Peter had just about had it. These other three guys complete with all of the managers and just everything else. This new tour that was being planned, "The Far East Tour" as it was so dubbed by the big men in charge, would be the death of him. After the complete bomb of a movie him and his (was it really his band though?) band, The Monkees, had made, Peter had toyed with the idea of quitting, but something inside him…some innocent stupidity left in him from his Greenwich Village days…was stopping him. As he walked back to his car from the rehearsal room in the studio, he rubbed the sore spots on his fingers where the thick bass strings cut into his fingertips. He much preferred guitar, but no, the dumb one just had to play the bass, didn't he?

"Damn it," he muttered as he got into his car. One month. One month before Peter Tork was to set off to Australia with three guys that he could hardly stand to be around anymore and play songs that he was sick of. Maybe his harem of girls would help ease the stress…that along with some grass. As he drove off, he rolled the window down and felt the breeze blow through his collar-length blond hair.

He got a good look at himself in the rearview mirror. His hair blew back from his face to show his big tawny colored eyes that were a little washed out and tired from all of the work. His beard was growing in a little bit; he wouldn't shave it. He didn't need to keep up any sort of teeny-bopper image anymore. The show was canceled anyway. The drive wasn't that long, and if it was, it didn't seem very long. Peter pulled into the driveway of his large, infamous home in Laurel Canyon and, with a lazy slouch, walked inside.

"Hey Pete," said a man sitting on the couch inside, lazily strumming a guitar.

"Hey Stephen," said Peter, slumping himself down next to him.

The other man, Stephen, looked over at Peter with an all-knowing look. "Long day?" he asked.

"Fuck man, you have no idea," said Peter. Stephen Stills, Peter's roommate (or something of the sort) was a younger man, twenty-three to Peter's twenty-six. They had been friends together in the Village years before, and they were always picked out as look-alikes. Stephen had light brown hair in a similar style to Peter's, except it was already thinning a bit at the top. The only significant differences between the two were Stephen's blue eyes and lack of facial hair.

"Maybe I should have thought twice before referring you to that gig, eh?" said Stephen, pulling something out of his pocket.

Peter laughed. "Nah, it was worth it for a while," he said. Stephen had auditioned for a role in The Monkees fad but didn't make the cut. He gave Peter to the producers, and then went off to play in The Buffalo Springfield with Neil Young, which Peter would have died to be a part of. But The Monkees was good for a while.

"Anything freaky going on here tonight?" asked Stephen, messing with whatever it was he took out of his pocket.

"Nothing tonight," said Peter. He hadn't been feeling right since Reine left him. The magic was gone; he knew that much. But the lack of a steady woman in his life left a hole in him bigger than all the wanton sex with lose women in the world could fill. Thus, his famous parties were getting to be few and far between.

"Man Peter, you need to chill out some," said Stephen as he put his guitar aside. He finally reviled what he had been messing with. He was grinning and holding a large joint.

"You read my mind, Steve," said Peter, picking up the lighter on the dresser next to the couch.

"To poor, single saps?" suggested Stephen as he held the joint out to Peter to light it.

"What are you talking about man, you're not single," said Peter with a smile, but feeling a pang inside at being called 'single'again.

Stephen laughed. "Oh, you mean Judy?" he asked. "Man, I dunno what's happening there man…"

"Do we ever?" asked Peter. Stephen laughed as he took a hit off the joint, and passed it to Peter. Suddenly, as Peter took in that sweet, sweet grass, work all day was worth it.

Meanwhile:

Natalie Marshall walked alone along a busy California road. She had flown all the way over from London and was suffering from some horrible jetlag. People stopped and looked at her as if to wonder, what is a little nineteen-year-old girl doing all alone right outside of Laurel Canyon? Of course she couldn't blame them—she did look rather lost, but she knew exactly where she was going.

She needed someone to help her, desperately. She looked lost because in truth, she was. No one would be okay after a brutal breakup and a family on the cusp of breaking apart. Back in London, she rarely went a day without a drink or a smoke; there were tears shed every day and as those days passed she knew she was getting one step closer to a breakdown. Of course, she knew of only one person who could help her.

Natalie first met Peter Tork when he had gone to Monterey Pop the year before. Natalie had just turned eighteen and had gone over to California from London for the first time ever. She was lost of course, and she didn't realize what she was doing when she ran headlong into Peter while fighting through a crowd. She was starstruck at first, being a Monkees fan, but soon gathered herself once she realized he was a normal person, just like everyone else. She was impressed with the smart, intelligent person she saw in him; so much different than the dummy he played on TV.

They had telegrammed back and forth and had met again at the start of the next month when The Monkees played a few shows in London, when she had returned. Naturally, Natalie was scared that meeting Peter in person again would disappoint her, but when she made it backstage, he greeted her like an old friend he had known for years. That was the last time she had seen him in person, but they still wrote every day. She felt he knew her like no one else did, and that's why Natalie knew that Peter was the only one who could help her through her rough patch. She looked up at the sky and noticed the sun was going down. She had to hurry up and find Peter's place before it got totally dark.

At the house:

A while had passed, and Peter's high was starting to come down. Stephen still looked a little in the clouds, but not completely lost to reality.

"Peter, you know what you need?" asked Stephen.

"I dunno Stephen…a beer and a toke?" asked Peter, rolling his eyes a bit.

"No man!" said Stephen. "Just…just fuck a chick dude. Just go out and fuck one."

"How in the hell am I supposed to do that?" asked Peter.

"Oh, Pete, come on!" said Stephen, leaning forward. "You've screwed more girls than me and Neil Young put together! What do you mean, what are you supposed to do? Just seduce the first one ya see, it'll be easy for you."

"No man," said Peter, grinning in embarrassment. Yep, he'd been with a whole lot of girls. "I mean, when they come here, it's groovy, but picking them up; doing the first one I see…man."

"Dude, you're Peter-fucking-Tork," said Stephen. "A Monkee! The chicks dig you man, just shave the beard, show her your dimples, and fuck her senseless!"

"I'll see what I can do," said Peter, laughing at Stephen's ideas. Yeah, maybe he'd go out and do it, but he'd have to gather himself up first. He knew the upcoming tour would probably get him laid a good number of times anyway.

"The next girl you see man…" said Stephen dreamily, no doubt imagining himself doing something as well. Right then, there was a knock on the door. "Oh man!" said Stephen excitedly. "That better be a chick!"

"Drink some coffee man, you're still up there," said Peter, getting up off the couch to answer the door. Normally, Peter wasn't the type to tell people to come down from a high, but if someone became obnoxious, like Stephen was being, he had to draw a line. When Peter opened the door though, he was a little surprised to say the least.

Standing outside was a young girl of nineteen with long, softly curled dark brown hair and bangs that brushed the top of big blue eyes. She had a face with alabaster skin, lightly brushed with pale freckles. Her smile was trying to convey happiness, but it looked forced and painful. She stood there, shifting her weight from foot to foot, waiting for God-knows-what.

"Natalie!" Peter greeted, opening his arms.

"Hello Peter," said Natalie, a little less exuberantly, but still trying to smile. She came forward into Peter's arms and they hugged, with Stephen looking on, very amused.

"Oh man, Pete, you have her!" he said. "A British chick too!"

"Knock it off Stephen, this is my friend, Natalie Marshall," said Peter. "Come on in Nat, you look exhausted."

"Thank you Peter," said Natalie, following Peter inside.

"Sorry about Stephen," said Peter. "He's a little stoned."

"It's quite all right," said Natalie, sitting on the couch next to Stephen. "It's better than all the shit that's been going on at home, that's for bloody sure."

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming to the states?" asked Peter, sitting beside Natalie. "I would have had the place a little more together…"

"It was an off the cuff idea," said Natalie. "It's…a whole lot of stuff."

"Were you looking to talk about it?" asked Peter.

"If it would be okay with you," said Natalie.

"It's fine," said Peter. He turned to Stephen. "Steve, could you please leave the room?"

"Whatever you say man," said Stephen, taking the comment the wrong way, of course. He winked as he left the room.

"So sorry about him," said Peter. "He's really a cool guy…he's just out of it."

"It's fine, don't worry," said Natalie. "That's Stephen Stills from The Buffalo Springfield, isn't he?"

"The same," said Peter, rolling his eyes. "So…what's been going on, Natalie?" He looked very concerned, just as Natalie knew he'd be.

"You remember my boyfriend, Freddie?" started Natalie.

"Yeah, he was always a nice guy," said Peter. "What's wrong with him?"

"Oh my, this is hard to say…" said Natalie, her heart churning in her chest and her insides dropping. A tear started to fall down her face before she totally broke down. "Oh Peter, he's dumped me!" She flung herself into the older man's arms and sobbed.

Peter was in shock; he really didn't know what to say. Not that he didn't know how to deal with the situation, but from the condition Natalie was in, that just couldn't be it. Holding her, he felt that she had lost weight since the last time he saw her. Did that have anything to do with whatever else had happened? She felt so weak and fragile.

"Oh no!" he finally got up the nerve to say. "Natalie, I'm so sorry, what happened? I always thought he was such a good guy."

"I thought he was too," said Natalie, getting a hold of herself. "But I dunno…yesterday morning, he just called me to the living room, said he couldn't do it anymore, and left! He was already packed…" She bowed her head down. Peter could tell her heart was broken. He followed the lines of her tears with his eyes and saw that she had bags under her own.

"Did he give you a reason?" asked Peter, growing more and more worried for Natalie.

"Nope," said Natalie. "I swear, we've been together for over a year…and this is what I get…he just said, 'I can't do this anymore'…"

"Well, either he'll come around, or he just doesn't deserve someone as good as you," said Peter. "Nat, is there something else?"

"It's…it's my family, Peter," said Natalie, starting to cry again. "My parents are starting to file for divorce, and my brother's gone off to Manchester to get married. I know I've lived on my own for two years already, but…to have your family falling apart at the seams, after all you've been through with them, on top of being dumped after a year…it was too much, I had to get away from it all!"

"I understand," said Peter. "And you're welcome to stay here, if that's what you're after."

"You catch on, Peter," said Natalie. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," said Peter. "Anything you need, I'll help you."

"I'll try not to be a burden," said Natalie, sniffing and wiping a tear. She had that painful smile on her face again, trying to hide behind a mask of hurt. It stung Peter to the core; he couldn't stand to see this sweet, kind girl like that. Natalie reached out to touch his face, making Peter jump. "I like the beard," she said softly. "It makes you look grown-up."

"But I am grown up, aren't I?" asked Peter, smiling.

"Well…I guess so," said Natalie. "How've you been, Pete?"

Peter shrugged. "Sick of it," he said simply. "Except I can't get away from it…contracts and such."

"Ah," said Natalie, nodding.

"We've got a tour in Australia and Japan next month," said Peter.

"Oh…" said Natalie, looking very disappointed. "For how long?"

"Till October," said Peter. "If I could bring you with me I would, you know that Natalie."

"I'm not so sure I'd want to," said Natalie. "Too much in the fast lane, you know what I mean? Especially for now."

"I understand," said Peter. He wished he could stay where he was too, but no…he got roped into this silly thing. "Do you want anything? I feel so stupid…you've been in here a while and I never offered you anything!"

Natalie laughed, a sad, mournful sound. "Nah, I'm good, thank you," she said. "I'll let you know if I think of anything."

"Please do," said Peter. Behind them, a door creaked open.

"Hey, Peter!" hissed Stephen, peeking out of the door that was cracked open. "Get in here man, I need to talk to you."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Can it wait man?" he asked.

"No, come on, this is important!" said Stephen urgently.

"Go on," said Natalie. "I can deal on my own for a few minutes."

"Okay," sighed Peter. He really didn't want to leave her, but he knew Stephen wouldn't stop bugging him until he gave in. Peter got up off the couch and went over to where Stephen was still peeking. He wondered when Stephen would ever come down from his ridiculous high. Once he was in the room, Stephen slammed the door shut. "What the hell do you want, man?" asked Peter, frustrated.

"I think it's obvious that you're not gonna do that chick," said Stephen, as serious as possible, crossing his arms.

"Wha? Of course not!" said Peter. "She just got dumped and her family's having problems! It wouldn't be right, Steve."

"I thought so," said Stephen. "Go out. Now. Just any club and get. Fucking. Laid."

"Stephen, I don't know why you're so fixated on this!" said Peter.

"And for God's sake, fucking shave that mess on your face before you go!" said Stephen, not acknowledging Peter's gripe. "You need to look like Peter Tork before you go for it man, seriously."

"Stephen, you sound like my mom and a pimp," said Peter.

"Well man, what do you expect me to be?" asked Stephen.

"I can't go man, there's no way in hell I'm leaving you along with Natalie," said Peter.

"Then I'll come with you!" said Stephen. "I could go for some myself."

"I'm not leaving her alone either!" said Peter.

"Come on Pete, you need this, I'm telling you!" said Stephen, begging now. "I'll stay here, and I promise I won't lay a finger on Nancy!"

"Natalie," said Peter. He sighed…he couldn't believe he was saying this. "And okay, whatever, you win, I'll go out, I'll get myself laid. Just don't do anything stupid here; you're a dumbass when you're stoned, you know."

Stephen giggled. "Yeah," he said. "Shave it off."

"Whatever you say," said Peter, shaking his head. He really didn't want to shave the beard, but he knew Stephen would physically prevent him from leaving the house if he wasn't clean-shaven.

"What's wrong?" asked Natalie when Peter came out of the room.

"I'm being forced to go out," said Peter. He didn't want to tell her what Stephen was trying to get him to do…he didn't know why, but he felt like it would hurt her. Maybe because she just suffered a breakup. He went straight to the bathroom and reluctantly shaved his beard. His face felt naked and cold, but maybe Stephen was right…maybe he did look a bit dirty with it. Not that any of them should care. When he walked back to the living room where Natalie was sitting, he saw the look of confused shock on her face.

"What after I said I liked it?" she asked, not offended, but feigning (or, at least, Peter hoped she was).

"Mother's orders," said Peter, looking to Stephen, who was now peeking out of the door again with a maniacal grin. "Stephen's staying; I told him not to fuck up, but if he does something stupid, just smack him upside the head. It usually helps."

"But Peter, I thought you were a pacifist!" said Natalie, amused.

"Not with me, he ain't," said Stephen. Natalie laughed; oh man…every time she laughed, Peter could hear the pain. It was strange, really. She was trying so hard. "Well Peter, have a glorious time out!"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up man," said Peter, shaking his head.

"Goodbye, Peter," said Natalie. "And…thank you. Thank you so much."

Peter turned back around to face Natalie. She stood up and hugged him tight. He felt her trembling again, like she was trying not to cry; he was so afraid he'd break her in two, she had lost so much weight. For a split second, he thought of not leaving, just to be there for his friend, but he decided against it. A couple hours for himself wouldn't be too bad for Natalie. Besides, Stephen wasn't all that bad when he was sober.

"No problem," Peter said tenderly. He looked into Natalie's eyes before he reluctantly walked out the door.

"Well then," said Stephen once Peter was out, looking at Natalie. "What do you propose we do?"

"Sleep," said Natalie, going into another room, feeling down. If there was one thing she wanted nothing of, it was another silly little man child.

Of course, Stephen Stills wasn't a silly little man child. He was just a little stoned and just sat, rejected completely, on the couch where Natalie just got up from, wondering what the hell he and Peter Tork had gotten themselves into.