Mike steals a glance at each of the other turtles in the room in turn. Leo. Raph. Don. There's four of them again. Not a matched set, thanks to the intrusion of Mike, but close enough for his momentary needs. And that's nice.

Damn nice.

He knows that they're only here at all through the grace of some power he doesn't understand, and so he takes the easy way out...as usual: he doesn't even try.
At any moment, in the blink of the proverbial eye, any one of them could be gone for no discernible reason what so ever. Then the horrible rollercoaster would begin again.

Grief for the loss of another cousin, alternating with hope that he'd be replaced with a brother, followed by grief again for wishing this place on them just so he'd have company.

But that's all...ways off. Miles off. Leagues off.
Right now there's just four of them in a room together, and that's good.

Mike allows his eyes to fall shut as he sips his tea and leans his head against the back of his shell. If he lets his mind wander enough he can overlook the difference in voices and pretend he's back home. Let his mind wander further and that home is beneath the streets of New York, rather than on top of them, and that they're talking low so as to not disturb Master Splinter as he meditates in the next room.

Before his next sip he inhales the smell of the tea, not because he likes the taste of it, but because the smell of it takes him further.
It takes him home.
And thoughts of home are something that will always bring a smile to his face.