Author's Note: This was written from my alter-ego, Juliana Smith's, POV. It takes place between 1978 and 1987. Enjoy. Peace and Love to you all.

I sighed as I poured over the most truthful and telling scene in my favourite play, Shakespeare's Hamlet. What a guy he'd been; caught in the wake of his father's death, his mother's hasty remarriage, the betrayal of his only love, now debating his own death. By his own hand. Oh the angst!

The radio was playing quietly in the background, due to the fact that I haven't been able to sit in silence and concentrate on anything since I was four years old. So now the Eagles were softly crooning in my conscious while a lone figure strutted about a dim lit wooden stage, debating suicide controlled my subconscious.

So deep into my muses was I that I didn't hear the knocking at the front door of my apartment. Nor did I hear the second summons, or third. Finally, at the shrieking of "JULIANA SMITH!" and another round of fist fire against my door did I drop my book and race to relieve this poor fool.

"Yes?" I gasped, clinging to the door to keep myself upright as I regained my breath.

A short, stout man with a red face, most likely due to the yelling, stared at me, annoyed. "You Juliana Smith?" He asked gruffly.

I nodded, tucking a stubbourn piece of hair behind my ear and gazing curiously down at the envelope he held in his plump hand.

"Well, here, this is for you then. Sign for it?" He turned and rummaged in a bag slung over his shoulder. Eventually he pulled out a well-worn clipboard and pen, shoving them in my direction.

Grasping the pen firmly in my left hand I scrawled out my name and was handed the letter. With a nod the man replaced the clipboard and pen and trundled down the hall.

Closing the door and leaning against it, I made no move to open the letter, gazing only at the return address. Pacific Arts Corps. Michael Nesmith's company. Michael Nesmith.

Shocked to come to that realization I rather floated over to the couch in the living room and sat down heavily, feeling dizzy. But needless to say, shock gave way to curiosity and I carefully opened the envelope.

I slid out a small letter, unfolding it to reveal the Pacific Arts Corps. insignia adorning the top. "Why in the world?..." I mumbled to myself as I settled back on the cushions.

Michael Nesmith.

Michael Nesmith.

I said the name, over and over, chanting the words as if to make them seem real in my own ears. Then another little piece of information hit me. He knew my brother?!

I went back and read the letter again, then a third time and forth. Until I was reading it w/o even looking at the words. My brother worked with Michael Nesmith. That little brat.

Paul, my 25-year-old brother, had moved out to California back in 71, almost 19, headed for ULA on a Business major. But that had changed in 72 when my parents got a letter saying that he'd switched majors to Technical Electronics. Whatever that had meant. And finally, in late 76 we'd gotten a phone call from him. He'd gotten a job as a musical technician in Carmel California.

My parents had been happy for him, because they'd feared at first that he'd taken the wrong route with Technician work in the first place. But for two years he'd been employed at a place he simply dubbed "PAC" and had basically lost touch with the entire family.

That's one of the reasons I'd decided to go to college out here. Los Angeles had always been somewhat of an exciting town, one I'd heard about so often in regards to glamorous stars and exciting happenings. But most importantly it meant maybe getting reacquainted with my brother. That hadn't happened, nor had I met any glamorous people or been part of any exciting happenings. My life had been rather vacant.

But this! This was PAC, Pacific Arts Corps. He hadn't forgotten me. But with Michael I'm sure I sprung to mind constantly.

I'd been a Monkees fan since 1966 and the very first aired episode. I had been nine at the time but yes, one can fall in love at such an age. I could 'out-fan' any girl at any age, prove my love and recite every fact from 16 magazine, Teen Beat, Monkee Monthly, anything. And I was in love with Michael Nesmith.

He reminded me of my brother Paul, tall and lanky, quiet and subdued. Ah, but a killer sense of humour lurked beneath that mellow façade, as well as a strength that furnished trust. Plus, Michael had the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen.

Paul though, had teased me mercilessly; jabbing at the weak plots, predictable one liners, even the animated stars in Davy Jones' eyes. And the wool hat was never left without a good poke or two. In fact, I don't think I ever accepted his apology for feeding my "Show-Biz-Baby" Michael doll to our Golden Retriever Eleanor.

And this was the ultimate joke. Either way it was a very calculated. If this was for real, this letter, then I was in for one hell of a shock, and I'd been kept from the most outrageous secret he could ever share with me.

I hadn't forgotten Michael when the show had been canceled, nor had I given up on him when the movie Head had come and gone and was rated a flop. And I was still clinging to my Monkee Monthlies when 1970 rolled around and the last breath of the Monkees themselves exhaled. I was what you called a loyal fan.

I had every album Michael had ever released, had the Rolling Stone magazine that declared Michael's music to be "The best music never heard." I had it all. And Paul knew that, even though he had been far away for so long, far away and out of touch, he knew.

Mind you, this would be just as cruel a joke if the man behind the pen in this letter was merely Paul himself, chuckling even as he signed the name at the bottom. But god I hoped it wasn't just that. And I wouldn't have time to wonder, since Michael was due here any time now, today. The mail service had put me in a bind.

Just in case, for hope springs eternal, I carefully refolded the letter and placed it back in its envelope, putting it on my desk on my way to my bedroom. From there I grabbed out my cleaning supplies from the bathroom and went about perfecting my little abode. Being a neat freak had its advantages as this job only took me roughly 10 minutes.

I, on the other hand, took a little longer to clean up.

So, I showered, dried and blew dry my long hair, put the powder on, and even that pale lipstick, and searched for a dress. Damn, I was even outdated here. The 60's had been my time in more ways then one. Back then, until I was about 13, I had myself a killer wardrobe and style sense. Those clothes, the sun dresses and hip huggers, the flowers and beads, they'd made sense to me.

But in had tramped the 70's, and with it came shirts still flowered but ones that fit like a clowns attire, ties in all the wrong places it seemed. And hair went from long to short and feathered until you felt like you had wings and could fly away with them. Stripes and tight everything, horrible colours of the earth, browns and yellows, and platform shoes that caused someone like me, only 5-2, to bump their heads on the ceiling. No, the 70's were a mystery.

So, I pulled out an old dress of mine that I'd found at a second hand store in early 1976, flowered, flowed to just about my knee, and tied at the neck, leaving my shoulders exposed. It was pale pink to match my lipstick, with darker coloured maroons and mauves on the roses. Then came the warn sandals that strapped around my ankle. The old love beads I rarely left the house without wearing finished me off, they were white and blue, just like ones that Davy Jones had warn in much of the second season of the TV show.

Now what to do with my hair? Yes, like my clothes, my hair was probably a bit out of style, but I refused to look like one of Charlie's Angels. It was long, below my waist, and straight and silky. Hoping I had the time, I scooted into the bathroom and carefully went about French braiding it all the way down, so that the ribbon I tied to secure the braid brushed the base of my spine. Satisfied, I went back out into the living room to await... to await Michael.

He had looked so old in the picture displayed there. I almost thought I saw gray around the edges of his beard. That would be a shock indeed, for he couldn't be more than, well lets see, he would have to be 35 until December. Much too early for gray. But I suppose I would see.

How would he act? Would he be the dry, witty but frightening man I had heard intimidated even his own wife? Or would he be soft spoken and mild upon the initial encounter? With Michael, you couldn't predict. I felt my stomach tighten at the idea of being completely blindfolded to his emotions. And then the doorbell rang.

"Shit!" I exclaimed as the pillow flew from my hands and hit the picture on the wall behind me. I heard it shift and winced as I stood, ignoring it for now. With legs that felt like pudding, I inched my way to the door. Holding my breath, I swung it open.

"You Juliana Smith?" A man very much not Michael asked me in a mild tone. I nearly fainted in relief.

"Yes, I am. Who are you?" I questioned with the release of a shuddery breath.

"Max, from Dennis' Flower Shop, on Main? There was a bouquet for you, I was told to deliver it." Max reached down behind him into a box he had sitting there and pulled up a small but lovely pot of tulips, pink tulips at that. My favourite.

"They're from, uh, lemme check the card," Max said as he turned the pot around in his hands and found the tag. "Michael Ne-Nes-Nesmith I think? Whoever it is scribbles his name like a movie star," Max complained as he thrust the pot in my direction.

I suppressed a laugh as I took the pot and admired the tulips from up close. They smelled wonderfully, and they were in full bloom. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught someone dart back from in the hall, as if he didn't want to be spotted. It was most definitely male, but other than that, I couldn't tell who it was.

"Well, listen, you have a nice night, okay?" Max turned and picked up his box, heading down the hall. I could make out him mumbling every so often. "Michael Nesmith? Why is that familiar..." I didn't hide the smile that bubbled up this time.

Just then, from out of a doorway, strolled a tall man, thin, with dark hair parted down the middle, brushing past his ears and over his eyebrows. He had a beard that did not have a single strand of gray hair in it, and his hands were shoved awkwardly into a pair of tight, faded blue jeans. Enter Michael Nesmith

Surprised, nope. He didn't give me time. He raced into my doorway before I could register he had even entered. He came up like some sort of badly trained burglar. "Howdy."

"Hi..." I whispered in a breathy voice. Awe had had time to set in, where surprise hadn't.

"I uh, didn't want to beat the flowers here, but when I saw that fella at the door, I ducked next door until he left. So, don't, uh, think anything bad of me, I was just tryin' to go in a certain order." Michael explained sheepishly.

I laughed despite myself. He was so dependent on a schedule that he had gone to lengths to keep it in order!

"That's quite all right, I'm glad to know that it was you lurking around the corner and not a real mugger or anything." My god, I was making small talk with him!

His quiet laughter brought me back to earth and a gazed in unabashed adoration. He certainly did have a mild, soothing laughter.

"I uh, was told you liked tulips, Paul told me actually. Hope he was right." Michael shuffled his feet in the entrance of my apartment, looking as nervous as I felt. Why on earth was that?

"Oh, they're beautiful, my favourite. Paul does remember certain things about me. Listen, would you like to come in? I've got coffee, or tea, water, um... oh, just come in, please?" I wrestled myself away from babbling like I had a strong tendency to do. Michael nodded and moved to sit down on my couch, perched as stiffly as you please.

I rushed past him, putting the tulips on my small kitchen table, and called out, "So, coffee is it? Or would you like something else instead?"

"Coffee's fine!" He called back, and from my end, it sounded very... natural, to hear his voice echoing from the living room, requesting a simple cup of coffee. I'd certainly been living alone too long, and now this.

Excitement caught up with me and it took a good while to pour the coffee, but I eventually managed and brought both cups back in, sitting down at the opposite edge of the couch and setting his coffee in front of him. Proceed to awkward silence stage.

What felt like hours later, Michael shifted, and I realized I'd been gazing foolishly at him the entire time. Yes, I was still very much a fan at heart, no matter how much I wanted to convince myself that I was an admirer and that it was a mere pleasure to have him here, not an unearthly joy, like it felt. "So, uh..." Michael mumbled lamely.

"Yeah, so..." I countered, feeling twice as foolish.

He had finished his coffee, and I hadn't touched mine, and he was looking at his watch, "Listen, perhaps we'll have more to say over dinner, I thought we'd go over this little café a few fronts down from the flower shop, is that okay?"

I set the cup down, standing, "That sounds great."

"Good, come on," he stood and reached out his hand. For a horrifying second, I gaped at him, wondering what the hell he wanted me to do with it. But my backup systems roared to life and I fit my hand into his on autopilot.

The walk over was quiet but not nearly as awkward as it had been inside. There were things to look at, the sunset namely, and we strolled along companionable silence. The gentle pressure of his hand around mine seemed to drain me of my apprehension, and I grew more and more at ease, as well as anxious for the evening to progress.

The café was a quaint little setting with wrought iron tables and matching chairs, all done in gray, with small purple canopies over them. Dinner was light, and conversation started rolling.

"Has Paul been telling you horrible stories of our childhood already, or has he kept his big mouth shut?" I asked as I bit into my chicken on wheat sandwich. Michael laughed between bites of chili.

"He's gone on a bit, but nothing I can't disregard or brush off as 'cute'. You sounded like a sweet kid."

I blushed noticeably, "Yeah, yeah. I was caught up, what can I say? I'd rather not talk about that though, 'cause if we do, I'll start to gush about you, and this will get completely awkward again, okay?" I remarked matter-of-factly. With another laugh, Michael nodded agreement.

So went our evening, talking of albums and tech work, Carmel California and LA, of college and the art of running a business. By the time we decided to stroll back to my apartment, we were as comfortable as old friends. Who knew.

We stopped at the front door to my apartment building, and there it grew uncomfortable again. But this time, it was oddly expected. Like if it had continued to be casual, I would have worried. Michael stopped, and I turned to look at him. Now there was a decision to make: Let him back up to my apartment, where we'll have more decisions to make, or let him go back to his hotel and never speak with him again.

"Would you, like to come back up, for a while?" I decided.

Michael's face appeared to light up, as much as his face ever does, and he nodded, brushing a strand of that thick, dark hair out of his eye. Clasping his hand in mine once more, we headed back up.

The main room in my apartment is cozy. It's not large and gaping, but it's not small and cluttered either. There's my couch, the big pale pink one that reminds me of sculpted bubble-gum, a wicker armchair, glass end table and a wooden stool holding my record player. Covering one wall is a wicker cabinet, filled with records and books, plus the occasional picture. A small TV sits atop the cabinet. Michael took a seat again on the couch, this time towards the middle.

I had no choice but to sit down next to him, not that I minded. My eyes lit up as I felt him shift to face me more, his knee touching mine. There was a gentle look to those dark, intense eyes, and I got myself rather tangled in their grasp.

"Michael, I-" I began, intending to strike up more of a conversation before awkwardness set in when he leaned forward sharply and caught my mouth in his, effectively shutting me up with a squeak.

Holy shit, were the only two words in my head, and they played on an endless loop as Michael drew me under, moving his mouth expertly over mine, smoothly passing his tongue over my lips until I opened up to him and felt him exploring, and tasted him for myself. It was intoxicating.

His hands found their way to me, one cradling my jaw, long agile fingers stroking my cheek, while the other fingered my braid.

My own had taken residence on his chest, indulging in his rapid heartbeat. Out of inexperience I finally opened my eyes and as if on cue, he did the same. For a moment, we remained locked, staring one another in the eye, before he drew himself back, licking his lips with a heavy breath.

The way I felt as I watched him regain his breath, as I regained my own, was a sudden and intense fear. My god, what had I just done? With a jolt, I rose from the couch and raced into the adjoining kitchen, pressing my palms on the cold metal sink. They were shaking.

I heard him come up behind me, "Jules?" He questioned as he moved closer yet. I could practically feel him, even though he wasn't quite touching me.

"What just happened?" I asked quietly.

"I kissed you."

"But why?"

"Because I wanted to. Was I, were you, I mean-" out came the tripping young man who had walked in a few hours ago, unable to finish a sentence.

I turned, "It was fine, it was very fine. You caught me off guard," I admitted, looking down.

"Caught me off guard, too. I've been wantin' to do it all evening, just didn't think I'd actually do it," he blushed.

My face felt on fire at this point. He'd been thinking about it too?! Without thinking, I pinched my arm. "Ouch!"

"What'd you do that for?"

"Cause I'm sure I'm dreaming. Why on earth would you want to-to kiss me? Gees, to me? Do you have any idea how odd this is for me? I've been dreaming about kissing you since I was nine years old, and here I am, trying to figure out how I actually managed to make that happen.

He started, and then laughed, a soft chuckle.

I shifted from foot to foot, "Aw, come on, don't do that now... I'm embarrassed as it is..." I begged, twisting my hands in front of me.

He couldn't help but laugh more, "Well, I'm just flattered, that's all! Can you blame a guy who finally kissed a girl who's been waitin' for it for, what, ten years?" He smiled and touched my nose playfully with the tip of his finger.

"12 years, but who's counting?" This set him off completely and I joined in. The tension dispersed and I ended up getting us two more cups of coffee. Conversation prevailed again, and at around three a.m. he decided it was time to make a visit to his hotel room.

"Thank you so much, for everything," I said as I leaned against my doorframe, seeing him out. There must have been a look of utter bliss on my somber face.

"When can I see you again?" He shot back.

"What? Again, really?"

"Of course, darlin'! When are you free again?" He smiled warmly, and my heart threatened to melt.

"Wednesday evening, I have a day off then. Would you be able to make it? Will you still be here?"

Michael shrugged, "Well, sure, my business is done tomorrow, but that means I got nothin' in my way and I can stay an extra day... or two, for pleasure." He knew just how to make me blush, and I was sure he was doing it all on purpose just because he could.

"Wednesday it is then, Jules. And until then, goodnight," he whispered as he leaned in once more and kissed me softly on the lips, lingering there until he raised away just enough to kiss my cheek. He smiled, and turned and left, just like that.

Imagine that.

We'd been sifting through an album he'd brought, on the floor in my living room. He'd been happy to finally return to that part of his life that I'd grown up with: The Monkees. They were pictures he'd taken himself, and some that Henry (Diltz) had taken while spending afternoons with them. Micky even tried his hand a few times, being an amateur photographer himself.

There was an artsy one that only Micky could have taken; he must have been sitting on top of the diving board in Michael's swimming pool and was looking down. Peter was below the water, looking up, in mid-stroke it appeared. What was very interesting was the fact that Micky had developed it and detailed it differently. It was a black and white photo, but Peter had been wearing love beads in the pool, and Micky had had those coloured in vividly. So Peter's pale hair was nearly white, his trunks were dark, and the love beads were various shades of the rainbow.

"That's fantastic! Micky really had some talent in that, didn't he? It's a good angle... and the colour..." I admired it, touching it with my fingertips.

Mike nodded, "Yes, he really liked doing it. But with everything that was going on, he never had a chance to really get into it. He did what he could, and he really idolized Henry. We teased him about callin' the guy Guru Diltz'." Michael laughed at the memory, and I saw how much he really had enjoyed his former life at times. He was nostalgic and content.

I smiled wistfully, "You did enjoy those guys, that whole situation, didn't you?"

Mike nodded with a rueful smile, "Yes, I did indeed. We had our rough patches, but those Saturday afternoons at the pool, or near Micky's house in that park playin' baseball, they were worth it. They were like goofy kid brothers you know? Even Peter with all his religious and philosophical mumbo-jumbo got goofy and childish. I wondered sometimes if that whole 'dummy act' was an act."

Michael's eyes had softened as he recalled those afternoons, and Peter and Micky's antics, and went on to tell me a few more stories about such activities, and of pranks played in the recording studio. I really felt young all of a sudden, quite a little girl, and I curled myself up, hugging my knees to my chest as I reveled in stories of my favourite people.

Finally Michael shook his head, chuckling, "Man, did I talk that long? I'm sorry, was I, was I borin' you?" He gazed at me, at my closed up position, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Oh, no, no of course not! It's just, well, all this happened, and I wasn't a part of it, but I miss it. Does that make any sense?"

Michael lowered his eyes for a moment, as if contemplating, then nodded, "Sure, I understand. I used to get letters all the time from girls who said they wanted friends like us, wanting to have adventures like we did on the old show. They sounded lonely. Like they were missin' out. Is that what you mean?" I nodded.

He leaned forward, combing his long fingers through my hair, soft affection in his eyes, "Well, listen, those times are gone, you know? What matters is now. That's always what matters, makin' new memories. I'm makin' some wonderful ones with you," he added quietly.

I felt my face blush as he leaned in more and kissed me gently, affectionately. There was nothing pressing or urgent in it, it was as comforting as a warm hug. But that couldn't last.

He eased me back onto the carpet, covering my body with his, and slowly worked his lips down my neck. He pulled back then, fingering my love beads thoughtfully.

"Peter never took his love beads off you know. He wore them for everything. I mean everything." I caught the implications of that quick enough. "How about you?" He added with a naughty gleam in his eye.

I opened my mouth to retort accordingly but he silenced me, kissing me with a fervor that astounded me. Davy Jones eat your heart out.

I hadn't intended to make love to him there, but in the heat of the moment, who worries about background? It was slow, very involved, and gentle. Michael's temper and attitude towards some things does not carry over to his love affairs. He's a very mild person in that respect, and he's a rare man that enjoys pleasing others before being pleased himself. Luckily I'm the same way, and we both found ourselves utterly satisfied, sated.

Somehow we ended up in my bedroom, and I woke the next morning to feel him nestled against me, his face buried in my hair. I yawned and turned, only to be faced with his sleepy brown eyes gazing lovingly up at me.

"How'd you sleep?" He mused drowsily.

"I guess all right, I don't remember falling asleep," I admitted.

"I spose not, we dozed off out there and around three I woke up and carried'ja in here. I don't think you ever even woke up."

I nodded, snuggling up against him, intending on perhaps resting here by him for a time longer. But he looked at his watch and I felt him tense.

"Shit, I've gotta head out! I didn't plan on stayin' till 11," he exclaimed, pulling himself up and running his fingers through his hair. I gazed confusedly up at him.

"Where do you have to be?"

"I-well, home. I gotta get home, little Jess has a dance recital today that I told her I wouldn't miss, and it's a long flight home. I hope Lonnie has the plane ready," he muttered more to himself than anyone. He flew himself up and down from Carmel to LA usually, having just obtained his flight license a few years earlier. He had an impressive couple of small four seater planes that he took excellent care of.

"Oh, well, you'd better be going then..." I sighed, sitting up myself.

Michael looked down at me as he pulled on his clothing, "Aw, darlin', don't worry, I'm not gonna be gone long, we'll get back together in... say, three days? I've gotta check up on Daniel to see if PAC is still in working order, and your Paul wanted me to come in and test a new fuzz system he put in to distort some sounds, guitars mostly. It's supposed to be some pretty nice work, he made it himself," Michael rambled on as he buttoned up his shirt and smoothed it down.

I agreed, nodding, but then stopped, a thought striking me, "Michael, my Winter break is officially started, well, as of yesterday, and the college bookstore doesn't open again until January, so I've got three weeks of open space. Why don't' I come down with you for a little while? I've never seen your house even, or your children. I'd really love to meet your children."

Michael looked stricken, or so I thought, but he covered it quickly, "Come down with me? You-you wanna come down, huh?"

"Well, sure, nothing's keeping me here, and even if you have to work, I'm sure I could find plenty to do, I'd love to catch up with Paul, meet some of the recording gang I hear so much about, oh, it would be wonderful!" I bubbled as I pulled a robe on and went rummaging for some clothes to put on.

Michael licked his lips, "Well, darlin', it's like this, right now, I've gotta get a lot done, and with you around, it'd be impossible, you're such a divine distraction. But gimme a... week to tie everything up and then I'll come to pick you up and we'll spend a couple of weeks down in Carmel. How does that sound?"

I considered this, the ridged way he was acting, the almost nervous behaviour, but I chalked it up to him being nervous about me meeting his children, and perhaps being on his home turf, we'd never done that before.

I smiled at the thought of finally getting down there, to reunite with Paul and get to know his other friends and colleges, "That sounds just fine, how does a week from today work for you then? You can just stay down there and do your thing, and we'll get together when you come to pick me up?"

Michael's shoulders eased some, and a smile crossed his face, "Oh, yes, that'd be right perfect. Well, listen, darlin', I gotta go fast now, so, I'll give you a call in the next couple of days, catch up with you, and I'll see you next Tuesday, all right?" He crossed over to me and gave me a rushed but emotional kiss, stroking my hair as he pulled away.

I smiled and watched him exit. When I heard him open the front door, I yelled, "I love you!" There was a hesitation, the apartment had gone silent, and finally, I heard the door close quietly. He hadn't responded.

Every night though, I'd close down the typewriter and curl up on the end of my couch, next to the end table, and the phone. The first two nights I hadn't done it, not expecting a call, but by the third night, I was more than a little anxious to hear the sound of his voice, and waited until the wee hours of the morning before I admitted to myself he wouldn't call.

By the fourth night, I was certain I wouldn't have long to wait, but by two am, I was discouraged and went to bed. The fifth and sixth were the same, and on Monday night, I was ready to call information and look him up, realizing that he'd never given me his number. But at around three am, when I was nearly in tears from loneliness and anger, there came a gentle knock on my door.

With a start, I pulled my robe closed around my neck and opened the door slightly. In the hallway stood Michael, a winter coat secured on him, and a tired smile on his face. "Hiya darlin', am I too early?"

Despite the fact that I felt residual anger for his inability to call me, I found myself wrapping my arms around him, standing on my toes to kiss his cool, rosy cheek, and feeling him return the hug with much emotion.

"Aw, I missed you!" He murmured into my hair as he scooped me up and closed the door behind him with his foot as he entered my apartment. I squeaked in surprise but clung to him, nuzzling my nose in his ebony beard.

He quickly settled me down on the couch and stood to remove his jacket. He glanced toward the dark kitchen, "Mind if I make some coffee? I'm damn near frozen, LA gets cold in January, doesn't it?"

I nodded eagerly, almost bursting with joy as I watched him amble off to my kitchen, flipping on the light and start some water for coffee. They were such comforting sounds, and his presence alone was reassuring. I had been lonelier than I had even realized.

When he finally settled himself next to me with a steaming coffee cup between his hands, I found myself able to ask him the question that had been burning in my mouth since the third night of his absence, "So, you were busy then?"

Michael raised an eyebrow as he brought the cup to his lips. He sipped gingerly, and answered, "Well yeah, Daniel had set up a meeting with PBS, you know, Public Broadcasting Systems, and we had some negotiations goin' for a few days. Plus I was laying down a couple of tracks with the new equipment Paul rigged up for me."

"Oh," I sighed, "I see. Too busy to call like you promised?"

Michael's eyes grew wide and he groaned quietly, "Gees, darlin', I'm so sorry! I'm so used to just comin' up here ever coupla days that I normally don't haveta call you. It just slipped my mind and when I found myself missin' ya, I was somewhere doin' somethin' I couldn't put down. But I did miss you terribly."

I smiled sympathetically. I didn't need much of a reason to justify his silence. That was good enough, I was just happy to have him back. "I understand, it's all right, I just worried you know." Michael nodded as he finished off his cup.

"Well, now that that's done, how about we go to bed, hm? I'm exhausted," Michael admitted, "I had to race to get here early, but I wanted to surprise you."

I smiled lovingly, "Yes, why don't we. It's a wonderful surprise. I was planning on sleeping alone tonight..."

"Mm, well, you ain't now, come on, I'll show ya how much I missed ya," he intoned in a husky voice. My cheeks flushed as I grasped his hand and he led me back to the bedroom. It was going to be a beautiful night.

>From there we hopped onto a mint green and cream coloured Harley of his and raced down a curving unpaved road up to his ranch. It was a good-sized ranch style house set in the middle of a large field. There were trees on three sides of the meadow, and the road on the other. There were horses roaming around inside a large corral, their winter coats making them appear larger than they already were.

Michael parked the bike outside a small shed near the house and we pulled out my luggage, which had been placed in a large enclosed bin on the side of the bike. He took my hand and led me inside his home.

It was very simply furnished, as I suspected it would be. He doesn't appear to pay too much attention to colour or design as far as furniture goes. Everything was done in various shades of white and brown, very earthy, and there were a few pictures along the walls, mostly of horses or of the New Mexico mesas at twilight, with the blue pink skyline outlining them.

I was just setting my suitcases down in a guest room, when I heard noisy footsteps behind me. I turned to see two boys and a dog tumble into the room. The boys couldn't have been more than ten; they looked very similar in age. One of them reminded me quite a bit of Michael actually, except for the fact that his hair was a good deal lighter than his. The other boy was quite a bit thinner, but his face was very angled and sharp, I wondered if it came from Phyllis' side of the family. The dog wagged his dark brown tail eagerly, his face happy for a new person to play with.

Michael was quickly behind them, laying a hand on each of their shoulders, "Guys, this is my friend Juliana. She's Paul's sister, remember Paul?" He spoke kindly. Both the boys nodded.

"Jules? These are my boys, this is Jonathan," he tapped the boy on the left, the one with the lighter hair and pouty lips like his dad. "And this is Jason," he ruffled the boy with the dark hair on the head. And with a chuckle, Mike reached down to scratch the dog between the ears, "And this would be Buttercup, the old flea bag."

I smiled warmly at the two boys and the dog, "Hi guys, what have you been up to?" I asked conversationally.

"Well, we were gonna go horse riding, if dad'll let us," Jason looked up at Michael, and I felt my heart melt at the sound of him calling him dad. I was a big family person myself, and this was turning me into a complete bowl of mush.

"Well," Michael looked down at the two, "I'd rather you don't go out on your own, but if you wait just a little while, the four of us will all go out and do some riding, okay?"

The boys looked a little disappointed but turned to one another and shrugged, agreeing. They waved goodbye to me and raced out of the room with Buttercup hot on their heals.

"They're beautiful boys," I commented. Michael beamed. "How old are they?"

"10, respectively," he responded.

"10, both of them? I thought... well, I didn't know you'd had twins."

Michael grew slightly uncomfortable. I could tell by the way he immediately shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "Well, they, they aren't you see, they're about... six months apart." He didn't meet my eyes.

I caught on quickly, my face registering surprise, but I bit my tongue. That was probably why Michel had gotten a divorce earlier in the decade. But that was behind him now, and I wasn't about to call him on it. "I see, well, they're certainly rambunctious!" I exclaimed, hearing them tear around another part of the house, shouts of glee ringing out.

Michael eased some, "Yeah, they're bundles of energy, good kids though. Listen, you unpack, and get a warm sweater on, and we'll go out ridin' for a bit, okay? It's beautiful country back here."

I nodded and went about unpacking, a feeling of joy and anticipation spreading tendrils throughout my body.

"Paulie!" I cried as I raced over to his spot behind a large console with buttons and levers galore. He turned with a jerk and his eyes grew wide as he suddenly found himself enveloped in a large bear hug. He gazed shockily up at Michael, who smiled knowingly. Paul finally hugged back, laughing and smiling and holding me close.

"My god, Annie!" He exclaimed, reverting to the old nick name he'd given me as a child, "You look amazing! What in the world got you here?"

I ruffled his hair good naturedly as a backed off some, "Well, Michael and I agreed it was time I came down here to check out his turf, and I was dying to see you. It's been way too long, young man!"

Paul looked up at Michael in confusion. He stood up and turned his back to me, facing Michael so I couldn't see him mouth, "Why in the hell did you bring her here?" I did happen to catch Michael's helpless shrug though. Paul turned back to me with a sweet smile.

"Well, Nez is showing you around hm? How nice of him. You'll have a lot to see and hear about, I'm sure," he added icily. I was growing very confused. Paul seemed angry, or at least upset about my being there. And Michael didn't seem any more at ease.

"Hey, listen, I think it's time I got out of this stuffy studio. We'll leave it to Paul there, and I'll talk to you in a few days buddy. Call us up sometime while she's still here and the three of us will go out to dinner or somethin', K?" Michael took my hand and practically dragged me out of the studio. I didn't see Paul again during my visit.

The rest of the week was spent near or on the ranch, mostly relaxing with one another and doing what we would normally do at my home, but there was an unspoken tension about Michael that I couldn't figure out. He had no reason to be nervous, but yet he was.

She had dark hair that curled around her shoulders. She had blue overalls on and a pink button down shirt underneath. She was holding a rag doll. She stopped when she reached me, looking up. "Hello."

I knelt down beside her, a smile playing at my lips, I knew who this was, "Hello, and who might you be?" I asked all the same.

The little girl broke into a grin, "My name's Jessica, and this is Beth," she held up the doll. I shook Beth's cloth hand.

I looked up at Michael, but he had stepped outside, and was talking to whoever had brought Jessica over. I went back to talking with her.

"So, Jessica, what brings you here?"

"Well, Katherine said she needed me to stay overnight tonight because she has some shopping to do," the little girl explained matter-of-factly.

"Who's Katherine?" I asked casually, expecting an answer somewhere around baby-sitter or perhaps a relative of Phyllis' or Michael's.

"She's going to be my new mommy!" Jessica cried, nodding proudly. "She got me a dress to wear, I'm going to be the flower girl, the dress is pink, it's really long and Beth is going to be in it too." The little girl chattered on, but I believe my ability to comprehend fizzled at that point. I stood slowly, walking past Jessica, who followed me, continuing to explain the details of her dress, for... the wedding.

I rounded the door, stepping out into the cold but clear day, Michael was standing facing a woman. A woman who looked agitated. "And who are you?" She demanded.

Michael swung around, horrified.

"Jules?" He said in a strangled voice.

"Jules?" The woman countered, "Now I have a name to go with a presence. How nice to meet you dear," she growled, obviously not happy to meet me.

"Who, um, what's going on?" I asked weakly, feeling uncontrollably frightened.

Michael was silent. He looked from me to her and back again, and said nothing. The woman, however, appeared to have plenty to say.

"And what are you doing in our house?" She demanded shrilly. She had dark hair, like mine somewhat, that fell slightly below her shoulder. She was a good four inches taller than me and thin, with a professional looking air to her. There was something terribly angry in her dark eyes though.

"You-your house? Michael?" I looked helplessly to Michael. Looking back on this situation, I should have realized right away what was going on, but I don't believe I could have. I was blind to anything that didn't fit into my idea of how things should go.

Michael rounded angrily on the woman, "Katherine, dammit, don't talk to her that way." He snarled. Katherine didn't look the least bit intimidated, but stepped up closer to me, a glint in her eye that made me want to shiver.

"This is what you call an affair Michael? Please, dear, she's barely legal." I nearly choked at the words. An affair.

Michael winced and turned guilty eyes to me. I gazed painfully back. Katherine caught my attention again by waving her left hand in front of my face, "Yes, dear, affair. See this, see this? This means you're having an affair with my fiancée." On the third finger of her hand was a delicate gold ring with a rather stunning diamond settled in the centre.

Oh god.

A sob rose in my throat that I didn't even attempt to censor. Michael looked like he was going to comfort me, but Katherine glared at us both.

"Well, shame on you for taking up with someone you obviously knew so little about," she admonished me, "And damn you for lying to her, to us both. I'm going back to the car. If I were you, I'd help her pack and get her on the next plane home. You bastard," she whispered, and I could see through the anger and powerful control she seemed to exult, to the pain in her eyes. She was hurting tremendously. And with good reason.

"Juliana, I'm so sorry, you, you have no idea," he said in a watery whisper. His beard glistened with the tears that had already slid down his cheeks. I wanted to hold onto him more than anything in the world, for in six months, I'd grown to love him as dearly as my own brother. But I simply couldn't do that, which hurt all the more.

I smiled weakly as I lifted my two suitcases up, "Thunder rumbling/Twice the size/Echoes distant/To my good-byes/I'll just mosey on/Thanks for the ride," I whispered, reciting lines from a song off of one of his early records. It seemed bitterly truthful now. He shuddered, lowering his head. I walked past him without a backward glance. I had called a cab and the distant honk let me know I had no time to wait. I climbed inside the yellow haven and was away.

What hadn't been successful was the rest of my life. I'd had three other relationships since Michael and they had all turned into a terrible, painful mess by the end, and I'd been set free every time. So I had stopped trying and had contented myself with a dog named Buttercup. Yes, I am one for self-inflicted torture. Memories are a favourite form of it for me as well.

Over time, I forgave Michael, and the bitterness, the agony, left me. There's still that residual pain that bites at me every now and then when I pull out an old album and hook up the turn style, but nothing that makes me resent a single minute of our time together.

Paul quit working for Michael as soon as he found out what had happened, which was foolish, but Paul has been known to make decisions based solely on emotion. He found work elsewhere, recording a few cartoon series' and even an animated motion picture. He has no regrets either, I don't think.

So, I continued on, living on my own, growing up, learning, but not really living. I had just celebrated my 30th birthday a few weeks ago when I got a phone call. The man on the other end sounded distinctly familiar with he opened not with hello, but with, "Happy Birthday, darlin'."

I had dropped my keys, which I had been holding in my hand-I had just come home-and Michael had questioned the clattering in the background, content to make small talk.

"What in the world," I breathed, shocked and delighted.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Michael admitted.

"Yeah, it certainly has. What made you decide to dig out my number?" I quickly regained my composure.

"Well, I was just wonderin' if you wanted to go out to dinner or somethin'. I'm in town and I couldn't resist checking up on you." He sounded older, slightly lower voice, aged. But it was still as smooth as velvet and comforting to my soul.

"I, well, sure, what could it hurt? But Michael, what's, um, what's her name, going to think?" I asked, referring to his wife, whose name I conveniently couldn't remember.

"Katherine? She's gone Jules, she left about a year ago." He sounded only slightly deflated.

I had forgiven the man, but I couldn't bite back my next remark, "Oh, were there others after me?"

There was dead silence on the other end, and I feared he'd hung up on me, but finally I made out the sound of a slow deliberate breath on the line. "No, no, there were no others after you. I deserved that. The truth is, Katherine turned out to be nothin' but a very smart business partner. She had her heart divided up among her business ventures, and there was nothin' left for me. Is that sufficient?"

I regretted what I'd said immediately and apologized thusly. We chatted for a few more minutes before agreeing on a quiet café not far from either of our places of residences.

Now, what happens, happens, but I do know this: when he called me 'darlin'' I felt a stirring in my heart like I hadn't felt for years, and I knew that I had completely come to terms with whatever pain he had caused me. He had suffered as well, it seems, and now, it was almost like starting over. So, look out, here comes tomorrow, and a time for making new memories.