As daylight crept through the big bay window, Mike's gaze was fixed on the colored test pattern beaming from the TV. He continued to stare as the sun slowly rose in the sky, brightening the entirety of the Pad. His mood, however, remained a bit dark.

He could sense footsteps behind him, edging closer. They were small and quick, which meant it had to be Davy.

"Oi, Mike," the boy began, concern in his voice. "You alright?"

"M'fine, Tiny," Mike groused.

Davy looked at the television screen. "There's nothin' on, man. You're watching the bulls-eye."

"Ah know."

"Why?" he asked, taking a seat next to his friend on the sofa.

Mike looked at Davy through a screen of dark bangs, face solemn. "I'm thinkin'."

"How long have you been up? I heard you leave, but I thought maybe you were having a rough night." He nodded toward the bathroom.

"Nah, just couldn't sleep is all," Mike answered, finally breaking away from his staring contest with the TV set. "Got a lotta noise in my head."

"It wasn't just in your head, mate," Davy scoffed, thumbing toward the upstairs room. "Don't know when she settled down."

Mike looked rather mortified and let go a sigh. "She wears my temper just a little too well. She's got good reason, though."

"So, what do we do about it? How do we help her?"

Mike tapped the end of his nose. "That's why I'm thinkin'. I need to do something. My gut and my good sense both say so."

The wooden flooring in the house was old and warped in places, guaranteed to squeak at the worst possible times. One cranky plank on the upstairs landing signaled that life had returned to the second floor. The groaning of the floorboards was soon joined by the low buzz of voices, all muttering together. Mike couldn't understand what they were saying, bu the pitch of each was instantly recognizable: Shug's alto twang, mixed with Peter's calm bass and Micky's excitable tenor. The cries of old wood quieted and were replaced by the gentle "tmp" of shoeless feet on metal stairs. Mike stretched and turned around on the couch, propping his head on the back cushion. Davy did the same, observing.

"Mornin'," the Texan chimed, though rather flatly.

Micky and Peter muttered half-hearted greetings; Peter waved. Shug ducked her head, avoiding eye contact with her brother.

Mike sighed again, this time in frustration, and cleared his throat. "Sugar, I'm sorry about last night."

The girl's eyes widened and she gaped at her twin, baffled. "Why are you apologizin'? I'm the one who lost her temper and tried to kill Micky with a clock." Micky cringed.

"You get that temper honest," Mike said, "and you're a lot more open with your feelings than I am. I swallow 'em and pray I don't end up with an ulcer someday."

Sugar's expression showed acknowledgment of such and Mike wondered if during the big split she had inherited that from him, too. He pressed on.

"I've still got a couple years' worth of birthday money from Aunt Kate and we've had better luck with some of our gigs lately..." He stood from the sofa and approached his twin, putting both hands on her shoulders. Their eyes met and Mike could see little differences between her face and his. Sugar's eyes seemed wider, framed by longer lashes and separated by a nose that had a slope similar to his at the bridge, but was the slightest bit smaller and more feminine. He could still see hints of himself, but that's all they were.

"Please don't say you're kickin' me out, Mike. That'd break my heart," Shug whimpered. She sniffled, fighting off both her cold and her tears.

"Mike, no!" Peter shouted in protest. "You can't—I lov—just—No!"

"Sugar, no no no!" Mike gave up and slid his arms around her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. "No, honey. You move when you're ready. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go see Mama."

Shug pulled herself from her brother's grip. "For real?"

Mike nodded earnestly. "We'll talk to her, okay? She'd be glad to see you."

Sugar grabbed him in as tight a hug as before and cried into his shoulder. "I love you, ya big dumb ox."

"Ah, Texas. The Nesmith homeland," Micky mused as he plopped onto the couch and unceremoniously fell back onto Davy, squishing him into the sofa's arm. "Please tell me we won't have to fight nasty gun-totin' neighbors this time." He laughed as the smaller boy shoved him upright again.

"Nah," Mike chuckled, keeping an arm over his sister's shoulder. "It'll be a nice, quiet little visit this time. We can see Kate and Lucy and—"

"Mike, they don't know me!" Sugar bristled. "I mean, they do, but they don't..."

"Don't worry," the Texan said with a disarming grin. "You already know Kate, so that's a start. They're all gonna love you regardless." He kissed her forehead.

Davy raised his hand. "One suggestion this time, please, Mike?"

"Anything, Tiny."

"Can we take the car? No golf carts."

"Agreed," Peter added with a firm nod.

Mike smiled. "Start packin', then."

April watched as Micky and Peter repeatedly fumbled around the house in an effort to get "organized" for their last-minute road trip. Twice, Micky managed to stumble over his own feet and Davy was very nearly stuffed into a large suitcase. In Peter's defense, Mike had pointed out, Davy was sort of bundled up in an armload of clothes.

April could only shake her head and laugh. "Honestly, is this how you pack for shows?"

"Usually there's more planning involved," Davy answered kindly. He combed his hair back into place with his fingers. "And we pack the night before."

Mike stuck his head in the doorway. "Davy, did you get the blankets?"

The English boy rolled his eyes. "We're going to Texas mid-summer. Why do we need blankets?"

The guitarist pulled a face and glared at his smaller friend. "Because," he grumbled, "it gets chilly at night there, plus Shug's still sick." He propped his arm on the door knob. "B'sides, we're in such close quarters anyway, I'm pretty sure we'll all catch it before it's over. I'd like to be prepared."

Davy scowled. "That's nice, that is. Say hello to your Auntie by bringin' her a cold?"

"She caught a cold?" April's smile faded and she clutched at her necklace in worry. "Oh no... Poor girl!"

"No worries," Mike said reassuringly. "Aunt Kate can fix it. She makes a chili that'll burn a cold right out of ya!"

"That's a long drive for a bowl of chili, Michael," April pointed out. "Couldn't you just ask for the recipe?"

Mike fidgeted with the doorknob a moment, then straightened his hat on his head. "I...uh...I cain't cook chili." He sheepishly slid out of the doorway and back outside. "Don't forget the blankets, Davy!"

Exasperated, Davy excused himself to do as he was told.

The flurry of activity was fascinating to observe, though it was more controlled chaos than anything else. Arms occupied with guitar cases, Peter made his way to the front door. Micky seemed to ignore the other boy's presence entirely and ran past him, knocking into his shoulder. Instead of falling, the bassist executed a near-perfect pirouette before regaining his balance and heading out to the car. April found herself wanting to applaud such a performance. Instead, she opted to stay out of the way, lest she end up bowled over by a Monkee. After the mess they once made of her laundromat, she knew their potential for accidental disaster.

Micky ran back and forth from the bathroom to the downstairs closet, then to the bedroom. Out of breath, he stopped in front of the statuesque blonde and took her hand, placing a keyring in her palm. He closed her fingers around it. "Here. That's the front door, the back door and the garage."

April examined the keys, committing their shape and assigned positions to memory. She counted them a couple of times and noticed something was "off". She held up a smaller, odd-shaped one. "What's this little key for?"

Micky gave a shy grin. "Oh! That's for the jukebox. I kinda forgot it was on there." He gestured toward the kitchen as he walked to the stairs. "Anything in the fridge is yours for the taking while you're here."

"All we've got right now is some ketchup and a box of baking soda," Peter said, brushing past the couple. He paused, then beamed at April. "That's okay, though, 'cause Sugar makes the best tomato soup with ketchup packets."

Horrified, April gawked between the two boys. "Ketchup soup?"

"It's really good during those lean weeks," Micky defended with a shrug. "That reminds me..." He grabbed a spoon from the kitchen table and ran it down the stair railings. "Sugar, have you got your stuff? We gotta go!"

A cheerful, but muffled reply came from behind the upper bedroom door. "Comin'! Hold your horses, Dolenz!" Shug wobbled out of her room, suitcase in one hand, while holding her nap-sack steady on her shoulder with the other. She sniffled, scrunching her nose, then began her trek down the stairs. About halfway down, she locked eyes with April, who stood just outside the kitchen area. For a moment, April was hopeful and she smiled warmly. Her expression quickly faded as Sugar looked away, focusing on her feet.

"Sugar-dear?" April reached for her, barely touching her shoulder. The other girl looked at her briefly, eyes showing hurt. She shrugged her off and hurried outside. April groaned and stared at the door, so hoping Shug would come back inside and talk to her. The silent treatment stung worse than anything Sugar could have said. Defeated, April propped herself against the back of the sofa.

Micky put an arm around her, squeezing her close. "She'll come around, April. Don't worry."

Fighting tears, the blonde rested her head on Micky's shoulder. "I want to be her friend again, Micky. That's all."

"Give her some time. She'll come around. We're going to see her and Mike's family in Texas, so she'll be able to clear her head while we're there, too." He gave her a kiss. "Don't worry." April nodded and wiped her eyes as Micky broke away and walked to the door.

"Take care of her, okay? I worry about her."

Micky smiled and gave her another kiss. "No worries, April. We'll see you in a few days."

The door creaked shut behind the curly-haired boy. Not long after, the motor of the GTO roared to life, then faded into nothing, leaving April all alone in the beach house.

With the quintet gone, the Pad was so terribly quiet. It felt downright eerie. April did her best to shake the feeling and occupied herself with tidying up the place. Her primary reasoning was that it would get her mind off the worries she had for her friend.

April sorted and neatly stacked an assortment of magazines on the coffee table, then found one of Davy's maracas rolling around under the couch. There were well-worn, slightly splintered drumsticks shoved here and there; she located one in the loveseat's cushions, another in the kitchen sink and still another in Mr. Schneider's coat pocket, just behind his hanky. April shook her head and returned the sticks to their proper home next to Micky's drum set. "Really, boys..." She ran a hand over the snare, taking note of how worn it was before getting back to her original task.

She continued her efforts to straighten up everything: She put away dishes and made the boys' beds, then went upstairs to organize Sugar's room. It was the least she could do after hurting her feelings so.

Nothing could have prepared her for the mess that greeted her in the upper bedroom.

Sugar was usually quite neat. Things were always perfectly arranged to suit her needs. April remembered how proud Shug had been of finally getting her own private space in the house. It had meant so much to her. Now she was surrounded by discarded clothes, broken records and page after page of shredded magazines. It seemed like everything of which Shug had been so proud was destroyed in no time flat.

She spotted the open closet door and was almost terrified to peer inside past the bent hangers and half-hung Western shirts. A glint of green caught her eye, however, and April took a closer look, finding the old green taffeta dress she had given to Shug earlier in the year. It still sported bloodstains and ripped seams, reminders of Sugar's assault and of her amazing show of self-defense. April slid the hanger from the clothes rack, revealing the remainder of the clothes she had donated to her friend. All were neatly hung and organized with great care. "Oh, Sugar, honey," April whimpered, hugging the green dress close.

Now it made sense. The laundress reasoned that all along, it should have been clearer to her than a fresh rinse cycle, especially after Micky's explanation over the phone. The wreckage consisted of Mike's belongings, some of which Shug was forced to share with him out of pure necessity. She had destroyed them only after April had initially rebuffed her. That horrible feeling of guilt again washed over April, making her sick to her stomach. Her own words came back to haunt her.

"How dare you?"

As she stooped to pick up a shattered bedside lamp, her knees buckled and she ended up in the floor. She gaped at the broken pieces of glass before her, then her eyes again took in the extent of the damage in the entire room. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself. Her face burned and her throat ached.

"April, you're th' only other friend I've got..."

The tall blonde pressed her forehead against her kneecaps, heaving sobs. She was Shug's only other friend, her only girl friend...and April had outright rejected her when Sugar needed her understanding most. "I have to fix this, Sugar. There has to be a way..."