*For those who haven't been able to tell already, I don't know a thing when it comes to medical science or psychology or any science in general. So if this is inaccurate, then I will just say that it's my story universe and it's fiction and please don't worry too much about that, please. Thank you, enjoy.*

One minute became five, which became fifteen. Then thirty, later, sixty. Soon, Mike was able to stay conscious for hours at a time. But something was wrong. The initial excitement they all felt began to fade the more time they spent with Mike. Peter was the first to recognize that something was off with the Texan, Davy picking up on it not long after. Neither could quite place what it was, but something wasn't right, and it couldn't be ignored. Micky had his doubts and worries, sure, but he chose not to focus on them. Mike was awake and alive. That was all that mattered to him at the moment.

"Do you mind if your friend stays here for this, Michael?" The doctor asked, gesturing to Micky, who waved from his seat. Mike shrugged. He actually preferred that he'd stay.

"Very well. As long as he's quiet and doesn't distract you, he can stay."

"I can do that." Micky smiled and the doctor let out a laugh. He walked over to Mike and stood at the foot of the bed, pulling something shiny out of his pocket.

"I just want to test how your memory is. Don't worry, it shouldn't be a hard test. Now, do you see this?"

He held out a silver coin in front of Mike's face.

"The quarter? Yeah, I see it."

"Good." He placed it in his hand, which was left open and flat for Mike to see.

"Do you know where the quarter is?"

Mike frowned slightly. Of course, he knew where it was. It was sitting right in front of his face.

"Yeah, it's in your hand."

"Which hand?" The doctor asked quickly.

"Your-your left."

"That's right."

Where is this going?

"Can you repeat that, Michael?"

"Repeat what?"

"Where the quarter is."

Oh, it's...uh...

"It's in your left hand."

He nodded and closed the hand, pulling it away.

"Now, can you tell me what your name is, please?"

"Michael Nesmith."

The doctor smiled and sighed.

"Your full given name, please. We need to know that you didn't just pick it up from what you've heard."

Mike didn't say anything. He looked down and scowled, going back into his memories for a minute.

Oh no, Micky thought, jumping up from his seat. He waved his arms around to get the Texan's attention. Once he had it, Micky smiled and mouthed: "it's okay."

Mike closed his eyes and took a deep sigh before he answered.

"Robert Michael Nesmith, Jr."

The doctor nodded.

"Do you remember the quarter, Michael?"

The quarter? He asked silently.

The doctor held out his fists in front of Mike.

"It's in my left hand, remember that." He explained. Mike gave a slight nod.

"Now, when's your birthday?"

"December 30, 1942." He said, not missing a beat. The doctor nodded again, still holding his fists out. After a minute of silence, the doctor spoke up again.

"Michael, do you know which hand the quarter's in?"

When Mike didn't respond, Micky looked up at him. It looked like he was genuinely struggling with the question.

Mike had felt a headache begin to form as he tried his hardest to concentrate. He should know it, but he couldn't think. Thinking hurt. He closed his eyes and held his head in his hands.

"Michael, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking."

He eventually came back and opened his eyes to see two fists in front of him. He glanced around for a moment before he saw Micky's worried face. A wave of panic suddenly hit Mike.

"Micky...?"

Something was wrong, he could tell. But what?

"Can you answer the question, Mr. Nesmith?"

What question? What's going on?

He looked up at the doctor but said nothing.

"Which hand is the quarter in?"

Mike stared down at the man's fists. His headache was now throbbing with pain as he tried hard to think. After about a minute and a half, he lightly tapped the right fist. It opened to reveal that it was empty; the coin had been in the left hand.

"Sorry, Michael." The doctor said, and Mike shrugged. He hadn't really cared that he wasn't right about it. It was only a quarter; there was a 50/50 shot of getting it anyway. That is until he saw Micky walk over. The slight hint of worry in his face had turned to a look of utter fear and helplessness.

"Micky?" He asked softly, frowning. "Micky, what's wrong?"