Notes: This story is inspired by the death of Micky's real-life father in 1963. This is just fanfiction, however, and it is not exactly based on the actual events of the day, just inspired by them. Micky's family, in this story, are Oc's.

I tried to make this story as realistic as possible. I've spent a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms, but I have no idea how different they were in the 60's, so I'm just going with what I know. As for the funeral, again, I've spent quite some time at funerals, although, I'm happy to say, not as much time as I have at hospitals, and I wrote by experience.

Ventura CA, three years prior:

"Micky! Telephone!" Said Tawnia, one of the maids at the hotel. sticking her head into the door of their music room, she looked at Micky behind the drums. "You'd better hurry, whoever it was said it was important."

Micky and Peter stopped their rehearsal and looked at each other. "Maybe it's from somebody looking for an act," Micky said. Peter smiled. "Well, let's go!" He said.

He set down his bass as Micky got up from behind his drum set, then they raced up the stairs to the lobby, where the telephone was located, and Micky picked up the receiver and held it up to his ear.

"Hello, you've reached Micky Dolenz's assistant," Micky said in a nasally voice. "Mr. Dolenz isn't in right now, can I- Oh, hi, Jenna." Micky dropped the phony voice and sighed. "I thought you were an agent booking our act." Micky frowned. "Hey, what's the matter?" He said. "Why are you crying?"

Peter felt his heart stop. Even though he'd only known Jenna for a few months, he already knew that the girl wasn't one to cry. She scorned those who did. If she was crying, something terrible must've happened.

Micky went white and Peter knew that he'd guessed right about something terrible. "What!?" Micky said. Peter began fidgeting with his hands. He was dying to find out what happened.

"No..." Micky said weakly. "No, that's not true, you're lying!" He was shaking now, and Peter put his hand on Micky's shoulder. He didn't know what was going on, but he wanted Micky to know that whatever it was, he was there for him.

"Alright," Micky was saying now. "I'll be there in ten minutes!"

He hung the phone up and then ran to the front door, Peter right behind him. "Micky," he said. "What's wrong, what did Jenna say?" Micky ignored him and just kept running. "Micky!" Peter called, but Micky didn't answer.

"Come on, Micky," Peter said desperately. "Please, what happened?" Micky finally slowed down to a stop and turned towards Peter. He looked exhausted, even though they'd only run as far as the street corner. "It's dad," He said.

Peter shook his head. "No..." He whispered. Micky nodded. "Jenna called from the hospital. She says... she says he had a heart attack." Peter didn't know what to say. He wanted to comfort Micky, tell him that everything would be alright, but he couldn't find the words.

Micky turned and kept running, and Peter ran to catch up with him. "Wait," he said. Micky stopped. "Wait!?" He asked incredulously. "I can't wait! He's in the hospital! I've gotta go see him!"

"I know," Peter said. "Just trust me on this!" He turned and ran down the alleyway to a different street, and hoped that Micky would have the presence of mind to follow him. He glanced behind him and saw that Micky did.

"Taxi!" He called. He'd seen a few hanging around here earlier, this was a pretty busy street. He caught the attention of an idle taxi driver, who waved that he'd seen them and climbed into his car.

Pulling over next to them, the driver called out "Where to?" As they climbed into the back seat. "The hospital," Peter said. "Which one?" Asked the cabby. Peter looked at Micky, who absently replied "Community Memorial Health."

The cabby nodded and they drove off. There was complete silence for a moment, and Peter looked at Micky, who was more scared than he'd ever seen him before. He reached over and put his hand on Micky's shoulder. "It's gonna be okay," He said quietly. Micky nodded. "Thanks, Pete," He said.

"Jenna!" Micky called out as they entered the waiting room and saw her sitting there, alone. She looked up and Peter could see she'd been crying. "Oh, Micky!" She said, standing up and hugging him.

"Hey, it's alright," Micky said, as she started crying again. "I don't know what's going on," She said. "Everybody's running around, and nobody's told me anything yet!" Micky swallowed and hugged her tighter. "It's okay," he said. "Everything's going to be okay."

"And what if it's not?" She demanded. "What if... what if-" "Shh," Micky said. "Don't talk like that!" He said. "Dad'll be fine, just wait." He looked over at Peter, and Peter could tell that Micky didn't believe his own words.

Peter blinked back a few tears of his own and sat down in one of the chairs. This can't be happening, he thought. It just can't...

Out of everyone in the world to have a heart attack, why Mr. Dolenz? It didn't make any sense. Mr. Dolenz was one of the nicest men Peter had ever met. He was kind, and fun, and had treated Peter like a son from the moment he'd met him.

Why did this have to happen? He thought. Next to him, Micky and Jenna had sat back down on a couch, and Micky was still holding Jenna.

Micky looked so much older than he had that morning. That morning, he'd been a normal 16 year old, but now... now he was an adult, trying to be strong for someone he cared about.

After what seemed like an eternity, a nurse came into the room and looked at the three of them, who were the only people in the room. "Family of Daryl Dolenz?" Peter looked over at Micky and Jenna, who nodded.

"Alright," Said the nurse. "Follow me, please." Micky and Jenna stood up to follow, and Micky looked over at Peter. "Well, come on," he said. Peter stuttered out "She-she said, she said the family..." His voice was getting quieter with every word. Micky rolled his eyes.

"And you're family," he said, walking over and pulling Peter up by his arm. "Come on!"

If it hadn't been such a serious situation, Peter would have smiled. Micky had just called him family. But as it was, the word just made Peter choke up a little. He was family. Family to someone who might be dying.

The nurse led them to a room and they all walked in quietly, a feat which some might consider incredible had they known the Dolenz family.

Micky's mom was there by the bedside, holding Mr. Dolenz's hand, but he wasn't awake. Jenna started crying again when she saw her father in the hospital bed, and Micky let out a small groan himself.

Peter stood in the doorway, not sure what to do. He wanted to go and comfort Jenna, be there for Micky, help Mrs. Dolenz, and join the huddle around Mr. Dolenz's bed, but something kept him back, something made him stay where he was.

He stood there for about ten minutes before Micky glanced over and noticed him standing there. "Peter," he said quietly. "Come over here and sit down." Peter slowly walked over and sat down next to Micky, who made room for him on the small couch against the wall.

They sat there in silence until visiting hours were over, and then Micky's mom dropped the boys off at the hotel before she and Jenna went home for the night.

Peter stood by as Micky, Jenna, and Mrs. Dolenz all sobbed uncontrollably over the dead body of Mr. Dolenz. Suddenly a group of people tried to shove them away. "Stop it!" Peter shouted. "Can't you see they're hurting!?"

But the people just laughed and shoved him away, too. They picked up Mr. Dolenz's body and threw it unceremoniously into a ditch and began filling it with dirt. Peter watched, horrified, as Micky ran over and tried to dig his father's body back out again, and he ran over to try and stop him.

"Micky," he said. "Micky, please! Come away, please, before they bury you too!" He pulled on his friend's arm, but Micky shook him off. He was still sobbing and crying, and it made Peter want to break down in tears himself. "Micky, please!" He said again. "Stop crying, everything will be alright!" "It's just a dream!" Micky said. Peter shook his head. "No," he said. "It isn't! It's real, and I don't want it to be real, but it is, I know it is!"

"Peter, wake up!" Micky said, and suddenly, Peter was awake, and in bed. Micky was there, staring at Peter. He looked like he was about to cry, but was trying very hard not to.

Peter looked away. He could guess what had happened. He'd had a bad dream, and he'd been talking in his sleep, and Micky had heard him. He didn't know how much Micky had heard.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and Micky nodded. Without saying another word, he got up and went back to his own bed.

Peter felt awful. Here his friend was going through so much, and he had to go and dream about his dad dying. And then he had to talk about it, right in front of him. Me and my big mouth, He thought.

He rolled over away from Micky, simply because he couldn't handle seeing him even in his peripheral vision. He didn't sleep again for the rest of the night.

Micky didn't go too school the next day, he slept late and then when he woke up, he started to get ready to go straight to the hospital. "Micky, before we go, we should probably get some breakfast," Peter said. Since he hadn't gone back to sleep last night, he'd already been up for a few hours.

He'd told both Mr. Spiner and Aunt Franny of the situation, as well as he'd called Micky's school so they would know why he didn't show up.

Mr. Spiner had been very understanding, and had told Peter that Micky didn't have to work until everything was over, one way or the other. Aunt Franny had been immediately sympathetic, and had even shed a few tears on Micky's behalf, and then had gotten to work preparing Micky's favorite breakfast.

Micky didn't seem to be in the mood to eat, however, and Peter couldn't blame him. He wasn't very hungry himself, but he knew that Micky needed his strength. So he talked Micky into going down to the kitchen, where Aunt Franny served them their food silently, sensing that for once in his life, Micky needed quiet.

Micky and Peter picked at their food for about a half hour when Tawnia stuck her head into the kitchen. "Micky," she said. "Someone's on the phone for you."

Micky stood up quickly and ran out of the kitchen. Aunt Franny came over and picked up their plates as Peter also stood up. "Poor dear," she said. Peter nodded. "Thanks for the breakfast, Aunt Franny," he said quietly before heading out into the lobby.

Micky stood by the desk, the telephone up to his ear, but he wasn't saying anything. He stood perfectly still, staring at a spot of the wall, and he was crying silently.

Peter stopped walking. He stopped breathing. He stood as still as Micky, trying as hard as he could to not believe what he was thinking. Micky hadn't cried once throughout this whole ordeal. He'd been close, but he hadn't cried. There was only one reason for him to be crying now.

Without saying a word, Micky hung the phone up and walked slowly to the door, heading outside. Peter remembered that he had legs and followed him, running a little to catch up and then falling into step next to him.

He didn't say anything, he didn't ask what was wrong, he could guess, and he wasn't going to make Micky say it out loud. For one thing, he didn't want to believe it, he wanted to be wrong. Peter had never wanted to be more wrong in his life. If Micky said it now, than Peter would know that it was true, and he didn't want to hear the truth right now.

But really, he guessed that Micky might feel the same way. If he said it out loud, it would be definite. There would be no denying it. It would be real.

They walked along for a while, and Peter noticed that they weren't going to the hospital. They were just walking.

Eventually, they reached a park and they walked under the trees, as birds whistled and sang overhead in the still chilly, but warming April air. They found a bench and Micky sat down on it. Peter didn't feel like sitting, so he stood next to it and looked out over the flowerbeds surrounding them.

They sat there quietly for a few minutes, and then Micky spoke. "He's dead," he blurted. Peter turned towards him. There it was, what he'd known but had dreaded hearing. "Micky, I'm sorry..." He said. There wasn't anything else he could say.

He couldn't say that he understood Micky's pain, he couldn't say that he knew what Micky was going through, because really, he didn't. As much as he loved Mr. Dolenz, he had only known him for three months, and he had never really lost anyone close to him before.

And he didn't want to tell Micky that everything would be alright, that things would get better eventually, because even though he firmly believed that, he knew it wouldn't be of much help to Micky right now.

So he just said what he usually did and hoped that it would be enough.

Micky wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Dead," he repeated. "A month after I turn 16. Why, Peter?" He turned and looked at Peter, as if he were daring Peter to try and explain it. "Why my dad, out of everybody in the world, why did my dad have to die today?"

Peter sat down next to Micky and frowned in thought. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Sometimes, there's no way of ever knowing why stuff like this happens. Sometimes, stuff happens for no good reason we can think of."

Micky pursed his lips. "But why do people have to die at all!?" He demanded. "It's just, wrong! People shouldn't have to die, I mean, how messed up is that!? You're born, you live, you learn, you make friends, you fall in love, you do something with your life, and then you die and lose everything! You die and leave behind everyone who knew you, and they're still stuck down here, wishing you had never left!"

He stopped talking and looked back down at the grass. Peter said nothing, he just breathed in the air and tried to think of some kind of response. He was so bad at these kinds of situations. He never knew what to say. He wished with all his heart that he could help Micky, but he truly had no idea how to do it. He was, like he had been so many times before, clueless.

And so the two of them sat in silence as the day wore on. Around them, birds sang, people laughed, kids played in the grass. The sky was blue, the sun shone down on a nearby pond and reflected off the water, shimmering in a thousand sparkles of light.

The wind blew through the trees, making the newly grown spring leaves dance and whisper to each other, as all over the park, all over the city, all over the nation, all over the world, life continued to go on, oblivious to the small family in Ventura who felt like it was the end of the world.