Author's notes: My brain needed a little break, so this weird idea climbed in and then this happened. I almost feel bad for doing something to Peter.

Almost. (Sorry, Peter, honey.)

Carnival season had arrived in Malibu. The night air was permeated with the smell of hot dogs and funnel cake, while the brightly-colored lights on the rides beamed out over at least a mile radius from the fairgrounds. One could almost set their watch to the screams of riders on the Sky Drop, which were always followed by giddy, adrenaline-filled laughter. The carnival was the bridge between summer and fall; a way to say goodbye to one season while welcoming another.

"I hate that I'm so lousy at these games," Peter complained, adjusting the plush tiger on his shoulder. Once the tiger was situated, he intertwined fingers with his girlfriend again.

"You know they're rigged, right?" Sugar glanced at the prize draped on Peter's shoulder and giggled. "Besides, I saw how badly you wanted that kitty, so I didn't mind gettin' him for you."

The blond ducked his head slightly, blushing and grinning. "Thanks."

"Anything for you, Shotgun." She planted a kiss on his cheek, then tugged at his arm, leading him toward the red and orange beacon of the midway. "C'mon, we oughta get in one more ride or two before the night's over!"

Still clutching tightly to the girl's hand, Peter stumbled a moment and caught up with her long strides. Walking beside her, he took in the unmistakable happiness on her face. She had come so far in just a little over a year's time, perhaps at last adjusting to what life had given her. There were times when he knew she was frustrated, but he stayed close and was as supportive as he could be, even when he didn't quite understand why Sugar could be so mad at herself.

But for now, she was happy.

He looked down at their hands, fingers still tightly looped together, and smiled. He was happy, too.

The couple rounded a corner, stepping into the midway, which even at this late hour, was still bustling with people. They passed by the milk bottle game, meriting a nasty glare from the worker running that particular hustle. Peter noticed that Sugar stood up straighter and practically strutted by the game, throwing a thumb at the prize tiger he carried.

Past the darts and balloons and the ducks in the wading pool, Peter found himself distracted by a quiet, dimly-lit tent. A handful of votive candles partially lined a makeshift walkway, leading to the tent's entrance. At one side stood an easel, holding a neatly-written, handmade sign that boasted of predictions in love, success and money…and all for only 25¢!

Not one to pass up a bargain, Peter fished a quarter from his pocket and released Shug's hand. She looked stunned.

"Where ya goin'?"

He pointed excitedly to the purple tent. "I'm gonna find out if we ever get famous. See? 'Fortunes told. Palms read.'"

The lanky girl sighed and shook her head in disapproval. "Pete, honey, I hate to break it to you, but fortunetelling is a racket, too. They ask you some questions, you answer 'em and from that, they come up with some magic reading on your supposed future." She kept her eyes locked on his. "It's like the Tooth Fairy. It's not real."

"But…" His bottom lip stuck out in a disappointed pout. He remembered when Mike had explained that whole Tooth Fairy thing to him and he still had trouble believing it. Compared to everything their group had been through, there were far stranger, less believable things they had experienced than a sprite with a dental fixation. His girlfriend was possibly one of the most unbelievable of those things. "It's only a quarter," he whined.

"That's a load of laundry at April's," Shug replied pointedly.

Peter looked at the coin in his hand, already warm from him holding onto it so tightly. Whether or not the predictions were genuine, maybe they would be positive enough that he could help make them a reality? "But Merrabeeeeth…"

Sugar sighed. "I hate it when you get that look on your face. Breaks my heart every time." She smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Okay, go get your fortune. I'll hold the kitty."

Passing the stuffed tiger to Shug, Peter grinned and bounced in excitement. "Thanks, Sugarbear!" He quickly kissed her before skipping toward the small tent.

As he lifted the fabric panels at the entrance way, Peter was immediately hit with the scent of cheap incense, along with a hint of something else… Was that hamburger or corn dog? Whatever it was, it didn't mix well with the overly floral smell that filled the place. In an effort to keep from tossing the funnel cake he had eaten earlier, he made sure to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose. It helped, but only slightly. No one should ever be able to taste the air.

Through his moccasins, he could feel a difference in the ground beneath his feet. The floor of the tent was layered with pieces of old Persian area rugs, some still sporting their "SAMPLE ONLY" tags in the corner. The top-most perimeter was lined with Christmas lights, some blinking, some burning steadily.

In the center of it all was a small, round table, draped in scarves and fabric remnants, complete with an illuminated crystal ball on top. Peter spied the electrical cord sticking out from the base of the sphere, which was plugged into a longer, orange extension cable that trailed across the floor and out from under the tent, most likely siphoning power from the game booth next door. That guy with the plastic ducks wouldn't be happy about that.

The more Peter looked at his surroundings, the more he knew Sugar was right. At least the Tooth Fairy had been more believable. His lost teeth were always gone the next morning, replaced with shiny new coins.

A ragged voice called from the opposite edge of the tent, startling the boy. "Do you seek your fortune, young fellow?"

So disarmed was Peter that he nearly dropped that quarter to which he clung so tightly. "I…well, that is…uh…" He hovered near the tent's entrance. "Maybe I should be going now."

"Don't be silly," the older woman cooed softly as she stepped into the light. She waved at Peter, beckoning him to come closer. "You are frightened. That is understandable. The idea of the future can be daunting."

Peter cocked his head sideways, confused. "Dawn…? Dawn-ting?"

"That means it can be scary, kid," she snapped, voice still sounding old, but suddenly lacking the thick, foreign accent. She plopped down onto a stool on the back side of the table. "Now, do you want your fortune or don't ya?"

The boy bit his lip, considering the coin in his grasp. It was all for show, this gypsy fortuneteller and her bargain crystal ball, so even if it was fake, maybe it could still be fun. That's what this entire date was about, wasn't it? He and Sugar had a night off and were out to have some fun.

Peter passed the quarter to the old woman, dropping it into her palm as he took a seat across from her. She smiled, a handful of yellowed, snaggled teeth visible in the dim light around her.

"Let me see your hand, dear," she instructed, accent returning to her voice. Peter obeyed, holding out his right hand, palm facing upward. The gypsy trailed a long nail down the center of his hand, resulting in Peter giggling. She paused and raised an eyebrow. "You find this amusing?"

"Oh no no," the boy defended. "It just tickles." It really did.

"Lady Magda hasn't the time for foolishness such as tickling," the old woman groused as she resumed her inspection of Peter's palm. She peered at the lines in his skin, pausing as she ran her hand over his calloused fingertips. "You are a musician?"

Peter nodded happily. "Yes, ma'am."

Holding her opposite hand to her temple, Lady Magda closed her eyes and began humming incoherently. "I see…I see you have friends in a band…"

"That's right!" Peter chimed. "We're the Monkees. You may not have heard of us, though."

"Monkees, you say?" The gypsy cracked open an eye, giving the boy an odd glare. "I know of these…Monkees."

"Really? That's terrific!" Peter was so excited, he nearly toppled off his seat. "Maybe that means we're finally getting someplace if people have heard of us!"

The old woman waved her fingers over Peter's hand, then his head, before resting them against his forehead. "Mmmnnnn… Yes, yes! There is a bright future ahead for you and your friends! I can see it!"

"Eeee!"

"SILENCE!" Magda placed her hand over Peter's mouth, shushing him instantly. "While your friends are important to you, you are here for your reading. Your future." She withdrew her hand, again waving it over Peter's as she intently studied his palm. "Ah, you lucky boy, there is a beautiful woman waiting for you…"

"Oh, I know that," the boy laughed. "She's right outside the tent."

The grin on Magda's face fell so suddenly, Peter was surprised it didn't hit the table. "Are you kidding me?" Funny, the accent fell off again, too. "Tell me something—Are you happy?"

Peter blinked, taken aback by the sudden line of questioning. "You're the fortuneteller. Aren't you supposed to tell me that?"

"Nobody likes a wisenheimer, kid." Magda dropped the blond's hand and angrily crossed her arms over her chest in a tangle of shawls and pop metal medallions. "You come in here, you give me your quarter and all you have to do is play along. You think I like doing this?"

"Well…I…um… Maybe a little?" Peter sank in his seat.

"I don't like it a damned bit," the gypsy barked, smacking her hands against the tabletop. She hit it so hard, the light-up crystal ball flickered a moment. "But you know what? It's the best I can do, thanks to kids like you. You and your insipid little rock bands. Nothing but a bunch of noise, if you ask me. I can't even get a decent score during carnival season!"

"Gosh, ma'am. I didn't know…" Peter stammered. He extended a friendly hand toward the old woman, only to have it smacked away harshly.

Magda stood from her seat, hands on her hips, and gave Peter such a look, it sent shivers down his spine. "So tell me, Monkee. Are you happy? Are you really, truly happy?"

Peter cowered, arms folded around himself. This was proving to be one heck of a mistake. He didn't mean to make the old woman mad. He couldn't even figure out how he had managed such a thing.

"Are you gonna answer me or are you gonna stare all night?"

He threw his arms over his head. "Yes, ma'am, I'm very happy, thank you," he squeaked, absolutely terrified.

Magda waved her hands, then thrust them at Peter, fingers extended. "Let's see how you manage when that happiness is taken away!"

Peter yelped, falling over backwards onto the dusty rug scraps. He scrambled to his feet and dashed out of the tent as fast as he could, hoping that Sugar was where he had left her moments earlier. Thankfully, she was. He threw his arms around her and hugged her as tightly as he could.

"Pete?" Shug laughed, but it quickly faded. "You're shivering. What's wrong?"

"I think I just got cursed," the boy whimpered. He chanced a look back at the tent, then quickly hid his face in her shoulder. "I made the gypsy lady mad."

Sugar held him close, giving him a few good, firm pats on the back. "Now, how on earth did you do that? You're too nice a guy to make anybody mad."

"I'm happy," Peter sighed. "I'm happy and she didn't like that. So she cursed me."

Leaning back, Shug looked sternly into Peter's eyes. "There's no such thing as a gypsy curse. She's just a very angry, old woman who's sorry she couldn't bilk you for more money." Again, she hugged him. "C'mon, I think you've had enough carnival for one night. Got in a few good rides, got a tiger and you've probably got a bellyache on top of all that." She curled her fingers around his and and tugged at his hand. "How 'bout we go home?"

Curses were silly things to believe, Peter told himself. Maybe the old woman was jealous of anyone happier than she was. Feeling Sugar's hand in his made him feel better, though. It was reassuring. While they were still sort of a new couple, they already had a long history together and a solid friendship. There wasn't a thing he could think of that could possibly ruin that.

There's more of course, but you guys gotta wait. :)