Peter slowly opened his eyes and the world around him came into focus. He sat up and glanced around the room. The bedroom was still partially dark, but he could see Davy was still sound asleep across the room. A loud snore erupted from the bed to confirm it.

_Must still be early,_ he thought.

He slid his feet out from under the blankets and onto the cold floor, which sent a chill up his spine. He rose from his bed and made his way to the bedroom door. Opening it quietly so not to wake Davy, he made his way into the kitchen. Peter glanced out the back window at the sunrise and smiled. He never got tired of seeing that every morning.

Peter opened the kitchen cabinet, pulling out a bowl and a box of cereal. He poured himself a bowl and grabbed a spoon from a drawer as he made his way to the back of the pad. He walked out the back door, leaving is open slightly, and sat on the back step, watching the sunrise. He sat there for about half an hour just watching the ocean and eating his cereal until he heard the others getting up.

He made his way back inside and was greeted by Mike's yawning face.

"G'morning, Mike," Peter said cheerfully.

"Mornin' Pete," Mike responded between yawns.

Davy made his way into the kitchen a few moments later, knuckling his sleepy eyes.

Peter pulled two more bowls out of the cabinet and two more spoons, setting them on the table. Peter had left the cereal on the table, so Davy and Mike helped themselves.

They all heard a familiar groan coming from the upstairs balcony, which made Peter smile. "Morning, Micky," Peter said without looking up.

Micky grunted in response and sleepily made his way to the kitchen table. Peter laid out another bowl for him and handed him a spoon. Micky grunted in thanks and poured himself a bowl of cereal. Peter happily helped himself to another bowl.

As he was pouring, he found Micky glaring at him. "What?"

"How can you be so cheerful at..." he broke off to look at the clock, "seven in the morning?" He groaned. "It's that early?"

Peter shrugged. "I like mornings."

"Well I don't," Micky stated, rising from the table and making his way back upstairs. "Wake me when it's afternoon," he said and slammed the door behind him.

~*~

Three hours later, Peter managed to literally drag Micky out of bed and shove him towards the bathroom to take a shower.

While Micky was in the shower, Peter made his way down the stairs to the empty living room. Mike and Davy had gone to run some errands, and it was his turn to clean up. Peter turned on the water to wash the dishes. Just as he stuck his hands in the water, there was a knock at the door.

_Figures,_ he thought. _Never fails, you stick your hands in the water and there is either a knock at the door or the phone rings._

He shut off the running water and grabbed a towel, wiping his hands dry as he made his way to the front door. He heard another knock on the door as he reached for the doorknob and opened it.

At the door was a girl who had her back to Peter. She was looking down at something in her hands, which looked like a piece of paper with something written on it.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The girl whirled around and a huge dimpled grin broke out on her face. "Peter!"

"Jarra!" he shouted.

He grabbed her around the waist, picking her up, and swung her around in a giant hug. She laughed and he finally set her down. He pulled back, but kept his hands on her hips, looking her over.

"You look great, Jarra," he told her. She was a couple of inches shorter than him, but still rather tall. She had shoulder length dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. She broke out into another dimpled grin.

"You look pretty good yourself, hotshot," she said.

As he hugged her again, they heard a voice from inside the house.

"Aw, a Kodak moment. Where's my camera?"

Peter released his hug and turned around. Micky was standing on the stairs, grinning at them. He crossed his arms awaiting explanation.

"Micky," he began, gesturing to the girl in the door, "this is Jarra. She's my best friend from Connecticut."

She walked over to Micky with her hand extended. "Jarra Williams. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He took her had and shook it enthusiastically. "Micky Dolenz." She gave him a large smile, and he smiled back.

Their hands separated as Peter walked up behind them, closing the door behind him. "Jarra, what are you doing here?" he asked as he gestured for her to sit on the couch.

She sat. "I just moved out here a few days ago. I got a job at a local studio because they saw some of my artwork and were interested in it. They might even set up a show with my work. I live not too far from here so I decided to drop by. I hope you don't mind."

Peter sat down next to her. "Not at all. It's great to see you again."

"Yeah, it's been... how long now?"

"Three years, last time I saw you was when you came to visit me in the Village. When I was still playing banjo at clubs."

She smiled at the memory. "That's right. I sat there all night and watched you play."

Micky, feeling very much like the fifth wheel, cleared his throat to get their attention. "I'll let you kiddies take the trip down memory lane, I'll be upstairs if you need me." With that, he made his way up the stairs.

"Okay, Mick," Peter said, but he didn't look in Micky's direction.

"Bye Micky, it was nice meeting you," Jarra called to him.

"You too," Micky replied as he walked into his bedroom.

Peter and Jarra spent the next hour talking of old hangouts, friends and whatever else they could think of. The could've probably continued talking there for hours, but they were interrupted by the return of Mike and Davy. The walked in the door, their faces blocked by bags of groceries. The two made their way into the kitchen and placed the bags on the table. They turned towards the living room and saw Peter sitting on the couch... with a girl! Both of them started at the sight of Jarra, and that made Peter smile.

"Davy, Mike," he began, rising from the couch, "this is Jarra, an old friend from Connecticut."

She stood up and jabbed Peter in the side with her elbow. "I'm not old. You're older than I am."

Peter smiled innocently and shrugged as she made her way over to the other two. She gave them the same cheerful introduction and big smile she had given Micky. Mike came forward first and took her hand in his firm grip.

"Hello," he said, in his slow Texan drawl, "I'm Mike Nesmith."

She nodded in greeting and then turned to Davy, extending her hand again. "So you must be Davy." Instead of shaking her hand, Davy took her hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, kissing it gently. "Yep," she laughed, "definitely Davy."

Davy just flashed her his best "Davy" smile, and Peter rolled his eyes. Peter came up behind Jarra and put a hand on her shoulder. He gave Mike and Davy a look that said he'd like to have some time alone with Jarra. Mike picked up on it immediately, but Davy was oblivious to it. He was too busy grinning at Jarra and staring into her deep blue eyes.

Mike pried Davy's hand from hers and began dragging him towards the kitchen. "It was nice meeting you Jarra, but Davy and I have to put the groceries away, right Davy?" His voice had a commanding tone to it that snapped Davy out of it.

"Oh, yeah," Davy said. "It was great meeting you, Jarra." He reluctantly followed Mike into the kitchen.

Jarra heard a sigh over her shoulder and she turned to face Peter. "Is he always like that?"

Peter smiled and nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. Especially around pretty girls."

She blushed. "Still as sweet as ever, huh, hotshot?" She placed a friendly kiss on his cheek.

It was his turn to blush. She couldn't help but laugh as his face reddened and his dimpled smile grew. "Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her out the back door and onto the beach.

"Wow," she said as they made their way down the beach, "this is really nice Peter. How'd you land such a great place? I had a ton of trouble finding the little one bedroom apartment that I'm staying in now."

"I got lucky. The guys and I needed a place and the pad was being rented cheap. I don't exactly have the nicest landlord, and it's not exactly the Ritz, but it's home."

They spent hours just walking and talking about old times, remembering old friends. She updated him about everyone back home in Connecticut.

She sat down near the water and Peter sat next to her. As he did, she turned to him. "Your mom sends her love. She told me to yell at you to call her more."

He laughed. His mother and Jarra had always been close. "That's mom. I call her as often as I can, but it's never enough."

She laughed too. "Yeah, and every time you didn't call, I had to hear about it. 'He's your friend, I'm just his mother. He doesn't listen to me.'"

He laughed again and looked out at the ocean. "I missed you hotshot," she said.

"I missed you, too," he told her without looking away from the water.

She felt a burning desire to kiss him right there, but then she quickly shoved it back, remembering the last time they had tried that. It had been back when she last saw him in The Village. She went there for a week to see him perform. They were together every day and every night, she went to every performance and they walked the New York streets together during the day. They had grown very close during that time. After his performance on her last night with him, they walked the dark streets together, hand in hand. Peter had suddenly stepped in front of her and looked her in the eyes. She saw something there that she had never seen from him. They embraced and kissed. The kiss was long, but she put her arms against his chest and gently pushed him away. He had looked at her with those beautiful brown eyes, and they had been full of confusion.

"I'm sorry, Peter, but this relationship will never work," she had told him.

For a moment, it looked as if he was going to protest and part of her had hoped he would, but he had said, "You're right. I'm sorry." He looked down at the sidewalk, as if studying the cracks.

She placed a hand under his chin and lifted his head until he was looking her in the eyes.

"Don't be, I would love for this to work, but with your career here, and me there, I don't think it will."

"I know."

"Besides," she added with a grin on her face, "I had always wondered if you were a good kisser."

He laughed. "And?"

She punched him in the arm playfully. "You've got nothing to worry about, hotshot."

"Hotshot?"

She just laughed, linking arms with him and they had spent the rest of that night, walking together.

~*~

Jarra was snapped out of her trip down memory lane when Peter said something and rose, beginning to dust the beach sand off his pants. He extended a hand to her to help her up and she accepted. He pulled Jarra to her feet and she began dusting herself off as he had.

"What'd you say?" she asked.

"I said it's getting kinda late. I have to get back to the pad. The guys and I need to rehearse."

"Rehearse?"

"Yeah," Peter said, looking at her in confusion. "We have a band together. We're called The Monkees. Didn't I tell you about us?"

"No," she smiled, "you forgot to mention that little detail."

"Oh, sorry. Why don't you come back with me? You can watch us rehearse."

"I'd love to, hotshot," she answered, linking her arm in his. "Lead the way."

The two friends made their way back to the pad, arm in arm, but Jarra was once again thinking of that night in New York. She regretted pushing Peter away, but she knew it had been for the best. He had his music to think about, and she knew the move to California would've been a lot harder for him if they had been involved. However, she knew she still had feelings for him that she had regretted not telling him about that night.

Stop thinking like that, Jarra, she thought to herself. You're here with him now, that's all that matters. The past is the past, there's nothing you can change.

She nodded, agreeing with herself and leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked down the beach to the pad.

~*~

Peter and Jarra unlinked their arms as they walked into the pad, only because they couldn't fit through the door together. As they made their way into the pad, they saw the other three Monkees at the kitchen table, playing cards with another person. As Jarra walked closer to the table, she realized the fourth person was not a person at all, but was a dummy. She just looked at it for a minute, then glanced at Peter for explanation.

"This is Mr. Schneider," he explained, seeing the question in her eyes. "He's our dummy."

"Yeah, but that job falls on him only when Peter's away," came a whispered comment from the table that Peter obviously didn't hear.

Jarra turned back to the group at the table to see Mike smack Micky. She couldn't help but giggle slightly at Micky's pained expression.

Davy turned to the two of them. "Did you two enjoy your nice walk along the beach?" he asked, winking at Peter as if Jarra couldn't see it.

Peter blushed and didn't say anything, so Jarra decided to answer. "Actually, we did. We talked about old times and he updated me about your group."

Peter snapped out of his embarrassment. "I came back for rehearsal. I'm not late am I?"

"No, Pete," Mike answered. "Right on time, as usual."

Peter smiled and turned towards the bandstand as the others made their way to set up. "Oh, I invited Jarra to listen in. Is that alright with you guys?"

Mike nodded. "That's fine with me. I'd like an audience's opinion." He smiled at Jarra as she settled onto the couch to listen. Mike picked up his 12-string. "Let's start with Clarksville." The others nodded and Micky counted it off. "1...2...3...4..."

They all played and Micky began to sing. "Take the last train to Clarksville and I'll meet you at the station..."

Jarra sat back on the couch, smiling and listening. She watched each of them as they played. Micky sang energetically behind the drums, enjoying every minute of the song. Mike looked like he was concentrating on the music, not moving much, but he was into the music in a different way. Peter was his normal jovial self, bouncing to the beat of the music, the way he always had. Davy was banging the tambourine, dancing around a bit, and he kept smiling at her. Jarra sighed and sat up, listening to the music and watching them play. When they finished the song, Jarra clapped.

"That was great guys! You have some real talent."

She saw the four of them simultaneously begin to redden and they all muttered thanks. Mike turned to the rest of them. "What song next?"

Micky was the one to speak up. "How about Pete's new song?"

Jarra looked at Peter. "Your new song?"

Peter smiled proudly. "Yeah, remember those chords I had back in high school that I must've played for you a hundred times?" He continued when she nodded. "Well, I finally wrote them into a song. It's called 'For Pete's Sake.'"

Micky counted it off and they all began to play. Micky once again sang the lead vocal, and Jarra listened intently. She smiled at the familiarity of some of the song, and she loved the new parts. When the boys finished, she broke into a loud applause.

"Peter! That's a great song! And it's about time you wrote those chords into a song, I was getting mighty tired of just hearing them over and over again."

Peter laughed and blushed. Davy saw his friend's face flush and began teasing him. "Aw, Peter's getting embarrassed." That only made Peter turn a darker shade of red. They all laughed and began the next song. Jarra sat on the couch listening well into the night, and the others didn't mind playing for her one bit.

~*~

Over the next couple of days, Jarra became a regular sight around the pad. Each morning she came over to visit before she went to work at the studio and each night as the four began to rehearse. She'd take her customary seat on the couch as they set up and just listened to them play. She loved to just listen; it reminded her of the many times she had listened to Peter rehearse when they were kids.

One day, Jarra went to leave her apartment building, only to find it to be a lot colder than she had thought it was going to be, and that it was pouring rain. She ran back to her apartment to get a heavy coat, then ran to her car. She drove to the pad just like she did every morning, but when she knocked on the door, it was not Peter who answered like usual. It was Mike.

"Hey Jarra, come on in," he said, stepping back to give her enough room to get in.

She stepped inside and pulled off her hood. "Where's Peter?"

Mike held out his hand to take her wet jacket from her. She unzipped it and handed it over. "He went out early this morning to run a few errands. He should've been back a while ago, but knowing him, he probably just thought of a few extra things to do while he was out."

"Probably," she agreed. She walked in the pad as Mike went to hang up her coat. Davy was on the phone with his latest girlfriend, Dana, or Dara, or something. She'd only known him for a little over a week and she'd already lost track.

Mike came up behind her and spoke quietly so Davy couldn't hear. "He's been on the phone all morning, a good hour and a half now. This could be a serious relationship. It might even last a week."

She laughed and Davy spoke up. "I 'eard that."

She walked into the kitchen and helped herself to a cup of coffee as Micky came out of his bedroom, grumbling as usual. He came down into the kitchen and sat at the table.

"Morning, Micky," she greeted him.

He mumbled a response that she couldn't make out and that made her smile. Mike walked up to them. "That's Micky's good morning, or at least as close as it'll ever be, coming out of his mouth." Jarra laughed and Micky turned to Mike. "Ha...Ha..." Mike gave a grin in response, took the paper off the table and settled on the couch to read.

Jarra sat at the kitchen table sipping her coffee while Micky fumbled around the kitchen to get himself a bowl of cereal. She heard the door open, and assumed it was Peter returning home from his errands.

"I'm home," came a mumble and a snuffle from the door, which confirmed her assumption, but her view of him was blocked until he closed the door. When he closed the door, she got a good look at him and gasped. He was pale and soaked to the bone. He was wearing a thin jacket, certainly not appropriate for this weather, and his hair was plastered to his forehead.

"Peter!" she said as she rushed up to him. "What happened?"

By that time, the others had gathered around him awaiting his story, all except Davy who had to hang up first but he soon joined the others.

"Well," Peter began, "while I was out running errands, the Monkeemobile stalled and I couldn't get it started again, so I walked back."

"In this weather?" Micky exclaimed, now fully awake. "Why didn't you call?"

"I tried, but all I got was a busy signal," Peter explained snuffling again. All eyes fell on Davy, and the English boy shrugged helplessly.

"Well there's no use in assigning blame," Jarra said. "Peter go change out of those clothes before you catch a cold."

Peter nodded and made his way into the downstairs bedroom to change. Jarra turned to Mike. "I better get going to work. Keep an eye on him for me, I'll be back same time as usual tonight."

"Okay," Mike replied and gave her a quick friendly hug as she grabbed her jacket and ran to her car with it draped over her head.

~*~

Later that evening, Jarra left the studio a little later than usual. The rain had finally let up after pouring all day. She hopped in her car to go visit the guys just like she did every night. She hoped she wasn't too late and wouldn't miss their rehearsal. She drove to the Monkees' pad. She walked up to the door and knocked and this time was greeted by Davy's smiling face.

"'Ello luv! Come on in!"

She gave Davy a friendly smile and walked inside, handing her jacket to him. Mike was washing the dinner dishes in the kitchen and Micky was polishing his drums on the bandstand. Peter was curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped up in a fluffy comforter. She greeted Mike and Micky, then made her way to the couch, sitting down next to Peter.

"How you feeling, hotshot?"

When he spoke, his voice sounded very nasal. "Okay, I guess. I thing I caughb a cobe though." She couldn't help laughing at his voice, which got a glare from Peter. "It's nob fumny."

She tried to stop laughing long enough to apologize, but found she couldn't, so she just tried as hard as she could. "I'm sorry, hotshot. You just sound so cute, and it's funny. I'm sorry you caught a cold though. I really am."

"Yeah, yeah," was the response she got as he snuggled deeper into the blanket. Mike had finished the dishes and made his way to the bandstand, picking up his 12-string. "You up to practice tonight Peter?"

Peter untangled himself from the blanket and rose from the couch. "I thing so, Mike." Peter heard a snicker from the bandstand that he recognized as Micky's. He glared at Micky, even though the drummer couldn't see it because he had his back to Peter. "Oh, be quieb Micky, it's nob fumny." This only made Micky laugh harder and he had to cover his mouth to stifle his giggles. Peter made his way to the bandstand, sliding his bass over his shoulder. He sat on the edge of the rising, positioning himself to play.

Mike looked at his friend. "I don't think you'll be doing any singing tonight, ol' buddy." Peter nodded in agreement, not talking so he wouldn't get Micky started again.

Davy and Micky got set up and Jarra took her usual seat on the couch to watch. She looked at Peter. He looked a little pale and he was sweating a bit. Must be the cold, she thought. She made a mental note to fix him some of her aunt's special tea that he had loved as a kid.

The guys began their rehearsal with Peter's song, "For Pete's Sake", and then moved on to "Papa Gene's Blues". After a few more numbers, Mike announced he wanted to do "You Just May Be The One", a very bass heavy song, so Peter rose in order to perform better. As they ran through the song, Peter felt his fingers getting a little sweaty. He missed a few notes, but the others either didn't notice or didn't find it important to point it out. He figured it was the latter.

They knew that he knew this song forwards, backwards and upside down, but this cold was really starting to get to him. By the end of the song, he was feeling a bit tired, and the others had begun to notice. "'Ey Petah, you up to one more song?" Davy asked.

"Sure Daby, which one?"

Mike turned to the other Monkees. "Steppin' Stone?"

The others nodded and Micky counted it off. It was a fast, upbeat number, which took a lot out of Peter. When the song was over, he slowly slid his bass off over his head and placed it on one of the amps. The other three put down their instruments and walked off the bandstand, but Micky stopped as he walked by Peter.

"You okay, man? You look kinda pale."

"Yeah, Micky. I'm fine," Peter told him, waving him off. Peter went to step off the bandstand, but his legs buckled underneath him. Peter felt himself pitch forward, but he could do nothing to stop himself. He would've fallen completely off the bandstand if Micky hadn't been there to catch him. By that time, the others, including Jarra, were at the bandstand, all with looks of concern on their faces.

"Whoa there big Peter," Micky said as he helped him to the couch.

"I'm okay," Peter tried to reassure them, but he wasn't so sure of that himself. He felt really weak and tired. Jarra placed a hand on Peter's forehead. "Peter, you're burning up. You should be in bed."

"I'm fine," he repeated, pushing her hand away and sitting up. He immediately regretted it because he was greeted with a wave of dizziness and nausea. He nearly fell off the couch, but Jarra caught him.

"You're not fine. Now let's get you to bed." She helped him up and guided him to the downstairs bedroom. This time he didn't protest and welcomed the help. She walked him over to the bed and he lay down. She pulled the blankets up over him and he smiled slightly in thanks. She kissed him on the forehead.

"Sleep tight, hotshot. Feel better."

"Thanks, Jarra."

She rose from his bed and made her way out of the room as Mike was walking in with a cold facecloth he had gotten from the bathroom. She stopped Mike by slightly grabbing his elbow.

"Keep an eye on him for me Mike, would you?"

He smiled at the concern Jarra had for her friend. "Don't worry, he's in good hands."

She smiled slightly. "Thanks, Mike." And with that she left the bedroom where Mike took over caring for Peter. She walked into the living room, said her good-byes to Davy and Micky and made her way back to her apartment.

~*~

When Jarra returned the next morning and knocked on the door, no one came to greet her but she only heard a faint voice say, "Come in." She opened the door and walked in. Mike and Davy were sitting at the kitchen table, both drooping over their cereal bowls. They had bags under their eyes and neither of them looked fully awake. She got her customary cup of coffee and sat down with them.

"No offense you guys, but you look horrible."

"We feel about as good as we look," Davy told her.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "How's Peter?"

Mike turned to her with his sleepy chocolate eyes. "He was up all night moaning and coughing. His fever is even higher than it was last night. We all slept in shifts, each taking a turn staying up with him, but none of us got much sleep."

Her face was etched with concern. "Mind if I go in and see him?"

Mike shook his head. "Be my guest. Micky's in there with him now, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind some relief."

She rose from the table and made her way to the bedroom. She cracked open the door and peeked her head in, making sure she wasn't interrupting anything. Micky looked up at her with the same sleepy eyes Davy and Mike had. He smiled at her and she walked into the room. Micky rose from the chair he was sitting in and walked over to her.

"Hey, Jarra," he whispered.

"How is he?" she whispered back, looking over at Peter.

"Not too good. He's been asleep for about fifteen minutes now, but I'm sure he'll be up again soon. He hasn't slept for more than a half an hour at a time all night. His fever is up even more, and I'm getting worried."

Just as he finished speaking, there was a groan from the bed, which made both Jarra and Micky run to Peter's side. Peter rolled over to face both of them. Jarra smiled. "Hey, hotshot." He didn't smile back, but she saw that little gleam in his eyes that told her he was happy to see her. Micky looked down at Peter and said, "I'll see you later big Peter. I'm gonna go out and check on Mike and Davy." With that, he left the room and Jarra grabbed the chair Micky had been in and pulled it to Peter's bed.

"I can't stay long, Peter, but I just came over to see how you were doing." She felt his forehead. They were right, his fever was up much higher than it had been the night before. She kissed his forehead. "I have to go to the studio. I'm gonna leave my work number with Mike. If you need me at all, you tell him to call me and I'll come here in a flash, okay?" Peter nodded slightly. "Okay, I'll see you later, hotshot." She gave him another quick kiss on the forehead and left the bedroom.

When she walked back into the kitchen, she took a piece of paper and wrote down her work phone number. She walked over to Mike and handed it to him. "If anything changes or Peter wants me, you can reach me at this number."

"Okay," he said, yawning. He shoved the paper in his pants pocket.

Jarra said her goodbyes to the Monkees and made her way to her studio, hoping Peter would get well soon.

~*~

Jarra had a lot of trouble concentrating on her artwork that day. Piece after piece was rejected and ripped apart. She was so worried about Peter, she couldn't think straight. Maybe I should give them a call, just to see how he's doing, she thought. Just as she reached for the phone, it rang. She jumped nearly a mile, clutching her heart. She walked back up to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey Jarra, it's Micky."

She read something in his voice, something that didn't sound good. "What's wrong, Micky?"

"It's Peter. He's gotten worse. Mike's getting him in the car now. We're taking him to the hospital."

She didn't say anything for a minute, absorbing the information. "Okay Micky," she said finally. "I'll meet you guys there."

Jarra hung up the phone and ran to grab her jacket. She told a friend at the studio where she was going and why and then took off out the door. She hopped in her car and raced to the hospital, making it there in record time. She ran in the door and stopped at the desk. She was about to ask the receptionist where to go, but then she saw Mike flagging her down out of the corner of her eye. She ran over to him and spotted Micky and Davy sitting in chairs nearby.

"Where is he, Mike? What's wrong with him?"

"Calm down, Jarra," he began. She took a deep calming breath and he continued. "They took him to run some tests and examine him. His fever was up to 103 and he was coughing and wheezing a lot."

She sat down in a chair next to Davy and Mike sat on the other side of her. "Is he going to be okay?"

Davy sighed. "They'ah not sure." About an hour later, the doctor that had taken Peter came back to the waiting room and approached them.

"I'm Dr. Willmore. Are you the friends that brought Peter Tork in?"

"Yes we are," Mike answered. "What's the matter with him?"

"Well, he has pneumonia. That's a buildup of mucus in the lungs from infection, usually viral, which it looks like in this case."

"Will he be all right?" Jarra asked.

"Well, it's not life threatening," the doctor explained. "We're going to give him some antibiotics to try to clear up the fluid in his lungs. We'd like to keep him overnight for observation however."

"Can we see him?" Micky asked, rising from his seat.

"Yes, but I'd like you to go one at a time. He's pretty exhausted and we don't want to overwhelm him."

Dr. Willmore left the waiting room. Micky wanted to go see Peter first and the others let him. Davy went next followed by Mike. They all reported what the same thing back to Jarra. He looked better already. When it was her turn, she rose and made her way down the hall. She peeked her head in the door. "Peter?"

Peter smiled slightly at the sight of his friend. She walked inside and sat down in a chair next to his bed. "How you doing, hotshot?" she asked.

"I'be been bettah," came the snuffled response.

She laughed a little. "You know, you sound a little like Davy when you're all stuffed up."

That made him laugh, but his laughter quickly changed into a coughing fit. He coughed until his lungs hurt, but it finally stopped.

"Oh, I'm sorry Peter!" she cried.

"It's okay Jarra. I needed a good laugh."

"Well I'm glad to see you're feeling a little better, Peter. You had me worried. You get some rest now. Micky will probably be back in again in a little while." She leaned over and kissed his cheek and then stood up again. She saw that dimpled smile break out on his face

"Okay, Jarra."

She smiled at him and then headed out the door. She went back to the waiting room allowing Micky to go back to see Peter. Over the next few hours, they switched, usually around every hour or so. They all usually just sat on the other side of the room, trying to let Peter get some rest, but Peter's restlessness had remained. Peter tossed and turned, still unable to get any sleep.

During Mike's visit, a nurse went up to Peter with a needle in hand. Mike looked at her with concern. "What is that?" he asked.

The nurse turned to him, a bit startled by his presence. "It's a sedative, it'll help him sleep." She walked over to Peter and injected it into his arm. She left and in the next half an hour, Mike noticed that Peter's breathing became more regular and he had stopped tossing and turning. Mike got up from his chair and left the room, making sure Peter had some privacy in order to get some sleep. He walked into the waiting room, smiling at the sight before him. Davy and Jarra were asleep leaning against each other in the corner and Micky was sprawled out on the floor in front of them. He sat down in a nearby chair and felt himself drifting off.

~*~

A few hours later, Jarra yawned and slowly opened her eyes. Davy was curled up next to her, still fast asleep, and Micky was curled up in a ball on the floor in front of her. Mike was sitting a slight distance away, asleep, leaning against the wall. She rose from her chair, not disturbing Davy and stepped carefully over Micky, so not to trip on him. She made her way to Peter's room and inched open the door. Peter was still asleep in his bed and there was no one inside. She walked over to his bed and sat in the chair next to it.

For several minutes, she just sat there and watched him breathe, smiling at how cute and innocent he looked while he slept. She watched for a while longer and then something didn't seem right. Peter's breathing was far too erratic for someone who was asleep. When a person slept, breathing was steady and slow. Peter's was slow, but too slow, and there was no steady pattern. She rose from her chair, going to alert the nurse, when Peter stopped breathing altogether. She panicked.

"Peter?!" She ran to the door and yelled out it. "Nurse! Get in here now! He's stopped breathing!" The nurse came running in and observed that indeed Peter had stopped breathing. "Code Blue!" the nurse yelled out the door. Several other nurses ran in to help and Dr. Willmore was right behind them. They began CPR, and one of the nurses guided Jarra back to the waiting room despite the girl's protests. The nurse ran back to Peter's room the minute Jarra was in the waiting room. All the noise had awoken Mike, Micky and Davy, and all three of them were looking at Jarra.

She turned to them, her face ghost white. "Peter stopped breathing," she decided to be blunt, not to beat around the bush. There were three simultaneous gasps and Jarra continued. "I don't know why, they kicked me out. They were doing CPR on him as I left, but they hadn't gotten him breathing again last I saw. That's all I know." Her eyes filled with tears, her body shaking with fear. The other three walked up to her and they all embraced, hoping for the best.

~*~

Hours later, Dr. Willmore returned to the waiting room, and the minute he walked in the door, he was bombarded with questions from all of them.

"How's Peter? Is he okay? What's going on? What's wrong with him?"

The doctor put his hands up to halt all their questions. He spoke quietly to them. "We got Peter breathing again and just in time. There shouldn't be any effects from lack of oxygen, we got him breathing again rather quickly. He is still unconscious however, so we can't be sure." Four simultaneous sighs of relief rang out.

"What happened to him, Dr. Willmore? Why'd this happen?" Mike demanded.

The doctor sighed and gathered his thoughts. "What happened to Peter is what we call acute respiratory acidosis. This happens when the body retains too much carbon dioxide. Because of the pneumonia, Peter was having trouble getting rid of the carbon dioxide in his lungs. His body wasn't able to compensate for it so he just stopped breathing altogether."

"But how did this happen? He was better and talking to me yesterday!" Jarra exploded.

Dr. Willmore remained calm however. "We think it was because of the sedative we had to give him in order to get him to rest. We didn't realize he would be so sensitive to it, but he was. It slowed down his breathing which heightened the acidosis."

"'Ow is 'e now, Dr. Willmore?" Davy asked.

"He's breathing again, we had to put a tube down his throat in order to open up and air passage. We're giving him medication to clear up the infection in his lungs and we should be able to remove the tube once he regains consciousness. Once the infection in his lungs is gone, he should be back to normal.

"So he's going to be fine?" Micky asked very hopeful.

"He's not out of the woods yet. As long as the infection clears up like it should, he'll be fine, but if it doesn't we can't be sure. And because we had to force the tube in his throat, his voice may be effected. His throat will be very sore for a while and his voice may sound different."

"But it will return to normal, right?" Mike asked, concerned.

Dr. Willmore shrugged. "There's no way to tell."

With that last statement, the doctor turned and made his way out of the waiting room. The four friends just stood there, trying to absorb what they had just been told.

"Poor Petah," Davy mumbled.

Jarra closed her eyes, holding back tears of worry. Why is this happening to Peter? she asked herself. Why do bad things always happen to nice people? She could no longer hold back the tears, and they began flowing down her face. She felt a pair of arms wrap around her, and she opened her eyes to see Micky wrapping her in a warm embrace. They stood like that for a long time, neither wanting to let go. They remained that way, waiting to hear some good news about Peter.

~*~

Over the next day, the four friends had stayed in the waiting room, each taking turns to go see Peter. Jarra had called the studio to let them know she wouldn't be coming into work, but would be remaining at the hospital. She hadn't slept all night, but had spent the night pacing around the waiting room. Mike returned from Peter's room and signaled to Jarra that it was her turn to go see him. She walked down the hallway to his room and sat down by his bed. She took Peter's hand in hers and felt the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Oh Peter," she whispered. She looked at him in the hospital bed and felt herself smile slightly at a memory of the last time she had seen him in one. He had been fifteen at the time and she was two years younger. It had been a warm summer's night and Jarra was asleep in her bed. She heard a noise outside her window that startled her out of her sleep. She had gotten up out of her bed and opened her window to see what all the commotion was. There in the tree outside her window, was Peter. He had climbed the tree next to her house with his banjo and began serenading her. He had known she loved the banjo because ever since he had learned to play it, she loved to listen to him practice. He sat there in the tree singing to her for a while until he saw the light go on in her parent's bedroom. He tried to make a hasty exit, so not to be caught by her parents, but that was his undoing. He tried to move too quickly and ended up falling from the tree and breaking his leg in two places. She had gone with him to the hospital and was the first one to sign his cast.

Jarra chuckled slightly at the memory of Peter outside her window, singing to her. They had been best friends since they were five, and she never regretted having just that relationship with him. Until now. She knew she had stronger feelings for him, but never had the heart to tell him, because of his music and his career. That night in New York might've changed all that if she hadn't had to go back to Connecticut the next day. She knew he felt strongly about her then, but what about now? Had his feelings changed? _Or does he still feel the same way?_

She looked down at him on the bed again, feeling tears streaming down her face. Now it might be too late to find out. _Peter,_ she thought, _you have to get better. I couldn't get along without you._

Jarra cried at his bedside for a quite some time, until exhaustion finally overtook her and she fell asleep leaning on his bed. The nurse came in to check on Peter and didn't have the heart to wake her. She covered her with a blanket and quietly made her way out the door.

~*~

Jarra opened her eyes slowly and started, not recognizing her surroundings. Then the memories of the last two days hit her. Her head was still leaning against Peter's bed, which was how she had been when she fell asleep. She began to sit up and closed her eyes in pain. Her neck and back were very sore from the position she had been sleeping in. Jarra finally brought herself into a sitting position and opened her eyes. She nearly fell out of her chair at the sight of other people in the room.

Micky was asleep in a chair in the corner, his head back against the wall. Mike and Davy were sitting Indian-style on the floor, playing a game of cards. Davy looked up at her and smiled. "G'morning, sleeping beauty."

She rubbed her sore neck. "What are you guys doing in here? I thought we were only allowed to come in one at a time."

"Well, between Mike's protesting and Micky's whining, the doctor finally agreed to let us all in 'ere, as long as we promised to behave."

"As I remember it," Mike said, not looking up from his cards, "you did your share of whinin', too."

Davy blushed. "Well, yeah I did."

Jarra smiled a little. "How long have I been asleep?"

Mike looked at his watch. "Almost eight hours."

"Eight hours?!" she exclaimed. "No wonder my neck is so sore."

"After about two hours, you hadn't come back to the waitin' room so we had a nurse check on you while she was checkin' on Pete. She found you sleepin' and she didn't want to wake ya, so she gave ya a blanket and let ya sleep. We kept buggin' the doctor to let us in here, so he finally gave in," Mike explained.

She looked over at Peter. "Has anything changed?" she asked without looking away from her sleeping friend. He looked so calm and that gave her an eerie feeling. Peter was usually so energetic and even his cheeks had lost their usual joyful pinkish glow.

"The doctor says it's still too early to tell. The antibiotics 'ave begun taking effect, but 'e's still in danger," Davy told her.

At that moment, Micky stirred and rolled over in his sleep, and right out of the chair. He landed on the floor with a splat and emitted a low groan. He pushed himself off the floor into a sitting position and turned to face the chuckling voices behind him. Davy, Mike, and Jarra all had their hands over their mouths, trying to remain quiet as they laughed.

"G'mornin' Micky," Mike said between chuckles.

"Ha ha..." Micky retorted.

Micky began giggling along with the others as he realized how silly he must have looked. Micky and Jarra gravitated towards the center of the room where Mike and Davy were sitting. Davy dealt the cards and the four of them sat there on the floor playing cards for hours, hoping their friend would soon wake up.

~*~

Within the next 24 hours, Peter's infection had cleared up enough for the doctor to remove the tubing from his throat, but Peter still did not regain consciousness. This was not normal, and Dr. Willmore had no idea why this was. The four friends kept constant vigil over Peter, each sleeping in shifts.

Jarra was curled up in a chair sleeping in the corner, while Mike and Davy leaned against each other, also snoozing. It was Micky's shift and he was seated next to Peter's bed. Micky was flipping through a comic book he had found in the waiting room, but he had read it three times already and wasn't paying much attention to it. He felt his eyelids beginning to sag, but he forced them back open.

_Gotta stay awake Micky,_ he thought. _Gotta keep watch over Peter._

He felt his eyelids drooping again, but this time he couldn't keep them open. What seemed like only seconds later, but it could've been much longer than that, Micky was woke by movement nearby. He opened his eyes and looked up at Peter.

"Hey Micky," came a hoarse voice.

"Oh, hey Peter," Micky replied sleepily. Then the realization hit him. "Peter!" he cried as he leapt out of the chair, knocking it over backwards.

The cry had woken the other three and they all looked over at Peter with expressions of shock and joy. Jarra was the first one on her feet and over to the bed. Davy and Mike were still leaning on each other, so when Mike rose first, Davy toppled over.

"Sorry, Davy," he quickly apologized as he made his way over to Peter's bed.

"That's quite alright," Davy replied, jumping up and running over to Peter.

"Hey ol' buddy," Mike said. "How ya feelin'?"

"My throat hurts a lot," Peter told him, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah, you gave us quite a scare, Big Pete," Micky smiled.

"What happened?" Peter had to practically force the words out of his throat.

"Well," Jarra began, "when you had trouble sleeping the first night, the nurse gave you a sedative to help you sleep."

"The first night?" Peter interrupted. "How long have I been out?"

"This is the fourth day," Davy answered.

"Four days?" Peter rasped. "The sedative put me out for that long?"

"Not exactly, Pete," Mike explained. "The sedative caused something to happen because of your pneumonia. You developed... acute... acute... what was it again?"

"Acute respiratory acidosis," Jarra filled in.

"Yeah, that," Mike continued. "You stopped breathing so they had to force a tube down your throat to open and air passage. That's why your throat hurts and your voice sounds funny."

"Will my voice come back?" Peter croaked. He was finding it harder and harder to speak with each word he forced out.

"We're not sure," Peter heard the reply, but none of his friends had spoken. His eyes fell on the man in the door as all his friends turned to look at him. "The pain will fade, but we don't know if there was any permanent damage to your vocal chords. Your voice may return to normal, it may not," Dr. Willmore explained.

"You mean I could sound like this forever?" Peter would've cried if his voice would allow him to. It came out as a cracked, raspy whisper.

"No, Peter. Your voice will improve slightly as time goes on, but it may not be as clear as it was before."

"But I'm a musician, I sing! I can't sing with my voice like this!" Peter protested, but he overexerted himself, causing him to break out into a round of coughing.

Jarra laid a hand on his as Mike made the same gesture on the other side of the bed. "Take it easy, hotshot. Getting all worked up right now is the last thing you need. You get some rest and get better. We can worry about the other stuff later."

"She's right, Petah," Davy nodded in agreement. "You just concentrate on gettin' bettah and I'm sure everything will be fine."

Peter found little comfort in his friends' words, but nodded slightly anyway. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jarra saw the hurt in Peter's eyes and she had a feeling that he would want to be alone to think about what had happened. "Come on," she said, beginning to herd everyone towards the door. "Peter has a lot to absorb and he needs his rest." She shoved them all out the door, including Dr. Willmore. She went to step out the door herself, but stopped and looked back at Peter.

"Rest up, hotshot. I'll see you later." She blew him a kiss and then left.

Peter sat in his bed in shock. He had a lot of news to let accept and he didn't know if he could.

I almost died? Is my voice gone for good? What's going to happen now? All these questions and more flew through his head.

He sat in his bed, unable to rest like he should. His singing voice, his career, everything he had dreamed about... gone, just like that. Intense grief overcame him and he could no longer hold back the tears. They flowed down his face for what seemed like hours. Finally they stopped and he fell into a fitful sleep, full of nightmares of an uncertain future.

~*~

Peter showed great improvement over the next two days. The infection in his lungs had almost cleared up, he was more energetic, and his cheeks had resumed their normal pink glow. Physically he was coming along nicely. Emotionally was another story, however. Peter's voice was still soft and raspy, showing very little improvement, and every day it sounded like that, Peter knew that the chances grew slimmer of it returning to normal.

Dr. Willmore had finally decided that Peter was no longer in danger so he allowed Peter's friends to take him home, under the obligation that Peter get plenty of bed rest for the next few days.

Davy, Micky, and Mike were at the hospital to bring Peter home, but Jarra was not. Peter had forced her to go back to work when she told him she hadn't gone since he had gotten sick. She had promised to visit him as soon as she got out of work and left.

Davy and Micky walked to Peter's room to get their friend while Mike pulled the Monkeemobile up to the entrance. When Davy and Micky knocked and were told to come in, they inched open the door to see Peter gathering the few belongings he had at the hospital. He had put his clothes from the day he came in a small bag and had his teddy bear under his arm.

"Ready Pete?" Micky asked.

Peter nodded and walked over to his friends. The three of them walked down the hall, Davy and Micky side-by-side and Peter following a few steps behind. They walked out the door to the hospital and were greeted by the sight of Mike leaning on the Monkeemobile.

"Hey guys," Mike said.

"Hi Mike," Davy and Micky said in unison, but Peter only nodded in greeting.

Mike opened the back door to the car and gestured for his friends to get in. "Your chariot awaits," he said solemnly.

Davy and Micky snickered as they stepped inside and Mike closed the door behind them. Mike turned and opened the front passenger door for Peter. Peter silently made his way over to the car and stepped in. Mike closed the door, walking over to the driver's side and got in. He started the Monkeemobile and began driving to the pad.

The ride home was very quiet, none of them wanting to say the wrong thing to upset their already hurting friend. Peter just sat curled up in his seat, hugging his teddy bear and staring out the window. Mike glanced over at Peter and felt a stab of pain for his friend. He hated seeing Peter like this.

He pulled up to the pad and they all just sat in the car for a minute. Finally Davy and Micky got out of the back and made their way into the pad.

Mike looked over at Peter. "You need some help, shotgun?"

Peter shook his head in response and slowly got out of the car. He walked into the pad, hugging his teddy bear, and Mike sat in the car, watching him go. He waited until he lost sight of his friend before stepping out of the Monkeemobile himself. He got out and leaned against the car, sighing. It was very painful to see Peter hurting as he was, but he didn't have the slightest idea how to comfort him. Mike had never really been good at that. They had always turned to Peter for emotional support, he had been a sort-of counselor for them, and perhaps they had taken that for granted. Mike sighed and walked into the pad.

_But who counsels the counselor?_ he silently asked himself.

~*~

When Jarra had returned from the studio that evening, she drove straight to the pad, after hearing from Davy that Peter was home. She knocked on the door and was greeted by Micky's solemn face.

"Hey Jarra!" he said, his unhappy face lit up slightly. He stepped back, allowing enough room for her to step inside. She walked in the door and Micky shut it behind her.

Peter was napping on the couch and Davy and Mike were involved in a game of cards with Mr. Schneider. When she had stepped in the door, she caught Davy in mid-sentence.

"I'm telling you, he does!"

Mike rolled his eyes. "Mr. Schneider does not cheat. Just because you lost to him doesn't mean he's cheating."

Davy threw down his cards in protest and crossed his arms across his chest. "I still think he's cheating."

Mike looked like he was going to say something back, but he caught sight of Jarra standing at the door with Micky. "Oh, hey Jarra."

Davy turned around and a smile lit up across his face. "'Ello luv!"

Jarra waved to the two of them and sneaked a concerned glance at Peter, making sure he was still asleep. "How's Peter doing?" she asked, and Davy's smile faded.

"Not so good," Mike answered. "He hasn't said a word all day, or all day yesterday now that I think about it. He's hurtin' but he won't talk about it."

Jarra nodded in understanding. "Maybe I'll take him out tomorrow. Just to get him out of bed."

Micky looked at her. "Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, Dr. Willmore said to keep him in bed."

"Micky," she said, turning to face him, "he's been in bed for almost a week now. It's not like I'm going to take him out partying. I'm just gonna take him out to get some fresh air. It'll do him some good."

Micky nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm just worried about him, that's all."

"We all are, Micky," Davy told him.

Mike looked at the sleeping man on the couch. "I don't think we'll be practicin' tonight, Jarra, or for a while anyway."

"I didn't think you would be, Mike, but I thought I'd stop by anyway."

"Or for a while?" Micky asked. "What do you mean, Mike?"

"Yeah Mike," Davy agreed. "We've got a gig in a week. We need to rehearse."

Mike sighed. "Guys, we can't rehearse around Peter, not right now. He was seriously ill and it cost him his voice. I really don't think he'd be okay with us rehearsing and singing around him. I know I wouldn't if I were in his shoes. We've got to be sensitive to Pete's feelin's too."

"Oh, man, I hadn't thought of that," Micky said.

"Yeah, we've got to let Peter decide when he's ready to start again," Mike continued.

"But what if Petah isn't ready before the gig?" Davy asked.

"We'll just have to cancel," Mike stated, matter-of-factly.

"Cancel?" Micky repeated. "But we really need that money. Besides, that gig could land us others."

Mike shrugged. "We can't do it without Pete, and if he's not ready by then, then we can't do the gig."

Both Davy and Micky sighed in unison. They looked at each other with their eyes filled with concern and were mentally asking themselves the same question.

How long is this going to last?

Usually Peter was one to forget and move on with his life. But this was a big issue for Peter. His life and his dreams as a musician were in his voice and without it, what would happen? Sure, he could continue on without singing, but Peter had a great baritone and they could sure use his voice on a lot of tunes. They knew they would never do anything to hurt their friend anymore than he already was, so if that meant not practicing for a while, so be it. If it meant losing a few gigs, so be it. They just hoped that Peter would be able to play before they went completely bankrupt and lost the pad.

Both Micky and Davy nodded to Mike. "We understand."

Jarra didn't stay much longer that night, with no rehearsal to watch, she didn't have much to do there, plus she had to be at the studio early the next morning. She walked over to Peter, who had remained sleeping the entire time, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. She waved to the other Monkees and left the pad, heading to her apartment.

Once Jarra had left, Micky, Davy, and Mike made their way into their respective bedrooms, all intent on some task or another. They walked into their room without giving Peter another glance. If they had, they would've noticed that Peter had not been asleep at all, and that he had heard their entire conversation.

He lay there contemplating what his friends had said. They were willing to give up gigs for him, just so he could get better. He smiled to himself, realizing what good friends he had. He knew it would be hard, but somehow he had to get on with his life.

_I can do it,_ he thought. _Davy, Micky, and Mike wouldn't give up, and neither will I._

~*~

The next day, Jarra came over at the usual time that morning, but when she knocked, there was no answer. She knocked again and again no answer. She put her hand on the doorknob and turned it, surprised to find it unlocked. She opened the door a crack and stuck her head in, making sure she wasn't interrupting anything.

"Hello?" she called quietly, so not to wake up Micky. She knew he had to still be asleep.

When she saw no one and heard no response, she stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind her. Everyone must still be asleep, she thought. That reasonable considering what's been going on lately.

She walked into the kitchen, and was surprised to find someone had made coffee for her and had left it on the table. She knew it was for her because no one in the pad drank coffee. She put her hands around the mug. It was still hot. She picked it up and slowly brought it to her lips. She tipped the mug up and took a long sip, looking down at the bottom of the mug as she did. She slowly tipped the mug away from her mouth, but when she saw a person standing in front of her, she dropped it, spilling coffee everywhere; on the floor, on her and on the person that had startled her.

The person jumped back, just as startled as she was. "Sorry Jarra," he croaked.

She smiled, trying to wipe the coffee off her shirt. "That's okay, hotshot. I just didn't hear you. I didn't think anyone was awake." She looked up at him. "It's good to see you up. Feeling better?"

Peter nodded. "A little." He looked down at the floor with a guilty expression on his face. "I heard what you and the guys were talking about last night. I didn't mean to listen in, I just couldn't sleep," he added hastily.

Jarra looked at him with concern in her blue eyes. "You heard?"

Peter nodded again. He tried to speak, but when his mouth moved, nothing came out. He cleared his throat, which caused him some slight pain, but he tried again. "Yeah, I heard what Mike said about the gigs. I couldn't do that to the guys. I know what happened to me is bad but..." His voice faded out and he cleared his throat again, this time it caused him to wince. "But I couldn't ask the guys to give up that gig. It took us forever just to get it and it's good money."

Jarra smiled at him. "That's very noble of you Peter, but are you sure you can do this?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't know, but I've got to try. It's not fair to the others. They worked just as hard as I did for this gig, and I'm not gonna let them down."

Jarra put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Just don't push yourself, hotshot. I know you have good intentions, but I don't want you hurting yourself."

He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry."

"I always worry, it's a bad habit."

Peter smiled. "You should shake that habit, it causes premature aging."

She laughed. "You calling me old?"

His face flushed. "That's... I mean, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't." She gave him a nudge in the arm.

Peter smiled and looked down at his shirt and then at hers, which caused her to do the same. She laughed. "I should probably go home and change."

Peter shook his head. "You can just borrow one of my shirts. It might be a little big, but I think it'll be okay. Besides...ahem... I was the one that made you spill your coffee anyway."

"Thanks hotshot."

He motioned for her to follow him into the downstairs bedroom and they both sneaked in quietly because Davy was sound asleep on the bed across the room. Peter walked over to the closet followed closely by Jarra. He opened the door and motioned for her to select a shirt first. She looked in the closet and grabbed a solid orange shirt. Orange had always been her favorite color. Peter then reached in around her and grabbed a loud paisley shirt. They both left the bedroom as quietly as they had entered and Peter closed the door.

"You can change in the bathroom," he whispered.

"Thanks," she said, making her way to the bathroom. She went inside and changed into the orange shirt. She walked over to the mirror and found herself looking at almost her entire body.

Must be Davy's mirror, she thought with a smile.

She gave herself the quick once over, straightening her hair out before exiting the bathroom. When she emerged, Peter was nowhere in sight. She saw the back door to the pad was left slightly open, so she figured Peter had gone outside. Jarra walked to the door and opened it all the way, allowing the cool sea breeze to hit her face. She stood in the doorway for a minute, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath of the sea air. It had a way of exhilarating her in a way the coffee she had spilled on herself couldn't. She opened her eyes again and spotted Peter sitting on the steps leading to the beach. She walked over to him and sat down, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

He turned to face her. "I thought you said you had to be at the studio early this morning."

She grinned. "I did. I called there earlier and told them I wouldn't be in. I was planning on spending the day with you."

"Playing hooky?"

"Yeah, kinda."

He seemed thoughtful for a minute and then his dimples began to emerge as he broke into a wide grin. "Just like we used to, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, mirroring his dimpled grin. "Only this time I hope not to get caught."

He chuckled. "It's gr- ahem... great having you around again, Jarra."

"It's great being around again, Peter."

Suddenly they heard a tremendous scream from the kitchen, which made them both jump. "I HATE MORNINGS!"

Peter grinned. "Micky's up."

They got up from the stairs and walked inside just in time to see two pillows hit Micky, one from Mike on the balcony, the other one from Davy in the door of the downstairs bedroom, accompanied by two simultaneous cries for Micky to be quiet. The bedroom doors slammed as Mike and Davy tried to get a couple extra hours of sleep.

~*~

Jarra and Peter did indeed spend that day together as she had planned. They spent the morning at the pad with the other Monkees, once they had all finally gotten out of bed, just hanging out and talking. Peter told the other Monkees that exactly what he had told Jarra. He didn't want them to stop playing gigs on his account. He wanted to keep going. Mike, Davy, and Micky had all shown the same concern for Peter as Jarra had, but again, Peter reassured them he would be fine, and who wouldn't be convinced by those eyes and that smile? Peter said he wanted to begin rehearsing again. The others finally agreed, deciding to begin rehearsing again that night.

Peter took a long nap that afternoon, still exhausted from his experience. When he woke up and made his way out of the bedroom, he was greeted by... no one. The pad was completely empty. He walked into the kitchen and found a note on the table. He picked it up and read it silently to himself.

Peter,
Went to the store for food. We are in serious need of it as you probably know. Be back in a little while.
Mike and Micky
P.S. As you most likely already know, Davy is out on a date and told us not to wait up.

~*~

Peter smiled a little and placed the note back down on the table. Peter looked out the back window and saw the most beautiful sunset. He walked towards the door, grabbing his banjo on the way and headed out to the beach. He walked down the steps to the beach and sat down by the water in the lotus position. He plucked at the banjo, staring out at the water as the red from the sunset reflected off the water. He soon subconsciously broke into a familiar song on the banjo, Cripple Creek. He played the song and when the time for words came, he opened his mouth to sing, but when the first word came croaking out, he stopped suddenly. The memories of the last week had escaped him until this moment, and they came crashing back.

He felt himself begin to shake as the grief came washing back. He didn't hold back the tears that fell down his face, nor did he try to stop them. He couldn't even sing this old folk tune that he loved.

"Peter?"

He jumped and spun around, startled at the presence of someone else. Jarra was standing a few feet behind him, worry etched in her soft features. She had tried to say his name quietly, so not to startle him, but it had obviously not worked.

"Jarra!" he exclaimed as he wiped away his tears. "What are you doing here?"

"I was waiting for you to get up. I promised you we'd spend the day together. Mike and Micky went to the store, and Davy went on a date, so I decided to hang upstairs so not to disturb you. I saw you walk out the back door."

She approached him slowly and sat down next to him. "Peter, I know you want to show the guys that you can be strong like them and try to move on quickly. But this is a big change for you. You can't just block us all out. We're here to help you get through this Peter."

Peter didn't look up at her but looked down at the sand by his feet. "I know, I just don't want to blow this big chance for the guys."

"The hell with the guys, Peter. Don't do this for them, do this for you. You are the important person right now. You. Not them. They are willing to give you the time you need. They're here for you Peter. Don't push them away. That's not like you."

Peter nodded and he felt the tears rising again. He knew this was going to be harder than he had previously thought. This wasn't like him at all. He was never withdrawn like this. "I really do want to play, Jarra," he finally managed to say. "Music is all I have right now. If I can't sing it, at least I can play it."

Jarra regarded him silently and then placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. "I know, Peter," she said as he leaned his head against her shoulder. "Just don't push yourself so hard. You have had a big change in your life, you can't just go on like nothing happened."

He sighed in agreement. He sat up and looked at her, finally bringing a small smile to his face. "You're right. Thanks J- ahem... Jarra. But I think I'll be okay." She looked at him quizzically, wondering if he had slipped back into his 'I'll be fine' mode again. He smiled. "I've got you and they guys to help me."

She gave him a large dimpled smile and he returned it to her. They sat on the beach together for a while, Peter plucking away at his banjo until the others had returned and it was time to rehearse.

~*~

When the time came for rehearsal, Peter and Jarra slowly migrated back to the pad. Jarra walked into the pad first followed closely by Peter, banjo in hand. Mike and Micky were back from their errands and sitting in the living room. Micky was completely absorbed in the television show that was on, not even noticing that Jarra and Peter had returned. Mike, who had been playing his guitar, abruptly slung it off his shoulder and placed it on the bandstand, rising to greet the two.

"Oh, hey Pete, hey Jarra," he said, appearing slightly flustered at being caught rehearsing. When he saw Peter's banjo, he looked up at Peter curiously.

Peter smiled gently. "It's okay, Mike. I told you I was fine with rehearsing, and I meant it." When he got a warning glance from Jarra he continued. "Well I didn't mean it at the time, but Jarra and I talked and I mean it now." His voice was barely a whisper and Mike had to strain to hear it when Peter looked down at the floor. "I think I was trying too hard to be strong for you guys, I don't want to stop playing music, it's all I have now, but it may take me a while to get back into our routine."

Mike nodded, smiling reassuringly at Peter. "I know ol' buddy. None of us expect you to Pete. Take your time man, we're here for ya."

Peter smiled, his deep dimples appearing. "I know."

Micky looked over at the three gathered near the back door to the pad. "Oh hey there, Big Pete. When did you guys get in?"

All three laughed and Peter answered. "About ten minutes ago, Micky."

"Well you guys must've really been quiet, sneaking in. I didn't hear you."

"There's a shock," Mike said. "When you're watching TV, a bomb could drop in your lap and you wouldn't notice."

Micky mocked a hurt look. "Yes I would."

They all laughed again. "Sure you would, shotgun... and Davy is gonna wake up 5'10" tomorrow."

As Mike uttered the phrase, the door opened and Davy walked in. "Are you pickin' on me again? It's 'cause I'm short, isn't it? Always pickin' on the short one."

"Hey Davy, I thought you'd be later, man. You told us not to wait up," Micky said, chuckling.

Davy gave Micky an angry glare. "We 'ave rehearsal man. I wouldn't miss that."

Micky studied Davy for a minute then laughed. "She dumped him."

Laughter erupted from all of them as Davy glared. "She did not!"

Micky tried to talk between his giggles. "Yes she did, I know she did now."

Davy stood at the door, hands on his hips, protesting. "She did not dump me..." he added quietly, "I dumped 'er."

This made Micky laugh harder and he rolled off the couch clutching his stomach.

"Okay, you guys, that's enough," Mike said, trying to keep the chuckles out of his voice. He turned to Peter. "You sure you're up to rehearsin'?" At Peter's nod, he beckoned the other Monkees to the bandstand and picked up his 12-string.

Jarra walked over to the couch and sat in her customary spot to watch them rehearse. The rehearsal that night was very much like any other one, except the guys carefully avoided any of Peter's songs, even the ones he only did backup on. They only ran through a few songs, not wanting to push Peter even though he kept insisting he was fine. The practice broke up early, and Jarra quickly stood and said her goodbyes. She knew that she had some work to make up from missing that day, so she had to get to the studio early. She waved goodbye and made her way out of the pad. The group broke up, each going his separate way, except Peter, who lingered on the bandstand, clutching his bass.

_Maybe this won't be as hard as I thought,_ he thought to himself. _With great friends like the guys, I think I'll be okay._

As he thought it, he knew it was true. Each of them looked out for Peter as they would a brother, and that made Peter feel very happy. He shrugged his bass off and placed it down on the bandstand, yawning. He rose from the bandstand and walked to his bedroom, feeling much better than he had in a week.

~*~

The rehearsals for the gig were the same as they had been the first night Peter had been back, short and carefully guided around Peter's songs. On the day of the gig, the four friends spent the day planning out what songs to play. They decided on their normal list of songs which all of them knew by heart, just taking the songs Peter sang lead on out and replaced them with "For Pete's Sake" at the end.

An hour before the gig, Jarra knocked at their door and walked inside. The four musicians were packing up their instruments and she went over to help Micky with his drums. He smiled in thanks and when the last of their gear was packed up, each of them carried it to the car. Once again, Jarra helped Micky with his drums and when she turned back to the pad to see if anything else needed to be moved, she saw Peter and laughed.

Peter was standing in the doorway of the pad trying to balance his banjo, bass, and guitar. "Little help here?" he rasped.

Jarra snickered and ran over to him, grabbing his guitar that was in serious jeopardy of tumbling.

"Thanks," he mumbled, walking to the car with her.

"Anytime."

Finally managing to squeeze all the equipment into the back of the Monkeemobile, all five climbed in. Mike drove with Micky bouncing excitedly in the passenger seat beside him. Davy sat behind Micky while Peter and Jarra sat in the very back. Peter and Jarra sat in silence while Micky and Davy excitedly chatted about how great the gig was going to be. Jarra leaned her head against Peter's shoulder and glanced up at him. He was staring out the window, his expression unreadable, and this sent her a bad sign. Peter? Unreadable? This was odd.

She didn't like this at all. Peter was usually very open with his feelings, not masking anything, especially to her. They had been friends too long for that. She felt the worry rising in her stomach. Something about Peter was different and she didn't like it. She knew he was in pain, and this was the first time in his life he didn't talk to someone about it. He was always open emotionally. Why was he hiding it?

When Mike pulled the car up to the club, the five piled out of the car and began unloading the equipment. Davy helped Micky with the drums, and Jarra carried Peter's guitar for him again. They brought the instruments to the bandstand and began setting up. When they had about finished, the manager of the club approached them. The four abandoned their equipment momentarily to greet him.

"Hello boys," the manager said. "Glad you could make it."

Mike reached out his hand and they shook. "Glad you invited us to play.

"My pleasure. When I saw you boys at the Vincent Van Gogh Gogh, I knew I wanted you to play here." He glanced behind Mike at the others gathered behind him. "I know we've met Mike, but I don't believe I've been introduced to the rest of your group."

Davy stepped forward first, extending his hand. "I'm Davy Jones."

The manager took his hand and shook it vigorously. "Nice to meet you, Davy." He turned to Micky next. "And you are?"

"Micky Dolenz," he answered, smiling and shaking his hand. The manager nodded to him in greeting and then turned to Peter who was shyly lingering in the back. "And you?"

Peter took a slight step forward and extended his hand to shake. He smiled a little and opened his mouth, but when he tried to say his name, his mouth moved but no words came out.

The manager looked at Peter curiously, wondering if the boy had just spoken softly and he hadn't heard. "Excuse me?"

Peter cleared his throat and tried again, but it had the same result. He couldn't talk. He had been pushing his voice all week and now it was gone completely. He looked at Mike with panic on his face. Mike looked at him, slightly confused, but when Peter pointed to his throat and shook his head, he understood completely.

"His name's Peter Tork," Mike said for him.

"Oh?" the manager said, turning to Mike. "What's wrong with him?"

"Pete's had a bit of trouble with his voice lately. His throat has been bothering him."

The manager turned back to Peter and smiled. "Well, I guess you won't be doing much singing tonight then, huh?" He had only meant it jokingly, but he didn't know how much that comment actually hurt Peter.

Grief at the complete loss of his voice flooded Peter's features. He stood there gaping at the manager, but quickly turned away before he completely crumbled. Peter went back to setting up his equipment, and the manager turned to Mike, confused.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Mike shook his head. "No, he's just a bit sensitive about the loss of his voice. He used to have a great baritone, but now, he can barely talk. I know you meant it as a joke, but he's just really sensitive to these things."

"Oh," the manager said, realizing what his words had done. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"It's okay, you couldn't have known."

The manager was at a complete loss for words. "Well, good luck boys," he said quietly and hastily walked away.

Jarra had been on her way back with some drinks for the guys, and the manager nearly ran her over as he left. She quickly sidestepped, luckily not spilling any of the drinks, to avoid the manager. She walked over to Mike, giving the manager a confused look.

"What's with him?"

""E's just a bit flustered. 'E made a comment about Petah not doin' much singin' tonight and Petah didn't take it as a joke, like the guy intended," Davy explained.

Jarra's eyes lit up in understanding as she placed the drinks down on a nearby table. "What about Peter? Is he okay?"

Micky shook his head. "He hasn't been okay all week. He says he's fine, but I can tell he's not. I don't get why he's bottling all this up. It's not like him."

Jarra nodded in agreement. "I was just thinking the same thing. After the gig, I think we should all sit down with him and talk."

The Monkees agreed, each taking their drinks from the table and bringing them to the bandstand to finish setting up. Mike had grabbed Peter's drink and placed it on the stage for his friend. Peter didn't even notice, for he was trying extremely hard to look occupied with his bass. Mike sighed and went over to his own guitar to start tuning.

~*~

When they were finally ready, Mike stepped up to the microphone and introduced them. They immediately broke into the first song, Clarksville, and never stopped the whole night. They ran through their usual list of songs one right after another and every once in a while, stopping for an introduction. The dance floor was packed with every song, and even Jarra found herself up on the dance floor for one or two numbers, which was surprising because she hardly ever danced. That is if you could call what she did dancing. She wasn't very good at it, so most of the time, she looked as if she were having a seizure or something to that effect.

Davy and Micky bounced along with the beat of each song. Mike, who most certainly would not dance, stood and played, but the slight grin on his face made it evident he was enjoying himself as well. And even Peter seemed to be getting into the music, resuming the little bounce that he did. The boys flew through their song list, not even having to look at each other to know what song was next, they had done it so many times. At the end of Mary, Mary, the people on the dance floor broke out into tremendous applause.

Mike stepped up to the microphone and smiled at the audience. "Thank you," he said. He then turned to the others behind him and nodded. "Next song." He looked out at the audience and played the opening notes while Micky and Davy followed suit. Only when the moment for the vocals arrived did he realize what he had done, what song he had started.

Your Auntie Grizelda.

_Oh no,_ he thought, breaking off immediately. Davy and Micky must've realized their mistake as well, because they had broken off the exact moment he had. He had been playing the songs in order as he remembered from their list and it had been automatic to do that song after Mary, Mary. He hadn't done it intentionally, it had just been impulse to do that song.

He slowly turned to face Peter as he had all these thoughts running through his head, and he saw Davy and Micky doing the same. Peter stood there staring at the other members of the band. His face was pale, his mouth gaping. He couldn't hold back any longer. Tears streamed down his face wildly as he ran off the stage, bass in hand. He ran out into the audience of people and right past Jarra before she even had a moment to react. He was out the door before any of the other Monkees dared move. Mike slowly turned back to the microphone to face the confused audience.

"We'll... we'll be right back. We're gonna take a short break."

With that, The Monkees put their equipment down and slowly made their way off the bandstand. As they stepped down, Jarra walked up to them. She looked them over, and they were all radiating extreme guilt. No one spoke for a minute, then Mike took a deep breath and sighed.

"Come on, we better go find him."

They began walking towards the exit and Micky spoke up. "I feel so bad, it was an accident."

"We know Micky," Jarra reassured him, as well as the other two. "I'm sure he knows that too. He knows you guys wouldn't intentionally hurt him."

The three boys nodded, but they couldn't shake the guilty feeling that hung over them. The four of them walked out the door together in search of their hurting friend.

~*~

Peter ran down the street blindly, just trying to get away from the club. He had no idea where he was going, nor did he care. He ran as fast as he could as far as his legs would take him. When he felt exhaustion setting in and felt he couldn't run any farther, he collapsed down on a bench and looked up through tear stained eyes, noticing he was in a park of some kind. It didn't matter where he was though. He slouched over his bass, which he just realized he was still carrying, and sobbed.

_I can't do this!_ He thought. _It's too hard!_

Peter let the tears flow down his face as he finally accepted that his voice was gone for good. It was never coming back. Without his voice, he wouldn't be much use to The Monkees. He could play bass, but so could a lot of other guys, a lot of other guys with great voices. He wasn't of any use to the band anymore.

Peter sat up on the bench and sighed in resignation. His career with The Monkees was over. Another realization hit him as he thought about the band. If he couldn't perform with a band, his dream for a solo career was gone as well. He'd never be able to branch out on his own, establish his own identity musically. He had never told anyone, not even Jarra, that his own career was his ultimate goal. Sure, he loved being part of The Monkees, but he wanted to be known as Peter Tork, not Peter, the naive Monkee. He sighed. Peter thought that if anyone knew about his real dream, he'd hurt the guys' feelings. He loved them like brothers and he loved the band, but he wanted something that he could say, "I did this, on my own." He didn't want to have to rely on them for the rest of his life.

But now that would never happen. He'd never have his own career. He wouldn't even have a career with The Monkees. He had no idea what lay ahead. Peter bowed his head as the tears started again.

~*~

Micky, Davy, Mike, and Jarra stood outside the club, glancing down the street in both directions. None of them knew which way Peter had gone.

"I guess this means we split up," Davy said.

"Yeah, good idea. Davy and I will go this way," Micky said, pointing to his left, "and you two go that way," he finished, pointing to his right.

"Okay, shotgun. We'll meet back here in half an hour, whether we find Pete or not. We can't just abandon the gig."

Davy and Micky nodded, letting Mike know they understood, and headed off to the left. Mike and Jarra turned and walked in the opposite direction. The two walked side by side down the street, peering down alleyways and behind shops, searching for Peter. As they were walking, Mike glanced over at Jarra. He noticed she had a faraway look in her eyes.

"Y'know," he began, "you've been awfully quiet."

"Hmm?" she blinked, snapping out of whatever that might've been flowing through her head.

"You," he said, pointing to her. "Since this whole thing started, you haven't said much."

She shrugged and looked away from him, staring off in the direction they were walking. "I just haven't felt the need to say anything. This is a big thing for Peter and you guys. I'm just here for support."

"But you're Pete's best friend. Surely you're bothered by all this."

"Well, yeah I'm bothered by all that's been going on, and don't call me Shirley" she added, trying to make a small joke, hoping to get a response and to get him off the subject.

It got a response, but not the one she had hoped for. His gaze strengthened. "Jarra, I'm serious."

She sighed. "I know you are, Mike, but that's really hard for me. I don't like to discuss my feelings. They're not important right now, Peter's are."

Mike stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. "Look who you're talkin' to shotgun. I'm not big on discussin' feelin's either."

She looked down at her feet, not wanting to meet Mike's eyes. "I know."

He lifted her chin so she was looking up into his eyes. "So what's up?"

She stood there staring into Mike's deep chocolate brown eyes for a moment before she let her defenses collapse. "Oh Mike!" she cried. "I hate seeing Peter like this. He's hurting so much and there's nothing I can do to help him. I don't have any idea what to do to get him to open up and that scares me to death! He's never been like this with me! Never! And for once I don't have any idea how to get through to him!"

She leaned her head against Mike's chest, letting out all the emotion she had been bottling up inside. The worry she'd been holding in about Peter's illness, the grief she shared when he lost his voice, and the confusion she felt concerning her feelings for Peter; she cried them all out on Mike's shirt, and Mike stood there, holding her shoulders, letting it pass. When she calmed down, he took a small step back, still holding her shoulders, and crouched down so he could look into her eyes, which were facing towards the sidewalk again. She had told him about her concerns for Peter, but she decided to keep her feelings for her best friend a secret. She wasn't ready to tell anyone yet, especially not Peter and his friends.

"Feel better?"

She nodded and meant it. He smiled at her. "Good, let's get lookin' for Pete."

"Thanks Mike," she whispered.

He shrugged, smiling. "What are friends for?"

She returned his smile with her dimples flashing. The two walked down the street resuming their search for Peter.

~*~

Mike and Jarra continued up the street finding no sign of Peter. Mike looked at his watch and sighed.

"We should probably head back. If we're gone too long, that manager will have our heads."

Jarra nodded slowly. "I just wish Peter was going back with us."

"So do I."

They both turned on their heals and began retracing their steps back to the club when Jarra reached out and grabbed Mike by the elbow, stopping him.

"What?" he asked.

"Shhh!" she said, waving a hand at him to be quiet. She listened for a minute. "Do you hear that?"

Mike listened for a second and then gave her a quizzical look. "Hear what?"

"It's coming from over there," she told him, pointing. She began heading towards whatever sound she had heard, but Mike obviously had not. Mike shrugged and followed. Jarra walked through some bushes that had lined the street and walked into what seemed to be a park. She stood at the edge of the bushes waiting for Mike to catch up to her.

Mike ran through the bushes and nearly slammed into her when he shoved his way out. "Wha-? Why did you stop?"

She put a finger to her mouth and made a shushing noise, then indicated to what had made her stop. There, about twenty feet away, was Peter. He was still sitting on the bench, hunched over his bass, his shoulders shaking. Jarra and Mike regarded him quietly for a moment before carefully approaching, not wanting to startle him. The two stood directly in front of Peter, but the bassist didn't even notice. He was still quietly crying, which was quite an eerie sight.

"Hey Pete?" Mike said as quietly as he could.

Peter jumped, sitting up. His tawny brown eyes were red rimmed from crying and his cheeks were tear stained. He stared up at his two friends, pain and loss radiating from his features. Mike and Jarra sat down next to him, one on each side.

Mike knew this was a stupid question, but he could think of no other way to begin. "You okay Pete?"

Peter shook his head violently. Jarra reached around his shoulders to pull him into a comforting hug, but Peter pulled himself away.

Jarra gaped at him, her expression full of confusion and injury. "Peter, what's wrong? What's gotten into you? You haven't said anything to any of us. How can we help you if you won't tell us what's going on?"

Peter shook his head again. He coughed a little, trying to get a small piece of his voice back. When he opened his mouth, quiet raspy words came out. "Listen to me. My voice is gone."

Jarra put up a hand, stopping him there. "We don't know that for sure. Peter, it has only been a week. Your voice could still come back."

"And...ahem...what if it doesn't? What then? The guys would be...ahem better off without me. They can find another bass player with a nice voice. That's why I'm leaving the group."

Jarra's jaw dropped, but as she opened her mouth to say something, she was interrupted. "No you're not shotgun, so you can get that thought out of your head. Now."

The commanding tone in that voice made Peter's head snap around to face Mike. Mike was glaring at Peter with anger dancing around in his eyes. "You are not quitting on us Peter. The Peter Tork I know is not a quitter. I will not let you just run away from this and from us. This problem won't go away if you run Peter. And if you leave the group, you might as well say goodbye to The Monkees, because without you, The Monkees don't exist."

"But it's so hard, Mike-" Peter began to protest.

"I know it's hard, shotgun. That's why we're here. Davy, Micky, Jarra and I are all here to help you man. Don't keep running from us."

Peter's eyes shifted to the ground below the bench, not wanting to face either of them. He felt the shame of what he had almost done rise inside. "I'm sorry...ahem... I was being selfish..."

Jarra put her arm around him again, but this time he didn't pull away. "It's okay Peter. We know this is difficult, but we want to help you."

He looked up at each of them, seeing the sincerity in their eyes. He knew they meant it when they had said they wanted him to stay, and they really wanted to help him through this. He smiled slightly and put an arm around each of their necks.

"Thanks," he said, pulling them in for a hug.

As Peter pulled them in for a hug, they all clunked heads together.

"Ow!" they cried in unison.

The three of them looked at each other, rubbing their sore heads. Simultaneously, they all broke out in a fit of giggles.

Mike was the first to get under control. "We better get back to the club. Davy and Micky are probably already there and wondering where the heck we are." He rose from the bench and looked down at Peter. "You comin'?"

Peter looked back and forth between Mike and Jarra. For the first time since this ordeal began, Peter had a good feeling about his future. His future with The Monkees. No matter what, he was with this group of friends for life. So what if he didn't get that solo career? He had the best friends anyone could ask for, and they were willing to help him get better, not matter what sacrifice it took. That was better than any record deal he could possibly get.

Peter nodded to Mike and rose from the bench, carrying his bass. Jarra stood with him and put an arm around his waist. He slung an arm over her shoulder and the three began walking back to the club to finish the gig.

~*~

A few days later, Peter was sitting on the beach, staring out at the ocean. He had his guitar in his lap and was plucking away at it. It was a gorgeous day, and for the first time since his illness, Peter could fully appreciate the beauty around him. The water was a beautiful shade of blue and the sun was warming his back. He closed his eyes so he could fully appreciate the sounds of the beach as he played. He played through "For Pete's Sake" and as he played the last note, he opened his eyes.

"That was wonderful," a voice from behind said.

Peter yelped in surprise and whipped around. A girl who had been standing behind her jumped back. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Peter smiled at her, flashing his dimples. "That's okay."

The girl sat next to him as he looked at her. She was about 5'5" with long brown hair and deep chocolate eyes. "That was a great song. Does it have words?"

A slightly wounded expression crept onto Peter's face, but faded as quickly as it had come. "Yeah, but I can't sing them right now. My throat has been giving me problems lately."

"Oh," she said quietly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Peter shrugged. "It's getting better."

The girl sat there silently staring at him as he began plucking at his guitar again. "Oh where are my manners? My name is Alyssa Jacobs."

"Peter Tork," he said, giving her another heart melting smile. "So, Lyssa, do you live around here? You don't mind if I call you Lyssa, do you?"

She smiled. "Not at all, Peter. Yes, I live right over there." She pointed to a building about five houses down from the pad.

"I live in the pad right behind us," he told her.

"Oh groovy." She looked at the guitar in Peter's lap. "So... you play guitar?" she finally asked after she couldn't think of anything else to say.

He laughed. "How'd you guess?" When she shrugged, he went on. "Yes I do, I play in a band with my roommates. We're called The Monkees."

"The Monkees? That sounds familiar. Did you play at the Club Cassandra not too long ago?"

Peter nodded enthusiastically. "Yep."

"You're the bass player, right?" He nodded again. "Now I remember you. You guys were great!"

Peter blushed. "Thanks."

Lyssa and Peter sat on the beach for a few hours chatting, Peter telling her all about the band and the guys, Lyssa telling him about her family and her passion for writing. They sat there talking for a long time until the sun had set and Peter realized how late it was.

"I better go," he said, rising. "I have band practice in a little while."

Lyssa stood as well, smiling at him. "Okay Peter, it was very nice meeting you."

"It was great meeting you too, Lyssa. Well, bye!"

"Bye Peter," she said and headed off in the direction of her home. Peter began walking towards the pad, but stopped short and turned around.

"Hey Lyssa?"

She turned to face him. "Yeah Peter?"

He stood there shyly for a minute, wringing his hand nervously. "Would you... ever want to go out sometime?"

"I'd love to Peter!"

"You would?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"Of course I would," she told him, grinning.

"How about tomorrow night?" Peter asked, a giant smile plastered on his face.

"That'd be great!"

"I'll pick you up around seven, then!"

Lyssa smiled. "I can't wait." With that, she turned back towards her house and headed home.

Peter turned back towards the pad and smiled. He put his guitar over his back and skipped merrily back to the pad. He ran up the stairs grinning. He couldn't wait to tell Jarra about this!

~*~

Jarra walked up to the pad two days later and gave the door a quick knock before letting herself in. She walked in, but no one was there to greet her.

"Hello?" she called.

"Up here!" came a call from the upstairs bedroom.

She climbed up the spiral staircase, taking the step two at a time and walked up to the door. Although it was partially open, she knocked on it lightly.

"Come on in," the voice in the room said.

Jarra opened the door and walked in the bedroom. Peter was sitting on the bed in the lotus position with his guitar in his lap. He smiled at her with those lethal dimples and she felt herself swoon mentally. She still hadn't worked up the courage to tell Peter about how she felt.

"Hey Jarra!"

"Hey hotshot, what are you doing up here?"

"I came up here looking for a guitar pick, I couldn't find one and I knew Mike had some. I just settled here."

"Oh," she said. "Where is everyone?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know where Mike and Micky are, but take a guess where Davy is."

She laughed. "Hmmm... let me think," she said looking up at the ceiling and placing a finger on her chin, trying to look thoughtful. "I give up, where is he?"

He grinned widely. "Smart aleck."

She sat down on the bed next to him. "Your voice sounds a lot better today, hotshot. How's your throat?"

Peter shrugged. "Still sore, but better. Might even try singing at rehearsal tonight."

"Just don't push yourself," she said, wagging a finger at him.

"Yes mom."

Jarra laughed. "I do sound like your mom! Ah! Stop me now!"

Peter broke out into a fit of giggles causing Jarra to do the same. "Oh!" he exclaimed, suddenly remembering something.

"What?" she asked.

"I wanted to give you something," he told her, rising from Mike's bed and walking to the dresser. "I made it myself."

"Peter, you made me something?"

Peter turned around, holding whatever he had made behind his back so she couldn't see. He walked over to her. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me out and for keeping me from making the biggest mistake of my life." He brought his gift out from behind his back and held it out to her. It was a string of lovebeads using her favorite color, orange.

Jarra stood up. "Oh, Peter, that's so sweet," she said as he slid them over her head.

"Just my way of saying thank you."

She smiled and gave him a hug. "I love them Peter. I'll wear them always."

He grinned proudly, again flashing his dimples. She sighed inwardly, knowing that it was now or never. She had to tell Peter how she felt.

As she went to open her mouth, Peter spoke again. "There was something else I wanted to tell you."

"What hotshot?"

"Well, I was sitting on the beach a two days ago playing my guitar. It was gorgeous outside that day. Remember?" he asked.

"Peter, is this story going somewhere or did you want to discuss the weather with me?"

"Oh, sorry. Well, I was outside playing, like I said, and this girl came up to me and we talked for a while. And guess what?" His voice was high pitched, full of excitement.

"What?" she asked, hesitantly. She had a bad feeling where this was going.

"We've been going out together the last couple of nights. I didn't tell anyone this because I didn't want to get teased by the guys. But last night I finally asked her to be my girlfriend and she said yes! Isn't that great?"

Jarra stood there for a minute, unable to comprehend what he had just said. After a moment, she smiled weakly at him. "Yeah, hotshot. That's terrific."

He hugged her tight. "I knew you'd be happy for me." He pulled away and looked at his watch. "Oh man, I have to pick her up in half an hour. I better go get ready and leave. See ya Jarra." He gave her a kiss on the cheek and bolted out of the upstairs bedroom, down the spiral staircase, nearly falling down it in the process, and into his bedroom.

Jarra stood in the upstairs room, shocked. She couldn't believe it. Peter was dating someone else. She had waited too long and now he was going out with someone else. She mentally kicked herself in the butt and came very close to doing it physically. How could she have been so stupid? Jarra sighed. It was too late now. All she could do was hope that this relationship wouldn't last for her sake, but would last for her best friend's.

She finally managed to leave the bedroom and slowly make her way down the spiral staircase. As she stepped off the last stair, Peter came running out of the bedroom.

"Do I look okay?" he asked.

She walked over to him and straightened his shirt. "You look great, hotshot."

"Thanks," he said, grinning. He quickly walked over to a mirror and straightened his hair. "Well I better go. You gonna hang around here?" When she nodded, he continued. "Could you let the guys know where I went?"

She nodded. "Sure thing, hotshot."

"Great! Thanks Jarra!" He gave her a big hug and dashed out the door.

She sat down at the table next to Mr. Schneider. She glanced over that the dummy. "Looks like it's just you and me," she said, smiling.

Her smile faded as she realized she was talking to a wooden man. "How could I have been so stupid?" she asked herself again, this time out loud.

She pulled Mr. Schneider's string. "It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

"Oh shut up," she retorted, putting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands as she waited for the other Monkees to return.