"Here I stand... happy man.... Here I stand... happy man...."

Peter looked around as Davy stepped into the room, worry making lines across his handsome face. "'Ow's he doing?" the smaller man asked, his voice grim.

Peter just shook his head. "Not good. His fever's gone up."

"Maybe we should take him to the hospital?"

Peter reached down and took a small rag out of the bucket of ice water he'd placed by the bedside, running the cloth over Mike's forehead. "I don't know if we should move him."

"If we don't take him, he could...." Davy cut himself off, unwilling to say the word.

Peter pursed his lips, his hand clenching into a fist. Water streamed from the cloth onto the sheets. "He won't. I won't let him."

Davy sighed and seated himself on the chair opposite Peter. He watched in silence as Peter continued blotting Mike's chest and forehead with the ice water. Mike just moaned, his eyelids fluttering as he ceaselessly mumbled the same phrase over and over. "Here I stand... happy man...."

Peter suddenly paused, hand still resting lightly on Mike's chest. "Davy... maybe this is worse than what we thought. He's not getting any better." He paused, the looked up, his face uncertain. "This all started after the party.... You don't think he... took something, do you?"

"What do you mean, 'took something'?"

"You know, like...." Peter lowered his voice, looking around before continuing, as if he was afraid someone would hear. "... Drugs."

Davy shook his head vigorously. "He wouldn't. Not Mike."

Peter nodded grimly, his hand slowly moving back down to the bucket of water at his feet. "No.... Not on purpose."

Davy sucked in a sharp breath, hand snapping shut into a fist, sheets caught in his merciless grip. "You don't think someone would...."

"I don't know," Peter said dully. "We weren't with him the whole time."

"Micky was."

"Where is Micky?"

"Shopping. We're out of food."

"Figures."

"'E's picking up some more aspirin too. There's only a little left."

"The aspirin wasn't helping anyway."

"We can ask 'im when 'e gets back. Maybe 'e saw something."

"Maybe." Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

Davy's hand wandered down to Mike's and he grasped it gently, almost with a mother's touch. "Come out of it, Mike," he whispered, "We need you."

~*~

Micky burst into the pad with characteristic vigor, arms laden with shopping bags. The severity of their situation wasn't lost on him - in fact, he was more worried than he'd ever been. But he forced himself to put on a happy face, to keep life as normal as possible. "Hey guys?" he called, a false note of cheer in his voice. "I'm back! I got the stuff! Where is everyone?"

He headed straight for the downstairs bedroom, knowing that the others were sure to be there, sitting with Mike. He paused for a moment, gathering his strength. It was so hard to face them - to see Mike so small and helpless. Why hadn't he gotten better? What was wrong with him, why did the fever keep going up? And what the hell did "happy man" mean?

"Guys?" He stepped into the room, a noticeably fake smile plastered on his face. "So has he woken up yet?"

Peter didn't even look up. He just shook his head. Micky rooted through the bag until he grasped a small bottle of aspirin, then handed it to Davy. "It's been four hours, hasn't it? He needs another hit."

Peter looked at him sharply. "That's not funny, Micky."

Micky drew back, shocked at the venom in Peter's normally serene voice. "What...?"

"Micky, you were with 'im at the party weren't you?" Davy asked, his voice pleading.

"Well, most of the time... but what does that have to do with-?"

"Did he... do anything odd?"

"Odd?"

"Yeah."

"Not.... I don't think.... What?"

"Did he take anything?" Peter asked bluntly. "Was there anything going on at this party that we didn't know about?"

"No! Not... from what I saw.... You know he's not into that stuff, man.... I'm not into that stuff."

"Well something's up. He got sick after the party, and he hasn't gotten better. As a matter of fact, he's been getting steadily worse."

"We're thinking about takin'im to the hospital," Davy added.

"But if it is drugs... he'll get in trouble! Besides, I already told you. He wouldn't do anything like that!"

"Well, what did he eat, what did he drink?"

"Well, he had some drinks, I don't know.... Coke...."

"Coke?"

"Cola, man, cola."

"Who gave it to him?"

"I don't know! C'mon Pete, I can't watch him every second-"

"Dammit Micky!"

Micky's almond eyes widened in shock. Sweet, gentle Peter never used language like that. Never. "Well... I guess Jeanie did. She and Sam were with us a lot."

"Jeanie...." Davy looked at Peter, eyes grim. "Makes sense. I 'eard she was into some o' that really heavy stuff."

"Are you saying you think he's... high?"

"More than high, Mick. 'E's withdrawing. Look at'im. 'E's shakin' like a newborn colt."

Micky shivered involuntarily, taking in Mike's pale and sweaty face. "So what do we do?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't know, Mick. I really have no idea."

~*~

"Jeanie!" Davy pounded viscously at the door to apartment 4B, causing it to rattle on its hinges. "Jeanie, open this door!" His voice was gravelly with rage, his nerves wound so tight he didn't even feel it as he scraped his knuckles raw on the coarse wooden door.

The door swung leisurely open, revealing a tallish girl with long, stringy, faded brown hair lounging casually against the frame. She wore nothing but an oversized white T-shirt, through which could clearly be seen the outline of a skimpy pair of red bikini panties. Her hair was completely disheveled, and her eyes were slightly bloodshot and red rimmed.

As he took in her state of undress and her casual demeanor, his temper flared. "Which one of you did it," he half yelled, half growled.

"Sam, it's for you," Jeanie croaked, cautiously backing up. The anger in Davy's normally love-struck eyes was enough to shock her sober.

Sam came to the door, barely dressed in a pair of thin boxer shorts, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked derisively at the short English man. "Yeah?" he asked rudely.

Davy snapped. "YOU DRUGGED MIKE!" he bellowed, as he leapt at Sam, his hands locking around his throat.

"Ggrat! Hngght!" Sam could only manage a surprised croak as Davy poured his rage and frustration into a death grip around his windpipe.

"Davy!" Jeanie screeched, "Let him go, what are you doing!"

"WHICH ONE OF YOU DID IT?!"

"Did what," she cried again, desperately trying to pull Davy away from her rapidly weakening boyfriend.

Davy glared down at Sam's bluish face, reveling in the pleasure he felt as the other man's life ebbed away below his fingers. "Which one of you drugged Mike," he repeated, dragging out the words through gritted teeth.

"Please Davy!" Jeanie was sobbing now, "You're killing him!"

"AND YOU'RE KILLING MIKE!" he roared, violently releasing Sam.

"I did it," Jeanie babbled, throwing her arms around Sam and dragging him bodily away from Davy. "I'm sorry, I was just fooling around-"

"IF HE DIES-!"

The anger seemed to evaporate from him, his face going pale all at once as his words finally sunk in. "If he dies...."

Davy stood, stepping back toward the open doorway. His brown eyes were hard and cold, his voice flat. "Next time I won't let go."

He stalked out of the small apartment, casting one last contemptuous glance behind him. "You can bloody well bet on that."

~*~

Deja vu. Peter nodded a bit to himself as he finally realized what he'd been feeling. "Huh."

"What?" Micky asked, looking up at him.

"Deja vu," he explained. "An few hours ago, Davy was sitting there... just like you are now."

"Oh."

"See, I expect Davy to be quiet. Not you."

Micky shifted uncomfortably, sensing that something not-so-pleasant was about to happen. "What makes you say that," he asked, trying to keep his nervousness out of his voice.

"Because you're not the quiet type. You've been sitting so still for the last hour.... It's pretty obvious what's wrong, but I'm starting to worry about you."

Micky laughed nervously. "Worry about me? What are you talking about, worry.... I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"Sure I am."

"Micky, you're not yourself, I've never seen you this quiet. You never sit this still for so long."

"Well, he's sick, he doesn't need me making a whole bunch of noise...."

"Oh come on, Micky, he doesn't even know we're here, it wouldn't matter if you fired a cannon in his ear, it wouldn't disturb him."

"Here I stand... happy man," Mike muttered, as if illustrating Peter's point.

"Yeah, well...." Micky flushed and turned away. "Excuse me for trying to be considerate."

"Aww, Mick, I'm sorry.... I was just.... I'm worried about you, that's all. Do you... want to talk...?"

Micky furrowed his brow, eyes becoming impossibly small. "Talk? What're ya- talk?"

"Yes, Micky, talk." Peter sighed, folding the cold compress into a small rectangle and placing it on Mike's forehead.

"Talk...." Micky paused. "Well, uh... maybe... but not now. Everything's too... weird, right now. Y'know?"

"Sure," Peter smiled. "Whenever you're ready."

"Okay," Micky agreed, leaning back in his chair. They sat there in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to Mike's nonsense ramblings. Now he was talking about laughing porpoises.

"Well okay Pete, if you reallywanna talk...."

Peter rolled his eyes and sat back, folding his arms across his chest. "I really think it'd help me, Mick."

Micky shot him a grateful look, then immediately dropped his eyes back down to his lap, wringing his hands between his knees. "I just.... It's just so hard," he began, his voice unusually soft. "I was scared, you know? I didn't know what to do when he got so sick.... And Davy was acting so weird... you'd think he was dying or something! I thought he just had a bit of flu, that's all, but... now you're saying he's OD'd on something, and you know what happens to people when they OD. People die, Peter, and...." He bit his lip, searching for the words. "I just wanted things to be normal. It's a lot easier to be silly than it is to be... to be sad and frightened, but I am frightened, and I hate it! I.... I just didn't want it to show."

Peter reached across the bed and laid a hand on Micky's arm. "You shouldn't be afraid to show your feelings, Mick, especially not around us. We're family. And besides, we're all feeling it. Davy's... I've never seen him this wound up. He was so angry earlier.... I saw him on the beach, just hurling stones out into the ocean. And I'm feeling it too. I can't tell you how scared I was... how scared I still am." He smiled a bit. "But he is getting better. His fever's let up a bit."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So don't worry, Micky. You don't have to put on any acts for us."

Micky smiled, feeling a great weight lift from his chest. "Thanks, Pete."

"No problem." Peter stood and stretched. "Listen, I think I'm gonna go for a walk on the beach. You seem like you could use some time to yourself, and I think Davy can use the company. Why don't you keep an eye on Mike?"

"Uhm... sure. I don't think he's gonna wake up any time soon, huh?" he half-heartedly joked, nodding his head at Mike.

"Yeah," Peter chuckled, raising his eyebrows. Then he suddenly turned serious. "But you know.... If anything should... go wrong... do what you need to do. We'll know if you're at the, ah... hospital."

"Thanks, Peter. I'll take care of him." He watched as Peter walked out of the room, and listened to the front door gently close. Turning his attention back to Mike, he furrowed his brow as Mike's face twisted in an expression of... pain?

He began to toss his head back and forth, his mumblings getting louder and more frantic, his fists clenching at his side. "No.... No, please...."

"Ah... Peter?" Micky called out nervously, even though he knew Peter couldn't hear. "Pete, something's going on here...."

"Micky...?" Mike's eyes fluttered open and he fixed a glassy-eyed stare on Micky. "No... Micky, you're dead," he moaned. "I saw you die...."

"Die? No way, Mike, I'm fine, see?" Micky grasped Mike's hand in his own. "Look, see, I'm okay.... and so are you...."

"No...." Mike shook his head, clutching Micky's hand as if it were a life preserver. "The bridge... mermaids... I'm sorry...."

"You're not making any sense.... Mike, look around, man! You're sick, you're imagining things."

Mike reached up and gently cupped Micky's face in his hand. Micky had to force himself not to flinch back from the intense heat emanating from Mike's body. "You're... you're really here?"

"Yeah Mike, I'm okay-"

"Don't jump, please...."

"I won't. Look, see? I'm... I'm fine, no jumping."

"Mermaids-"

"There's no mermaids, man. Look, just hang on, okay? I'm gonna go get Peter-"

"No! Oh God...."

"What-?"

"I can't.... He hates me!"

"Peter doesn't hate you-"

"I yelled at him...."

"When? I mean.... Mike, you've been sick." He backed away toward the door. "Just relax, okay? Don't worry-"

"The box...."

"Just... sit tight, okay?"

"Don't leave me! The box...!"

"What box, there's no box. Look, you're in Davy and Peter's room, man, it's not a box-"

"Don't laugh-"

"I'm not laughing-"

"Don't never laugh at no cripples."

"You're not a cripple-"

"Tell him he's not the Dummy! Tell him I'm sorry!"

"Who-?"

"Please, Micky...." Mike's eyes closed again as all the strength seemed to leave his body. "Don't jump... don't.... I'm sorry."

"I...." Micky stood there, open-mouthed and confused as Mike drifted back into unconsciousness. Then, he turned and ran.

~*~

"He was talking about mermaids," Micky babbled, bodily dragging Peter and Davy back to the pad. "And he kept saying he was sorry, and he told me not to jump-"

"But Micky, he's been saying all kinds of weird things," Davy objected, "Evah since the party-"

"But he was awake, Davy! He was looking right at me!"

"Are you sure he saw you?" Peter asked. "Maybe he didn't really know what was going on."

"No, Pete, he was talking to me, I swear it! He was really upset about something!"

They reached the pad and burst inside, heading straight for the sickroom. Mike lay there, just the way Micky had left him - very still and quiet.

"His fever's still pretty high," Peter noted, placing a hand on Mike's forehead. "Mike...? Mike, can you hear me?"

Mike moaned slightly, pulling away from Peter's touch. "No... don't.... I'm sorry...."

"Sorry for what?" Peter asked him quietly, gently.

Mike's eyes opened and he fixed a tear-filled gaze on Peter. A perfectly lucid gaze. "I'm sorry Peter."

Micky nudged Davy, his eyes going wide. "You see?!" he whispered. Davy just stared.

"Sorry for what," Peter asked again, taking Mike's hand.

"You're not a Dummy... I never meant to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me Mike-"

"Please, Peter.... Forgive me...."

"I-"

"Do it Peter," Davy said quietly. "He needs to hear it. Just say you forgive him."

Peter gazed down at Mike and solemnly wiped an errant tear from his cheek. "I forgive you, Mike. It's okay."

"You're not a Dummy-"

"I know. It's alright." He hugged Mike gently, and once again took his seat by the bed. "Go to sleep Mike, everything will be okay."

"The porpoise is laughing...."

"It's alright, just go to sleep."

"Living is a lie."

~*~

"Oh, for cryin' out-"

Mike cut himself off with a frustrated sigh and scowled a bit as he crumpled his newspaper into a tight ball. It seemed he'd been trying to read the same sentence for the past hour and still wasn't getting anywhere.

He glared down at his shaking hands and the ink that had rubbed off onto his fingers with distaste. "Peter, where's my lunch," he snapped loudly, then cringed a bit. There was really no need to take his frustration out on Peter, was there? "That is, I mean, is the soup ready yet," he called again, this time in a much calmer voice.

"Almost," came the answer. Peter poked his head into the room and eyed the destroyed paper. "What happened in here?"

"I'm sorry, Peter, I just got upset. My hands were shakin' and I couldn't hold the paper still...."

Peter shook his head disaprovingly. "I would have read it to you."

"The whole paper?" Mike snorted rather rudely. "No way, man, you'd lose your voice after the third story. Besides, I don't want you readin' to me. Matter of fact, I don't want you cookin' for me, an' bringin' me stuff...." He crossed his arms and slouched down in the bed with a dark glower. "Of all the rotten things that could happen to a person."

"I know you're frustrated, Mike," Peter said patiently, stepping into the room and taking a seat on the edge of the bed, "But you're doing a lot better than you were. The shaking will stop soon, and then we can get back to normal."

"I know, Pete, I'm sorry. I'm just so tired of lyin' around, doin' nothin'! It's a nice day, and I can't enjoy it. It's a good newspaper, and I can't enjoy it. I can't play my guitar, I can't even make my own lunches. I feel like a... like a...."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I dunno. Forget it, Pete." Mike wrinkled his nose and sniffed at ther air. "Is somethin' burnin'?"

Peter gave a start and shot out the door. "The soup!"

Mike had to chuckle at that. "Same ol' Peter."

~*~

Peter raced into the kitchen and turned off the fire under the soup, hurriedly pouring it into another pot. He took a cautious spoonful and sipped at it, noting with much relief that it hadn't burned enough to ruin the taste. He prepared a small bowl of it for Mike, then cut the ham and cheese sandwich he'd been making and placed half of it on the tray along with the soup. To finish off the meal, he poured a tall glass of milk and carefully folded a paper napkin into fourths.

Once he finished, he stood back and swept a critical eye over the meal. It would do, he decided. It might be a bit too much, but whatever Mike didn't eat, he'd just put away for later.

"Wha' you doing," Davy asked suddenly from the living room. He'd been talking on the phone to his latest girlfriend for the better part of an hour.

"Oh, just finishing up Mike's lunch. He's feeling a little better today," Peter smiled.

Davy made a discouraged face. "Yeah, if you wanna take his grumbling for a good sign." He turned his attention back to the phone. "Wot was that? Oh, we were just talking about Mike. Yeh, the one with the hat. 'E's been sick."

Peter shook his head a bit and gathered up the tray, heading toward the downstairs bedroom where Mike waited not-so-patiently for his lunch. Despite his complaints, Peter found it difficult to find fault. After all, Mike wasn't used to being so helpless. He was itching to be out of bed and on his feet again, so of course he'd be a bit irritable. It seemed he'd been biting back on his temper quite a lot since he'd been alert, too, so he was at least trying to be courtious.

Peter was halfway to Mike's door when there was a knock on the door. He stopped, tray still in hand, momentarily frozen by indecision.

"I got it," Davy offered. "Could you please hang on again, Luv? There's someone at the door."

"Thanks," Peter gratefully sighed, and continued on his way.

Davy stood and stretched, then headed to the door and threw it open, the friendly greeting dying on his lips as his eyes lit upon....

"Jeanie," he growled, all humor vanquishing into hatred. "What the hell are you doin' ere?"

In the bedroom, Mike and Peter's eyes met for a split second, and then Peter was out the door like a shot. "Jeanie! And Sam! Hi, umm... what are you doing here?"

Davy was clutching the doorknob so hard that his knuckles had turned white. His entire body was tensed in anger, and he glared up at the two visitors with such malice that even Peter had to suppress a shudder. Jeanie was wide-eyed, her own gaze holding only naked fear. Sam gulped and stepped behind his girlfriend, his hand flying up to cover his throat...where he still wore faint marks from Davy's fingers.

"We...." Jeanie lifted her eyes to Peter's, her tongue flicking out to wet dry lips as she spoke. "We... we wanted to see how... how Mike's doing," she answered in a weak and trembling voice.

Davy's grip tightened on the doorknob as he glared harder at them. "'Ow dare you come'ere? You nearly killed him, and now you want-"

"Davy," Peter interrupted quietly, "Why don't you go see what Micky's up to?"

"But Peter, they-"

"I think I heard him calling you."

Davy opened his mouth as if to protest again, but Peter shook his head, his gaze steady. "Please?"

Davy shut his mouth with a snap and whirled around, stomping out of the pad and slamming the back door with such force that the walls rattled. Peter flinched and shrugged apologetically at Jeanie and Sam. "Wait there, okay?"

He picked up the phone and informed Davy's latest that something had come up and Davy would call her back later. Then, he stepped carefully into Mike's room. "Umm... Mike?"

Mike looked around at him, his face unreadable. "What do they want?"

"To see you. Are you up to it?"

Mike stared down into his soup bowl, his fingers tightening on his spoon. "Davy was pretty upset...."

"He was scared, Mike, of losing you. It's a lot easier for him to be angry."

Mike gave a deep sigh and carefully set the tray on the bedside table. "Send 'em in."

Peter nodded and stepped back outside, facing the two who still cowered in the living room. "He's there," he told them, motioning to the open door. "Go on in."

~*~

Mike looked up at them as they entered, and Jeanie bit back a gasp of shock. He really did look bad. He was even thinner than usual, and pale. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, and his hands, folded on the sheets in front of him, held a visible tremor.

She gulped as she stepped inside, then sat down in the chair a few feet away from the bed. She could feel Sam's presence behind her, and she took strength from his support. As if sensing her nervousness, Sam placed both of his hands on her shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. She cleared her throat and spoke.

"Um... hi, Mike."

"Hello." His voice was raspy and soft, but his eyes were as sharp and steady as ever. "What brings you here?"

"Well...." She looked away, unable to hold his smoldering gaze. "I was worried, you know...."

"That so?"

"Davy told us you were... sick."

"Uh-huh."

He was still staring at her, she could feel it. Her neck began to heat up.

"Look, Mike...." She forced herself to look at him, to face what she'd done. "I'm sorry." She swallowed hard again, and shifted in her chair. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt, honest! I was high, and.... Well, that's no excuse, but.... I just want you to know why."

Mike was silent for a moment, but then he nodded and motioned for her to continue. "Alright."

"You see.... You're always so serious, Mike. Micky and the others, they know how to have fun, but whever I saw you at a party, you'd just sit there, watching everybody. I never once saw you get up and dance, or anything. I just wanted you to have fun, that's all. I was thinking... what it would be like if you got high. I thought maybe if I gave you... a boost... you might loosen up a bit, so I got some of the stuff and I put it in your coke. I never would have done it if I'd been sober... but I wasn't sober, and I thought it would be such a hoot. I'm sorry, Mike.... I really am."

Mike didn't respond. He dropped his gaze down to his hands and just sat there, completely still. Jeanie shot a concerned glance back at Sam, but he could only shrug his own confusion. Finally, Mike looked back up at her, his eyes red-rimmed.

"Was it worth it?"

She gasped out loud at that, feeling the heat once again rise to her cheeks. "God, no! Mike... I swear, I didn't know this would happen! Davy's right to hate me, I nearly killed you, but I didn't mean to! Look at me, I'm sober. I'm sober now, and I plan to be for a long time. I haven't touched the stuff since Davy told us.... It's not worth it, now or ever."

He was silent again for a moment, but then a tiny smile creased his face. "Good."

"Are we forgiven?" Sam asked suddenly, hopefully.

Mike thought about that for a moment. "I guess so.... By me, that is. Davy, on the other hand...."

Sam shuddered involuntarily.

"We'll stay out of his way," Jeanie promised, climbing to her feet. On impulse, she run to Mike and grabbed him in a hug, painfully aware of the feel of his ribs beneath his shirt. "I'm so glad you're alright."

"Me too," he responded, hugging her back. "Now get out of here, I'm hungry."

~*~

Micky yawned and rolled over, pulling the covers further over his head. He could hear a spirited game of beach volleyball being played outside, and it had awakened him from a deep slumber. He'd been having a very good dream, too. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to recapture the images. He and the guys had been frolicking around in a fantasy land, complete with beautiful fairies, unicorns, and mermaids. He'd never dreamt of stuff like that before - it was all Mike's doing, what with all his talk about mermaids.

MIKE!

He snapped awake all at once and sat up, throwing his blankets to the floor. "Mike...?" The other bed was empty.

Micky puzzled over that for a minute. Mike had moved back up here last night, hadn't he? That couldn't have been a dream.... No, he remembered that clearly. Mike had been up and around for the first time yesterday, and had insisted on moving back to his own bed. He didn't like Davy's bed, he complained. It was too short, and the room was too close to the ground. Micky smiled a bit. Mike was definitely getting better if he was well enough to complain.

He stood and threw on some clothes before sliding down the banister and landing with a thump on the floor. Mike was sitting curled up on the couch with his 12-string, strumming a quiet melody. "Hi Mick," he said in greeting.

"Hiya Mike. Whatcha doin' up?"

"Couldn't sleep. I been down here since early this mornin'."

"Oh." Micky joined Mike on the couch and silently noted the slight tremor that refused to leave his hands. Mike seemed to be dealing with it alright, though. The tremor wasn't audible in his playing. "So.... How d'you feel?"

"Okay, I guess." He strummed a few chords, then reached down and scribbled a few lines on the pad of paper he'd placed on the coffee table.

"What's that," Micky asked, pointing.

"New song."

"Play it for me?"

Mike shrugged a bit. "It's pretty rough."

"I don't care," Micky smiled.

Mike made a face at him before starting.

Circle sky
Telling lies
Here I stand
Happy man
And it looks like we've made it once again
Yes it looks like we've made it once again

It was a medium-paced, easy-going ballad, almost mournful. Micky found himself mesmerized by Mike's fingers as the guitar sang along with him.

Mike made a face as he finished singing. "I don't like it."

"No? I thought it was great."

"It needs more. Drums, a beat...."

"I kinda like it as-is."

"No." Mike shook his head, frowning. "It's not a ballad, man, it's.... I dunno. It's not done."

"Okay.... I heard some of it before."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, sounding suspicious.

"When you were sick. You kept saying one of the lyrics over and over again. 'Here I stand, happy man.' We all wondered what it meant."

"I dunno what it means." Mike paused, still strumming chords on his beloved guitar. "What else did I say?"

"Not much else.... A bit about mermaids.... I had a real weird dream last night because of that. Oh, and laughing porpoises."

"Hmph."

"Hey Mike?"

"Yeah."

"What... I mean.... You never really talked about it... what you meant."

"Meant by what?"

"The stuff you said. You kept begging me not to jump. And you told Peter he wasn't a dummy. Oh, and you said something to Davy about beating up factory workers."

Mike flushed a bit. "Oh. Well, it was a weird trip, man."

"Uh-huh...?"

Mike stopped playing, staring into nothingness, his face serious. "It was...." He sighed and slowly resumed playing, beginning to frown. "I'll tell you about it Mick, but I want to tell all of you. I can't do it more than once."

"Okay, I can dig that. You want me to get Peter and Davy?"

"No. I'll just... later, when everyone's here. No need to call them in...."

"Sure."

"Say Mick, why don't you help me with this song? I'm gonna work on the melody, you can help me with the beat."

"Okay!" Micky jumped to his feet and eagerly took his place behind the drums. Mike dragged a stool up to the front of the bandstand and took a seat - he still wasn't strong enough to stand for long periods of time. Micky grinned. It was close enough to old times to give him a warm feeling inside.

Mike counted them off.

~*~

Davy opened the door and was surprised to see Micky and Mike jamming on the bandstand to a song he didn't recognize. It was a high-energy, fast-paced rocker, with Mike on lead. A grin quickly formed on his face and he bounded over to join them. "'Ey cool, mates," he enthused as they finished with a flourish. "That was great!"

"Thanks," Mike said with a lazy grin. "What do you think, Micky, it sounds a lot better now, huh?"

Micky shrugged good-naturedly. "I still say I like it as a ballad, but yeah it's great now too."

"What was it?" Davy asked, picking up Mike's lyrics sheet.

"Just something I came up with," Mike answered.

"Circle Sky...." Davy read. "What does it mean?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh. Okay. 'Ey, there's that thing you kept saying-"

"Happy man, I know," Mike grimaced.

Micky snickered into his hand.

"Hey, where's Peter," Mike asked, shooting Micky a dirty look.

"Shopping. We're out o' food again."

"But we haven't worked in a while," Mike fretted, "Do we have the money?"

"Don't worry Mike," Davy assured him, "We've got it."

"Got what," Peter asked, as he struggled inside, trying to juggle four bags of groceries.

Davy quickly ran to his side and relieved some of his burden. "Money," he explained. "For food."

"Oh, we've got that."

"I told him that."

"Hey Mike," Micky said suddenly, "Do you wanna talk, now that everyone's here?"

Mike gave Micky a dirty look as Peter looked to him with interest. "Talk? About what?"

"Mike was gonna tell us all about his freaky trip."

"Oh, really?" Davy put the groceries down on the kitchen table and peered at Mike, his gaze penetrating. "I didn't think you were gonna say anything about it."

"I wasn't planning to," Mike muttered, shooting another evil glare in Micky's direction.

"You were too! You said when we were all together-"

"I was just trying to shut you up!"

"Oh."

"You don't have to talk about it," Peter soothed, trying to avoid an argument. "We were just... wondering, that's all."

Mike scowled, fingers tightening on his guitar. "No, he's right. I said I was gonna talk about it, and I will. On my own time, in my own way."

"Sure Mike," Micky apologized, "I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sorry."

"'Ey, why doncha play that song you guys were working on for Petah," Davy suggested, hurriedly changing the subject. "I'd like to hear it from the beginning anyway."

"Sure," Mike nodded, his face lighting up. "Pete, I think I'm gonna end up turning some of what I'm playing now into a bass line. Listen for it, the three-note progression in the verses."

Davy pouted as Peter nodded enthusiastically. "Nothing for me?"

Mike thought about that for a moment. "I think it could use a bit of organ," he mused. "What do you think, Mick?"

"Maybe.... It's your song."

"Tell you what, Davy, I think it's gonna want some organ, but I haven't written it yet."

"Okay. Groovy."

"Ready Mick?"

"Yup."

"Okay. One, two, one-two-three-"

~*~

"Tag, you're it!"

Davy let out a yelp as Micky barreled into him at full-speed, knocking him to the ground. Peter was doubled over with laughter, his hands clenching his knees in an effort to keep him upright.

"I give up, I give up," Davy shrieked, trying to push Micky off him. Micky, however, refused to budge, and Davy could feel sand creeping into his underpants. "Micky, get off! Okay then, you're it!" And with that, he slammed both fists into Micky's chest, sending him flying backwards. Peter was laughing so hard he was having trouble breathing.

"Oh, that's charming," Davy mock-complained. "I've got sand in me knickers. I'm goin' inside to change."

"Hey, see if Mike'll come out and play," Micky yelled, as he turned his attack on the helpless Peter.

"Okay," Davy giggled, hurrying away from the "game" as quickly as he could. He spared one last glance behind him as he scuttled inside, and saw Micky sitting triumphantly on a squirming Peter's back.

"'Ey Mike?" He waddled into the Pad, rudely picking at his itchy knickers. "'Ey Mike, you wanna come play...?"

The question trailed off as he spied Mike sitting by the window, staring blankly out at the beach. It appeared as though he could see Peter and Micky clearly from his perch, but his face was passive, almost grim.

Davy gulped a bit and stepped closer. "Mike...? You okay?"

"Yeah," he nodded absently, without taking his eyes from the window. "Listen Davy, can you get the guys? I think I wanna.... That is, I need to talk to you. To all of you."

"Oh... sure. Can I take me knickers off first?"

Mike finally turned, and raised an eyebrow. "You gonna be a nudist now?"

Davy flushed. "No! Micky got sand in me drawers!"

Mike smirked at him. "Micky did."

"Yeah! 'E wouldn't let me up!"

"Uh-huh."

"It's true! 'E 'ad me down on the ground an'e wouldn't let me up, an'e got sand in me knickers!"

"I don't wanna know what Micky was doing with your... knickers."

"You're just playing with me now."

"If you say so."

Davy stuck his tongue out at Mike and hurried into the bedroom. He grinned a bit as he changed. He'd been a little worried at Mike's blank stare and rigid posture... and the fact that he wanted to talk was suspicious in itself. "'E's not one to talk, that one," he muttered, pulling on a fresh, sand-free pair of shorts. But the joking around was a good sign.

"Okay Mike, I'm going," he called as he jogged back outside.

"Be careful," Mike deadpanned without turning. "Micky's doing his werewolf impression again."

~*~

"Hold it, Micky, hold it!" Davy held his hands up in surrender as Micky spied him coming out of the beach house and prepared for another ambush. "Mike wants to talk to us!"

Micky stopped short, sliding in the sand and landing just inches in front of Davy, eyes wide with shock. "What?"

Peter joined them, suddenly concerned. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, 'e's alright, I think. 'E was teasin' me about me knickers... but he wants to talk to all of us."

"About the mermaids," Micky breathed, casting a nervous glance toward the pad.

"Guess so. You comin' in?"

"Let's go," Peter said simply, following word with deed. Davy stepped after him, leaving Micky standing alone on the beach.

"Hey Mick?" Peter turned and beckoned to him. "C'mon, Mike's waiting."

Micky gulped and ran a hand through his curls. "Yeah.... I'm coming." He trudged up to them, his face grim and his eyes filled with dread. "I dunno if I'm ready for this," he admitted. "I don't really wanna know what was going on with the porpoises...."

"It'll be okay Mick," Davy assured him. "'E's in a pretty good mood, it won't be too intense."

"I hope not," Micky sighed. "I don't think I could handle it if it was."

"Cool it," Peter warned as he opened the door to the pad. "He'll hear you."

Mike was still sitting by the window, his body illuminated by the sunlight streaming in from the window. His guitar lay propped up by his feet, sheets of unfinished music and half-written lyrics strewn on the floor. Micky took a few hesitant steps forward and spoke nervously, eyeing one of the lyric sheets. It was labeled "Porpoise Song."

"Uh... hi Mike... You wanted to... talk?"

Mike turned and stood, heading into the kitchen. "You sound nervous Mick, you okay?"

"Who, me? I'm fine."

"I heard you were having some fun with Davy's underpants."

"Hunh?!"

Peter snorted a laugh into his palm as Davy made a face at Mike.

"Sit down guys," Mike chuckled, taking a seat at the table and motioning for them to do the same.

"What do I want with Davy's underwears?" Micky puzzled as he took the seat across from Mike.

Mike shook his head with a barely-there smile. "Sorry to drag you guys away from yer game," he began as they settled down.

"It's no problem Mike," Peter assured him. "We were about done, I think."

"Speak for yourself," Micky muttered, still puzzling over Mike's offhand underwear comment.

"Well okay," Mike said, folding his hands together.

"Okay," Davy prompted, nodding his encouragement.

"Right.... Umm... I guess this is gonna be harder than I thought," Mike admitted, staring down at his hands.

"Take your time," Peter said in a soothing tone. "It's okay."

"Yeah I know.... Umm... well okay, see, there was this box. A black one."

"Black box," Micky repeated slowly.

"Yeah, a box. We were trapped in box, and all this weird stuff kept happening. Not all of it happened in the box, but it all led back to the box. Not back like... in a box back, but... oh, forget that. It was all about the box."

"Well... what were we doing there?" Micky asked hesitantly.

"In the... black thing, you mean?"

"That's right."

"What we were doing in there?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Well first, uh... there was... first we were in a factory. And then there was a commercial thing... nonono, it was a vacuum cleaner. Yeah, a vacuum cleaner."

"Uh-huh.... Okay.... So, uhh... what was the bit about 'don't never laugh at no cripples'?"

Mike looked a bit startled at that, and his cheeks flushed red. "I said that?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Well, we laughed at a cripple."

"... Oh."

Mike sighed frustratedly. "I know it doesn't make any sense, but it does! I been thinkin' about it a lot, see. I think the whole thing was tryin' to tell me somethin'. About you guys, about us... about myself."

"... And what did it tell you?" Peter asked gently.

"It told me that-" Mike smiled sadly. "That I'm the Dummy."

"I don't get it," Micky put in hesitantly.

"No, you couldn't, see, 'cause you weren't there. But I'm gonna explain it the best I can."

He took a deep breath. "I can't tell you the whole thing, 'cause it'd only bore you to death and probably confuse you even more. So instead I'm gonna tell you what it meant to me - and why I'm... why I've made this decision.

"What decision?" Davy asked, suddenly uneasy.

"I'll tell you, I promise. Just let me get through this."

"Okay...."

"It started with...." He looked sadly at Micky. "With your death."

"Oh... you killed me off," Micky joked half-heartedly.

Mike managed a tiny smile. "Not really. See, you didn't really die... I don't think. You jumped of a bridge... we were chasing you."

"We?" Davy asked.

"You and Peter and me," Mike clarified. "Only later, see, it turned out we weren't chasing him at all, we were all being chased. And we all jumped, but we just ended up back in that box."

"I... see."

"No you don't Mick, but that's okay. After that, we were filming a scene, I guess we were in a movie or something. Micky and me. We were cowboys, I think, and I had an arrow in my shoulder but it wasn't real. You walked off the set and we went an' got Davy, who was suddenly a boxer."

"I was a boxer?"

"Yeah, see, but that's not the important part."

"Oh."

"I was... I dunno who I was supposed to be, but I was mean. I didn't care at all that you were getting the snot beat out of you, all I cared about was the money. I really deserved it when Micky decked me-"

"He decked you? When?"

"In the ring, after he KO'd Davy. But that's not important either."

"...Oh."

"What is important is that Peter showed up and he said 'I'm the Dummy,' and that was perfectly alright. But Peter, you're not the Dummy, and I shouldn't treat you like one. I'm sorry for that."

"Wait... you're saying this weird trip of yours told you that you think Peter's a dummy even thought you don't?"

"No, it told me that I oughta be more careful about how I treat people. How I treat you guys especially. ... Mick... I never told you how much I admire you."

"You... admire... me?"

"Yes."

"But... why?!"

"Because of your sense of humor. You're always ready with a smile or a joke. You're always surrounded by friends because people can't help but like you. When I met you, I resisted you because you intimidated me. I didn't understand how you could be so easy, so carefree. I guess I still don't. I wish I could be as happy as you, but I don't think it's possible. I can never be like you, Mick, I'm just too... I dunno. I just can't. I guess I'm scared. 'Cause see, as high as you get, as happy as you get, that's how sad you can get too. I reckon I'm just not strong enough to take the lows with the highs."

Micky stared at him, speechless. "Well... I...."

"You got all that from a box?!" Davy finished incredulously.

"No, I got that that 'cause he was the first to jump."

"...Oh."

"And Davy, I guess I underestimated you. I never gave you enough credit, I just pegged you as a girl-crazy, lovesick fool and I never bothered to look for what was underneath. But what's underneath is a really tough, really smart guy who's not afraid to fight for what he wants. Y'know Davy, I envy you too. Not just for bein' a chick magnet - though I sometimes wish I could have just half a chance with just one of your discards - but for stayin' human despite everything. You'd never let a friend down, not for a girl, not for nothin'. You fought your way out of that factory, and you stood up to that guy with the gun, and you still stayed the same. Now, I know that wasn't real... there was no factory, no gun... but I know you'd do it if you had to. I think in a lotta ways, you're a braver man than I am."

"Wow... Mike, thanks.... That means a lot to hear you say that-"

"And Peter," Mike continued, giving no indication that he'd heard, "Oh God, Peter.... I done you wrong, buddy. I've talked down to you and I've scoffed at you and I've insulted you time and time again... and you still stick by me. Hell, if I treated me half as bad as I treat you, I'da decked myself a long time ago! But you just take it Pete, you just smile and you keep on lovin' me anyway."

"You don't treat me badly Mike, you're one of my best friends-"

"You're doin' it again Pete! I don't understand why you put up with me-"

"Because you're my friend... you're my brother!"

"Why?" Mike asked simply. "Why am I your friend? Why do you call me your brother?"

"Be... because you are! We all do things sometimes... we all say things that might get on somebody else's nerves, but that's okay.... Let's face it Mike, I can be dense at times-"

"No-"

"I can! I get distracted easily, and my mind wanders and I say stupid things. I don't mind it that you sometimes forget there's more to me than that. If anything, it's my fault. I just let you keep on thinking that I'm an idiot when I should be concentrating harder and proving I can do it. You can't be faulted for seeing what's there."

"Yeah Mike, and I know I'm a girl-crazy lovesick fool. 'Ow many times 'ave I held up practice 'cause I couldn't keep me eyes off some bird?"

"Yeah, and me bein' so... up... all the time causes trouble too... I get a little wild, you know," Micky admitted sheepishly. "We need to you remind us what we're here for!"

"Yeah Mike, you're the only one that keeps us a band! Without you," Davy shrugged, "we'd just be a bunch of crazy guys with an amp."

"We wouldn't even have the amp," Micky pointed out, "Mike brought that with him!"

"So you see Mike?" Peter finished, grinning from ear to ear. "You're not the Dummy either!"

Mike looked away, tears brimming in his eyes. "No, I'm not. Not anymore.... I'm... I'm leaving the band and moving back to Texas."

"Wh... what?!" Three pairs of eyes widened, and Micky jumped up from the table, knocking his chair over in the process. "But... butbutbut you can't do that!"

"I'm sorry guys," Mike murmured softly, unable to meet their eyes. "It's for the best-"

"Didn't you hear a word we just said?!" Peter grabbed at Mike's hand, fingers pressing painfully into his palm. "We need you Mike, you can't go!"

"You can keep the amp-"

"It's not about the amp!"

"Look guys, I've really thought about this-"

"Well, you didn't think hard enough," Davy burst out, slamming a fist into the tabletop. Mike jumped, startled, and made the fatal mistake of looking into Davy's flashing eyes. "Who do you think you are, anyway? You don't give us any credit, do you! You don't even trust us enough to pick our own friends! Well guess what Mike, you may be an arrogant, stupid, son-of-a-Texas-hick, but we love you anyway, and you're stuck with us whether you want to be or not! And... and if you move back to Texas, we're bloody well coming with you!"

It was Mike's turn to be speechless. "But... but I-"

"Michael, please...." Peter lifted tear-filled eyes to his, and took both of Mike's hands in his own. "It wouldn't be the same without you... I know things aren't perfect, but we don't expect them to be! Please don't leave us because of this...."

"Yeah man," Micky added, his tone still suffused with panic. "If you go, who's gonna clean up after me? I'll go nuts, Mike, Peter can't control me! And Davy's short!"

"You keep that up and I'll punch you in the face," Davy threatened, standing on tiptoes and shaking a fist at Micky.

"You punch me in the face and I'll kick you in the head!"

"Davy, Micky, come on! Cut it out, please," Peter pleaded, but they paid him no mind.

"You kick me in the head and I'll rip out your lungs!"

"You do and I'll be sorry!"

Mike just stared, all of the blood draining from his face.

"Guys, please, don't fight!" Peter grabbed hold of Davy's shoulder, only to be thrown backward as Davy wrenched himself out of his grasp. "Davy-"

"Cool it," Mike said, his voice barely audible. No one heard him, so he cleared his throat and said it again, louder this time. "Cool it!"

Both Micky and Davy stopped short, turning to him with expectant looks on their faces. Mike stood slowly, trying to still his shaking hands. "Look.... I know you guys don't understand where I'm coming from, but... I just don't know how I can stay here."

"Why not?" Peter asked quietly. "We've already told you-"

"I know what you've told me... I heard everything you said, I really did. I just... I don't know...."

"Is your head telling you to stay?"

"No... that's the confusing part. My head's telling me to leave, it's my heart that's wanting me to stay."

"Then listen to it! Just this once, Michael, follow your heart. Please!"

Mike looked at the three of them. Brave Davy, fuzzy Micky, innocent Peter.... They were the best friends he had... his family. Could he really leave them? What would happen if he did? They wouldn't really fall apart without him, would they? They could get another guitarist easily, one whose tastes were a little less... country. Maybe someone even better than he was. Someone who could control Micky's acting-out, guide Peter's meandering thoughts, and quell Davy's volatile moods. But who knew them better than he? Who knew him better than they?

He took a deep breath, unsure of what was going to come out of his mouth until it came. "Alright. I'll stay."

"Mike!" he squeaked, almost jumping out of his skin. "'Ow long have you been there?!"

"You look lovely this morning Davy," was his only answer.

Davy flushed and tried in vain to smooth down his flyaway hair. "Yeah, well...."

Mike smiled a bit, then sighed and rested his chin on his hand, a look of intense concentration crossing his face.

"'Ey..." Davy began hesitantly, "You okay?"

"Hmm...? Oh, sure. Just thinkin'."

"What about?" Davy ventured into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, looking for some breakfast.

"Well... there's just one thing about that whole... trip... that I can't understand."

"One thing?"

"Well... yeah."

"Okay, what is it? Maybe I can help you figure it out."

"I don't see how you could, but okay.... See, there was this guy... a really, really big guy, who I think was runnin' things."

"Running things?"

"Yeah, well, you see, he was chasin' us all around and tryin' to stomp on us and stuff, and in the end when we got trapped back in that box, it was him that put us there."

"I thought you said we jumped off a bridge."

"We did... but we just ended up in his box."

"Oh wait... it was his box?"

"Yeah... why?"

"Oh Mike, it all makes perfect sense now!"

"It... does?"

Davy placed the frying pan on the stove and turned to face him. "Well sure! See, that guy is Mr. Babbitt!"

"Mr. Babbitt?"

"Yeah! 'E's always tryin' to stomp us, and he owns our house, and that's why it was his box!"

"Oh...."

"It wasn't telling you you're a dummy, it was telling you there's no place like home!"

"No place like home...?"

"And this," Davy made a sweeping gesture around the pad. "This is home!"

Mike thought about that for a moment, "You really think that's what it meant?"

"I know that's what it meant! It just proves that we're all supposed to be together!"

Mike was still for a moment, then he smiled a bit. "You know, maybe you're right. We'll just make up our story as we go along, and it'll all turn out alright in the end."

"That was pretty groovy, Mike, you oughta write that into a song."

"Already have."

I can tell by your face
That you're looking to find a place
To settle your mind and reveal who you are,
And you shouldn't be shy,
For I'm not gonna try
To hurt you or heal you or steal your star.