Author's notes: I like how this chapter turned out, athough it's much longer than I expected it to be. I just want to say, every member of Peter's family is an OC, any similarity to persons real or fictional is unintentional.
A little something about Peter's mother, Polly, she says in the fic that her parents named her after Pollyanna. The first Monkees song I ever heard was "I'm a Believer," and I heard it on a commercial for the Hayley Mills version of Pollyanna on VHS tape. Of course, I didn't know at the time who was singing it, I didn't discover the Monkees until several years later. But, I always liked that song, the thirty seconds of it that I'd heard on the commercial. lol, I guess I was a fan of the Monkees long before I knew who they were.
Peter was so excited by the time the train pulled in to the station in Kent, Connecticut that he was driving the others crazy.
As they walked through the station to the street outside, it was all the three others could do to stop Peter from crashing into everything in the station. Successfully managing to steer him out into the open air, they called for a taxi and shoved all their luggage into the trunk before piling into the back seat.
"Where to?" The cabby said disinterestedly.
"102 Locust Lane, please," Peter said excitedly, as the four of them tried to untangle themselves and each find a seat.
When the cabby started the car, Peter jumped, his nerves on edge from his excitement, and hit his head on the roof of the car.
"Calm down, Peter," Mike said for the eighth time that hour. "You're worse than Micky after he drinks his chewable coffee!"
"I'm sorry," Peter said with a grin, rubbing his head. "I'm just so excited, I haven't been to Kent in years. I wonder how much has changed. Do you think Marissa will like me? I hope she likes me. Ooh, look out the window! That's the school I used to go to. I wonder how different it is now. I can't wait to get to the house, I can't wait to see mom again! You guys are gonna love her, just wait. I think it looks like it might rain. Do you think it's gonna rain?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Mike said. "Now please, sit still, before you fall out of the car."
Peter continued to prattle and fidget throughout the short car ride, and the others tuned him out. So when the Cabby announced that they were at 102 Locust Lane, they piled out without much thought, and it took a few seconds before it registered in Mike's head that he'd just heard Peter ask the cabby to point out which house it was.
"Peter, don't you remember what it looks like?" He asked incredulously as Peter thanked the cabby and climbed out of the car.
"Of course not, I haven't seen it yet," Peter said, as if it were obvious.
"But... I though you'd lived here in Kent since you were eight," Davy said, confusion lining his face.
"We didn't live in this house," Peter said, looking up at a nice yellow house with a picket fence and a flower garden. "We moved around a lot. By the time I left, we'd lived in five different houses here in Kent. They've only lived in this house for about six years."
"Oh," Mike said, picking up his guitar case. "I guess that makes sense. Alright, let's get all our stuff and head up."
As the others gathered their things, Mike walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.
After a moment, the front door opened and a rather friendly looking woman looked out at Mike with a smile.
"Hello," He said. "I'm Michael Nesmith. This is the Tork residence, right?"
"Oh dear, no it isn't," The woman said, slightly embarrassed. "This is the Bessetti residence."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mike said, as the others came up behind him. "Guys we, have the wrong address," he said.
"No we don't," Peter said in confusion before grinning up at the woman. "Hi mom!" He said.
"Peter!" She said with a grin, stepping out and giving him a huge hug. "Oh, it's been so long since I saw you! Look at you, you haven't changed at all! Well, your hair is longer, when was the last time you got it cut?"
"Mom!" Peter said reproachfully, pulling away.
"I'm sorry," she said. "It's your life, your decision. So, are these your friends?"
"Yep," Peter said, smiling at the others. "Mom, this is Micky Dolenz-"
Peter's mom folded the unsuspecting drummer into a huge hug. "Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you," she said. "Thank you so much for taking Peter in all those years ago! I was so worried about him, you don't know how glad I was when he wrote me that he'd finally settled down and found a place to live!"
"No problem," Micky grunted breathlessly. "Best decision I ever made... Can't breathe!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, releasing him. Micky stepped back a few steps and gasped for breath.
"This is Davy Jones," Peter continued, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
"Oh, the one who gets all the girls," Peter's mom said, causing Davy to sputter and Micky to snicker as she pulled the Brit into another tight hug. Pulling away, she looked him over. "He's not too short," she said to Peter, who turned red as Micky laughed.
"And this is Mike Nesmith," Peter said, changing the subject.
Mike braced himself, expecting the hug. As she squeezed the life out of him, he was reminded of a boa constrictor that would tighten itself around it's victim until the poor thing was strangled.
He gasped for breath after she released him, and then he voiced his confusion from earlier.
"But, earlier you said this wasn't the Tork residence," he said. "Are you subletting this house or something, Mrs. Tork?" Mike asked.
Peter's mom let out a light laugh. "No, we're not subletting," she said, glancing at Peter. "I guess Peter didn't tell you..."
"I didn't?" Peter asked, more to himself than to anyone else. "Huh. I guess it never came up."
"Told us what?" Micky asked, looking from Peter to his mom in confusion.
"First off, I'm not Mrs. Tork," Peter's mom said. "I haven't been a Tork in a long time."
Mike looked at Micky and Davy, their bewilderment matching his own.
"You mean... you're... divorced?" Davy asked.
"Oh no, nothing like that," Peter's mom said. "My first husband, Samuel Tork, died in an accident before Peter was born."
"What!?" Micky exclaimed, looking wildly at Peter, who nodded.
"It's true," he said simply. "I never met him."
None of the Monkees knew what to say. They all looked at their friend awkwardly as his mom continued her explanation.
"I met Howard Bessetti when Peter was eight," she said. "We married and moved to Kent to start a new life together. We didn't have enough money for Howie to officially adopt Peter, so he kept his last name. Besides, I think it's important for a child to remember his heritage, so I'm not sure we would have changed it anyway."
"I'm glad, too," Peter said. "I can't imagine being called Peter Bessetti. It just doesn't fit me right."
"No kidding," Micky said, getting over his initial shock. "Man, Peter, I'm sorry..."
"That's okay, Micky," Peter said, frowning. "Um... what are you sorry for again?"
"You know," Micky said. "About... about your dad."
"Oh, well, don't worry about that," Peter said with a smile. "Like I said, I never knew him. Besides, Howie's been a great step-dad. I couldn't have asked for a better one."
"He always was good to Peter," Mrs. Bessetti said with a smile. "That was one reason I liked him. He knew I came with a family and he respected that."
"Well, then, um," Mike cleared his throat, still surprised by this turn of events. "Can- can we come in?"
"Oh!" Mrs. Bessetti exclaimed, covering her mouth. "Of course you can, how silly of me, keeping you boys standing around out here! Come on in, make yourselves at home!"
She grabbed one of the boxes holding Micky's drums and led the way into the house.
"Isn't she great?" Peter said, grinning at the others before following her.
"I didn't know that about Peter's dad," Micky said quietly at Mike and Davy's questioning glances after Peter was out of earshot. "He never really brought it up, and I never thought to ask him..."
"That's alright," Mike said. "We know now. Let's just try and get settled in."
They carried their things into the house, and Mrs. Bessetti led them to the guest bedroom. "I'm afraid we only have one extra bed," she said. "But there's also a recliner and I found two sleeping bags, I'll let you all decide who sleeps where."
They looked around the room, it was small, but decorated nicely, with light colors on the walls to make it seem more spacious. A small window overlooked the back yard, and a pot of sunflowers sat on the empty dresser.
"After you're settled in, come on into the kitchen," Mrs. Bessetti said. "I've got home-made caramel apples all ready for you, and I want to get to know you boys a little before Marissa gets home from preschool."
"Thanks, Mrs. Bessetti," Mike said. Mrs. Bessetti laughed.
"Please," she said. "Call me Polly. I was named after Pollyanna."
"Pollyanna!?" Micky exclaimed. "You mean, like Hayley Mills?"
Polly laughed. "Yeah, like Hayley Mills," she said. "I was the first to see that movie when it came out, although my parents named me after the Mary Pickford version."
"I see," Micky said.
With that, Polly left the room, shutting the door behind her.
"So, who's going to get the bed?" Micky said, pointedly looking at Peter.
"Micky," the blonde said reproachfully. "I don't mind sleeping on the ground, really, I don't."
"Now, Peter, this is your special trip," Mike said, putting his arm around Peter. "You should have the bed."
"But if this is my special trip, than you guys should get something special too," Peter insisted. "One of you can have the bed."
"I CALL ONE OF THE SLEEPING BAGS!" Micky yelled gleefully, picking up a green one and unrolling it. "Gosharoony, this is so soft! It's like a big green marshmallow! Feel it, Mike!"
He held the sleeping bag up to Mike, who felt the side. "Ooh!" He said, eyes widening. "That is soft! I want the other one!" He leaned over and picked up the other one, which was blue.
"Fine," Peter said. "You can have the bed, Davy."
"Oh, don't worry about me," Davy said from where he was sitting on the recliner. "This is just like a bed with a built in pillow. It's almost even more comfortable than my bed at the pad!"
Peter sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You guys are all ganging up on me," He said. "I never win this argument. Why do I even try?"
"I've been wondering that for years," Micky said, putting the sleeping bag back down. "Now that we've got that decided, let's go get those caramel apples."
They had all been talking with Polly for about an hour, eating caramel apples as they talked, when the door opened and a man came in, carrying a little girl on his back, piggyback style.
"Hi, Howie!" Peter said, standing up with a smile. Howie (For that's who it was) Stopped walking, and grinned at Peter.
"Peter!" He said. "It's so good to see you! Come give ol' Howie a hug, why don't you?"
He lowered the little girl to the floor and gave Peter a hug before turning to the rest of the Monkees.
"And these must be those crazy musicians you live with," he said.
"Hello, Mr. Bessetti," Mike said, standing up and shaking Howie's hand. "I'm Michael Nesmith, this is Davy Jones, and that's Micky Dolenz."
"Nice to meet you, Mike-and-Ike, Sailor, Micky Mouse," Howie said, much to the bewilderment of Mike, Davy, and Micky.
"Oh, don't worry," Peter said. "He does that to everyone."
"Right you are, Peg-leg Pete," Howie said. "And this little lady is Mousie Marissa," he said, putting his hand on the little girl's hair. "Sorry, Micky Mouse, the two of you are gonna have to share a name."
"That's all right," Micky said, grinning at the little girl. She had green eyes, and looking up, he could see she'd gotten them from Howie, but her hair was the exact same shade as Peter's, and Polly's as well. "I'm hoping to be her favorite anyway."
"Hey!" Peter said. "That's not fair! I'm her brother, after all!"
"Yeah, but we're all brothers here, Peg-leg Pete," Micky said jokingly.
"Micky, leave him alone, would'ja? Davy said, although he was smiling himself.
Polly came over and knelt down next to Marissa. "Marissa," she said. "Do you remember I told you your big brother was coming to see you?"
Marissa nodded, looking around excitedly at the four musicians.
"This is your brother," Polly said, pointing at Peter, who smiled.
Marissa grinned up at him. "That's Petah?" She asked. Polly smiled. "Yes," she said. "That's Peter."
"PETAH!" The little girl shrieked, running up and wrapping her arms around his knees.
"Woah!" He said, almost losing his balance but recovering quickly. "Hello, Marissa," he said.
She looked up at him. "Pick me up!" She ordered, holding her arms out to him. Without hesitation, he obeyed. She studied his face.
"I like you," she decided. "You can be my brother."
The other Monkees laughed as Peter grinned. "Thank you," he said. "These are my friends. This is Davy." He pointed at Davy, who smiled. Marissa studied him.
"I like your hair," she said. "It looks just like Meg's!"
Davy blushed as the others all laughed. "Marissa," Polly said between laughs. "That wasn't very nice."
"But Meg has nice hair," Marissa insisted.
"It's alright," Davy said graciously. "Thank you, Marissa."
Peter turned to Micky. "That's Micky," he said. Micky made a funny face and began talking to Marissa with his old toymaker-type accent, making the little girl giggle.
"I like Micky," she told Peter. "He's funny."
Micky beamed.
"Yes he is," Peter said. Then he turned to Mike. "And this is Mike."
"Hello there, Marissa," Mike said, giving her a small smile. "It's nice to meet you."
Marissa cocked her head and studied him for a minute. Mike felt like he was being scrutinized. Finally, she smiled. "You look like a nice person," she informed him. "Will you be my brother too?"
Mike couldn't help it, he smiled down at the sweet face. "Alright," he said. "I'll be your brother."
"That's hardly fair," Davy said. "Micky's the funny one and you get to be her brother, and I just have hair as nice as Meg's?"
"You can be my best friend," Marissa offered. "We can play together and have a tea party and we could do each other's hair."
Poor Davy groaned and put his head in his hands, as the other Monkees roared with laughter.
The doorbell rang just then, and Polly, who was making dinner, asked Howie to answer.
"Aw, I was hoping to read the paper," Howie said, moving to stand up.
"I'll get it," Mike offered.
"Oh, you don't have to..." Howie began, but Mike held up his hand. "Don't worry," he said. "I don't mind at all. It's the least I can do, you've opened your home to all four of us. I can answer the door."
"Alright," Howie said, settling back down with a smile. "Thank you, Mike-and-Ike."
Chuckling quietly to himself, Mike walked through the dining room and into the front hall. Opening the door, he stopped short, stunned by who he saw there.
"Agent Cupcake!?" he exclaimed in shock.
"Wool Hat!?" The man asked in surprise, his own eyes showing bewilderment behind his blue glasses.