Summary: Davy inherits a family curse. The Monkees fail to help.
Pairing: Eventual Mike/Davy
Warnings: Don't think there's anything warning-worthy here.
Notes: Er. I recently rediscovered a long-dormant love of the Monkees. This is the result. If anyone reads it, I'd really appreciate any comments or concrit – first time attempting this fandom and these characters
Disclaimer: I don't own The Monkees - this is done purely for fun. Please don't sue!
As far as problems went, Davy turning into a girl at least had the value of novelty.
Which wasn't to say that it wasn't a problem at all, or even that it was a better class of problem than the Monkees usually had to deal with (actually it turned out to be much more complicated and messy than the run-of-the-mill kidnappings, evil doppelgangers, and forced marriage type of predicaments they generally found themselves facing).
No, as Mike learned, just because a problem was dressed differently, didn't make it any less of a problem.
It did, however, drastically change the way the problem got solved.
It all started with Davy's sudden and unexpected inheritance.
"A sudden and unexpected inheritance?" Davy repeated, staring at the besuited man on the other side of the door.
"Sounds sudden," Micky said.
"Not to mention unexpected," Peter chimed in.
After bestowing a wary glance at the Pad and its occupants, the besuited man gingerly stepped inside.
"Do you remember your great-aunt Jemima?" he asked Davy.
Davy nodded. "Oh yeah – great-aunt Jemima...I haven't seen her in years. How is she?"
"Well, dead," the besuited man said. He paused. "Or at least, she was the last time I checked."
"Dead?" Davy echoed. "I'm sorry to hear that." He turned to the others. "She was a nice old lady – used to hire a horse specially for me to ride, whenever I came to visit. She always wanted to ride herself, you see – but she was too old by then, and her father never let her learn when she was a kid. She said it did her heart good to see me having fun."
"That's a sweet story," Mike said.
The besuited man cleared his throat. "As you were her sole living male relative, she was most insistent that, in the event of her death, you should be found and made to accept her bequest."
As Davy began to say, "Oh, well, if great-aunt Jemima wanted" – something pinged uneasily in Mike's brain. "Hang on a minute now," he said. "Davy – remember the last time you inherited something? You ended up in England, jousting and dueling and what-not. You sure you want to run that risk again?"
Davy frowned. "Great-aunt Jemima didn't have a manor. Or anything much to speak of. Anyway, she was the sweetest, kindest little old lady – I'm sure she'd never have left me anything bad."
"Yeah," Micky said, jabbing Mike in the back. "How dare you besmirch great-aunt Jemima's name like that? Have you no heart?" He clutched his own chest in demonstration.
Even Peter cast a betrayed look at him. "I really thought better of you, Mike," he said, pursing his lips.
"Look, there's an easy way to settle all this," Davy said, holding out his arms to quieten everyone down. He addressed the besuited man again. "Can you by any chance tell me what it is she's left me in her will?"
"Certainly – it's a family imprecation, that wishes the client continued fortune and happiness, no matter how outward circumstances might…change."
"That sounds reasonable enough," Davy decided. "Quite sweet actually. She's just saying she wants me to be happy, no matter what."
"Indeed." The besuited man showed a lot of teeth when he smiled. "In fact it's next door to a blessing."
"Yes – but what's that blessing living next door to?" Mike wondered.
The besuited man continued as if he hadn't heard. "She also leaves you several valuables that she wants you to make use of, however you see fit."
"When you say valuables, you mean like – old vases and rings and things?" Micky asked.
The besuited man continued to stare at Davy as he answered, "Items in that vein, yes."
Micky jerked his head at Davy and Peter, and pulled Mike aside. They all huddled together. "Sounds good, doesn't it?" he enthused.
"I guess the Pad could use some more feminine touches," Peter said, squinting over Micky's shoulder.
Micky cuffed the back of his head. "I don't mean for the Pad – I mean for us! How long has it been since we've had a gig?" As the others began to count on their (and each others') fingers, Mike said, "Okay, so it's been a while. What's your point?"
"It'd be nice to have some stuff to hock that we aren't actually attached to."
"Literally. That pawnbroker took the shirt off my back last time," Davy said.
"I guess…it would be nice to have some extra security – you know, just until we book another gig," Mike said slowly.
"So – we're all in agreement. I take the inheritance?"
Mike nodded. "I guess. I mean, I can't see why not."
Davy wheeled around and faced the besuited man again. "Does this mean you choose to accept the family imprecation?"
"Yeah. I accept," Davy said. "So – what do I do now?"
"Sign here," the besuited man said, producing a contract from his breast pocket. "The valuables will be delivered within the next few days."
Davy scribbled his name obligingly and handed the paper back.
"Thank you," the besuited man said. "And now – if you have no further questions for me" –
Peter raised his hand. "I have a question. What's an imprecation?"
"It's another word for 'curse'," the besuited man said, tucking the contract back into his pocket. "And now, good day to you." The besuited man shut the door behind him, leaving the Monkees staring at each other, wide-eyed.
He opened the door again a few seconds later and pressed five dollars into Micky's hand. "Get a hair cut, sonny. On me," he advised.
It didn't happen right then and there of course. Maybe great aunt Jemima's curse was jetlagged from traveling all the way from England, or maybe it was confused by the time difference or something, but it didn't take effect immediately after Davy signed the contract. Instead, it lay in wait, like a low-down, dirty snake in the grass.
"I just can't believe great aunt Jemima would curse you," Peter said, as he patted Davy down, as if the curse might have gotten accidentally slipped into his pocket. "She was such a nice old lady."
"You never actually met her, Pete," Mike reminded him.
"But it doesn't make any sense," Davy said, as he scrutinised the backs of his hands. "Wanting someone to be happy isn't much of a curse."
Micky watched from the top of the stairs. "Is it safe? Can I come down?"
"All clear," Mike called, before turning back. He scrutinized Davy from head to toe, then shrugged. "Well, you don't look any different."
Micky jumped down the stairs, adding a kind of punctuation to his statement. "Maybe that's the curse," he said.
Davy absently elbowed Micky, then frowned. "She was quite old – she might have got a bit confused."
"That's what must've happened," Mike agreed, but funnily, the weird niggle returned, niggling more than ever.
But in spite of that, it still came as a shock when Peter woke him and Micky up early the next morning, and said, "There's a girl in Davy's pajamas."
"Good for Davy," Micky mumbled into his pillow.
Peter fidgeted with the sleeves of his own sleep suit. "Except – Davy's not in there with her."
Mike sat up. "He's not? That is a little weird." The whole thing was a little weird, given that Davy's infatuations didn't usually get much beyond the stage of starry-eyed making out. Still, if experience had taught him anything, it was where there was a girl, there should also be a Davy. It was simple geography. "You think this has something to do with that curse?"
"It would be thematically relevant," Micky said. He ran a hand through his hair and yawned.
They tiptoed into Peter and Davy's room, where they clustered around Davy's bed and stared down at the girl in Davy's pajamas.
"You know, there's something kind of familiar about her," Micky said. "Something I can't quite put my finger on." Magnifying glasses bloomed in his hand like flowers and he handed one to Peter and one to Mike.
Mike didn't join in on the examination, because he could already see the problem very clearly – and he really didn't want to look at it in close-up.
Carefully, almost casually, he said, "Would you fellas say that that girl looks a lot like Davy?"
Micky and Peter stared at the girl in Davy's pajamas, before slowly turning to Mike.
"So, what you're saying is - this is either the narcissistic impulse taken to a dangerous new level, or" –
Mike cut Micky off, "Or it's the curse."
"Or it's the curse," Micky repeated. "Right. That's what I was going to say too."
"Man, this is wild. You look like your own twin sister," Micky said, looking a now-awake Davy up and down. It was true. While there was a general recognizable Davyness about the softer, more feminine face, certain other features further down didn't suggest Davy at all. Mike tried not to look at those particular features.
"But I haven't got a twin sister," Davy said, clutching his pajama bottoms to prevent a sudden, ignominious slide floorward.
"Are you sure? Because you look just like her," Peter told him.
"What am I gonna do? I can't walk around like this!" Davy made to wave his hands in the air, only to grab for his pajama bottoms again almost immediately.
Peter frowned. "You're right. Maybe a belt?"
"I don't mean that! I can't walk around like I'm some sort of girl. I'm not a girl!"
"It appears ve haf some confusion on zis point. Might I suggest a full examination – purely in ze interests of science?" Micky said, suddenly sporting an accent and a stethoscope.
"Knock it off!" Davy said, batting away his hands. He turned his pleading eyes to Mike, and Mike decided it was time to take charge of things.
"Okay – well, first of all, I think we'd better get a hold of that lawyer-guy. He might be able to help us with this situation."
Unfortunately, it turned out the lawyer was unable to help them with their predicament in any way.
"Unfortunately, it turns out that I'm not able to help you with your predicament in any way," the besuited man said. He paused delicately. "After all, you did sign the contract, Miss Jones."
Davy gawped. "I'm not Miss Jones!"
"Ah, the youth of today and their informality." The besuited man shook his head indulgently at Mike, who agreed, "Yeah – we're pretty far out."
"And since when do family curses have to be signed for?"
"With all due respect, Miss Jones – it is the twentieth century. Even curses have to move with the times."
In the background, Micky agreed, "S' a fair point. Fair point," while Peter nodded vigorously.
"But why would great aunt Jemima do this to me?" Davy wondered, sinking down onto the couch.
"It does seem very out of character," Peter said. Mike reminded him again, "You never met the woman, Pete."
"Your great aunt always felt held back by her sex," the besuited man explained. Micky tried to cover Peter's ears. "Her father restricted her freedom a great deal – something she always blamed on the fact of her womanhood."
"But what's that got to do with me?" Davy asked.
"You are the lucky recipient of decades of her suppressed rage and bitterness."
"But on the bright side, at least she remembered you," Micky pointed out, patting Davy's shoulder.
"What I don't get is how great aunt Jemima managed to do all this," Mike said, waving a hand at Davy, risking only the barest sidelong glance at the newest topographical features of the Jones' landscape. Actually properly looking at Davy was like trying to walk on suddenly shifting ground - it gave him a headache.
"Great aunt Jemima was a seasoned dabbler in the black arts." The besuited man stared at Mike. "Are you saying an old woman can't have a hobby?"
"No, I'm not saying that," Mike said. "I just don't know what we're supposed to do with Davy now that he's a she, that's all."
The besuited man shrugged. "Well, what would you three normally do with a girl?"
The Monkees exchanged glances.
"Well, that's completely out of the question," Mike said firmly.
The besuited man thought. "In that case, maybe you can attempt to circumvent the curse?"
Davy snapped his fingers. "Circumvent – now that's more like it. How do we do that then?"
The besuited man blinked. "Well, your great aunt Jemima advises you to learn to be happy in spite of your, er – changed circumstances." He gestured weakly in the direction of Davy's upper body. "Then, you will have truly overcome the curse."
"Learn how to be happy as a girl?" Davy repeated blankly. "That's it? That's your advice?"
"It's your great aunt Jemima's advice," the besuited man corrected.
"And you've seen what she can do when she's mad – so maybe you oughta start listening to her," Micky said.
Davy let his head fall back against the couch cushions and groaned.