Author's Note: We do not own the Monkees, any of their songs, Pledge, or Kellogg's Frosted Flakes.
Chapter 1- Micky's Jokes
It was just another day at the pad. The sun was shining, the seagulls screamed over the shimmering oasis that was Malibu, and four particular musicians were waking up to a brand new day. Davy, Mike, and Micky had all gotten up a hour prior, but Peter decided to sleep in. He had remembered hearing the others get up, but he decided he was too comfortable to join them. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that something bad was going to happen, and he had no desire to face it.
"Peter!" Micky yelled from downstairs. "Get up!"
Peter shook his head no, muttering, "I don't want to Micky, let me be. I don't feel well." That was partially the truth, even though Micky couldn't actually hear it. He didn't feel well, but it wasn't a physical illness that had bed-ridden him.
"PETER!" Mike yelled. Groaning, Peter sat up.
"But Mike…" He muttered to himself, throwing off the sheets and dragging himself out of bed. He was afraid that whatever was going to happen would be a result of violence, and they all knew Peter hated violence.
Peter trudged downstairs, receiving the typical teases of his band mates. He grabbed a bowl and spoon and placed them on the table in front of the only empty seat. He then proceeded to grab some Kellogg's Frosted Flakes and some milk. He then prepared his cereal and proceeded to eat it.
"So, I was thinking that we should run over the songs we are going to play one last time before the show tonight. Remember we have that new song that we are going to be singing," Mike said, picking up his bowl and running water in it to clean the breakfast dishes.
"Oh come on Mike," Micky griped, "We've practiced 'As We Go Along,' so many times I can play it in my sleep."
"Yeah Mike," Davy chimed in, "Can't we take a bit of a break?" Mike sighed and looked out the window across the beach to the sea. He then looked back at his band mates, finally coming to a decision.
"Okay, fine… No practice today," He said as Micky, Davy and Peter grinned. "But I would like it if you helped me clean up the house."
"Yeah, okay." Micky said, nodding as he slurped down the rest of the milk in his bowl and added it to Mike's bowl in the sink. Mike turned around and shut the water off, grabbing a rag and beginning to wash the dishes.
"I'll start cleaning the living room." Micky said as he made his way over to the couch and started to pick up the newspapers that were lying around. He put them into a pile to be taken out with the trash.
"Alright, but let Davy or I dust." Mike said as he rinsed off a cup.
"Why? It's like you don't trust me." Micky said, faking a pout.
"I do trust you Mick, I just don't trust you enough to not break something." The Texan said as Davy and Peter snickered, depositing their dirty dishes into the sink as well.
"Well what should I do?" Peter asked.
"Want to put dishes away for me?" Mike asked. Peter began drying and putting dishes away and Davy made his way upstairs.
"Where do you think you're going?" Micky asked as he started to pull the vacuum out.
"Upstairs to clean the bedroom." Davy answered.
"All four of us should clean the bedroom." Peter said as he put the empty milk carton into the garbage.
"Okay, then I'll pick up the dirty laundry." Davy said, making his way up the stairs.
"I have a feeling he's not going to do anything of the sort, except maybe look at it," Mike sighed.
"Oh come on Mike," Micky said over the roar of the vacuum. "Have some faith in him."
"Yeah, alright." Mike said, draining the dirty water from the sink. "But if I go up there and find out that he's reading or just laying on his bed, I'm going to be ticked." Peter shook his head slightly as he put the last spoon away and hung up the towel over the oven door handle.
An hour later, Davy still hadn't come down from upstairs. Grumbling under his breath, Mike made his way up the spiral staircase and walked into the bedroom. Davy was on the bed, reading a book.
"Davy, what are you doing?" Mike asked in an accusing tone.
"Well, I started to pick up all the dirty clothes, then I found this book that Micky was reading and he had told me that I should read it, so I started reading that and yeah..." Davy trailed off, looking sheepish.
Mike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, give me the book," Mike said, holding out his hand for the paperback. Davy handed it over reluctantly. "Thank you. Start picking up the laundry and putting it into the basket, alright? Then get down stairs and dust. Then we'll go to the laundromat and do the wash." With that, Mike turned around and went back down stairs.
"So, what was he doing?" Peter asked, shouting a little to be heard over Micky's vacuuming.
"Reading this," Mike said, holding up the book and placing it on top of the fridge where, he hoped, Davy couldn't reach it. A few minutes later Davy came down stairs with the laundry bag and set it by the door.
"So all the laundry is sorted and stacked in here with the colours on top." The Englishman said as he looked around. "What else is there to do?"
"Davy, you should be old enough to know what needs to be done around the house." Peter said as he started to pick up the windbreakers they all had worn the day before.
"Here, dust why don't ya?" Mike handed Davy a rag and some Pledge. Davy sighed, but took the rag and bottle and started wiping down the coffee table.
"Would you rather clean the bathroom?" Mike asked from where he was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the tub out.
"Eww, no." Davy exclaimed, wrinkling his nose.
"Didn't think so," Mike answered.
Micky looked around. He was getting bored again.
"Hey Davy, think fast!" Micky said as he tossed a wad of balled up paper at Davy. Davy grabbed it and tossed it back to Micky and soon even Peter joined in with their little game.
"Alright you three, what's going on?" Mike asked as he came out of the bathroom, his hands on his hips, looking at each of them in turn.
"Just trying to make chores a little more interesting." Micky said, lobbing the paper into the trashcan.
Mike sighed, "Can you just clean please? We have a lot of work to do in order to get this house looking halfway decent again."
"Aww, you're no fun Mike." Davy said, sticking out his bottom lip in a mock pout.
"Yeah well... I just want to get this done with so we don't have to spend tomorrow doing it." Mike said, turning to go back into the bathroom.
"How did we let it get this bad anyway?" Micky questioned as he grabbed the window cleaner to start cleaning the windows.
"I did a little bit of an experiment," Mike said with a diabolical smirk.
"Oh yeah, what kind?" Peter asked.
"I didn't clean as much as I normally do." Mike answered, coming out of the bathroom on his hands and knees as he scrubbed the floor. "I'm not saying that I do all the cleaning," He quickly said as his three band mates exchanged looks of hurt.
"But you do most of it... Gee Mike, we're sorry." Davy said. "We'll try to do better."
"Yeah!" Micky agreed, running a hand through his mop of curls. Peter just nodded. Mike sat back on his heals and sighed. He didn't mean to make his friends feel guilty.
"It's alright guys... I could of asked you to help out, but I didn't until today. Anyway, the bathroom is clean. Once the kitchen floor is scrubbed down we should be able to tackle the bedroom." He went over to the window and grabbed a clean rag to help Micky wash the windows. That's when Micky started goofing off again.
It started innocently. He started imitating Mike, making Peter and Davy giggle. However, the rag in Micky's hands decided to try a little something different than what Micky had in store...
Within seconds, Micky found his rag flying from his grasp, covered in window cleaner, heading right for Mike's face. Bulls-eye. Silence filled the room as Mike quickly pulled the rag from his face, his eyes squeezed shut. He dropped the rag, brought a hand to his eyes, and ran for the bathroom. Micky didn't realize how angry Mike could be until the door slammed shut, causing the silence to become more tense than it needed to be.
Being the only one willing to approach him, Peter silently walked over to the bathroom door. "Mike? You alright in there, Mike?" No response.
"Leave him be, Pete. Let's just clean up now." Davy ordered, continuing to vacuum. However, Peter and Micky stood silently, not sure what to do. "What are you two standing around for?"
Micky shrugged and then continued to clean the windows, his attitude scared and quiet. However, Peter stared at the bathroom. "Sorry Davy, I'm just worried," Peter said, not turning his head. They could hear the water running in the bathroom. After a couple minutes of attempted cleaning, the door swung open, again with a bang. All three boys turned to see Mike run upstairs in a panicked haste. Mike had one hand on his face as he fumbled up the steps like a drunkard. He slammed the door shut behind him.
"Mike!" Peter called, but like before he got no response.
"Gosharoony, I've really done it this time, haven't I?" Micky mumbled. As guilt ran through his blood, his mind instantly told him to run. That's exactly what he did. Micky dropped the window cleaner and ran out the back door, Peter calling after him.
"Leave him, Pete." Davy said soberly. "He needs his space. Come on, let's finish cleaning up." Suddenly, there was a loud noise from the upstairs bedroom. "On second thought, I think Mike needs space too, let's go." Davy muttered, grabbing Peter's arm and running out of the pad.