Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, everyone. But we're both busy. Hate to see this end, but everything must eventually come to an end sometime. Check out our other stories and let us know what you think!

PlushChrome's AN: Thanks for sticking with our story, I'm glad you all liked it so much!

Chapter 26: Whole

"Sell our instruments!?" Davy repeated in shock.

"The Monkeemobile!?" Micky said at the same time.

"I'm sorry," Mike said calmly. "I know how much they mean to us, but we're going into debt. Deeply into debt. Those are our only two options."

"They aren't options!" Davy said. "They're a part of us!"

"Yeah," Micky agreed. "We can't sell them! It would be like selling… well, it would be like selling… us!"

"It's either that or the pad," Mike stated.

Everyone fell silent. Micky sat back against the chair, thinking this over. Were they really that far behind financially? Now that he thought about it, Davy was the only one of the four with a full time job. And only Mike had a part time job, at that. Plus all their recent bills, and the fact that they usually struggled with finances anyway, he guessed it wasn't too hard to guess they'd be in trouble.

"...Is it really down to the car or instruments?" Peter asked quietly.

"I'm afraid so," Mike nodded.

"Fine," Micky sighed. "If that's what it takes, so be it." Davy nodded.

"Alright, Mike said. "Now we need to decide which one to sell." There was more silence, no one wanted to have to choose.

"I think…" Davy started, clearing his throat when his voice wavered. "I think that, from an objective standpoint, it makes more sense to keep the car."

"Davy…" Micky sighed.

"I mean," Davy continued. "I drive to work every day, if we sold the car, we'd have to pay cab fare, and that really adds up after awhile. I think- I think we should sell- sell the instruments." He finished quickly, looking down at the table as if he were ashamed to even say so.

"That's a very good point," Mike said. "Cab fare is something to take into account." There was more silence. Micky was really starting to hate this silence. Not as much as he hated what he was about to say, however. His drums…

"I think we should keep the car too," he admitted. "Right now, the instruments are just collecting dust. It makes more sense to keep the car. We can always- we can always buy new instruments."

"No." Everyone looked up at Peter, who was looking, for the first time since Micky had known him, truly fierce. He didn't look angry; he didn't look disappointed. He looked determined, as if he knew the right path and wasn't afraid to speak his mind.

"We can't sell the instruments," Peter stated. "Those instruments are as much a part of us as we are of each other. Mike, you're putting up a brave front, but we all know you would feel broken without Blonde Beauty. Micky, those drums are so you that it's hard to even think of you ever playing a different set. And Davy, I know you feel sometimes that the maracas and the tambourine aren't as important as something like my bass, but nothing we did would ever sound the same without them, and they're filled with the memories of one of our adventures, when we all made it through because we had each other." Micky and Davy both gave a small smile as they remembered the spies and the microfilm, and working with the CIA. Mike frowned in slight confusion, but found himself smiling as well.

"The Monkeemobile is a part of us too," Peter continued. "But in a different way. The Monkeemobile is a symbol of our friendship, it's a sign to show the world that we're the Monkees, and we're coming to say what needs said. But unless we have our instruments, we're not the Monkees at all. They're what made us the Monkees. Without them, we're just Mike, Micky, Davy and Peter."

"I agree!" Micky said, feeling a lump in his throat. "Peter's right, Mike. We can't sell the instruments!"

"Yeah," Davy said. "Besides, the car would fetch us more money anyway. We'd get out of debt faster."

"That's true," Micky said. "What'd'ya think, Mike? Let's sell the car." They all looked expectantly at Mike, and were shocked to see him have to wipe a few tears from his face with the back of his hand. He seemed as surprised as they were, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"I don't… I don't know what came over me," he said quietly. "B-but you're right, Peter. We can't sell those instruments. It… it never should have been an option." Micky felt tears well up in his own eyes at Mike's words, and he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to stop them from coming. He didn't know what was wrong with him either, but he just felt… so sad, somehow. And yet, at the same time, he felt so happy, as if he were remembering a time where he'd felt safe. It made no sense, and Micky knew that. But he still felt like that for some reason. "Right," Mike said roughly, pulling himself together. "We'll sell the car."

After they made the decision to sell the Monkeemobile, Mike got right to work looking for a buyer. They all agreed it had to be someone they trusted to take care of it, and so they began going through a list of people they knew, trying to figure something out. Eventually, they decided to once again call Larry the Moving Van Guy and ask him if he'd be interested in buying it. It was a very hard phone call to make, and Larry seemed rather surprised that they were selling it, but agreed to buy it to help them out. He told them that he was working a job, but would be able to come get the car in two weeks time.

Now, the Monkees all sat around the pad in silence. It had been two weeks. Not only were they waiting to give up the keys to their precious car, but they all were especially somber because in a few days, it would be a year since the accident. Even for Mike, who didn't remember the accident and probably never would, the anniversary was dreaded.

There was a knock at the door, and the Monkees all looked up at each other. This was it.

"I-I'll get it," Micky offered, standing up and walking towards the door. Without even opening the peephole because he knew who it had to be; Micky opened the door.

"SURPRISE!"

Suddenly, the Pad was flooded with people, so many people, all of them friends. Some were carrying brightly wrapped packages, some were carrying bowls of food, some were bringing care baskets or giant teddy bears or bunches of balloons, and all were smiling and talking and generally having a good time.

The Monkees were shocked. All still sitting where they had been sitting (except for Micky, who was standing in surprise near the door), the boys stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed as they recognized all the people they had helped out over the years, now here for them. The crowd quieted down as one person stood on the coffee table, getting everyone's attention.

"Hello, boys!" Milly Rudnick said. Or, not Rudnick, as she was now married to- Larry the Moving Van Guy! "I hope you don't mind us crashing your place like this," she said with a smile. "But it's high time we did something about what's going on. When Larry told me about your call, I realized something. I wouldn't be where I am now, married to the best man in the world, if it weren't for you wonderful boys. So I decided to give back. But I can't ever give enough to fix all your problems, so then I had an idea. Every person here tonight has been rescued by you boys before. We can't give very much, but we can all give something. HERE'S TO THE MONKEES!"

Holding up a glass of fruit punch, she grinned as the crowd of people raised glasses themselves. "THE MONKEES!" They all yelled. The boys still stayed where they were, stunned and very much touched. This… this was for them?

"Larry and I will start things off," Milly said after the toast. Pulling an envelope out of her purse, she tossed it down on the table next to Mr. Schneider. "Here's twenty dollars," she said. "It's not much, but it's a start."

"Me next!" Susan the circus performer said, approaching the table. "Thanks to the Monkees, our circus has been more successful than it's been in twenty years! There's fifty dollars in this envelope! Thank you, boys!" Dropping the envelope on the table, she moved aside as Professor Schnitzler stepped up.

"I don't forget any friend of the sciences," he said. "Nor do I forget any friend who helped me. I give you one hundred dollars, for Peter and his friends, in the name of science!" Pop Harper stepped up then, also carrying an envelope.

"I'm afraid I don't have as much as some of these other people," he said. "But after what you boys did for me, I'll do whatever I can to help you. Here's fifteen dollars! I hope it helps!"

The Monkees stood by as one by one, everyone they'd helped stepped forward and put down envelopes, each of them telling the Monkees how much they had helped them in the past. At one point, Peter even started crying, they were all so moved by this. Was this their legacy? Was this the mark they had left on the world?

As everyone continued to give, Davy's phone rang. Everyone quieted down, and he pulled it out of his pocket, checking the caller ID.

"Who is it?" Milly asked.

"...I," Davy said chokingly. "I don't know. It's not a contact. But it's from England!"

"Answer it!" Mike exclaimed.

Answering the phone, Davy held it up to his ear. "Hello?" He said. "Who is this?"

Everyone waited with bated breath.

"R-really!?" Davy stammered. "Y-you are!? But that's… What!?"

"Who is it, what is it!?" Micky asked.

"It's Mary Kibee," Davy told them all. "She married Lance Kibee and inherited that estate in England!"

"What'd she say?" Peter demanded.

"They're… they're going to send us a check," Davy told them. "For ten thousand dollars!"

"No way!" Micky swallowed. "That's a lot!"

"It's too much," Mike said. "Tell her it's too much,"

"I can't," Davy said. "She already hung up!" Putting the phone back in his pocket, everyone in the room cheered.

"You see, boys?" Milly said from her spot on the table. "You're not alone in this. You're never alone. We all came here tonight because we know you would do anything for us. You have done everything for us, and we want to say thank you."

"But," Mike started. "But we never wanted to make you feel obligated-"

"That's just it!" Milly said. "You guys did all sorts of amazing things for us, without expecting anything in return. You never asked for a thank you; you never asked for any reward, nothing. That's a mark of a true friend. When someone only helps you when they can get something in return, they're not acting like a friend, they're acting out of a selfish heart. And that's one thing you boys could never have. Even now, when you need it the most, none of us knew just how much you needed our help. You didn't call and ask for money, you didn't try to cash in favors or guilt us into giving to you. We're doing this because we care about you, not because we feel we owe you. You're among friends, boys. You will not continue to suffer alone."

With that, the room exploded into cheers as everyone began to celebrate the things that matter most. And somehow the chant rose up: "PLAY US A SONG, BOYS! PLAY US A SONG!"

The Monkees all looked at one another and by now, they all were crying. All these people had gathered around and given them a gift they could not possibly repay, and they gave cheerfully, because they cared about them. The love behind it far outweighed the act itself, and the Monkees truly felt that they had made a difference in the world. Sure, they hadn't done much. Just the little things. But even a small act, when done unselfishly, can change the world forever.

Without a word, the Monkees all stepped onto the bandstand. Micky sat behind his drums and smiled; Mike realized they hadn't played once since the accident. Mike picked up Blonde Beauty and felt an overwhelming sense of pure joy flow through him at the prospect of playing with his friends. Peter gingerly picked up his bass, and sat down in a chair moved to the stage by Larry, and smiled shyly at the crowd as he tuned his bass. And Davy picked up his maracas and his tambourine and turned to face Mike, Peter and Micky.

"What'll we play?" he asked. Everyone looked at each other.

"...Papa's Gene Blues?" Mike suggested.

"Maybe Take a Giant Step?" Davy offered. Peter suddenly laughed.

"How about "Back Up On My Feet?" He joked. Davy suddenly face-palmed.

"Oh wait," he said. "It's so obvious. I know what song to play!"

"What's that?" Mike said, tuning his guitar.

"Our song," Davy said. "We have to announce that we're back, you know." Mike, Micky and Peter smiled.

"That's a good idea," Peter said.

"It's settled then," Davy said. "Micky, start us off!" With a grin, Micky kicked the bass drum in the signature opening, and together, they all began to sing.

"Here we come... walking down the street… Get the funniest looks from… Everyone we meet!" And as the whole crowd began singing out the chorus, the Monkees once again felt whole.

Epilogue

A year later, the boy's lives were back to normal. Monkee's normal, anyway. Peter was finally able to walk again without any problems. Mike's memory had returned; all except the memory of the accident of course, which was to be expected. His seizures had stopped 6 months after they'd played together again allowing them to accept more gigs and get back on their feet. Micky and Davy didn't have any lasting effects from the accident either, including no relapses for Micky. He didn't need drugs anymore. He had his friends.

The money they'd been given by their friends allowed them all to get caught up on their bills and put a little aside. A few months after their friends had all surprised them, their lawyer had come to them with a settlement offer from the rental agency. An employee admitted that they company had cooked the books with the car and never should have rented it. It was supposed to have been recalled due to faulty seat-belts, but the company padded their books saying they'd paid for the repairs so they could get reimbursed when they had never really fixed it. Because of this, the accident was a lot worse than if the seat-belts had worked.

The lawyer said the company was getting in a lot of trouble with the federal government for their scams and were offering them a settlement of $25,000 each to recover hospital bills and pain and suffering. He pushed for them to ask for more because of Micky's addiction problem and Peter and Mike's long standing injuries. The boys unanimously decided to just accept the settlement. It was more money than they needed after all, but they also mostly just wanted to make sure no one else got hurt because of the company's negligence and since the company was admitting it's faults, they'd most likely go out of business. So there wasn't much more they wanted.

Over that year, their friends had come over periodically to help whenever it was needed, which wasn't much, but sometimes it was just to cheer them up. They had felt so alive playing together again and since they had that extra money and the money from the settlement, they could all focus more on their music. They kept working because they wanted to pay their friends back, at least a little, though they soon discovered Millie and the others wouldn't allow it. But they also found their new bosses allowed them to work part time so they could focus on their music too. And when Micky's boss started looking for bands to play on the weekends for entertainment, he asked the Monkee's to perform. Of course, they got the gig and began a steady show of performances to help cheer them up.

And so they were reminded of just how much of a family they were. They'd had adventures over the years with more secret agents, gangsters and mad scientists and they'd met more great people. But they never once lost who they were; they never once lost their music.