Author's Note: I've finally given in and decided to make a sequel to my story Just Fine. This is so going to take a huuuuge amount of my free time, but these turtles are begging to be written and I'm unable to resist them. So, welcome to this new story!

You don't need to read Just Fine to understand – and hopefully enjoy – this fic, although it would give you a better background.

Warning: It's an alternate universe, inspired by the 2012 turtles. I allow myself to diverge from canon as I see fit.

I do not own the turtles.

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Prologue

Leonardo was looking at his cellphone with melancholy. Three months that Karai had left Tokyo for New York City and all he had got from her were few and far between texts. He had tried to call her, but he never made it past her voice mailbox. Leonardo knew her message by heart now, along with the singing and slightly threatening tone Karai had recorded it with.

'I'm busy getting bored somewhere. Leave a message or call back later. In any case, make sure it's worth it.'

The first times, he had left messages. Cheerful, light messages. He didn't want her to know how much he missed her. She would probably laugh at me, he thought. She was never one for big declarations of friendship. But Karai never called back, and Leonardo had stopped doing it.

Still, he was her friend. Leonardo had no doubt about it. Her only friend, in fact. I'd bet my life on it.

That was why the turtle didn't understand. He and Karai had known each other from as far as he could remember. He considered her like the sister he would never have, being the genetic impossibility that he was. Why is she avoiding me? Is New York life keeping her so busy that she can't take a few minutes to make a call? Or is she in trouble, and she doesn't want to tell me so I won't get worried?

Karai often teased him about the fact he was overworrying. But Leonardo felt that he had a right to, considering how dangerous her life was. A ninja life.

How much Leonardo would have wanted to share that with her! However, his father didn't allow it. He said that Karai's acquaintances were bad company, and Leonardo couldn't really rule against him. Not after last time.

Sighing, Leonardo stood up and crossed his small and extremely tidy room – he kept it that way and always replaced the objects he used in their allocated spot, so that it would remain a safe place for his father – and made his way to the kitchen.

It was early enough in the evening that no one would be there, except the grey-haired chef who had raised him from infancy. His father was chopping vegetables. Leonardo admired the way the cook's knife was rising in the air before falling down inches from his fingers. Restraining himself from walking silently – he had done it once, when he was much younger, and he still had nightmares about what almost happened – Leonardo came closer to his father.

"Can I help?" He called softly.

The blind chef turned to him and smiled.

"Of course. Why don't you finish cutting these vegetables for the soup? I'll make a dough in the meantime."

Leonardo took the knife his father was offering him, ready to focus on that task to avoid thinking about Karai's peculiar silence.

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Murakami listened to the sounds of his son chopping the vegetables. Although he couldn't see it, he was certain that Leonardo was overdoing it. A soup didn't require its ingredients to be cut to confetti. But he said nothing. His son's only friend – almost a sister – was an ocean away, and it wasn't like Leonardo could just go out and meet other people.

It was already a miracle that he had found her – or better, been found by her. Murakami smiled, remembering the day a tiny Karai had come to his shop, leading by the hand a strong and heavily armed man – her bodyguard, as she had told proudly – and politely asked for a meal. Leonardo had been hiding in the backroom, as he always did when they had customers. Despite being a small child, the mutant turtle could keep silent for hours. Until that day, nobody had noticed that the blind cook wasn't living alone. But somehow, Karai had escaped both her bodyguard and Murakami's supervision, and found her way to his non-human son.

It could have been their end – the blind chef couldn't bear to think about what would happen if Leonardo's existence was revealed to the world – but Karai's reaction had astounded him. Instead of freaking out, she had decided that she wanted Leonardo as a friend, and somehow coaxed the small turtle into trusting her.

Murakami didn't know how Karai's father – a very dangerous and powerful man, for what he knew – had taken the news, but he had never been bothered again by the district's thugs and no official had come to their shop to take Leonardo away.

So he had decided that he liked the girl, too. He was sad that she had to move so far away, but of course she had to follow her father. Leonardo had accepted it with great dignity, although Murakami knew that his son was feeling depressed, no matter what he pretended. The fact that Karai barely communicated with him anymore wasn't helping.

The blind cook knew that the situation couldn't last. Leonardo was a teenager, and sooner or later he would end up doing something stupid to deal with his pain. Something that was bound to be more dangerous to him than it would have been to any normal – any human – teenager.

As the adult and his loving father, Murakami had to do something to prevent this from happening.

The chef waited until the knife's sounds stopped. He heard his son sniffle discreetly – the onions' fault, no doubt.

"Leonardo," he said softly. "We have something important to discuss. Sit down."

He felt a rustle as his son turned around and took a stool.

"Yes?" Leonardo answered hesitantly.

Murakami smiled at him.

"I've been thinking about moving to New York and opening a noodle shop there. What do you say?"

"What?"

Oh, how he wished he could see his son's face right now.

"Japanese food is a marvel in its own. It's only fair that other cultures get the chance to enjoy it too, don't you think?"

"But…"

Leonardo bit his lip. His father was blind. Adapting to an entirely new place – an entirely new country – was bound to be difficult for him. It was a huge sacrifice he was consenting to for his son's sake. The thought brought tears to Leonardo's eyes.

"Father, I… You don't have to do this for me."

"But I want to, Leonardo," Murakami whispered. "You bring me such joy. I want you to be happy."

He extended his hand in Leonardo's direction and felt his son take it and press it tightly.

"So, what do you say?"

Leonardo put his father's hand on his cheek so that the blind chef could feel his tentative smile, not caring if said cheek was damp. Onions did that to your eyes anyway.

"Do we even have the money to pay for it?"

"We do."

Or at least, they would when Murakami would have sold his shop. The blind cook ignored the slight pang at this thought. His son was more important than any shop, as familiar and in-the-family-for-generations as it was.

"Then I say yes. Yes, yes, yes! Thank you so much, Father!" Leonardo exclaimed, launching himself at Murakami, happier than he had been in months.

I can't wait to tell Karai! Leonardo thought excitedly while hugging his father. Then something occurred to him and he chuckled. On second thought, I don't think I will say anything about it to her. That will teach her not to answer my calls!

This would make a wonderful surprise for his best and only friend. Oh, he couldn't wait to be with her again. Together, they could take everything New York had to offer.