Author's notes: This story is based off of Season 1 Episode 13, One Man Shy (Peter and the Debutante)

Peter was used to being second best. It was like second nature to him. All his life, he'd been outshone by pretty much anybody who'd tried, and some people who hadn't. Going to school as a kid, he wasn't hated or shunned. No, people had to notice you in order to hate you. While other kids got picked first for teams or picked last for teams, he was the kid who got picked from the last six or seven kids, not quite last, but a leftover all the same.

When he was a teenager and he looked for a job, he'd gone for interview after interview, and while no employer seemed to dislike him, someone else always got the job. In fact, the only job he'd gotten in Connecticut had been because no one else had applied.

He'd had a few friends in Connecticut, he certainly wasn't completely friendless. But his friends, although nice to him, always had more friends than just him, and spent time with their other friends just as much as with Peter, going to parties or to dances. And while they usually invited him to tag along, he didn't like to go very often. Whenever he was at a party, he usually ended up sitting in a chair in the back of the room silently watching everyone else have fun.

Then when he was seventeen, he'd decided to go "find himself," something he'd heard a stranger say once in passing. The man had been homeless, a drifter. That much was obvious by his dirty clothes and the hat full of pennies he'd been holding out. But he'd looked so happy that Peter had had to stop and talk to him. After a short conversation, Peter had made up his mind.

His mother tried to talk him out of it, but when he told her his mind was made, she'd smiled, given him a hug and a few dollars she'd saved up, and wished him luck. Then he'd grabbed his bass and gone.

A year later had found him living in the hotel as Micky's roommate, and while he never would have traded his friendship with Micky for anything, it was obvious to him that his new best friend was, like so many others, better than him. He didn't mind. He wasn't jealous. In fact, he hadn't really thought about it. He'd sort of taken it for granted that no matter where he went, someone would always be there to outshine him.

After that, he and Micky had met Mike and Davy, and now Peter found himself not second best, but fourth best. Again, he didn't mind. Who cared about being fourth best if the three people better than you liked you just the way you were, and never rubbed it in your face that you weren't as good as they were?

So, Peter was happy for a time, content with his lot in life. Being humble didn't mean you thought you were worthless, true humility came from knowing exactly who you were and what you were meant to be. Peter knew he wasn't worthless. But he knew he wasn't best, and that knowledge made him content with his life of living in the shadows.

But then something like this would happen, and Peter would again question his place in life. And when Peter questioned himself, he always came up short.

It was all his fault anyway, for falling in love with the rich young lady who'd hired the band to play at her party. He should have known not to get mixed up in the world of etiquette and finance and "high breeding." He just couldn't help himself. She was so pretty, and so nice, and she stood up for the group when Ronnie, her snobbish gentleman friend (applying the term loosely) insulted their music.

He'd planned to leave well enough alone anyway, and not even bother dreaming, but then his emotions overcrowded his better sense and he'd found himself taking her portrait home with him and staring at her still face for hours.

The others were bound to notice sometime.

So they'd all tried to help, in a way that only the Monkees knew how. First they'd convinced Peter to pantomime a balcony scene Cyrano de Bergerac style, which resulted in a nearby gardener socking him in the jaw. Then they'd gone on the offensive and tried to make Ronnie look bad in front of the girl, and then they'd each played a game of Ronnie's sports, and lost spectacularly.

Funnily enough, Peter had belonged to the archery club at his high school, had played badminton with his mother sometimes when she was bored, and while he had never shot skeet before, he'd had a friend who was into hunting, and had taken Peter to the targeting range a few times. He'd said Peter was a natural, a great shot.

But nobody ever stopped to ask Peter if he knew how to play badminton, shoot a rifle, or string an arrow. They'd assumed he couldn't and tried to help. In fact, the only person who'd asked if he could measure up was Ronnie, who had also assumed he couldn't and had been trying to outshine him.

As if he'd needed much trying. Peter could make a fool of himself well enough on his own, thank you very much. He didn't need some rich snobby guy to do it for him.

And even after all that, Valerie had still asked Peter to the party. Peter, not Ronnie.

At first, Peter had thought it must be some kind of trick, Ronnie trying to trick him or something. But it had been real, and now Peter was there, standing by helplessly while the other three Monkees, always trying to help, tangled him up in cloth and tape measures, going on about stocks and yachts and suits, while Valerie stood by, impressed.

That was the real sting. She'd been nice to him as Peter. She was impressed with "Mr. Tork."

Can't you see that this isn't real!? He wanted so desperately to say. That this isn't me, that this could never be me?

But of course he couldn't say anything. In fact, it was almost a relief when Ronnie showed up and blew their cover. Even if this was the end, even if Valerie hated him for lying, at least now she would hate the real him.

Davy, Mike and Micky headed sheepishly toward the stage, but Ronnie wasn't done with Peter yet.

"It's true, isn't it, Tork?" He said, glancing at Peter before pulling the bolt of cloth over his head and throwing it down. Peter just stood.

"You're frauds. Fraudser than fruads!"

Peter took a deep breath. This was it. "It's true," he said sorrowfully. "It's true."

He walked over to Valerie and looked her in the eye.

"They're just my friends," he said. "But they knew how much you meant to me, and they wanted to make me out as something special."

Valerie looked at him, her lovely violet eyes wide open, showing complete and utter honesty as she said something Peter never would have expected.

"But you are something special, Peter."

Peter paused, confused. "Me?" he asked.

Valerie nodded. "You didn't have to do all of this," she said, indicating the other three Monkees, who were in front of the stage, trying to get out of their ridiculous costumes. "I think you're a fine enough person just being yourself."

Peter couldn't help it, he smiled. A big goofy smile that reached from ear to ear. She liked him for who he really was! She, a fashionable and well-bred lady, liking average ol' fourth-best Peter. It was unbelievable, and yet it was true!

And she smiled back.

Mike started off the music with You May Just Be the One, and Peter, for once in his life, did something right.

Reaching out for her hand, he said. "The first dance is mine."

Of course, Ronnie had other plans, but Peter had his confidence back, and it wasn't very hard to see Ronnie for what he really was, a pathetic excuse for a man, full of inbred arrogance and pride. Needless to say, Valerie chose Peter.

And now everything was back to how it should be, with Peter knowing exactly who he was and what he was meant to be. He didn't need to be better than anyone else, he didn't need to be the perfect gentlemen. Just look at Ronnie, perfect got you nowhere.

He had to be himself. He had to understand himself, and live in true humility. Only then would he be what he was going to be, only then would he be truly free.