Notes: At the end of this story, I have the timeline set to Present Day. This does not mean our present day, this means the present day of 1966 or 1967, when the Monkees was being aired. The episode referenced in Present day 1966 is "Monkees on the Line," one of my favorites.

Ventura, CA, three years and four months prior:

Peter had been working at the hotel for about two months now, and was settling down into routine life quite nicely. Since he didn't have school, he worked at the hotel during the day while Micky was gone, and When Mr. Spiner heard about this, he raised Peter's salary to 100 dollars a month, to pay for the extra hours.

He had to admit, hiring Peter had been a good decision. Peter was friendly, polite, and easy going, and he never got into fights with the guests. Mr. Spiner had quickly learned this, and had since put this trait to good use, sending Peter to handle the less-than-pleasant guests, as the other day-shift concierges couldn't handle the unfair accusations and rude comments from the demanding higher-ups.

Peter never complained about the arrangement, particularly because he didn't know that it was done on purpose. He assumed that it was just his luck that he always got called to the rooms housing the insulting snobs.

One such call came in and Peter sighed as he walked up the steps to the second floor. He had already been sent to attend to this particular guest three times that morning, and had learned very quickly what to expect.

He knocked politely on the door, the way he was supposed to, and entered upon command. The man inside was in his late fifties, scowling up at Peter as he sat on the couch.

"Good day, sir," Peter said, smiling as well as he could. "In what way may I be of assistance to you?"

"Took you long enough to get here," the man snapped. "Go down to the kitchen and get me a cup of coffee, black. I ordered it from room service ten minutes ago and haven't gotten it yet. I have a terrible headache and I need something to pep me up before I leave, I've got a very important meeting."

Peter waited patiently as the man talked, you were never supposed to leave while the guests were still talking.

"Lousy bed kept me up all night," the man was saying. "Springs poking up at my back, the whole night through! Woke up with a crik in my neck the size of Alabama! Well, what are you still doing here!? Coffee, NOW!"

The man glared up at Peter, who apologized and went back downstairs. Going into the kitchen, Peter smiled at Aunt Franny.

"Sorry to bother you," He said. "But I need a cup of coffee, black, for the guest in room 16." Aunt Franny smiled at Peter and handed him a cup of coffee, already made. "Did he send you all the way down here for that?" She said. "Silly man! The call came in only a few minutes ago, I would have sent it up as room service in a moment!"

Peter laughed. "Well, he's in a hurry, apparently. Has a headache." Aunt Franny pouted. "Oh dear!" she said. "Well, we can't have that! Do me a favor, dear, when you get back up there, ask him if he'd like a bit of mint in hot water, gets rid of headaches like they're nothing at all!"

Peter smiled. "I will," he said. "Thank you, Aunt Franny!"

He took the coffee and climbed back up to room 16. He knocked on the door and waited. "Come in!" He heard from the other side, so he opened the door and stepped into the room. "Here's your coffee, sir!" He said. "And the cook would like to offer you some mint in hot water, she said it's great for headaches!"

"Oh, so you were gossiping about me to the staff," The man said angrily. "No wonder it took you so long!"

Peter shook his head. "Oh, no sir," he said. "I wasn't gossiping, I just said-" "I don't care what you said!" The man exclaimed. "I've had enough! Rotten furniture, terrible service..." The man took a big gulp of coffee and then spit it out, right on the carpet. "And terrible coffee!" He finished.

"Go downstairs and fetch me the manager!" He said. "I want to have a few words with him about this horrible excuse for a hotel, and just you wait, sonny, I won't leave your part of the story out. AND DON'T EXPECT A TIP!"

With that he shoved Peter out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Peter stood outside for a moment, trying to calm himself down. He hated it when people treated him like that. Then, taking a deep breath, he went down to Mr. Spiner's office. He knocked and when Mr. Spiner called him in, he entered.

"Sorry to bother you, sir," he said. "But the guest in room 16 would like to speak with you." Mr. Spiner sighed. "Is it one of those kinds of guests?" He asked. Peter nodded, swallowing. "Yes sir," He said.

Mr. Spiner got up from his desk and put on his glasses before passing Peter and leaving the office. "Don't worry, Peter," he said. "Your job is secure, I won't believe a word he says."

Peter let out a small sigh of relief. No matter how often things like this happened, he was always afraid that Mr. Spiner would fire him. Not that he really liked his job, or even really needed the money, although he had his eye on an amp that he could officially afford next month.

He just didn't want to leave Micky. He'd gotten used to having him around, it was like living with a hyperactive little brother, something that Peter had always wanted. Micky was the only reason Peter stayed, if he lost his job he would probably take off again, go for a walk until he couldn't walk any further, and see where he ended up.

He followed Mr. Spiner up to room 16 and stood back a little ways as Mr. Spiner knocked. The door opened and the man stood glaring at Mr. Spiner.

"You the manager?" He asked gruffly. "Yes, I am," Mr. Spiner said. "I understand you wanted to speak with me?"

"You're durn right I want to speak with you!" The man said angrily. "You, sir, are one lousy excuse for a manager! The furniture is old and falling apart, the food is mediocre at best, the service," Here he pointed at Peter, who remained in the hallway behind Mr. Spiner. "Is slow and when I finally get what it is I asked for, which took ten minutes, by the way, I find out that your employees gossip about your customers instead of performing their duties!"

The man glared at Mr. Spiner for a second. "I'll have you know," he said. "That I'm never going to stop at this hotel again. You have lost a paying customer, sir, and what's more, I'm going to speak of this place to my associates, I will warn them about this place. I will make sure that they know never to stop here!"

He nodded his head to illustrate his resolve. "What do you say to that?" He said. Mr. Spiner hung his head in mock repentance. "I plan on addressing the problems you mentioned," he said. "And I offer you my sincerest apologies on your bad experience."

"Well, now, that's better!" The man said. "But regardless! I expect a full refund, and an apology from this young man-" he nodded towards Peter. "As well as from the cook."

Mr. Spiner stifled a laugh. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "But I'm afraid we don't give refunds." "WHAT!?" The man exclaimed. "No refunds! That is unacceptable! This hotel was not worth what I paid you! I demand a refund!"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but we don't give refunds," Mr. Spiner said. "Whether or not you accept it or not, that is our policy." The man, now red in the face, huffed angrily and turned away. "Very well," he said. "I will at least be given an apology for the atrocious behavior displayed by your staff!"

Peter was about to step up to apologize when Mr. Spiner held up his hand, stopping him. "Sir," he said, addressing the man. "I must tell you, I am not in the habit of forcing my staff to apologize to anyone, and I will not do so now."

"Wha-! But- I-" The man sputtered, getting even more red faced than ever. "I DEMAND AN APOLOGY!" He shouted. Peter couldn't take it. He hated conflict, he really did. It was so... conflicting. Much better to just accept the blame and make the world a little bit more peaceful.

He stepped up past Mr. Spiner and said quietly "It's alright, Mr. Spiner, I really don't mind." Then he looked up at the man. "I'm sorry for my..." Now, what was the word the man had used? Ah yes! "Atrocious behavior, I really am, and I promise, it won't happen again!" The man looked at him.

"Well, it certainly won't!" He snapped. "As I am never returning here! I'd wish you a good day, sir, except for I don't!" With that, the man slammed the door in their faces, going to pack up his luggage to leave.

Mr. Spiner sighed. "You didn't have to apologize, Peter," he said. "It wasn't your fault and you know it!" Peter shrugged. "Sorry," he said. "I just hate fighting." Mr. Spiner smiled. "I know you do, Peter," he said. "You're a good kid. If all the people in the world were like you, the world would be a happy place."

That night, Peter dreamed that he was working at the concierge desk. A call came in and he responded, walking up a long flight of stairs that lasted for miles. He reached the top and walked down a long hallway, stopping at a door at the very end of the hall. He knocked three times and the sound echoed throughout the building, booming like thunder.

"Come in..." A deep voice came from the other side of the door, and Peter stepped through to find himself in a smoky room, with lots of people he couldn't recognize. Their features were hidden by the smoke, but they all started yelling at him.

They were yelling and jeering and complaining and griping, he was a bad concierge, he was a lousy serviceman, he was to run down and fetch this, he was to climb up and reach that, the room was too cold, the sheets were too scratchy, the food was too bland.

The smoke began to clear and he could see the faces of the guests, they were all guests that he had served over the past two months, their features grossly exaggerated, all of them still yelling and jeering and complaining and griping.

Their voices got louder and louder, and a new face joined their midst. It was the guest from room 16, red-faced and glaring. "Apologize!" He yelled. "Apologize!" The rest of the guests took up his cry, yelling "Apologize! Apologize! Apologize!"

He covered his ears, trying to block out the sound, but it didn't work. They all were clamoring for him to apologize, yelling over each other, their voices overlapping until all he could hear was an ocean of discontent, demanding he apologize. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry!" They continued to yell, and he said it a bit louder. "I'm sorry!"

He paused. He thought he'd heard someone calling his name, but he couldn't hear anything over the sound of the guests.

"I'm sorry," He called out, just a little bit louder. They didn't stop. "I'm sorry!" He cried out. "Peter!" He stopped. He definitely heard someone calling his name, but they sounded so far away. The guests were still demanding his attention, and his apologies.

"I'm sorry!" He yelled. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" "PETER!"

Suddenly, he was in his room. It was dark and he was sitting up in his bed, and Micky was standing next to him. He looked confused and a little bit worried. Peter chuckled nervously. "Y-yeah?" He asked. Micky looked at him. "Are you okay? You've been talking in your sleep."

Peter groaned. He knew that he had talked in his sleep sometimes as a child, but he'd been hoping he'd outgrown it. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "It's just, I... well, I - I talk in my sleep sometimes, if I get stressed out during the day." Micky frowned. "Oh," he said. "Okay. Hey, what were you dreaming about?"

Peter shrugged. "Oh, well, uh, I can't remember," he lied. "I never remember my dreams." "Huh..." Micky said. "Well, whatever it was, you kept saying you were sorry. Must've been pretty intense, you started to get a bit loud there at the end."

Peter chuckled. "Well," he said. "Sorry that I woke you. I'm fine, you can go back to bed." Micky yawned. "Alright," he said. "Goodnight, Peter." "Goodnight, Micky," Peter said quietly. He heard Micky fall asleep after a little while, but he didn't go back to sleep the rest of the night. He didn't want to risk talking in his sleep again.

Besides, he wasn't sure he could trust his dreams to be pleasant. But, tomorrow would be a whole other day, hopefully things would be better when the sun rose. And even if the new day brought only more sorrow, things would still get better eventually. Things always do.

Malibu, CA, present day:

Peter was in a large room, with tables lined up as far as the eye could see, and telephones on every table. Suddenly, the air was rent with the sound of ringing, ringing everywhere, pounding in his ears, coming from all directions.

He ran to the nearest phone and answered it. "Urgent Answering Service, who's calling?" All he could hear on the other end was more ringing. He set the phone down and picked up another one. "Urgent Answering Service, who's calling?"

No response, and the ringing was getting louder. He left the line open, holding the phone away, he picked up another one, and repeated the same line.

He did this over and over again, and every time he picked up a phone, the ringing grew louder instead of stopping. Soon, every phone in the room was ringing, until he couldn't hear anything but the sound of telephones.

They seemed to have voices, the telephones were calling his name. No wait, someone else was calling his name. The ringing started to fade somewhat and the room went black. "Peter?" Yes, definitely, someone was calling his name. "Peter!" No, wait, two different people were calling his name. One of them had an accent

He looked around the black that had taken place of the large room. "Where am I?" He asked. "You're right here," The first voice answered. "Where's here?" He asked. "Well, at the answering service!" The voice with the accent spoke up. Suddenly, there was a ringing phone next to Peter. Picking up the receiver, he held it up to his ear and said "Urgent Answering Service, who's calling?"

"Peter, It's Micky and Davy," said the second voice. Huh. Someone actually responded this time. "Davy and Micky aren't here right now, can I take a message?" Peter said.

"Peter, PETER, WAKE UP!" The black cleared away, the phone disappeared, and Peter found himself back at the Urgent Answering Service headquarters.

Looking over, he saw Micky and Davy looking at him. Micky was smiling slightly, while Davy, who shared a room with Peter and knew that he talked in his sleep sometimes, looked annoyed. Peter decided to joke it off.

"Oh, hi guys!" He said smiling. "Hey, there was just a call for you." "Thanks," Micky mumbled as Davy rolled his eyes. "Peter, what happened?" He asked. Peter shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I just pushed this red button..."

"Which red button?" They both asked. "That one right there!" He said pointing. "That one over there?" They both asked again. Peter nodded and they both turned towards the wall with the red button on it. Smiling, he fell backwards onto the bed. It really was quite comfortable.

"This one over here?" Micky asked. "That's right!" Peter said, pointing as he got comfortable. As expected, Micky pushed the button and the retractable bed went back into the wall. Peter smiled in the darkness. He knew that they would pull him out soon enough, but until they did, he was going to finish his nap.