It was a quiet, early Saturday morning in the pad. Not surprisingly, Mike was the only one awake, but just barely. He was slumped in a chair in front of the television, slowly scraping the remains of his scrambled eggs off of a plate. Satisfied that he'd finally dredged every last ounce of nutrition from his breakfast, he casually placed his fork and plate on the floor, and returned to idly flipping through the newspaper. Occasionally, he would glance up at the cartoons dancing by on the screen.

"Oh no!" one of the characters, who to Mike's eye looked like a potato drawn by someone on a bad acid trip, shrieked. "The eeeevil wizard has stolen the happiness! What should we do?"

Mike snorted in disgust at the overly saccharine cartoon. "Sugar in the programs, sugar in your cereal, oh, yeah, and buy all this stuff," he said quietly to himself, paraphrasing the Saturday morning program philosophy.

"Let's call ACTION MAN!" another character --who looked like a walking tin can with eyes-- said decisively.

"Let's not, if it's all the same to you," Mike suggested, leaning forward to flip off the television set.

~*~

It was a full couple of hours before the rest of the guys awoke. Davy was the first downstairs, blearily fixing his breakfast while Mike tidied up the remains of his own. Tired as he was, Davy didn't take much notice of Mike cleaning, and continued about his daily routine in something akin to a catatonic stupor.

"Davy, you're drippin' everywhere!" Mike exclaimed suddenly, taking note of Davy's cracked cup of orange juice.

"Yeah?" Davy asked tiredly, and wandered out into the living room to watch television.

Mike rolled his eyes.

Soon Micky and Peter ventured downstairs as well.

"G'morning guys," Peter said, yawning.

"Morning... hey, do we have any of that sugary cereal around?" asked Micky. "I need a boost this morning."

"No, all we have to eat is eggs," Mike replied. "Somebody's gonna have to go to the store today."

"Okay. Thanks for volunteering, Mike, you're a real pal," Micky smiled as he began to fix his breakfast.

"What about Davy?" Mike asked, deciding that the best target to throw responsibility on was the one out of the room.

"He's got a date," Micky replied.

"What a surprise."

'The floor's sticky," Peter noticed suddenly.

"Yeah, well, talk to Davy about that one. Jeez, you'd think I was the only person here who knows how to take care of an apartment," Mike griped halfheartedly.

"You are, Mike," Micky quipped as he began frying some eggs. "Hey, Peter, you want me to make yours?"

"Okay," he agreed.

A moment passed, the quiet broken only by the sound of the hissing eggs, until Peter suddenly said, "Mike, there's a spider in my room. Could you get it out? I don't want to kill it, but it's really big."

Mike grimaced, and opened his mouth to say something, but at Peter's innocent and hopeful expression, thought better of it, and headed up to the bedroom in silence.

~*~

"Okay, Peter, I put the spider outside on the window ledge. It ran off, so it's all gone now," Mike called as he re-emerged downstairs.

Peter, however, was paying no attention to anything other than the task at hand, which, to Mike, seemed to be the express goal of plastering eggs onto every available surface.

"Hey Davy, bet I can get one to stick to the lamp!" Micky yelled.

"Betcha can't!"

Grinning at the taunt, Micky catapulted a glob of egg from his fork. Although it did hit the lampshade, it refused to stick, and instead dribbled to the floor in a sad yellow lump.

"I think we need catsup on them," Peter remarked. "Then they'd be stickier."

Mike gaped in amazement. "What is going on down here?" he shouted.

Micky glanced up, "Oh, we're just doing target practice," he explained with a grin.

"Oh, are ya? Is that what you're doin'? Well, I hope you don't expect me to clean up this mess, too!"

"Woah, Mike, calm down man," Davy suggested. "We're just havin' a little fun."

"Yeah," Peter said. "Do we have any catsup?"

Mike stood, aghast at the scene before him. "Y'all do know today's the day Mr. Babbitt comes for the rent, don't ya? What's he gonna do if we don't have it, and this place looks like the inside of a pigsty that's just been hit by hurricane Bessy?" he demanded.

The three shrugged non-comitally.

"I don't know," Peter said sadly. "I'm no good at riddles."

For some reason, Micky chose this point to attempt to lighten the mood. He carefully balanced a large hunk of egg on his fork, and casually flipped it at Mike. Since the Texan was already inscenced by the uninvited presence of egg all over the living room, it wasn't surprising that he failed to notice the yellow globby missile, which pegged him soundly in the side of the head.

Thwaapt!

The egg left little globules on his cheek, and proceeded to dribble slowly to his shoulder.

Almost as if the incident had not occurred, Mike blinked slowly. Then he quietly turned and glared at his friends. Wordlessly, he brushed the egg off of his shirt and face, and stormed into the bathroom.

~*~

An hour later, he still had yet to emerge.

Peter looked around uncomfortably. "I have to use the bathroom."

Micky shrugged. "Well, I do too, but we can't."

"Why not?"

Micky grimaced. "Somebody's in there," he said deliberately.

"Who?"

Davy turned and gave Peter a funny look. "Well, Petah... It's not me, and it's not Micky, 'cause he's right there, and it's not you..." His voice trailed off, suggesting that Peter should be able to finish the sentence himself.

Peter's blank stare, however, suggested otherwise.

"Hey guys, where's Mike?" Micky asked suddenly, feigning innocence.

"That's a good question!" Peter replied.

Davy threw up his arms in exasperation. "Gee, maybe 'e's in the bathroom?"

"Oooh, you're right!" Peter exclaimed. "I'll go check."

He turned and walked over to the bathroom door, and politely knocked on it. "Michael? Mike, are you in there?"

The door opened a crack, and Mike stuck his head out. "No, it's just me."

"Oh," Peter said regretfully, then added, "Well, if you see Mike, let him know that we're looking for him."

"I'll do that," Mike replied earnestly, and promptly shut the door again.

"He wasn't in there. There's someone else, though, who said if he saw Mike he'd tell him that we were looking--"

"What do you mean it wasn't Mike?" asked Micky. "Of course it was Mike. Sure looked like Mike to me."

"But he said he wasn't! Why would Mike lie about that?" Peter asked, a note of panic entering his voice.

Davy shrugged, and walked over to the bathroom. "It's about time he came out anyway. Let me try," he suggested. "Hey, Mike, care to come out of there sometime today?"

No answer.

Micky rolled his eyes, and went over to the door himself. He pounded loudly, and yelled, "Hey man! We know you're in there, so come on out already! Some of us need to use the facilities, too, ya know!"

The door opened a bit, and Mike looked out reproachfully. "What do you want?" he asked, annoyed.

Micky reached through the crack and grabbed Mike's arm. "Come on man, I have to use the bathroom," he pleaded as he tried to pull his friend into the living room.

"Unhand me!" Mike yelled suddenly. "That is no way to treat SHOTGUN MAN!"

As if answering an unheard cue, he leapt out of the bathroom. Pushing Micky sternly aside, he dashed over to the sofa, and stood proudly atop it, in a pose befitting Superman.

Davy swallowed involuntarily, and trying not to laugh, he asked slowly, "Mike, ah, um... Where did you find those boxers?"

For Mike was indeed dressed in the best superhero fashion--tight underwear and a cape.

"Hey, man!" Micky yelled suddenly. "Those're mine!"

"Since when do you wear pink boxers, Micky?" Davy asked.

"They got washed in with my red shirt, okay? They used to be white. I don't wear 'em anymore, anyway."

"That's certainly true," Peter said quietly. He appeared to be on the verge of tears.

"Hey, man, what's wrong?" Micky asked, concerned. "Mike's just foolin', nothin' to get upset about." "No, it's not that," Peter sniffled. "That's my towel..."

Mike's super-hero costume was completed by the presence of a large towel tied around his neck with a bit of string.

"He's... he's... ruined it," Peter noted.

"Yeah, ," Davy agreed.

"Hey, Mike, mind if we take a closer look at that towel?" Micky asked, approaching his friend.

Suddenly Mike's eyes filled with wounded pride. "You dare insult the cape of SHOTGUN MAN?!"

Micky laughed. "Cape? What? No way man, that's a towel!"

"My towel!" Peter reminded them.

Davy managed to sneak behind Mike, and looked at the towel curiously. "What is that all over it, anyway? Looks like someone was sick all over it!"

Curious, Micky joined Davy in inspecting the maligned towel. "Looks like permanent marker. But I can't make out what it's of, man. Hey, Mike, what's the picture supposed to be?"

Mike's stare became slightly unfocused and he gazed out into space for a moment before saluting grandly. "That, my friends, is the mighty Texas Prairie Chicken, protector of all that is decent and good, and animal spirit of SHOTGUN MAN, DEFENDER OF TRUTH AND JUSTICE!!"

Davy grimaced, and whispered quietly to Micky, "I still think it looks like sick."

"Mike, why--" Peter began, but he was interrupted by the hero.

"Who is this Mike you keep talkin' about? Is he in trouble? No need to worry, my young friends! SHOTGUN MAN will save him!"

Micky and Davy laughed weakly.

"Shotgun Man, eh?" asked Davy.

Micky shrugged. "Well, this is probably better entertainment than whatever's on the tube," he conceded. "Whatever you want, Mike. I mean, Shotgun Man."

Concerned, Peter protested, "No, guys, I think there's something wrong with Mike. I don't think he's fooling. He never does stuff like this! Maybe... maybe he's..."

"Maybe 'e's wot?" Davy demanded.

Peter's voice lowered, and a tinge of panic crept into his words. "Maybe he's... insane..."

Micky laughed a little too loudly at Peter's suggestion. "Insane? Mike? No, man, he's just playin' around with us. You know, havin' a little fun. Why would he suddenly just go insane, anyway?"

Peter studied his feet for a moment. "Well, you did throw eggs at him. And he was mad that we messed the place up, and Mr. Babbitt's coming, and we don't have any food, and we always make him do everything, don't we? Maybe we ... drove him over the edge..." He finished brokenly, choking on his words in concern.

"No, not Mike. Mike wouldn't do that," Davy protested. "We do this all the time... right? It wasn't us, it couldn't have been us!"

Micky seemed to be the only one unaffected by Mike's strange behavior. "Of course it's not our fault, man! Jeez, he's only fooling. Can't Mike have any fun, too? Let him be weird for a day, he deserves it. Now I for one am hungry, and I don't want eggs. Let's go get breakfast."

"I don't think we should leave Mike," Peter said decisively.

"Fine, we can bring him or you stay here with him."

Davy grimaced. "Let's not take him out in public."

"Stop talking about him like he isn't here! He's right here, and I think you're more worried than you let on if you don't trust him outside!" Peter exclaimed.

"Great," Micky replied, clearly trying to ignore the outburst. "Me and Davy will bring you back somethin'."

~*~

The time passed slowly for Peter as he tried to snap Mike out of his private little Prairie Chicken-laden world.

"Mike, Mike, it's me, Peter. Don't you recognize me?"

"Listen, shotgun, quit callin' me Mike. It's SHOTGUN MAN!"

"No, that's not your name! I don't know what's wrong with you, but... but..." Peter's breathing became ragged, and he began to sob.

"Hey, calm down there," Mike said comfortingly. "If it'll make ya feel better, I'll tell you my real name, okay?"

Peter just looked at him helplessly, his eyes red and puffy. He also sniffled a bit.

"Nesmith."

With that one small word, Peter's eyes lit up hopefully. He remembers his last name!

"Humperdink Nesmith."

"Hu ... Hu... Humperdink?" Peter asked incredulously, the tears returning to his eyes.

"Yeah, but I don't go by that. When I'm incognito, I go by Humpie. That's my nickname."

Upset as he was, Peter had to laugh at the absurd name. "Humpie? No, there must be a better nickname than that!"

"Like what... Hump? Dink? ... Er?"

Peter smiled at the absurd list of names, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Suddenly, a loud knock disturbed the quiet of the room.

"Your rent is due!" the voice of Mr. Babbitt called from the hall.

"Oh no! We don't have the rent money yet!" Peter remembered. "What are we gonna do?"

"Have no fear," Mike smiled bravely. "SHOTGUN MAN is here! Up, up , and AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY!"

With that, he bounded to the door, and flung it open, nearly hitting Peter as he did so. Mr. Babbitt seemed unaffected by Mike's ridiculous getup, but the reverse was clearly not so. Mike took one look at the landlord, and gasped loudly.

"Oh no! It is my arch nemesis... RENT COLLECTOR!"

"Really cute, you long haired weirdo. I don't suppose you happen to have the rent this month, do you?"

Mike stuck his tongue out at the landlord, and made an awkward noise... "bluddluh-DUM!"

Babbitt remained unamused. "What the hell was that supposed to be?"

"That," Mike replied grandly, "as you well know, you fiend, was the proud cry of the majestic Texas Prairie Chicken--and it strikes terror into your evil heart, as do all symbols of purity and freedom!"

Peter cringed, sure that this outburst was going to lose them the apartment. "No, really, we'll have the rent next week, we're gonna get a gig--"

"Do not try to bargain with the likes of this evil scum!" Mike said roughly. "Nothing will satisfy him except total control of the world!"

~*~

Mr. Babbitt laughed humorlessly. "Look, I don't know what game you're playing, but if you don't have the rent by three thirty this afternoon--"

Before he could finish his threat, however, Micky and Davy returned, bearing a flimsy white cardboard box.

"Hey guys," Micky said, ignoring the landlord. "We brought you back some breakfast."

"Oh, hullo, Mr. Babbitt," Davy said causally. "Come to try to squeeze some money out of us, have you?"

Mike suddenly grabbed his friends and shoved them to safety behind him. "Do you know how much danger you were just in?" he demanded angrily. "Do not underestimate the sheer evil capacity of the Rent Collector!"

Davy snickered. "Rent Collector? I don't suppose you mean as in --

"He's a rent collector,
collector of rent,
he only aims to squeeze
money from us celebrities...
how can I pay him,
when I just don't have cash now?"

-- he sang, in an impromptu parody.

"Laugh all ya want," chastised Mike. "He is pure EVIL! EVIL, EVIL, EVIL!"

Throughout this tirade, Mr. Babbitt had looked on, uninterested. The long haired weirdoes were at it again, and he was beginning to feel as if their whole existence was some sort of massive cosmic joke being played at his expense.

"Look, you're already two months behind--"

"Chill, man," Micky interrupted. "Hey, do ya want a doughnut?"

With that, opened the cardboard box to reveal a shining array of round pastries, some of them plain, some glazed, and some powdered.

"Aaaaaaaaaguuuh!" Mike screamed at the sight of the open box. "Get those things away!"

"What? They're only doughnuts, Mike," Davy said, confused.

"It's SHOTGUN MAN," Mike replied, weakly, as he began to slump against the wall. "And powdered doughnuts are... my... one... weakness...."

Concerned, Peter turned to his friend. "Michael--I mean, Shotgun Man--are you all right? Why are you shaking?"

Mike looked weakly up at his audience. "Doughnuts have the same effect on me as Kryptonite does on my comrade in arms, Superman. Turns me into a quiverin' pile of Texas prairie doody."

Mr. Babbitt decided the time had come for him to leave. "I'll be back at three thirty, and if you don't have the rent, then you're being evicted! Doughnuts, prairie doody, and all!" With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Huh. Well, I'll go put the doughnuts in the kitchen," Micky announced. "At least if Mike starts jumpin' around the room again, we'll know how to stop him."

Peter managed to control his temper just long enough for Micky to hide the threatening pastries. "Would you mind showing some concern here?" he demanded.

"Woah, Peter, calm down, man!"

"No! You and Davy think this is some sort of big joke. Oh look, Mike's playing dumb today. Well he's not doing it for a laugh! There's something wrong with him! He thinks his name is Humperdink! Why would Mike want to be called HUMPIE?"

Davy blinked innocently. "I dunno, it has a rathah poetic ring, I think."

Peter grimaced, "Fine. If you don't care about Michael, do you care about the pad? We're going to be evicted!"

"Not to worry, my young friends!" shouted Mike suddenly. "SHOTGUN MAN will SAVE you! Come, Peter, we must go to the SHOTMOBILE and find a way to save your home!"

Micky and Davy exchanged glances.

"Yeah, man, why don't you two scoot, and we'll stick around here in case any money gets delivered," decided Micky.

"I'd go with yah," Davy offered, "but I'm waiting for a call."

Peter glared at the two, and took Shotgun Man by the hand. "Come on, Mike. Let's go. I don't think we're wanted any longer."

~*~

Activities at the pad continued as normal. Micky spent the afternoon working out the drums for a couple new songs, and Davy sat idly by the phone, awaiting a call from his latest love interest. Neither expected the frantic pounding at the door a mere hour after Peter and Mike had left in such a huff.

"Let me in! Unlock this door!" a voice called.

"That sounds like Mike. I wonder what's wrong," Micky observed idly, as he unlocked the door.

Mike--or, rather, Shotgun Man--burst through the newly opened door with a look of such horror on his face that the two doubting Monkees could not help but feel concerned.

"It's Peter!" yelled Mike. "He's been captured by RENT COLLECTOR!"

Davy rolled his eyes. "Wha' would Mistah Babbitt want with Petah?"

"Mike, knock it off," Micky commanded. "I don't know what's wrong with you today, and I don't know what you've done with Peter, but chill, okay, man?"

"Micky, why are you so uptight? I for one would've thought you'd go along with it, if anybody. Just humah him, and maybe he'll stop," Davy suggested.

"Davy, man, he's just tryin' to out-freak me, 'cuz I hit him with an egg," Micky explained. Then he turned to Mike. "Okay, Mike. I'm sorry, all right? Is that what you wanted to hear? I did not mean to hit you with the stupid egg. Well, no, I did mean to hit you. But I'm sorry about it now. Okay?"

Mike gave them a blank look. "Who is this Mike?" he asked, reaching behind himself to the hatrack and tugging on his green wool hat. "I am Humpie!"

Micky snorted derisively. "Humpie, huh? Well, Humpie, let me tell you something... DROP THE ACT, okay? It's gettin' old!"

Davy glanced between Micky and Mike, concern written all over his face, probably with a dying black permanent pen. "Look, Mick, yah're starting to scare me. What's the mattah?"

"Well, I don't know! Mike's supposed to be the responsible one, isn't he? So I'm not good at it! Sue me!"

The intensity of the argument had concentrated all of Micky and Davy's attention inside of the apartment. As a result, they did not notice the young lady standing awkwardly outside, until she leaned in and spoke up.

"Look, could you stop fighting? We really should go help Peter."

Seeing her forced Davy into a paralyzing fit of giggles. "And... who're you?" he gasped.

"This is PRAIRIE CHICK!" Mike announced proudly, wrapping his bare arm around the pink vinyl of her costume.

Micky raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Prairie Chick, huh? And where did we find that interesting costume, Prairie Chick?"

Prairie Chick was indeed dressed in a fashion that rivaled Mike's for sheer comedic value, although it was clear that far more time had gone into the creation of this outfit. She was clad from head to toe in shiny pink vinyl, and her costume was accented with a perfect duplicate of Peter's towel--strange dark scribble and all.

She smiled slightly. "I was Catwoman for Halloween, but I bleached the outfit and re-dyed it pink."

Davy snorted. "What was Prairie Chick thinking?"

Before she could reply, however, Micky laughed. "Do you have a name like Humpie when you're not on business, or should we call you PC?"

"No, my name's Mina," she replied matter-of-factly.

Distracted from the new arrival for a moment, Davy sniffed the air carefully. "Ah... Mike--I mean, Humpie--what is that smell?"

Indeed, a strong odor had entered the living room with Mike. It was roses. Very very strong, cheaply produced roses.

"Yeah, what is that smell?" demanded Micky.

Davy blushed in sudden recognition. "That's my... body oil," he said quietly.

Micky laughed. "Oh, I see, and is that what's making Mike shine so, or is that just the naturally radiant glow of a youth in the company of a gal in pink vinyl?"

Davy toed the carpet uncomfortably. "No, that's the oil." He snuck another look up at his friend, who had maneuvered across the room, perching on an armchair, then sighed. "I don't use it. Some strange girl... I think her name was Bindi... gave it to me. I think it smells nahsty."

Mina glared at him. "It's nice. And it revitalizes his strength, something he sorely needed after his battle with RENT COLLECTOR!"

Micky laughed sarcastically. "Oh, you mean my donuts? Hey, would you like a donut, Mina?"

Davy giggled, but the hero and his sidekick seemed unamused.

"Shotty, can we really trust these people?" Mina asked in a whisper.

"Perfectly, dear! They are my trusted companions! Now, we must hie hence and save Peter!"

"Fine, fine," conceded Micky. "You've probably got him hid in the closet or something, anyway. Babbitt certainly doesn't have him."

As the group strode purposefully out of the apartment complex, Davy whispered to Mina, "Where on earth did he find a cute chick like you on such short notice?"

~*~

Mina hesitated a second before answering. "Can you keep a secret?" she whispered.

"Of course!" Davy grinned.

"Okay... I work at the supermarket, and he and your friend Peter came in and tried to by a lotto ticket from me, and my manager told me to get rid of them... you know, no shirt, no shoes..." her voice trailed off.

"No... socks?" Davy asked in mock innocence.

Mina glared at him. "No service. Anyway, I ask them to leave, and Humpie--"

"His name's not Humpie. It's Mike. I don't know what's wrong with him, but don't call him that. Please."

"Well, he starts going into this whole thing about how you guys were gonna be evicted. So I asked if I could help, and he said he needed a sidekick, but I'd have to get a costume. So here I am."

Davy sensed that he wasn't being told the whole story. "And this is some sort of secret is it?"

"I don't want Hump-- er, Mike-- to know I told you. He seems very devoted to the superhero bit."

"I see. You in the habit of helping crazed loonies?"

Blushing a little, Mina replied, "Well, no... but... he is kind of cute in those boxers..."

An expression of extreme disgust immediately plastered itself to Davy's face, and he immediately lost all interest in pursuing the heroine. "Ugh! No, no, no. I do not agree with your taste, babe."

Obviously not caring a bit about what the short Brit thought of her taste, Mina simply shrugged.

"We're here! The den of the vile RENT COLLECTOR!" Mike exclaimed as they neared the door into Babbitt's suite. Suddenly, without any sort of warning to his companions, Mike turned and threw himself at the door, which shook under the impact, but refused to open.

"Open up, you SCUM! Your petty barriers cannot hope to stop the forces of good!" he shouted, as he flung his weight at the door again. Once more, it shook.

Mina smiled slightly, and shrugged at Micky and Davy, who were watching the scene with extreme disbelief, tinged with slight horror.

The third time Mike rammed the door, he ran into the knob with his thigh, hard enough to make him cry out in shock. He recovered marvelously, though, and shouted through the door, "You think petty booby traps can stop SHOTGUN MAN? You're more deluded than I thought!"

"What's gotten into him?" Davy whispered, astonished.

"I dunno. He's really gotten into his role, hasn't he?" Micky asked, looking concerned for the first time that day. If Mike was inflicting bodily harm on himself, there just might be something seriously the matter with him.

Before he could hurt himself any more, Mina pulled him gently away from the doorway. "Let me try, Shotty?" she asked politely.

Mike instantly yielded. "Okay, Chickie."

"CHICKIE!?!" Despite his fears for Mike, Micky burst out laughing. "That's almost worse than Humpie!"

"Yeah!" Davy agreed, giggling. "How'd ya come up with that one?"

The superhero shot him a withering glare, but before he could verbally defend his sidekick, she exclaimed, "I got it, it's open!"

"Do you have some sort of strange door opening device somewhere in that outfit?" Davy asked curiously.

"No. It was already unlocked."

Mike had the decency to blush under his companion's derisive smiles, but refused to comment on his antics further than muttering, "Well, at least I didn't have to punch my fist through it..."

~*~

Mr. Babbitt was sitting on his sofa, hunched over a stack of papers spread around his coffee table. When the group entered, he looked up angrily and in the split second it took him to recognize them, his frown deepened. "What do you want?"

"We're here to save poor, innocent Peter from your evil grasp!" shouted Mike.

Mr. Babbitt, confused, began to protest, but Mike refused to give him the opportunity.

"Don't play stupid with me, RENT COLLECTOR! I know you've got him hidden away in here somewhere, probably in a dimly lit, damp cell, where he languishes and... um... yeah," he finished lamely, forgetting his train of thought. "Chickie, you and Davy go look for him. Micky and I can deal with this scum!"

"Deal with him yourself, man, I'm not gettin' involved in this," Micky protested.

"What do you kids think you're doing?!" the landlord demanded. "I already gave you an--"

"Come on Davy, let's go," Mina suggested, forcibly pulling him into the next room.

Mike turned on his companion, his face red with anger. "You REFUSE to help me?"

"Look, I don't know what you're trying to pull here, but if you're trying to somehow get out of paying your rent, you can forget it! Now scram!" Babbit interrupted.

"Come on, Mike, let's get outta here," Micky pleaded, trying ineffectually to pull the stubborn hero out the door behind him.

Mina and Davy reappeared, accompanied by a noticeable lack of Peter.

"He's not here, Shotty," Mina reported. "Let's go."

"Yeah, why don't you just leave," the landlord growled. "Come back when you have some money. And you, aren't you the one who normally has the hat?"

"Chickie! He's discovered my SECRET IDENTITY!" Mike asked, his voice suddenly full of fear.

"It's okay, Shotty, we'll devise you another one," his sidekick consoled.

"I'll take that as a yes. Wear some more clothes, you could scare people like that."

"How dare you to INSULT the PROUD COSTUME of SHOTGUN MAN?"

"What costume? You're in underwear and a towel. Now, her outfit, that's a proud costume..."

Mina gaped in horror at the landlord's words. Luckily, Micky managed to grab ahold of Mike before he did something drastic.

"Come ON, Mike, let's go," he suggested.

"You're right. Filthy evil RENT COLLECTOR," cursed Mike. "He must have put Peter in a HIDDEN lair. We're gonna have to make a new plan!"

With that, the group quickly filed out of the landlord's apartment and headed back to the Pad.

"I can't believe he wasn't there..." murmured Mike. "I feel so... deceived... And then he tried to wheedle my sidekick to the dark side..."

"It's okay, Shotty," his sidekick consoled. "I wouldn't leave you for Babbitt, don't worry. Hey, I know... When we get Peter back, we can all go out and get oatmeal cookies, how does that sound?"

"What?!" asked Davy, amazed at the non sequitur.

"He likes oatmeal cookies," Mina replied, as if discussions of favored snacks were commonplace after unsuccessful encounters with landlords and villains. "Besides, they revitalize his strength."

Davy began to pose another question, but Micky cut him off. "Don't worry about it, man. If he's loopy, so's she. But ya know, neither of them are. They're just acting. And I have to admit I'm gettin' a little sick of this whole hero thing. Okay guys? You've made your point. Hardy har har, Mike can have a good laugh, too. Now can we just drop it?"

Mike and Mina simply stared at him blankly.

"If it is an act, they're sticking by it, Mick," Davy sighed. "Maybe they really are crazy?"

Before the discussion could progress, however, the group arrived back at the Pad. Mina tried one last time to cheer up the discontented hero. The two Monkees exchanged curious glances at her tactics.

"What're you trying to do, strangle 'im?" asked Davy.

He was treated to an icy stare. "I'm trying to kiss him, if you must know."

"Wow, you two really hit it off fast," Micky interjected. "Or is this common practice for sidekicks? Does Robin kiss Batman when he's feelin' blue, too?"

"You call that a kiss? I'll show you how to give somebody a kiss!" retorted Davy. In the blink of an eye, he had his arms around Mina, and only her keen reflexes prevented her from experiencing an unwelcome sample of the Jones charm. She shoved him away with a small shriek.

"What? What'd I do?" he asked, confused.

Suddenly he realized that Mike was right behind him. "Are you tryin' to hit on my sidekick?" he growled.

"No! I just--"

"You just what?" he demanded, the menace growing in his voice.

"Shotty! Calm down!" Mina shouted. "He didn't mean anything by it!"

He looked dubiously at Davy, then back at Mina. "Well... if ya say so..."

"What's going on down there?" called a voice from upstairs.

"Is that Petah?" asked Davy, doubly relieved.

As if in answer to his question, Peter came calmly down the stairs. "Oh, hey guys. I convinced Mr. Babbitt to give us an extension... I told him... um... that... ah...." Peter suddenly blushed in embarrassment. "Well... I told him that we were renting Mike out for parties to get money. Was that wrong? I thought it would explain his... behavior... and--"

Micky laughed loudly. "Yeah, Peter, that was perfect! We really should rent him out! Him and Prairie Chick!"

Peter looked confused. "Prairie Chick?"

Mina introduced herself.

"Oh. Um. Hi," Peter said, smiling awkwardly. "Um. Nice outfit?"

Davy smiled. "You know, we probably could really make a lot of money rentin' em out. They sure are entertaining!"

"You want entertainin', you three should hire yourselves out as professional egg splatterers," Mike observed wryly.

It took the others a moment to realize the significance of his statement.

"Did you say--"

"Wha--"

"You mean he's--"

"Yup," Mike grinned.

Davy reclaimed his senses before the others. "MIKE! You're okay!"

"That's right," he smiled, clearly enjoying the confusion he was causing.

Peter's eyes lit up. "Mike! You're back!" he cried, embracing his friend.

"Yep. Woah, Peter, calm down there, shotgun. It's okay."

"But, but... you... you were--"

"I know. Was it really that convincin'?"

Peter gasped. "You mean--"

"Of course," Micky interrupted, a tone of superiority in his voice. "Mike was fooling. I told you. If anyone can tell a fool, it's--"

"A bigger fool?" Mike asked, his wide smile betraying the joke.

"You want some more eggs?" Micky laughed.

"It was a good act, though!" Davy interrupted. "He sure had me going!"

Sensing that her friends had other things on their minds; things that didn't require her presence, Mina smiled and tried to back quietly out the front door.

"Hey, Mina, where're you going? We need to know how you got into all this," Micky called after her.

"Yeah, what're ya doin' Mina?" Mike asked. "Come on, get back in here."

"You sure? I really don't have much to contribute to the conversation," she protested feebly.

"We need to know how you got messed up in this," Davy persisted.

"It's really very simple, Mike and I--"

"We've been seeing each other a while now," he explained.

"You HAVE?" Davy's mouth dropped open. "But, but Mike, you've never said anything about a girlfriend..."

"Just because he doesn't go on about it like you do," Micky grinned, "doesn't mean he doesn't."

"Anyway, I guess I'd better start at the beginning," Mike continued.

"Yeah, where'd you two meet anyway?" Davy asked.

"I meant about the whole hero thing. Or is that pass compared to my personal life?" the Texan asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling slightly.

Peter had, up until this point, been shocked into silence. His joy at seeing his friend "recovered" at worn off, and the expression on his face was anything but thankful.

"You made it up? You were pretending?" he asked, incredulously. The hint of anger in his voice was faint, but markedly different from his usual easygoing tone.

"Yep, Peter, I was."

"You... you were okay the whole time, then? You put me through HELL worrying about you, and you were FAKING IT THE WHOLE TIME?!" he shouted.

"Woah, woah, Peter, calm down, just calm down," Micky soothed, grabbing his friend's arm.

Peter wrenched it away, and stormed up to Mike, nose to nose, staring him down. It was easy to forget just how tall Peter was, but he had drawn himself up to his full height and, enraged, looked every bit the match for Mike.

"The boxers, the towel, the name... I can see where all that is funny now, Mike. But playing with my heart like that? You knew Micky and Davy wouldn't worry. But me? You saw me." Suddenly, he turned away from Mike and addressed the entire group. "You all saw me. Nobody else cares, but poor, stupid Peter will fall for it. We'll run poor, stupid, silly Peter's heart through the ringer, and have a damn good laugh later. Well, you may think that's the height of entertainment, guys, but I don't. From now on... find another fool, why don't you?"

The rest of the group stared, speechless. They were used to impassioned outbursts from Mike, from Micky and Davy, even, on occasion. But Peter? He usually just smiled and shrugged it off. Never this bad.

Mike found his tongue first, and carefully approached Peter. "You've got to believe me, I didn't mean it like that, I--"

"Then why didn't you tell me, Mike?" Peter asked quietly, the catch in his voice betraying that he was near tears. "You could have told me. You could have stopped. You saw how upset I was, how worried I was for you. Why didn't you tell me?"

Under the deep pain of his friend's gaze, Mike could only swallow hard and shrug. "I... I dunno, Peter. I guess I was too caught up in myself to notice..."

What Peter said next was out of character enough for him to drive his point home with his audience. "Yeah, I guess you were. And for once, I'm going to get caught up in myself. Worry about me for a change, instead of any of you. Goodbye."

He turned towards the door. The only thing between him and freedom was eight feet of carpet and Mina.

"Don't go," she said quietly. "I feel really bad about all this... it was my idea."

"I'm not upset with you. Mike played the game on his own. He hurt me, on purpose, and--"

"Hold it right there, shotgun!" Mike yelled, suddenly angry himself. "I did not hurt you on purpose. What am I, some kind of madman now?"

Davy or Micky might have laughed at the incongruity of that statement had they not been entirely caught up in the raging emotions of the confrontation.

"THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP, MIKE?!" Peter wailed at the top of his lungs. His voice echoed around the room, and even made the walls vibrate a bit.

From the look on his face, it seemed as if Mike was going to meet Peter's words with force of his own, and not necessarily vocal. He strode purposefully over to Peter, and this time when they stared each other down, two penetrating glares met with equal force. Blood, they each seemed to say, will have to be shed before this problem is resolved, and it's not going to be mine.

Mina watched the unfolding scene with a mixture of horror and awe. She had heard from her friends about his legendary temper, but never thought she'd see it in action so soon, and against one of his best friends.

Micky glanced over at Davy, terrified. He swallowed involuntarily in fear, and in the dead silence that had permeated the room, whispered, "Guys? Guys, we've got company."

"Maybe we should leave?" Davy suggested in a very small voice.

"No," Peter practically cut him off. "I'll leave."

"No, you won't," Mike hissed. "You will stay right there, Peter Halsten Torkhelson, and listen to what I have to say."

"Poor, stupid Peter. Can't even understand something unless he's reprimanded like a child," Peter spat, his tone filled with cynicism and bite.

"Peter, I'm sorry," Mike said simply.

Something in Mike's tone took Peter by surprise, and he hesitated a fraction of a second before replying.

"Mike, I--"

But Mike had taken advantage of the opportunity, continuing, "I am sorry. I am sorry for treating you like a kid when you, of all people, are strong enough to care about your friends so much. I'm the stupid one, Peter, not you. I honestly didn't see what I was doin' to you. And I am sorry. I thought it was just a doofy Peter reaction... first the spider, then the towel, then me. I'm sorry."

Though his voice remained calm and steady throughout his speech, it was clear that he was fighting very hard with himself for that control.

Perhaps it was this struggle, manifested mysteriously in Mike's voice, that convinced Peter his words were genuine. He wrapped his arms around his friend and sobbed into his shoulder.

"Hey, Peter, watch it, shotgun... I said I'm sorry, what more do you want from me?" Mike joked, obviously trying to choke back his own tears. "So, you're gonna stay now?"

Peter only nodded, still overcome and unable to speak.

Although his threat of leaving had been short, there was no doubt in any of the spectators' minds that it had been genuine, and relief flooded the room now that he had forgiven them.

~*~

The group took some time out to recuperate from the events of the day before broaching the subject again. Mike and Mina repaired to a corner to talk, Peter went up to his room with his guitar, and Micky and Davy decided to go to the grocery store.

By the time they got back, the atmosphere at the pad had settled down to something close to normalcy.

"So, Mike, ya gonna tell us about the whole Shotgun Man thing?" Davy asked carefully.

"Yeah, you guys are probably eatin' yourselves alive tryin' to figure it out, right?" Mike grinned. "Sure, go get Peter."

"Are you sure that's okay?" Mina asked, concerned that they would have a repeat argument.

"Yup. Peter's sweet like that, he forgives ya, and he means it."

"I'll go get him," Micky volunteered, bounding up the steps two at a time, in eagerness to hear the story.

Five minutes later, the group was assembled. Mike surveyed his audience, and cleared his throat. "Okay, I hope I don't bore any of ya to death here. It started out a few days ago, Mina and I were just talkin', and I guess I was kinda gripin' about havin' to do everythin' around here. The dishes, the groceries--"

"But we just got the groceries ourselves!" Micky protested, grinning.

Mike rolled his eyes and continued, "and people bein' silly all the time when they should be serious. And Mina said it'd be too bad if I went insane, then what would ya do? We had a good laugh about it, and I forgot about it until this mornin'. When everythin' seemed to be goin' wrong."

"Gee, Mike, I'm... I'm sorry," Davy interrupted. "I didn't know that we bugged you so much."

"No, no, guys, don't take it the wrong way. I mean, yeah, it's annoyin' and I'd prefer ya not to do it sometimes, but... ah heck, I'm a neat freak and a perfectionist. There ya go. Anyway, this mornin' somethin' snapped... I didn't go looney, but I got really mad."

"Sorry 'bout the egg," Micky mumbled.

"Wait a minute," Davy interjected, before Mike could continue. "You're tryin' to tell us that you screamed at Babbitt like a madman while bein' in your right mind? I don't buy it."

Mike shrugged, grinning. "Well, he already thinks we're weirdoes. Probably assumed we were all high or somethin'... worth it to me just to see that look on his face when we barged in," he laughed. "Anyway, I went into the bathroom to try to calm down, and I see that pair of boxers you wrecked, Micky. And I see Peter's towel in a little heap. And this gets me more mad--even the bathroom's messy! Then, for some reason, I remember a cartoon I watched earlier. Action Man. And I figure, why not have a little fun while I'm at it? And Shotgun Man was born. Peter and I went to talk to Babbitt, and I volunteered to 'watch for evil spies', and I split and went to Mina's place, luckily she had this getup already for Halloween, and we ran back here. I think the rest you know."

"I told you all he was kidding," Micky announced grandly, after a slight pause.

No one laughed at Micky's joke, and an awkward silence descended upon the room. Each, with the possible exception of Mina, had something new to consider about their role in the ongoing friendship. Mina, sensing that what the boys really needed now was some quiet time alone, turned to leave, but Mike called after her softly, "Forgettin' somethin'?"

"What?" she asked, slightly confused. Had she left something behind?

"C'mere, darlin'," he smiled, extending his hand.

She took his hand, and shot him a questioning glance. "Do I owe you money?" she laughed, half-joking.

He grinned, pulling her closer. "Not quite."

After a respectful silence lasting approximately five seconds, Micky turned to Davy. "See?" he taunted. "She can too kiss. And so can Mike, from the looks of it."

Indeed they could. This was a prime example of a textbook perfect kiss, although any mere printed medium would have an extremely difficult time conveying the emotion and passion of the subject. The two were utterly lost in their own world, silent and tender.

This fact, however, did not stop Micky from running quiet commentary.

"Do you think they're gonna go for tongue?" he whispered.

Davy, the staunch romantic, cuffed him sharply. "Shhhh!"

Peter, uncomfortable at being witness to such intimacy, blushed and asked rather loudly, "Do you want us to leave?"

Mike jumped involuntarily at the unexpected comment. "Thank you, Peter."

"Oh, it's not his fault," Mina smiled. "We were pretty... intense."

Smiling, Mike leaned over and whispered something in her ear, at which she giggled.

"I think we need rescuing from them now," Micky grimaced.

Laughing, Davy agreed. "Yeah, we need a hero of our own."

"You know, guys," Peter said, after pausing a second to glance back at the couple. "In times of stress and danger, like this one, I think it's important to ask yourself something."

"What's that, Peter?" Mike asked, bemused.

"What would Shotgun Man do?" he replied with a wicked, decidedly un-Peterish grin.

Micky suddenly ran into the kitchen, returning a split second later with the cold, rubbery remains of the egg breakfast and the half-empty box of doughnuts. "Better yet, what would we do? Here's the ammunution, we got our practice this morning, and now, let's get 'em, guys!"