Author's note: This chapter, like parts 1 and 2, is based on Crystal Rose of Pollux's story arc of the same name, and, as such, some of the dialogue and a few of the descriptive passages, as well, belong to her. I overlap her parts 3 and 4, simply because there wasn't much to write about for Micky and Peter's side of part 3, and I wanted the chapter to be a bit longer. So, without any further ado, Fading Through the Door Part 3! Enjoy!

Looking at his watch, Micky realized that he'd been sitting on the beach for about an hour. He usually didn't stay in one place as long as that, but he hadn't wanted to go walking and stray too far from the pad, so he had simply sat and done nothing.

Standing up, he ran the short distance to the pad and up the back stairs. Opening the back door, he saw Peter come in from the opposite side, holding a few newspapers.

Davy was just stepping down from the last stair, so all three of them were entering the living room at the same time.

Well, Micky was in the kitchen, but it amounted to the same thing.

"You feeling any better?" Micky asked Davy. He hoped so; Davy didn't seem as down in the dumps, and there appeared to be a new fire and spark in his eyes—but that wasn't always a good sign, as previous experience had shown.

"I'm a lot better," Davy said, nodding at Micky. "More than that, I know what I have to do."

"Of course you do; we keep on singing—that's what!" Peter exclaimed, waving the newspaper in his hands. "We've got some advertisements for gigs here; we can just go through these."

Davy paused, and he glanced at the papers in Peter's hands before he looked up at Peter himself. "Actually, Peter," he said. "I think you and Micky should handle those on your own. I'll buy my own paper and look for gigs myself."

Micky frowned. What? Why would Davy buy extra papers? As if they wouldn't already have to pick up the slack to afford Mike's share of the rent, if he didn't come back.

"I… I told you, I just got a paper," Peter was stammering. "You can look through it with us, you know. All of us can…"

"No, Peter," Davy said. "I meant that I want to look for solo gigs."

"Wha…?" Micky asked, his eyes going wide. Davy was quitting the band!? Why!?

"Davy, not you, too!" Peter said, shaking his head, slowly, though he had known that was what Davy was going to say.

"I'm sorry, but… Well, I got to thinking and I realized that there's a lot out there that I want to see," Davy said. "I think it's time I chased after my dream, too. But we'll keep in touch, I promise!"

He grabbed a handful of money from the petty cash jar.

"I'd hate to steal any potential gigs from you two, so I'll let you look over that paper and go out and buy my own right now—a different paper. I'll pay back this money later," he promised.

"No, don't bother," Peter said, softly. "This place will always be your home. Don't you ever forget that."

"I won't," Davy promised, managing a smile at the others. "And thanks for understanding."

Peter didn't understand. Not really. Why couldn't Davy, or even Mike, see? But, they had to be able to make their own choices.

Micky just stood there and stammered unintelligibly as Davy waved to them and headed out the door.

"How…? Why…? But…!" he said, his arms extended towards the door in disbelief. "Pete, what just happened here!?"

Peter looked down at his feet for a moment, and then looked at the newspaper still in his hands.

"I think… our band just broke up."

"...No," Micky said with a chuckle. "No, we must've... misunderstood or something, we can't- Davy would never- I mean, we're- But what about d-d-dum... Here we come... walking down the street..."

"I don't like it either," Peter said, frowning and sitting down. "But... That's it. The Monkees are over. I knew it was too good to last..."

Peter trailed off and put his head in his hands. Micky sat quietly for a minute, too stunned to think. After awhile, he put his hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Pete," he said. "Are you crying?"

"No," Peter said, looking up. "Just... sad, I guess. I'd hoped we'd never break up the band."

"No kidding," Micky said. "Man, if only Mike hadn't gotten that gig. None of this would have happened... Hey!"

He jumped up, startling Peter. "Micky!" The blonde said. "Don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry," Micky said absently. "But I think I know how we can fix this!"

"Really?" Peter asked, standing up. "How?"

"We'll call Mike!" Micky exclaimed excitedly. "Once he hears about how much we need him, he'll be sure to come back, and he'll talk some sense into Davy, too! Then they'll both move back in and we'll be the Monkees again!"

Peter shook his head. "We can't do that," he said.

Micky looked angry. "Why not?" He demanded.

"Because, that would be selfish of us," Peter explained with a sigh. "We can't do that to Mike, this has been his dream for longer than we've even known him! What kind of friends would we be if we told him that he had to give up his dream because we wanted him all to ourselves? And the same goes for Davy!"

"So what, you're just going to give up on them both?" Micky snapped.

"You know that's not what I meant, Micky," Peter said miserably. "I'm just saying that whatever they decide to do, it's got to be their choice, not ours. Remember that time that Davy's grandfather came from England and almost made Davy go back with him, all because Davy wasn't a success like his grandfather wanted him to be?"

Micky blinked. "Yeah," he said. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well," Peter said. "Davy didn't want to go back to England. But his grandfather loved him too much, and almost lost him by hanging on too tight. Is that what you want to be like?"

Micky considered this for a moment. "No," he finally agreed. "No, I don't want to be like that."

"Neither do I," Peter said. "That's why we can't just demand that Mike and Davy come back. If we really want what's best for them, we have to let them go. Besides, they said they'd be in touch. And as of right now, Davy still lives here, even. Just because we're no longer band-mates doesn't mean we can't still be friends."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Micky said. "Let's get working on those ads in the paper. Wouldn't want to be evicted!"

But Davy didn't live in the pad for very long. It seemed that the band had been holding him back; after only a few solo gigs in dinner clubs, he had been discovered by a producer who loved him so much, he wasted no time in whisking him off to Anaheim, leaving Peter and Micky alone.

For the first day after Davy left, Peter and Micky spent most of their time the way Davy had the day after Mike left. That is to say, the sat around and did nothing.

Finally, Micky had had enough silence.

"Hey, Peter," He said. "Let's rehearse."

"Not right now, Micky," the blonde said despondently. "Maybe later."

"Why do later what we could be doing right now?" Micky said. Then he paused. "Come to think of it, why do right now what we could have been doing three hours ago? Come on, man, I'm going crazy without something to do! Besides, we need to learn a whole new setlist!"

That got Peter's attention. "What?" He asked, frowning. "Why?"

"Well, we can't keep doing Mike and Davy's songs," Micky said, as if it were obvious. "I mean, they wrote them, they're bound to do them in their separate careers. Once they get the contracts, their songs will be legally theirs, and we'll be doing covers. You know we got hired more often when we did our own music!"

"Wait a minute," Peter said. "This is giving me a headache! You mean we can't do the old songs anymore because that's doing covers of songs that haven't been produced yet?"

"Exactly!" Micky said. "You gotta stay one step ahead, Pete, that's the only way to make it in this business! If we continue doing these songs, we'll stop being hired once Mike and Davy's careers really get going!"

"Uh, okay," Peter said. "So, are we gonna go back to just doing the songs we wrote as the California Dreamer and Connecticut Yankee?"

Micky hesitated. "Yeah," he said finally. "Only... I'm not sure I want to keep our old name."

"What?" Peter found himself repeating. "Why?"

"I don't know," Micky said, shrugging and looking away. "I guess... it'll seem like we're taking a step backwards, don't you think?"

Peter considered this. "Well..." He said hesitantly. "We are. Taking a step backwards, I mean. But if you want a new name, we could probably come up with something."

"Tork and Dolenz?" Micky said with a half-smile.

Peter chuckled. "Micky and Pete," he volunteered.

They both sat silently for a few more minutes.

"You know what?" Micky said after awhile. "Let's keep the old names. Just for old times sake. Just think of it, Pete. You and me, taking on the world... again, I mean. We'll become the biggest stars in California! What was it I used to say? Our name is gonna be up in lights, everybody will come from miles around to see us!"

"Yeah," Peter said, smiling. "Something like that. Who knows? Maybe it'll be easier this time around, and we'll be discovered and we'll get our chance to shine!"

The conversation was a little lackluster, however. Micky was trying to put up a front of enthusiasm for Peter, who was doing the same for Micky. But, they both went over to the bandstand, which seemed gapingly empty. Micky sat down behind his drums, and Peter picked up his bass, and they began playing, choosing to do Sometime in the Morning.

It sounded just as good as it had the first time they ever played it. But it was obvious to both of them that it was missing something.

Peter, doing the echoes all by himself, felt heartbroken at the lack of his younger, shorter British friend accompanying him on harmonies. And Micky noticed keenly the lack of guitar, which had added a fullness to the song, which now seemed... unprofessional, to say the least.

But neither said this to the other, and after the song was over, they both sat silently for awhile.

"...Let's not do that one anymore," Micky said.

Peter nodded. "It just sounds... wrong now, without-"

He stopped suddenly, and glanced at Micky, who pursed his lips. "Well," he said in a falsely cheery voice. "Let's try Words."