Author's Note: This began as silliness. It has quickly grown serious six mile legs.
Evenings at 1334 Beachwood Drive could be exciting, while at other times they could be rather dull. Tonight, thankfully, was more relaxing than anything else. Peter and Davy were on post-dinner dish duty, struggling to get at least one more use out of those week-old paper plates. Mike busied himself with the band's budget, while Micky tinkered with his chemistry set in the living room.
Mike had nearly figured out how the group would make it through the month without another late rent payment, but his epiphany was short-lived. His train of thought ran off the tracks when a foul smell reached his nose. He strained out a cough, yanking his hat off his head and putting it over his face. "MICKY!"
As usual, Micky was unfazed. He just waved away the smoke and grinned. "Sorry, Mike. I think I've had a breakthrough!"
By now, Davy and Peter were gagging. Davy threw open the kitchen window; Peter made a break for the balcony. "What are you cooking that smells like death?"
"You remember that book we brought back from Lorelei's place?"
Davy shivered at the mention of the spooky girl. "I'd like to forget her, thank you very much."
"Aww," Micky tutted. "Now, now, Davy. You've got nothing to worry about."
The Englishman shot him a very unimpressed look.
"No vampire uprisings, no werewolves… No tomato juice."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart."
Davy gave an approving nod. As long as there were no monsters, maybe it was okay.
"Man, I smelled better things on the back half of Aunt Kate's farm!" Mike looked absolutely pained by the scent. "Can't you take that outside?"
"No, I like how it smells out here! So do the seagulls!" It appeared Peter had decided to camp on the balcony deck as a last resort. How he had so quickly made a blanket fort out there was beyond his bandmates.
Satisfied with the results of his experiment, Micky extinguished the flames on the Bunsen burner. "Okay fine, I guess that's enough science for tonight." He capped the test tube containing his stinky brew.
"What is it, Eau de Manure?" Mike had finally relented and placed his hat back on his head.
Micky shrugged. "Nah, just a little something I wanted to try from Lorelei's book."
Mike let out a whistle. "Shoo, man, I dunno about that. You sure that's safe? I mean…It's you, Micky."
"Oh ye of little faith," Micky propped a hip against the table. "It's no big deal anyway."
Mike's reply was a shrug. He gathered up his papers and put them away in the kitchen drawer. "Guess I should tell Peter it's safe to come inside." He observed the blonde boy's blanket fort. "The 'Fort Thorkelson' sign is a nice touch."
As Mike went outside to negotiate with the bassist, Micky slipped a few drops of his experimental solution into Mike's bottle of soda. "One dose of confidence, coming right up."
Sleep was not easy for Micky that night. Mike had spent most of the time flopping around in his bed, restless. He finally settled sometime during the wee hours.
"Next time, I think I'll give you my knockout drops," Micky groused. He pulled his pillow over his head and dozed back off at last. A few hours of sleep were better than nothing.
Those few hours went too fast, as Micky found himself awake again, thanks to Mike. He had rolled over awkwardly and was snoring and mumbling. His voice sounded a bit peculiar to Micky's ears. He reasoned maybe the boy was doing funny voices in his sleep.
Mike had kicked his sheets off most of the way. He took a little stretch, once again squirming onto his back. Something didn't seem quite right to Micky. He squinted his eyes in the darkness, trying to focus on his friend. He finally gave up and turned on the bedside lamp.
"Uh oh."
"Jus' go backkasleep, Micky," Mike slurred out. He didn't even open his eyes. He only barely opened his mouth.
"Mike, you need to get up."
"Ain't daylight yet. Go backkasleep." He buried his face in the pillow and scrunched himself into a ball. It wasn't half a minute before he had sat bolt upright in the bed.
"You okay?" The smile Micky was faking wasn't exactly comforting. "You feel alright?"
Mike's sleepwear of choice had been some worn pajama pants and his old Triumph T-shirt. There was no mistaking he filled them out in an entirely different way now. "Micky," he said, voice breaking, "I want you to tell me why I don't sound right and why I don't look right…and why I REALLY don't FEEL right."
Micky ruffled his curly hair, fidgeting from his perch on his bed. "Uh…well…"
"Micky."
"It's not polite for me to stare, y'know."
"Micky."
"If it helps any, you're cute as a button."
"MICKY!"
The drummer yelped and covered his head with his pillow. It was immediately snatched out of his hands by one very angry, very tall, very horrified dark-haired woman. "What happened to me?" The voice still sounded like Mike, but the pitch was off.
"I may have made the teeniest, tiniest miscalculation last night," Micky squeaked.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "Miscalculation? What 'miscalculation'?" Then he remembered the Eau de Manure… As the realization hit him, his eyes boggled. "You didn't."
"I did. Right in your soda." Micky looked like he would be sick. "This isn't what was supposed to happen, though."
Mike folded his arms across his now quite feminine chest. "Oh, that's fine. What were you goin' for, Brigitte Bardot?"
The bedroom door flew open, with Davy and Peter scrambling over each other wildly to get into the room. Davy caught his breath. "We heard someone scream up here!"
"Are you guys okay?" Peter continued. "It sounded sort of like a lady." His eyes fixed on Mike's face. "You do something different with your hair, Mike?"
Mike sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "It was me. You heard me. May as well get it out in the open."
"It certainly is out in the open," Davy snickered. Mike was quick to cross his arms again and slouch.
"I'm really sorry, man. The book said this would help you." Micky still looked ill. He fetched his robe from the bedpost and handed it to Mike. He was quick to put it on.
"How is turnin' me into a girl in any way helpful?" With the robe, Mike felt a little less exposed, but not any less…weird. "And who said I needed help anyway?"
Micky shrugged. "Well, you're always taking care of us and you hardly ever take any credit for anything, so I thought a little ego boost would make you feel better."
"Son, this is an ego hang-up."
"You weren't supposed to end up like…that!" Micky gestured toward Mike's new shape. "I was thinking more along the lines of James Bond or Matt Helm."
Mike rolled his eyes. "I prefer Michael Nesmith, if ya don't mind." He groaned at the sound of his own voice. "The original version too, not this…retread here."
Davy had taken a seat on the end of Micky's bed. Try as he might, he couldn't help staring at poor Mike. "How closely did you follow the directions? We know you like to go off-script."
Micky's chest sank. "…I might have fudged a couple of things."
A collective groan came from the rest of the group. Mike was crestfallen. Peter instinctively hugged him. "So now what do we do?"
"The book said it's just temporary. Once it wears off, Mike will be back to normal." Micky sounded hopeful, but not terribly confident.
"To the book," Davy said as he headed to the stairs.
NOTES: Yes, I know it's a tired premise, but it's fun to play around with this kinda stuff.
Who wants to play "Spot the Episode Reference" while reading along? :D
STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO
