Notes: This little ficlit was done on a request from an anon reviewer, who requested me to do something with episode 6, "Success Story." This vignette serves to fill in a couple of the gaps between the timeskips, mainly how they suddenly switched from Grandpa Jones' rant after dinner to gloomy Davy the next morning, as well as explain why Mike's goodbye to him was a simple "Be good" as opposed to something else.


Though the days of Lone Star and Union Jack were behind them now, having given way to the Monkees, life seemed to go on as normal for Mike and Davy, despite the addition of two new roommates. The other three had, soon after forming the Monkees, unanimously voted Mike as their leader, and his first item of business was figuring out their finances. With the money they had earned from their summer playing at the Vincent Van Gogh-Gogh, they managed to hold onto a little bit of spending money—and with Davy's final year of school providing the much-appreciated housing reimbursement, they actually got the chance to buy things they didn't exactly need, but decided would be interesting—perhaps the most interesting of these was when Peter bought a talking pull-string dummy in a three-piece suit. The others quickly learned to appreciate it; Mike was the one who ended up naming the thing "Mr. Schneider"—just because he could.

They didn't have money to burn for long, however. The financial crisis started once again after Davy had finished his schooling—and the housing reimbursement stopped for good. They went over their options—which included, among other things, Micky trying to convince Davy to flunk his final exams so he could stay another year. Davy had balked at this, not because of the potential embarrassment, but out of apparent fear of what his grandfather would do to him if he did that.

It was then that Mike had to wonder about what was it about Davy's grandfather that seemed to convince his friend to toe the line just at the very mention of him—despite the obvious fact that he was clear on the other side of the world.

Mike eventually found out all too well that fateful day that Davy received a telegram from Grandpa Jones himself, announcing his imminent arrival. Panic was the understatement when describing what happened—especially after Davy admitted that he hadn't been truthful in regards to what he had told his guardian.

Mike's idea to try to make it seem as though Davy had been the success he had claimed he was had started off well, but fell to pieces—and when Grandpa Jones angrily announced that Davy would be going back to England the next day, well… Mike had never felt like a bigger failure more than at that moment. Whether or not their music was successful was nothing compared to letting down his best friend.

That night in the Pad was the gloomiest one the beachhouse had ever seen. Grandpa Jones retired for the night in the room that Davy and Peter usually shared; they both were giving him a wide berth—Peter resigned himself to sleeping on the backless couch in the living room, and Davy wasn't going to sleep at all, it seemed. Davy stood on the balcony, staring out at the beach, the waves, and the sky, standing completely still. A passerby could've easily mistaken him for a statue.

Mike came back downstairs to check on them after some time. Peter looked up as he arrived, also unable to sleep.

"Mick's awake upstairs, too," the Texan said. "Davy never tried to turn in?"

"Nope," Peter sighed. "He's just been standing there. How's Micky taking it?"

"He's trying to convince himself that this is all a bad dream."

Peter winced.

"I'd better talk to him," he said heading up the narrow spiral stairwell.

Mike watched him go before glancing out at the balcony and joining Davy there.

"Hey, Tiny."

Davy didn't move, and Mike placed a hand on his shoulder; Davy's grip on the balcony railing tightened. The Texan sighed, but continued to speak.

"Look, I'm sorry this didn't work out. But maybe it's for the best, you know?"

"How can you say that?" Davy hissed.

Mike took a step back, startled by the retort.

"You don't know what's best for me—and that's the whole reason why he's not letting me stay!"

Aside from his initial shock, the Texan didn't even flinch; he knew that Davy had to vent his frustrations and emotions somehow—better now than later, Mike supposed.

"I didn't say that it was absolutely the best thing," Mike said, calmly. "I said 'maybe.' I'm not going to pretend that I know the answers. But I do know one thing."

"Oh?" Davy asked, darkly.

"By the end of the year, you're going to be eighteen," Mike reminded him. "After that, well… there's nothing keeping you over there in England."

"A lot can happen between now and then," Davy replied. "It won't take you long to find another tambourine player. And trust my grandfather to come up with some reason for me to stay even after I turn eighteen."

Mike folded his arms.

"Well, if that's you just throwing in the towel, then I guess I didn't know you as well as I thought I did."

Davy now covered his face with his hand; Mike wasn't sure whether it was because he was facepalming or if he was trying not to let on that he was crying.

"I guess I don't even know myself," he said, at last. "I'm sorry, Mike; I didn't mean to take it out on you…"

Mike gripped the younger boy's shoulders again.

"Hey…" he said. "Better me than on your gramps, right? That'd just make things worse."

"I ought to give him a piece of my mind…"

"No; that'll just give him further proof for his idea that you don't belong here," Mike said. "You just straighten up and fly right—and then get the heck back over here once you turn eighteen, got it? I promise; we'll wait. Think of it as you going on a trip and taking the long way back."

Davy looked up at him with a wan smile, and Mike had to force himself to keep one, too. In all honestly, he was consoling himself as much as his younger friend, trying to put on a brave face for his sake. He didn't want Davy to leave any more than Davy wanted to go. After all, Davy had ended up being the first real friend this loner ever had; like he had once said, they hadn't intended it to happen, but there was no going back now—and Mike wouldn't want to change a thing, even if he had the chance.

"Thank you, Mike," Davy said, at last.

"Anytime…" the Texan said. "Hey, you'd better get some sleep. You've… you've got a big journey ahead you tomorrow; you don't want to fall asleep on your feet."

"I'm not sleepy at all," the younger boy insisted. "You go on ahead; I'll have a kip if I feel tired."

But Mike sat down on the balcony, deciding to keep him company. When morning came, Davy still didn't budge from where he was standing, too upset to eat. Mike stayed away as Grandpa Jones went to talk to him for some time, but Davy wasn't in the mood to talk; he went for a walk on the beach, and Mike attempted to argue with the elderly gentleman at that point.

The Texan was fully aware of the fact that he was guilty of the same thing that he was accusing Grandpa Jones of—that he only wanted Davy to stay because he would miss him. The only thing that gave Mike's argument any semblance of validity was the fact that Davy wanted to stay, as well. It didn't do any good, however; Mike now admitted defeat, nothing left to do until Davy returned to say goodbye—and for Mike to remind him to be good long enough until he had the chance to come back.

After Davy left, Mike stood for a long time where he was at, his hand clutching the railing of the stairwell so hard that lines had been pressed on his palm. Micky and Peter finally convinced him to go out to the balcony, but Mike continued to stare at the front door as they talked.

And then something in him snapped. Who was he to give up on Davy so quickly, without even trying to fight back? If there was one thing that Mike knew that was one of the unwritten principles of the world, it was that you don't give up on your friends—you keep fighting for them.

He allowed the tears he had been holding back to make their presence known before declaring that they weren't taking this sitting down—not now, and not ever.


This time, Mike's plan ended up being successful… sort of. Grandpa Jones saw through their attempts at disguising themselves, but he, at last, conceded that he may have been a bit too hasty in attempting to take Davy away from the new family he had found here.

Davy had to admit that he found it hard to believe at first that his grandfather had changed his mind and was letting him stay; Davy spent the next several minutes waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. The Monkees all stayed until the Grandpa Jones' flight left, and then they helped Davy carry all of his luggage back to the Monkeemobile—more than a bit of déjà vu for Mike, especially after Davy fell asleep in the front passenger seat again due to his insomnia the night before.

The others let him sleep; it was most fortuitous, for Peter had the idea to do all of Davy's unpacking for him—down to carefully placing every last article of clothing that Davy had usually piled on the floor back in an organized mess.

Mike woke the English boy up once they had finished; Davy had just barely rubbed his eyes when the others suddenly threw handfuls of confetti at him.

"What is this?" he asked, between chuckles.

"Well, we didn't get a chance to give you a going-away party," Micky said. "So it was Pete's idea to give you a welcome back one instead."

"Your clothes are back on the floor," the blond grinned. "Just the way you left them."

Davy shook his head in amusement.

"I dunno what you did to try to convince my grandfather to let me stay here, but… whatever it was, thank you."

"Well, that was all Mike's idea," Micky said, as Mike looked decidedly elsewhere, somewhat embarrassed.

"Really?" Davy asked, looking up at the Texan. "What ever happened to 'straighten up and fly right,' and all of that you were telling me?"

"Okay, so I changed my mind," Mike said, shrugging it off; he didn't want to let on just how much he would've missed having Davy around. "You got what you wanted didn't you?" He pulled out his guitar from its case as Micky and Peter went to their instruments at the alcove, as well. "So let's get this party going, shall we?"

Davy returned the shrug and headed to the alcove, too. Mike followed him and Davy paused as the Texan briefly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Welcome home, Tiny."

Davy just grinned in reply as he picked up his tambourine and maracas.

Yes. He was home.