Monkee Business

[lillian]

So, erm, I'm new here, and no matter what my profile says, I'm a girl! I love the Monkees and the Beatles, and I thought we needed to expand the tiny fandom that exists here. I promise to update, but I have evil things to do, like homework, so I may be a little slow. Reply reply reply! And you may ask for certain things of certain characters, I write to please the audience.

“What’s for breakfast, Pete?” Asked Mike, sitting down at the table across from Peter. “Peter?” He said when the bassist didn’t raise his blonde head from the table. Mike’s eyes narrowed as he studied his friend. Then he poked him. Jerking awake, Peter stuttered,

“Oh, hello Mike! Good morning…” He blinked sleepily and rubbed his eyes.

“You okay, Pete? You went to bed early, and you’re dead on your feet this morning.”

“Mmmhmmm, I’m fine.” He began to yawn, but then his eyes sqinched shut. “Heh-heh hetCHOO.” He sniffed, then sneezed again into cupped hands. Mike flinched.

“Yeah, you don’t sound great, buddy.”

“Pollen?”

“We live on the beach.”

“Cats?”

“You aren’t allergic to cats, Peter, and we don’t even have any.”

“Micky’s hair?”

“Same as being allergic to a poofy cat.”

“Well, my mother says I have a better-than-average constitution!” Peter said haughtily.

“Do you even know what that means?” Mike asked.

“No.” Peter admitted with a sheepish look in his expressive eyes. Mike noticed that they weren’t the bright hazel they usually were. They looked a bit green, actually.

“It means you should go back to bed.” Mike said.

“Hey! I know it doesn’t mean that, I’m not stupid.” His brows furrowed in a childlike pout.

“You’re right shotgun.”

“That was mean, Mike. You were trying to trick me.”

“I’m really sorry, Pete. I’m just worried about you.” Mike said. But it was too late for apologies. Peter got up and walked into the living room and collapsed on the couch. He put his hands behind his head and stared angrily at the ceiling. Mike sighed. Where were Davy and Micky when you needed them?

As if reading his thoughts, Peter said, with an uncharacteristic scowl, “Micky and Davy went to the beach to meet some girls.”

“Okay.” Mike watched Peter from the kitchen door. His hair was rumpled and sticking in all directions instead of lying smooth and shiny, like it usually did. Dark circles under his eyes and a pale face told Mike that his friend hadn’t slept well. He sniffled and ran a fist under his increasingly reddening nose. He sat up and sniffed harder. His face adopted a peculiar expression as he reached hurriedly for a pillow. Burying his face in it, he sneezed wetly. “Huh-huh-hupchuu…ashooo…huh…hetCHooo!” He looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “Go away Mike.” He said hoarsely, lying back down with a congested sigh.

Once he had closed his eyes and appeared to be in dreamland, Mike crept up behind the couch with a box of tissues and a thermometer. He set the box down, and carefully placed the thermometer in Peter’s open mouth. Poor kid, can’t even breathe out his nose. He thought to himself. He bit his lip and felt a sudden urge to mother Peter. The red stuff in the thermometer crept higher and higher up the glass tube. He squashed back his surprised yelp as the mercury wavered and stopped at 103.

“I thought I told you to go away.” Peter said coldly, opening his eyes and taking the thermometer out of his mouth. Mike cast his eyes down guiltily. “Why don’t you listen? You think you’re smart Mike Nesmith and you always do best.” Peter sat up, his eyes were burning with anger and fever, and his cheeks were aflame with indignation. “Well guess what Michael, even dummies can take care of themselves. Can’t you go find something else to do? Go pick on Davy for being short, or bug Micky about his hair. You can’t trick me anymore. Sorry to rain on your sport, but I’m not as naïve as when you first met me.”

“Now wait just a minute shotgun, you sound as crazy as a Texas prairie chicken with its head cut off. That’s the fever talkin’, it’s frying your brain.”

“The Texas sun fried your brain a long time ago, redneck.”

“That’s cowboy, to you, Tork. I’ve had it. I tried to be nice, but you just wont let me take care of you.” Mike stormed up the spiral staircase.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me!” Peter yelled after him, then broke into a coughing fit. Mike heard the harsh coughs and almost went back down, but that Texas temper had gotten hold of him, and he went to his room instead, slamming the door for good measure.

“Hey, what was that?” asked Micky when he came into the kitchen. The blonde girl in a bikini clinging to his arm shrugged her tanned shoulders. Davy put his arm around the girl that was standing next to him. She was short, with brown hair and looked strangely like a 19 year old Zoe Marr.

“Sounded like a door slammin’ to me.”

“Yeah, Mike’s door.” Micky narrowed his eyes. All four jumped when they heard a sneeze from the living room.

“Peter.” Davy and Micky said at the same time.

“Listen Zo, you’ll have to go.” Davy said kindly.

“Yeah, Hannah, this is Monkee business.”

“Okay.” Said Zoe, and the girls left.

The boys walked into the living room and found their bandmate blowing his nose forcefully.

“Alright, Pete?” Davy asked concernedly.

“Yeah, I’b fide.”

“Sure? You don’t sound to amazing.”

“Aww, you’re actig just like Mike. What is it, baby Peter day? Well I’b dot abused.” Peter scoffed.

“Of course you’re not being abused Peter!” Davy said, eyes widening.

“No, abused. Oh dever bid.” He sighed deeply, then coughed.

“I think he’s trying to say amused. But he’s too stuffed up.” Micky said.

“Are you sick Peter?” Davy asked. He tried to put a hand to Peter’s forehead, but he ducked and Davy ended up on the floor. While there, he noticed a thermometer lying on the carpet. “ ‘Ey, looka this! Mike’s beat us to it.”

“Oh really?” Micky looked up from attempting to wrestle Peter to the couch so he could feel his forehead.

“Yeah, it’s a thermometer. What was it, Pete?”

“Normal.” The bassist said.

“Liar.” Said Micky, finally succeeding in getting a hand on Peter’s head. “You’re on fire.”

“Thadk you.” Said Peter, smiling. Micky rolled his eyes and headed up the stairs.

“Where’re you off to? We’ve got a sick boy here!” Davy called after him.

“I’b dot sick!”

“Oh hush Pete. I’m going to see what’s up with Mike.”

“He’s beig a jerk.” Informed Peter hoarsely.

“Is that so? Well well Mr. Tork, have you seen any green dragons flying about?” Davy asked, suddenly wearing a moustache and doctors garb. The moustache even had its own hairnet.

“Well, no, but I saw a red one a couple seconds ago.” Peter said with a grin.

“Good heavens! Red dragons! We must get you to the hospital immediately!”

“I don’t like hospitals.” Replied Peter, frowning.

“Yes yes, of course. Hospitaphobia is a sure sign of a cold. Have you seen any blue pigs?”

“Blue pigs? No, but I saw some regular ones flying.”

“Silly silly boy!” Dr. Davy exclaimed, hitting his patient over the head with a folded up newspaper. “Regular pigs don’t fly! Only green fever-induced ones do.”

“What is it with you and green animals?”

“Oh, well, when I was very young…” Davy began, sitting down on the couch wearing his usual clothes. Meanwhile, upstairs…

“Mike! Mike! Where are you?” Micky called.

“Go away!” Came the reply.

[Sneesee]

Yay! A Peter fic, my favorite! I love this, thanks for sharing! I agree there aren't enough Monkee's stories.

[lillian]

Here goes, I'm really sorry if it gets all weird.

Part 2!

"Mike?" Micky said cautiously as he opened the door to the room he shared with Mike. "What's wrong, babe?"

"Nuthin'." Mike said sullenly.

"I don't believe that. C'mon buddy, what's up?"

"Well, Peter's sick an' all, and I was just tryin' to help him. He got all cranky and you know..." Micky could tell that Mike wasn't willing to go very far with this. Well let's see, he reasoned, Peter rejecting his attentions probably hurt his feelings, he's just too proud to say so!

"Peter doesn't stay angry for very long, and Davy's probably got him cooled off. Let's go down so you guys can apologize, huh?"

"Alright." Mike sighed and got up from the bed. Micky smiled with a touch of pride and followed him out the door.

"Heh uh HNGZT...H'KKShhh....uh... huh...k'tchuu "Peter sniffled wetly. He sat curled up in a corner of the couch, a blanket around his shivering shoulders. The combination of his white face and crimson nose was almost laugh-worthy, but Mike felt a leaden clench on his heart instead. Why Peter? Sweet, innocent Peter?"

"Bless you, shotgun." He said, jumping off the last two stairs.

"D-Davy went t-to get tissues." Peter said, shaking in spite of the blanket. Mike went to him, as comforting as the father he never had. This time, Peter accepted. "D-don't g-g-get t-to c-close." He managed to choke out.

"Shhh, don't worry buddy, Mike Nesmith doesn't get sick."

"S-sure?" Peter asked worriedly.

"Positive." Mike assured him. He sat down next to the bassist, and put his arm around him. Noticing he was shivering in spite of this, Mike plucked his green wool hat off his head and pulled it securely over Peter's ears. His eyes widened in surprise.

"But, your hat...it's your favorite..."

"Hey, it doesn't matter, a hat's a hat. It made you stop shakin' so bad though, dinnit?"

"Yeah, it's warm." Peter leaned into Mike and laid his blond head on the dark haired guitarist's shoulder. "I love you, Michael."

"I love you too, Pete."

[obsessed]

Hello Lillian! I noticed that there seemed to be a bit of tagging trouble with formatting your text, but if there's something you'd like to know how to do I'd be happy to try to help you. I've deleted your extraneous null posts.

Enjoy the forums and keep up the writing:)

[lillian]

but if there's something you'd like to know how to do I'd be happy to try to help you

I'm very confused about how the whole posting thing works, sometimes it's clean, and other times it is hopelessly messed up.

[lillian]

By the way, this may sound like Torksmith slash, but it isn't. Brotherly love I believe is the correct term for it.

Part 3!

“Huhh….kshhhnxgt.”

“Bless you.”

“Eh-k’gnx.”

“Bless you again. Stop stifling, it’s bad for you. Your eyes’ll pop out.”

“No they-huh….heh..w-k’gnxchuu…hepCHOO…AUSHOO…sniff…won’t.”

“Well God bless you! They will too. It’s okay buddy, sneeze all over me if you need to. Bless you, bless you, bless you.” These last three were tacked on after Peter let out three increasingly wet sneezes.

“Do I hear a priest? Listen Father, there’s this girl I want to marry…” Davy said dramatically as he walked into the living room, two boxes of tissues in his hands. Then he grinned teasingly at Mike.

“It’s the way I was raised.” Mike said quietly. He didn’t like talking about religion with the guys, it made him feel different. When they had a headache, they would load up on aspirin, taking way more than the recommended dose. Mike just had to keep quiet and politely refuse if it was offered to him. His view of the world was just a little different than theirs. He was glad that they didn’t usually bring up the heavy stuff though; mostly it was girls, jobs, and music.

“Hey, where’d Micky run off to?” Davy asked, changing the subject hurriedly.

“I thought he followed me downstairs…” Mike said, turning around and craning his neck to get a look at the balcony. “Micky!” He called. He felt the weight on his shoulder suddenly vanish, and he turned to see Peter sneezing as quietly as he could into the blanket.

“K’chh…huhcngx….cheww…heh heh heh….. K’tshh.”

“Gosherooni Big Peter!” Micky exclaimed, sliding down the banister.

“Bless you again.” Said Mike.

“That sounds…lovely.” Davy said, cringing. “Have a tissue.” He ripped the plastic off the little blue box and handed Peter one.

“He’ll probably need more than that.” Micky said as Peter hurriedly folded the Kleenex and sneezed wetly into it.

“Bless you.” Mike sighed. It was all he could say to comfort his friend. Peter shuddered as he accepted a fistful of tissues from Davy without removing the one he was holding tightly to his nose.

The other three Monkees shared nervous looks. Peter had gone from bad to worse, and this cold sounded like it would hang around for more than just a couple days. “Where’d you wander off to Micky?” Mike asked.

“I just ran upstairs to get something for Peter.” The drummer replied, pulling Peter’s beloved teddy out from behind his back. The sick bassist finished blowing his nose, having used the entire wad of Kleenex to do so, and held out his arms excitedly.

“Hey Boday! Oh ids good do see you agaid!” He said stuffily, holding the brown bear close. Mike smiled, Peter was so childlike. “Thags Bicky.” He said sincerely.

“Well Big Peter, Monday is a good nurse, so I thought he could help you out.” Micky said with a smile.

“Heh heh ACHNGXchuu.” Peter turned bright red. “I’b sorry, thad was louder thad I thoughd id would be…”

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re sick. Let’s get you in bed.” Mike said earnestly.

“ ‘E’s right, we shouldn’t have you freezin’ down here.”

Once Peter was all tucked in, they crept silently downstairs.

[Sneesee]

Oh my gosh, this is so cute! Thanks for sharing this bit of writing! Love it! Have I mentioned that Peter is my favorite yet?

[lillian]

He’s my favorite too, such lovely hair…I must do some more describing of that. But I’m at a bit of a dead spot now, any ideas?

[Sneesee]

Well...not that I've put a lot of thought into but...perhaps you can describe Peter's hair during a really large sneeze, or fit, or something. Like how it flops around, or something like that. And, it would be kind of fun if they had somewhere to be, like a gig, and he was still not feeling well and Mike was still trying like heck to make him feel better? Just a few ideas. But please do write more, I am loving it!! Thanks a bunch for posting!

[obsessed]

but if there's something you'd like to know how to do I'd be happy to try to help you

I'm very confused about how the whole posting thing works, sometimes it's clean, and other times it is hopelessly messed up.

Sure! How have you been posting? I normally copy and past into the reply box, and that normally turns out nice and clean for me. I do the formatting in the box as well, as opposed to using the microsoft word clipping tool.

[lillian]

I found out that if I type it in Word, then copy-paste it into the Word box, it works every time. I just want to be careful, so someone doesn’t have to come behind me and clean up. Once I saw that you replied, knowing that you were a moderator, I went “Uh oh, I’m in trouble…” Glad to see that I’m not. J

[lillian]

Part four:

The next few days went something like this.

“Uh…uh….HEPTSHOO…ah-HUSHOO.”

“Bless you.”

“Thags.” Davy knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Called Mike.

“Peter, I made you some tea, just like me mum used to make.” Davy said, opening the door with one hand and balancing a tea tray on the other. “And Mick’s coming up with the soup.” They turned in shock to the direction of the stairs when they heard frantic yelling.

“Hot soup hot soup hot soup!! Oww oww oww, ahhhh! Slippery soup!!” Which was followed by a loud crash.

“Sounds like Micky’s going down with the soup, actually. I’ll go check on him.” Mike got up from the end of Peter’s bed and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Said Peter hoarsely. “Cob back, Bike!”

“What is it Peter?” Mike asked kindly, turning around to look at his sick friend. Peter was a little better today, but he had been coughing. A lot, and as much as the Texan would hate to admit it, it was pretty scary.

“I juss-“ Peter’s voice took on a breathy cast, and his whole frame shuddered as he tried to fight the surely coming sneeze. It overcame him though, and when it busted out, it was deep and forceful. “H’ESHHOO-uh.” As he pitched forward a second and third time, his silky hair flopped with him, hiding his face from view.

Mike brushed the spun-gold locks away from the bassist’s slightly sweaty forehead, and out of his eyes.

“Bless you.” He said tenderly.

“Thags.” Peter replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned away from Mike and coughed harshly into his elbow to try and clear his throat. It only set off a bad coughing jag, and Davy set down the tray and joined Mike in rubbing his back.

When the coughs subsided, Peter blew a sigh of relief. “Sorry about that. Mike, I was going to say that I want you here. I get scared when you go away.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

“I know, it’s ‘cause I’m short.” Davy smiled good-naturedly. “I’ll get Micky, you’re the nurse of this lot, Mike old chap.” He said, and went to go find the unfortunate drummer. Peter started to say something, but Mike shushed him.

“I think it’s best if you don’t talk for now, save what little of a voice you have left.” Peter nodded and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Mike smiled and patted him on the head. Peter looked up at him and panted like a dog. Mike laughed outright and scratched behind his ears. “You need to rest, Spot.” He said.

“Woof.” Peter replied quietly, and closed his eyes.

[Sneesee]

You put the hair thing in there! Sweet! I also love that you threw in a short comment by Davy, I miss Davy. This is absolutely wonderful! Especially the part where Peter said, "Woof." Thanks so much! I love reading Monkee stories!

[lillian]

Not very long, just a bit sneezy, but I promise there’s more!

Part 5:

The next day…

BRIIING BRRRIIIING BRRRIIIIIINNNGGGGG

“Will somebody get the phone?” Mike asked.

“No.” Davy replied.

“I’m busy.” Said Micky, eyes glued to the television.

“Fine, I’ll get it.” Mike said, and walked over to the phone. He jumped in surprise when he saw Peter picking it up. “What in the world are you doin’ out of bed?” He asked angrily. Peter ignored him and answered the phone with a husky “Hello?” His nose was the faintest pink, and he didn’t sound the least bit congested. Mike sighed in relief, Peter was better! He really must have one hell of a constitution. He thought.

Something was bothering him though, upon observation, he noticed that Peter leaned heavily on the table. “Okay, you might want to talk to Mike about that.” His eyebrows vanished into his bangs. “H-here he i-is.” He said breathily, shoving the phone at Mike before doubling over with a stifled HUH-hushngx-chuh.

“Bless you.” Mike muttered and turned his attention to the phone. As he listened to the jabber on the other side, a slow smile spread across his face. “We’d love to, thank you very much. Six? Okay, we’ll be there.” Mike hung up the phone and started to jump up and down, clapping his hands.

“What is it?” Micky and Davy asked excitedly.

“It’s a GIG!” Mike exclaimed.

“Yay!”

“Whoohoo!”

“Money!”

“ ‘Ow much is it, Mike?” Davy wanted to know.

“One hundred and fifty dollars!” Mike yelled.

“One hundred and fifty!?” Micky asked, his voice cracking at the end.

“Yep, it’s at six tonight, the disco tech near that Japanese place. Their band backed out because the drummer was sick. The lady said they recommended us.”

“The drummer probably had the same thing Pete’s got.” Micky said.

[LovelyLinda]

Aww, your story is so sweet

Mike and Peter are my favourites <3

What a pity it's no torksmith x) I wouldn't mind at all!

Well, I hope it's not to much to ask for, but would you mind passing the cold onto Mike?

I'm such a sucker for contagion *_*

Pretty pretty please? And I LOVE how Mike keeps blessing Pete <3

Thank youuuu for writing !!