AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own the TMNT or anything affiliated with them. I do, however, own Christine. This is my first TMNT story so take it easy on me okay?

The weather here in New York had certainly been less than stellar the last four days. Why? It had been raining non-stop. This wasn't what I had imagined when I had decided to move to New York. But I supposed that if this was what I had to deal with for a while to get on my feet, then fine. I stared at the box of art supplies lying on the floor in front of me. Soon, all the contents of said box would be all set up in my very own in-home art studio. I smiled at the thought.

My life-long dream was finally in my hands. All I had to do now was spend some days painting so that I could have material to set up in the art gallery I was eventually going to own.

Sure, I had enough money to open one now due to the generous donations from my wealthy parents, but I wanted this to be something I worked for. I wanted to earn the money for it. That way, I could feel like it was really mine and not my parents.

Despite that, I loved them. They were caring and gave me a great life. I had grown up in Lumsden, Saskatchewan, Canada. It was a small town that was only twenty minutes or so from Regina, the provinces capital. The house we lived in was gorgeous and of course, huge. Nothing like the medium sized condo I owned now.

But size didn't matter to me. All that mattered was that it was mine.

Finally, I sighed and resigned myself to unpacking a few boxes. It was going to be a big job since I was a full-fledged packrat. I never had the heart to throw anything away. I had buckled down, well at least a little, and cleared a portion of my stuff before I had left.

I glanced around the condo one more time, smiling. It would suit me fine. There was a decent sized kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom full with a tub and shower. It was all I needed.

The first box I opened had family keepsakes and photos in it. I chuckled. My mother had insisted that I bring them along so I always thought of home. Of course, that was going to be a given anyway. I stacked them carefully and put them into the bottom shelf of a small buffet I had had as a child. Suddenly, one photo caught my eye.

I picked it out of the pile and stared at it. It was me and my best friend, Mike or Michelangelo as was his full name. I had met him while I was on vacation with my family here in New York when I was 15 years old. Now, one would think it would be normal to have such a picture around. But it isn't so normal when said friend was a five foot eleven mutant ninja turtle.

I thought back to the day I had met him for the first time 6 years ago. We had just gotten into New York in the evening and my mother and father had gone to bed. I was restless from being in the plane all day and wanted to explore. I had climbed out of bed and crept onto our hotel balcony. There I sat, watching the stars.

That is, until a sound had caught my attention. That's when I had seen Mike come out of the sewers with his brothers, Raphael, Leonardo, and Donatello. I had sat completely frozen watching them, taking in the sight of seeing four large talking turtles mill about in the alley. I thought I had been dreaming so I pinched myself. I blinked and still saw them. After the fear subsided, curiosity took over and I followed them into the sewer I had seen them come out of.

Of course, I got caught by Raphael or Raph as he liked to be called. They were angry at first but when the realized that it was all due to innocent curiosity they let me off a little easier. But not without a warning though, I wasn't to reveal their existence to anyone for any reason. I agreed. From there, I learned their strange story. How strange ooze had made them grow and become human-like. How Splinter, who was a giant rat, had taken care of them and trained them to be ninjas as his owner had been.

I became fast friends with them, but my closest friend was Michelangelo. I had been crushed when we left to go back home. Mike and I held each other and cried like babies until I had to leave. Just before I left, I begged and pleaded for a photo as a memento. I got one. And now, here I sat, 6 years later, holding it in my hand.

We still kept in touch with letters for all those years, but I had never been able to return until now. I knew at that moment that I needed to see him and the boys again.