The rain was pouring down heavily as Michael stepped out of the airport. He had to laugh, he had thought it was always sunny in California, but things can surprise you. It had been close to a week after seeing the first story about the Monkees and he spent most of his savings on a single plane ticket.

It had been a long day. First, an early rising and making the 15 minute walk to Sean's place, still half asleep. Then there was the hour-long drive to the Brainerd Lakes Regional Airport, where the long silence made the ride seem much longer than it was. It was two hours waiting for the plane, then the flight itself which ended up being closer to six hours. He didn't eat much of anything other than the few snacks offered on the plane. There was no time and too much on his mind.

He let out a groan and, lugging his bags behind him, began his long walk through the rain.

He didn't know what he was looking for. It was one of those things where he was certain he'd know it the moment he found it, he would know. But it was miles until he got anywhere near civilization.

If he had money, or even had planned the trip out more before he left, he could get a rental car and he wouldn't have to push through the heavy rain. Despite Michael always loving to play in the rain when he was younger, he was already beginning to regret coming out here. He had no car, no money, no umbrella, and no idea what he was getting himself into.

Michael shivered as he pulled his coat around himself tighter, it seemed to have dropped a good twenty degrees since he began walking. He was starting to lose hope when he noticed a small cafe in the distance. There was a sudden burst of energy in him as he saw it and practically ran inside.

He was still dripping wet and gasping for breath as he stumbled in. Almost instantly, someone ran to his side, helping him stand. He couldn't even remember if they said anything but he could feel it as he was walked over to a table and sat down. He had forgotten what he was even doing there as he felt himself begin to disconnect from the world around him. All the conversations slowly became out of earshot until they faded away entirely and everything went dark.

"Hey, Mike?" A voice called out, snapping him out of his mind.

"Huh?" He turned to look at Micky, who had a concerned look on his face.

"Are you okay?"

Mike didn't answer him and Micky stood, going toward him.

"Are you okay?" He asked again.

"Oh," Mike whispered. "Yeah, yeah, I'm f-fine."

"You sure?" Now it was Davy speaking. "Cause you don't look fine."

Mike nodded and shivered, grabbing his coat.

"I-is it c-c-cold in here, or just me?"

There was a long and worried silence between the three Monkees before Davy spoke up again.

"It's just you, mate," he said quietly.

"Oh," Mike said to himself, looking down, more confused than anything else. Suddenly he could feel a hand on his forehead and instinctively pulled away from it.

"Well," Micky sighed. "You don't feel warm. But we should still probably take your temperature just to make sure you're alright."

"'M find," Mike slurred. "Eyes it cold year?"

"Here," Micky said, wrapping his arm around Mike. "Let's get you to the couch, okay?"

Mike groaned but said nothing. Micky led him to the couch and helped him lay down, throwing a few blankets over him as he began to shiver.

"Hey, Peter?" Micky called out. "Could you get the thermometer? It should be in the cabinet."

Peter nodded and hurried into the kitchen, finding the thermometer with ease. He brought it back to Micky.

"Mike?" Micky asked softly. "Can you open your mouth please?"

Mike obeyed and Micky put the thermometer in. Davy and Peter came over too, huddling around Mike. They were all worried.

"Micky?" Peter asked. "What's the opposite of a fever?"

Micky was startled and confused by the statement, until he caught a glimpse of the thermometer's reading. 93.5 degrees (34 C). Mike didn't have a fever, he had hypothermia.