It's several days removed from the storm now. We open in the MonkeeCave and see a shadow walking through the darkened entrance. Flood lights suddenly come on and we see Micky heading into the Cave. He sports his favorite white short sleeved sweater with red trim... and the lack of sleeves brings attention to the black brace on his right hand.

Micky flipped some switches as he walked through to the main room. Various equipment lays around the room and on most of the crystal furniture. He stopped at a wooden table that holds various small projects and sat. He picked up the pencil in his left hand and paused, glaring at it. He made a face, then tried to hold it in his right hand. He winced, then blue lighted the hand.

He set about working of the diagram he'd been working on over the last few weeks. Every so often, he'd pause, wincing. Ten minutes passed, and Micky slammed the pencil down. He wasn't sure what was worse: the injury or how it happened.

Micky tried to recall what'd happened a few days prior. All he remembered was getting really angry and then Alex showing up, but he couldn't link Alex to what he'd done. He had known what he was doing to Mike and everything he told Mike was exactly how he felt at times.

He sighed and glanced around the Cave. He was glad that Mike had suggested bringing back the MonkeeMen gig. Micky grinned, thinking about Mike complaining about the tights they wore as part of the costumes. He rolled his eyes thinking about the group of women steaing clothes and turning people into mannequins.

"That was really weird," Micky commented out loud.

"That comment fits alot of things, mate."

Micky whipped around to find Davy walking in. "Geez, Dave! You nearly scared me to death!"

Davy shook his head, reaching the main room. "I don't think I'm that lucky, Mick." He watched Micky frown. "Sorry, Mick, force of habit. Reflex." He pulled up a stool at the table.

"Are you the search team that's looking for me again?" Micky asked, turning back to the diagram. He picked up the pencil in his left hand and tapped the eraser against the table.

"No, just wanted to see how you were doing. Even since before the storm, you've seemed a bit..." Davy paused as he watched Micky's eyebrows raise, "...tense? Angry, even?"

Micky sighed and put the pencil down. He started picking at the brace. "Dave, I've been through alot these last couple months. We all have, but we had that weirdo hotel and all of us getting separately and Alex grabbing Lauren. Then a little over a month after that, Pete and I nearly get blown up in the car while test driving it. Black and blue head to toe with aches and pains, but glad to just still be breathing. Then the storm and my... little problem. Losing my voice, twice. And now, I snapped on Mike, hurt him and hurt myself more." He paused, sighing loudly. "Tense, angry, yeah, those are good descriptive words for me right now." He rested his forehead against the palm of his left hand, propping his head up. "Lauren's been on and off mad at me either for something I did or didn't do or because I've been so short-fused." He looked up. "I think I'm falling apart, Dave. I just can't-- I've resorted to hiding, being alone. I hate being alone."

"Mick, we're still here for you. Lauren's still crazy about you no matter how crazy you get. And it's okay to want some time alone. With the storm, we've all been together day in and day out for nearly the past week. I think we're all getting a bit restless. We've got a few low-key days now since the studio hasn't reopened and most of the city's getting back together. We might as well take advantage while we can," Davy said.

Micky nodded. "Thanks, Dave." He paused, "Hey, Dave, wanna help me out with something?"

"What's that?"

Micky held out the pencil to Davy. "Could you help me with my diagram? I can't hold the pencil."

Davy grinned. "Sure, Mick! Just tell me what to do."

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