance moves."

Donatello thought about this, this 'letting her visit with them all' as opposed to just coming for Sandro's sake and/or lessons.' The idea didn't seem to disagree with him.

He asked, "If you're sure you won't get bored and burn anything to the ground...? You do have to promise me. No arson in my house. No skateboarding in the house. If the catastrophic results of leaving you alone are too great...!"

She rapidly crossed her heart. "I'll be a saint!" she promised.

"Where have I heard that before?" he wondered, but it was with a tolerant smirk as he lowered his welding mask and went back to work.

"I won't break a thing!"

"Oh, yeah," their genius chirped, "heard that one, too."

She stuck out her tongue. Wild was still reveling in her new status as 'Lab-Approved,' where she could come sit in here to do her homework while SCIENCE happened in the background. She wasn't quite Mini-Mikey! She could be a good kid, she could sit still! She'd neither Kaboomed nor accidentally knocked over a single thing in the entire lab, and apparently, for Donatello, that was already as good as people came!

But more truthful would be to say Donnie had really lightened up around her after the introduction. He wasn't all stress and skepticism anymore, and while she might never bond with him the way she had with Mikey, he really did feel like the youthful and involved dad of a close friend or cousin. She liked how light and mischievous his speaking voice was. She liked being invited over to watch him shoot a bolt of plasma into metal while wearing mad scientist goggles and watching sparks fly, yeah, but the change of heart made her feel more welcome than all the lab passes in the world.

Sandro walked forward to stand alone in the living room of the single bedroom Manhatten Penthouse. He looked around. It occurred to him he didn't have to wear his coat in here, and that he could take it off and fold it beneath one arm.

Cool, salty, ocean air flowed out from over the harbor, though the open balcony doors, across a wide open floor space, and out softly curtained windows. Natural light streamed in, golden or even coppery in October, illuminating swathes of hardwood flooring, and thick rugs.

Absent of any normal domestic furniture, like televisions or couches, the space seemed to have been primarily engineered to house a very large, bored, aggressive turtle. It was set up like a mixed dojo and exercise room, with a punching bag suspended on one side, a Wing Chun wooden striking dummy firmly anchored in place, a bench press, and a neat rack of calisthenic bands and dumbbells all in easy reach. One wall had weapon rack mounted on it, bearing tantos that must have belonged to Sandro's mother, throwing stars, tonfa, an extra pair of sai, a katana, and wooden staves.

Sandro turned slowly, waiting to feel something, glancing through open doors.

On the balcony, there were potted plants, a large range grill, and a glimpse of some device that looked like Donatello's handiwork, like it might be intended to thwart peeping toms and paparazzi. To the right of that, at about ten o'clock was a den—some kind of office room. Sandro could see the clawed foot of a wooden desk supporting numerous computer monitors. He could see the armrest of a computer chair. There were shelves in there, there was a whiteboard, and there was a fancy globe. Most visible of all was the large leather couch covered in heavily knit fabric that was probably designed to protect it from a shell.

Next to the den, at twelve o'clock, was a bathroom, all white and spotless inside, with a big marble white sink peeking in from the left and and the edge of a large Jacuzzi bath tub visible on the right. A lavender scented Glade wall plugin was half empty. At about two o'clock was the master bedroom. What he could see at this angle through the door was mostly just a humidifie, plugged in and hard at work on the ground, but with a step Sandro could see the edge of a king sized bed made of some dark hardwood, with brick red comforters and all the linens and pillowcases matching.

Sandro kept turning; at four o'clock was the little dining room that opened into the living room. There was a hutch in the back filled with all manner of crystal ware glass, genuinely silver silverware, and neat china plates. A large vase stood in the corner, filled with strips of cinnamon bark and other dried plants which made for an alternative to plastic or live flowers and provided naturalistic potpourri.A smaller vase with over a dozen red roses sat on the table. The table looked a little out of place and perhaps had been replaced once; it was cast iron and glass with highly polished fleur de leis and other ornamental patterns ups and down the legs and sides. The four chairs were the giveaway the table was out of place, because they clearly belonged to a set and carved hardwood upholstered in fine manila fabric with a thin gauze embroidery-like pattern over top.

No child had ever lived in this space. It was just too clean.

Either Mom was OCD and scrubbed the place every night after a hard day's work or, more likely, Raphael kept the place neat. Which meant Raphael was neat, which was just one of those many little details Sandro had never known about his family members. Sandro couldn't imagine his parents would have trusted any kind of housekeeping service, even a highly reputable one which knew exactly when it was allowed inside. Housekeeping services just screamed, 'a ninja could infiltrate this.'

He looked to his parents, who lingered almost nervously beside the door and the open-aired kitchen. That kitchen had all its pots and pans suspended from the ceiling, like a show-room kitchen. It had a little islet, it's only barrier from the rest of the living space, with beautiful counter tops and a built in cutting board for food preparation. It had room for four, tall bar stools which came up to it on the far side. The refrigerator was double-doored with a freezer on the bottom.

Sandro wondered at that refrigerator, and about how much or little food it might have contained.

Bringing him here wasn't ever going to have been joyful occasion, and now his parents knew that. They weren't waiting and watching him because they were hoping he'd 'like the place;' they were waiting to see how hard anything might hit him, and whether he'd grow sad or angry.

Bringing him here, like he'd asked them to; this was like an apology. A show-and-tell which answered questions, and brought about closure, and balmed things that had been done for far too long but almost entirely by mistake.

"Why..." Sandro trailed off, a little surprised his voice had broken, because he didn't actually feel any distress or sorrow internally. Maybe it just hadn't hit him yet? "Why, um, why do you own more than two chairs?"

Dumbbells befitting a fairly enormous person were in plain sight of the doorway, after all, which meant April couldn't use her house to entertain corporate guests, not even in a pinch. The inevitable question of 'who on earth owns the largest room in your house?' would be the first question on anyone's mind.

"Well half of that's cause they're usually sold in sets of four; the store don't wanna keep two chairs what ain't matchin' with anythin' on their display floor," Raphael said with the authority of someone who had definitely gone incognito furniture shopping with April at some point, and who knew a great deal more than you'd expect about the matter of purchasing chairs. "But sometimes we have guests fah dinner."

Sandro looked between them in surprise. "Together?"

"Eh, not normal people," Raphael specified.

"Work doesn't leave me with many friends," April assessed a little dryly, thinking back. "Every one I meet fits into one of three categories: strictly business, an undercover plant from a rival newspaper, or a gold digger."

Ha! Oh. Wow. That was right, mom looked single from the outside.

"Ah've met ya mom's personal secretary, her new CEO, and da laundry lady," Dad explained. "Dere's a certain level of people gotta be held in confidence so ya can trust em with shit when ya back is turned, or if ya need em ta cover for ya. One person can't run a whole company on dere own."

"That laundry lady's trouble," April said with a wink. "Your father seems quite taken with her."

"Hey now, well when da old little Jewish lady didn't die of a heart attack da first time she took a gander at all dis," Raphael gestured to himself, "and instead mentioned someone'd been tryin' ta slip contact poison into the sheets and, oh, by da way, did I want ta reuse da towels and be eco-friendly, or should she take em all down for a laundrin', Ah may have possibly fallen in love. Ain't gonna say for sure. She's turnin' eight-five in two weeks, by da way, should we like, leave her a gift? Take her out ta dinnah? How'd dat work?"

"Something like that," April agreed with a perplexed frown and a glance at her phone. "Maybe we should just Google it..."

His parents trailed off a little awkwardly, and Sandro was struck by the synergy between them, by how they bantered a little and played off each other the way other members of his family did... This was a side of them he'd never gotten to see before, except maybe glimpses of it on holidays: They were playful with each other, and they liked each other, and they'd maintained their relationship this long without a reason. He tried to decide if he was angry with them, or bitter about having always known there must have been more to their lives that he'd simply been kept from...

"Are..." Sandro cleared his throat, shuffling his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "Are you friends with other mutants and stuff?"

"Like 'having-em-ovah-fah-dinnah' friends?" Raphael took the bone he'd just been tossed for exactly what it was. "Yeah. Yeah, I mean, we're part of a biggah network of mutants and superheros, but we's cozy with just a few groups, like da X-Men. Those ain't always people ya wanna be invitin' ta ya Secret Lair, and sharing all ya tricks with, mind ya, but they're people with some of the same problems as ya, in the same boat as ya on a lot of political issues and stuff, and so yeah we got a few people we invite over fah dinner here in da Bird's Nest."

Sandro thought about all this.

"That's your father's name for the apartment," April explained, with quotes, "'The Bird's Nest.'"

"Do any of the supers have children?" Sandro wondered.

"Some of dhem do, mutants and supers both do," Raphael confirmed. "But we ain't met many outside da context of the school. Everybody's got weak scales, kid, shit dhey don't want their enemies ta find out about. Non-combat-prepared loved ones are on da top of dat list, almost every time. Ya mom's rare dat she can put up a fight and I still have ta watch fah danger like a hawk. Anyway, ain't polite conversation ta ask about dat stuff, not unless someone's signallin' dhey's willin ta trust ya."

"Do you have people like that?" Sandro asked. "Friends?"

"Yes," April said, face brightening. "We have exactly one couple, one single couple, which we are friends with as a couple and have dates with and so forth. To this day I have no idea how your father managed it!" Mom explained, her body language animated and wry."Because if you know anything about how absolutely shy Spider Man is around everything from cameras to mutants to super heroes, it is an outright enigma your father managed to even glimpse him, much less convince him and his wife to come over for supper and give us recommendations about someone who might make a fantastic CEO for me."

"We're friends with Spider Man?" Sandro disbelieved. Holy Toledo, Wildcard's two favorite comic book universes actually knew one another.

"Yes. Somehow!" Mom confirmed. "I can only assume your father strategically herded him into a completely closed building, set out a gift basket and card reading, 'Hi, we're your new neighbors,' at the only exit, and then backed up to a polite distance of a hundred yards or so to stake out the location for five or six hours, watch what happened, and eventually give a wave of greeting."

"Naw, that's... that's almost exactly what happened," Raphael admitted with a sniff. "Parker reminds me of what would happen if ya multiplied Leo by Donnie. S'like he might as well be a ninja, despite not bein' a ninja, that's how effin' hard he is to notice. And he's wearin' full saturation blue and red. Could be hanging over mah head this very instant I wouldn't hear a damn thing. It's enviable. But he's a sweet guy, n' he and his wife'r both hard workers. Dhey's good people. Dhey live out in Queens, so usually we like ta treat em maybe once a month or so."

Leaning back on his heels, Sandro wondered if this might finally explain the great untold mystery of how Uncle Leonardo had ever known anything at all about Wildcard's Aikido lessons. Maybe he'd met 'Ms. Jane,' too.

Sandro was quiet a moment, as his parents awkwardly shuffled in to set down things like purses and bike helmets...

"Ya... want a banana nut protein smoothie?" Raphael asked, opening up that refrigerator to reveal at least the left door of it was well stocked with beef, kale, spinach, sausage, fruit, and cheese.

"Y-yeah," Sandro said, hesitantly looking around the apartment and it's den and exercise equipment and Glade plugins one more time. "Okay."

Quiet as a cat, Wildcard/Kinpōge tiptoed across the dojo floor. Tip-toe-tip-toe-tip-toe...! She lifted her hands like claws, braced to pounce. Today Sensei was wearing a hip length haori jacket over his kimono, a garment which was not as traditional as it might have liked to be, if only because the back was a dragon's belly of layered fabric. Based on how Raphael had designed most of his family's garments open with braided ropes of fabric across an otherwise naked shell, one simply had to assume shells inflicted a lot of wear, tear, and awkward stretching upon poor, unsuspecting textiles. The design for Sensei's things must have helped protect them from an early grave; maybe Raphael had watched him chew through one too many overlarge mens' kimonos and taken pity.

Kinpōge hovered there behind him, ready to pounce...! Then she dropped her arms to her sides. There was no way Sensei didn't know she was there. Right?

"Senseiii," she droned, coming up to his shell and shoving ineffectually at him. "Are you ignoorrrinng meee?"

No response. Kinpōge tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Still no response! Was Sensei not home?

Oh my.

Challenge accepted.

"Sensei?" She shook at someone who might as well have been an immobile block of stone, for he was not displaced in any way. Pouting fictitiously, she climbed up into his shell. "Sensei. Sensei? Senseeeii!"

Usually, Leonardo was out of the house by the time Kinpōge had finished with her and Sandro's mid-morning routine of lessons, homework, study, tests, and lunch. Even on the rare day he stayed at home, she'd always had better things to do than check in on where Mr. Invisible Turtle was hanging out or what he might be doing. Her suspicion had always been that Leo spent a lot of his off work time failing to understand the entire premise of his off work time, which was that he should tail, bother, ask questions of, and otherwise spend time with his family.

So when Kinpōge had finally decided she'd take a break from rearranging all of Sandro's snakes and reptiles, and snuck off into the dojo, she had not at all surprised to find her sensei kneeling in seiza, head lowered and hands clasped before him, looking to be deep in either prayer or some kind of meditation. Naturally! Naturally Sensei would assume Donatello didn't want to be bothered, and so wouldn't even enter the lab and risk bothering him.

Well then, she'd just have to do the bothering.

"Sennsseeeiii!" she droned nasally, facing away from him and kicked her heels against his shell because a slap or shove or two was okay, but enough hammering on a shell seemed to drive a turtle batty. It did to Sandro, anyway! "Sensei sensei senseeiiii, don't ignnorreee meeee! Wake up! Meditation is boring, I'm much more interesting!"

Hehe! If Leo had only been 'busy' before, then he was definitely 'intentionally ignoring her out of principle' now.

She clambered all over shoulders and shell, and then flopped over his shoulder to peek at his face. She didn't yell in his ear. Shockingly loud noise might work plenty fine for getting anyone else's attention (and would probably be hilarious to use on Donatello), but right now the idea of breaking out a fog horn, cymbals, and marching band equipment and parading around in circles around him making as much noise as possible, seemed irreverent to the sport of the whole game. So would messing with his beautiful clothing.

"Sensei!" she demanded as if terribly vexed with him. "Play with me!" She hopped in place upon his shoulder, trying to shake him with her weight. "I'm bored! Play with me, play with me, play with me! Sensei!" She rolled over, flopped backwards over his shoulder will her feet on his shell so she could kick her heels into him again. "Sensei! Sennnseeeii!"

Kinpōge slid off his shoulder and into his lap, upside down, and then righted herself and stared suspiciously at his completely blank and tranquil expression. She waved a hand rapidly in front of his face. Nobody could possibly be asleep quite so deeply as that. He must have been able to hear her. "Sensei!" she demanded, ducking around his arms and popping up on the opposite thigh of his lap. "Sensei!" She did not touch the hands he had clasped in prayer. She tugged at his elbow and heaved all of her weight onto the joint. Leo didn't budge.

"Sensei, play with me!" she demanded crossly.

Hmph! Well, because he was holding very still, she lifted her hand and touched slowly at the shape of his snout. It was different from Sandro's, wider, more rounded, and without the same sharp line running from nose to chin. More crocodillian, one might say, even if crocodiles didn't have beaks.

Leo should totally not be ignoring the palm of her hand on his face! "Senseei!" she demanded, tapping him on the nose with two fingers and then retracting her hand. She grabbed hold of his shell and climbed back onto his shoulder and shell and kicked her feet in the air. " I will slip ice down the back of your collar, plaaayy with meee! Sennnseeei! Play - With - Meeeeeee!"

Nope. Sensei is not here right now, please leave a message.

"Sensei, you are supposed to take the day off to spend time with other living creatures, and the sakura and your bonsais do not count! PLAY WITH ME!"

A deep breath filled the shell/lungs beneath her.

"Child," Hamato Leonardo finally deigned to acknowledge her. "This is not the way to go about soliciting attention from-"

"I'm bored!" Her foot bopped him in the eyebrow.

He caught hold of her ankle. "I am presently engaged in meditation. Perhaps you desire an education in quieting of the mind?"

"I want to plaaay with youuuuu!" she wailed. "Plaaayyy with meeeeeee!"

"It begins with control of one's breathing," Leonardo said as he pulled her off his shoulder into his lap. She rolled off of him, lunged at him, and climbed on top of him again. "The simplest of exercises begins with breathing in over seven seconds..."

She slooowwwlly stood up, one foot on the apex of his shell. "Senseiii!" she demanded.

"...holding for three seconds..."

She slid to her butt on his shoulders, straddling the back of his neck. "Sensei pay attention!" she wailed dramatically, slapping a hand flat against the back of his shell.

"...and exhaling for nine seconds. The intention is to-"

Kinpōge flopped glumly forward over the top of his head, elbows propped up on his brow. She heaved a despairing sigh which was held for way more than nine seconds.

Sensei was quiet for a moment. Then he took in a silent breath, reached up, grasped a handful of her collar, and pulled her off of himself in a tumble. She frowned displeased up at him.

"Tell me this, child," Leonardo solicited: "If I were to agree to this 'play' activity you are heckling me for, what exactly would that pertain?"

Wildcard perked up like a freshly watered flower, an ecstatic, toothless smile plastered over her face. She beamed at him, and then out at the universe in general, and then she clambered out of Leo's lap and hurried to the rear of the room. She hurried back and sat down, holding a soccer ball.

"You want me to play soccer with you," Leo said, doubtfully.

Smiling mute and wide, Kinpōge innocently bobbed her head.

"Do you know anything at all about soccer?" Leo asked.

Kinpōge shook her head.

Leo contemplated this.

Donatello paused midway through the day, reasoning he ought to get himself a drink and maybe set out some snacks and see whether Wildcard had trashed the house yet. He left the lab doors unlocked because she'd at least proven she could be respectful of that space.

Before he could turn towards the kitchen, however, the sound of heavy thwacks and laughter caught his ear.

Initially curious and then slowly more disbelieving, Donatello jogged quietly up to the threshold of the dojo and peered in.

He found his eldest brother guarding one far side of the dojo and swiping at a soccer ball with quick kicks as a giggling child tried to maneuver around him. The ball was scooped up on to two-toed feet and bounced onto the heel of the opposite foot, and then Wildcard dove for it with no discernible goal in sight aside from 'Look! Ball!'

"That is not how one plays-!"

She flipped right over a knee that got in her way, chased the ball around him as Leo tried to keep it from her, and then finally grabbed onto the side of his hakama so he couldn't escape her and kicked it out with her heel, which nearly tripped her.

"Ha!" she bellowed anyway.

And Donatello felt a wondrous smirk tug his mouth to the side.

Because Leonardo was laughing.

END ... !

[Author's Note: I intend on a two sequels, one with 'intermediary adventures' and one that picks up when the kids are somewhat older, old enough to begin romance, old enough to begin real adventures. It may take me some time to get to them. Keep your eyes peeled]/p