Author's notes: I believe we are at an end now, folks. Just for this particular story, though. There's still plenty more trouble these kids can get into. AND I AM PLANNING FOR IT. Oh yes.

I felt the need for an "epilogue" to kinda tie things up with a nice pretty bow…at least for now. Super short.

Micky slid down the banister, making a near perfect ten-point landing on Davy as he passed through with an armload of laundry. "Oi, watch it!"

"Sorry, Davy." The drummer helped him to his feet and began piling clothing back into his arms. "I was trying to find Mike. You seen him lately?"

"Last I remember, he was outside," Davy replied, just as a couple of blue eight-button shirts were flopped unceremoniously on top of his head. "He might be a touch grumpy," the Englishman warned, "on account of Babbitt not fixin' 'alf the things he said he would."

Micky draped a pair of gray slacks over Davy's shoulders. "That's why we have Sundays. And that's why we argue to get our security deposit refunded." He patted him on the back, nearly knocking him over. "Thanks, man!"

Davy stood there a moment, blind to the world and rather unbalanced under the weight of at least half the boys' wardrobe. "Peter? Peter, are you still in here? I can't see anything!"

The bassist put down his broom and hurried to his smaller friend's aid. "Micky has a couple of drum cases. Next time, use those."

As Micky sauntered outside, he caught sight of a pair of gangly legs sticking out from under the Pontiac. Said legs were in gray, grease-stained coveralls; the clanging of small hand tools could be heard as they hit the pavement underneath the car. Micky nudged at a foot with his own. "Hey, Mike?" One leg folded up, sneaker sole flat against the driveway. "Listen… I'm really sorry about everything. It was a dumb idea for me to kinda…interfere with your mojo like I did." He paced back and forth alongside the car. "But that said, I'm kinda glad we ended up with Shug. So it's like a happy accident, right?" He paused to see if there was any reaction. There was none. He sighed. "I hope you're not…I dunno, mad about her or anything. She's a groovy girl and we all like her and we're all really glad you let her in the group." Micky snickered lowly. "Seems like it's her birthright, huh? She was born a Monkee!" He heard a few tinny clinks echo beneath the Monkeemobile as the mechanic's dolly slid into the daylight.

Shug sat up from the dolly, grinning through the grease marks on her face. "Thanks, Micky. That's mighty nice of ya."

It was all Micky could do to keep his eyes from popping out of his head. "But I thought—Davy said Mike was outside and he's the one who always tinkers with the car and you're in his clothes and—"

"I'm up here!" Mike waved from a ladder propped against the side of the garage. He nodded at Micky and thumbed over his shoulder. "I've got gutter duty, so Sugar offered to work on th' car. Fix that squeakin'." He raked a gloved hand through the muck and tossed it into a bag tied to the top of the ladder. "And like Baby Sister said, thanks. That really is pretty nice of ya."

Micky shook his head, curls bouncing every which way, as if that would jostle his jumbled thoughts right out through his ears. "This is still gonna take some getting used to." He noticed the look between the twins—Each wearing a half-smile that seemed eerily knowing and rather full of mischief. "I guess my payback is living with double Nesmiths, isn't it?"

Mike made his way down the ladder to the front patio, approaching his fuzzy-headed bandmate and his sister. He shoved his gloves in his back jeans pocket. "We'll try to take it easy on you," the lanky boy said with a smirk.

"Can't make any promises, though," Shug added. She adjusted her barrettes, again moving her bangs out of her eyes. Mike put his foot against the dolly and offered the girl a hand up. Sugar tapped Micky on the nose, leaving behind a perfect black fingerprint. "Remember," she cooed, "it's for science." She proudly marched toward the house.

As the front door closed, Micky slumped in defeat. "I think I need a new hobby."

Mike crossed his arms and propped a hip against the GTO. "Well… Not necessarily… Though I'd keep it to smaller, more harmless things. One of us with a twin around here is enough."

"I really am sorry, Mike."

The Texan chuckled beneath his breath. "Y'know what? I ain't even bothered."

"What?!" Micky sputtered and waved his arms frantically. "Are you kidding? After the hell I put you through, you say, 'aww haaay ah ain't eevun bothurred'?!" He tapped at Mike's head with both hands. "You sure I didn't end up putting some of that good sense of yours in Sugar's gourd?"

Mike clasped a hand around Micky's fingers, forcing them out of his personal space. "Don't do that."

"Well?"

"Things happen for a reason, Micky." He gave the boy a firm pat on the back, then retreated to the house. It was far past time for a break anyway.

Thanks to my friends for the endlessly wonderful input on this story and the inspiration for the next…and for putting up with my text and sketch vomit of all things Neztwins. I LOVE YOU GUYS. Thank you for tolerating me.

Onto the next story, right? RIGHT.