Notes: The characters aren't mine, and the story is! I'm taking a slight break from my usual angst-fests to bring a feel-good, friendshippy fic fit for December. I'll still be updating my other fics this month, just not as frequently.

The Monkees' beachside Pad always had problems with things scattered all over the place and messes everywhere. But, today, the interior looked as though a tornado had spun through the place, drawing up everything that had been in the boys' closets and spewing them out everywhere—in their rooms, on the landing, on the spiral staircase, and all over the living room.

None of the occupants flickered an eyelid, however; this was how they normally packed their bags and suitcases when they were embarking on a long journey. It was the easiest way; the boys lived by the credo of "what's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine," so this was, believe it or not, the most efficient way of ensuring that the right possessions went to the right Monkee's suitcase. It also led to some last minute swapping, as well.

"Hey, Peter? Have you seen my striped shirt?" Micky asked from the landing, as his search for the item turned out to be fruitless. "I remember lending it to you…"

"Uhh… Yeah; I saw it about a week ago!" the blond called from downstairs. "Right when I lent it to Davy!"

"And I last saw it a few days ago—when I gave it back to you, Micky!" Davy called.

"Oh, yeah…" Micky said, recalling it. "I threw it into the laundry pile—"


All three heads turned to Mike and Micky's room as the Texan let out a loud yell of disgust.

"Mike, are you okay!?" Davy exclaimed.

"Oh, I'm just fine. Micky!"

The brunet flinched at Mike's accusatory tone.


"Why is there a half-eaten sandwich on my denim jacket—on the floor of the closet!?" the Texan demanded.

"Oh, that's where it went!" Micky exclaimed. "I was looking for that jacket some time ago, and I lost half of my sandwich while I was looking! Wouldn't you know they ended up in the same place…?"

"Exactly how long ago was this!?" Mike asked.

Micky stuck his head in through the open doorway.

"Well, offhand, judging by how much mold is on it, I'd say about… three weeks?"

There was a dangerous silence as Micky put on a guilty grin.

"I'm giving you a chance to say something," Mike said, calmly. "And it had better be good."

"Oh, um… Can I borrow your jacket?"

Davy and Peter both facepalmed.


"I'll have it washed when I get to Florida tomorrow—I swear!" Micky said. "It's just that I might be meeting some chicks down in Florida; you never know. And there's just something about this jacket that makes for a very good first impression. I mean, you've got great taste to have a jacket like this!"

"Mick, this jacket has a lot of things, but with sandwich mold all over it, 'great taste' ain't one of them."

"I told you, I'll have it washed! The hotel I'll be staying at is sure to have some sort of laundromat!"

"Well, it had better be in perfect condition when I see you again in a week."

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Micky said, saluting. "It will be done, Sir!"

Peter grinned, and then he sighed as he resumed packing.

"A whole week without you guys…" he said, shaking his head. "Do you realize that this is the first Christmas since meeting each other and forming our group that we're not going to be together for a holiday?"

"I know, Peter," Davy said. "But you can't blame our families for wanting us to spend time around the holidays. I know Grandfather has been saying how much he misses me at our yearly celebration."

"Yeah, that's true…" Peter admitted. "I know Mike said that Aunt Kate has been begging him to come to her ranch for Christmas every year since he left."

"I can vouch for that; I was here every time he got a call from her for the last four years," Davy said. "And, anyway, it is only for a week; we have to be back here for that New Year's Eve gig."

"Yeah. And then there's the surprise party for you and Mike—oh, I shouldn't have said that…" the blond said, facepalming again.

"I think Mike and I could've deduced that you and Micky were planning that without any help," the English boy grinned. "But you've proven my point; we've got plenty to look forward to. This week will go by before you know it." He sighed. "Though, I have to admit… I am a little jealous that Micky is going to be vacationing in Florida."

"Maybe someday, we'll all go to Florida," Peter mused. "And we can have a gig there and charm everyone with our musical talents…"

"Why just Florida?" Davy said. "Why not the entire United States?"

"Aw, heck—why not the entire world!?" Micky called, as he headed down the staircase to join them. "Someday, they'll love us!"

"Providing we don't leave a trail of moldy sandwiches in our wake…" Mike deadpanned, lugging his suitcase down the staircase.

"You're not going to let me forget this, are you?"


"Come on, Man! It could've happened to anyone!"

"Oh, sure…" Peter said, grinning despite himself. "Just like the time you tried to use that chemistry set I gave you two years ago—and we somehow ended with homemade silly putty over the walls…"

"I just put in a bit too much of a few ingredients—just like the time Mike put too many peppers in his salsa recipe."

Mike gave Micky a look.

"I didn't put too many peppers in there," he insisted. "It's supposed to be that hot. I can't help it if I've got three bandmates who can't take the heat."

Davy laughed aloud at this.

"Excuse me? I seem to remember the time when we actually had a stove in here, and you tried to make chili. You threw in a whole bunch of those habanero peppers, and you had your head out the window just like I did, gasping for fresh air! …Of course, I'll admit that probably wasn't half as bad as that time Micky tried to make coffee…"

"Hey!" the brunet exclaimed. "That was when we were half-scared out of our wits because of the late-night monster movie marathon! It's not like we were going to be getting any sleep that night; making the coffee a little bit stronger than normal seemed like the logical thing to do!"

"A little bit stronger?" Mike repeated. "Micky, I swear I saw my coffee rear up, jump out of the mug, and do chin-ups while quoting Shakespeare!"

"And our nerves were too far gone," Peter added, recalling that night. "When Mr. Babbitt knocked on the door to ask for the rent, we nearly crashed through the walls trying to get away from him!"

"I think that may have been because we'd just seen Dracula breaking through his coffin on top of that coffee we had drunk," Davy recalled. "But Peter makes a good point. I distinctly remember nearly jumping high enough to qualify for the Olympics."

There was an awkward silence as the four bandmates exchanged glances, smiles appearing on all of their faces.

"Man, I'm going to miss you guys so much," Micky said, shaking his head.

"Well, I've got faith that y'all can hang on for just one measly little week apart," the Texan said. "Chances are, we'll be so busy with family stuff, we won't even have the time to notice." He placed his suitcase by the door. "Well, I'm all packed, anyway. "Y'all better finish up. I'd like to get a quick dinner in before we all have to part ways."

"I'm for that!" Davy said. "What've we got?"

Peter took a look in the fridge.

"Some wilted salad, some celery, another one of Micky's sandwiches—no mold on this one, though," he added, unable to resist. "Oh, wait, there's some of the doggy bags from when we went to Pop's restaurant yesterday."

"Leftovers. Perfect—it'll help us practice for all the leftovers we'll be getting on the 26th," Mike said. "Get out the hot plate and start heating it up. I'll help the rest of you finish up with the packing."

And despite the chaos that seemed to always follow the quartet, they managed to finish packing their suitcases. A minor crisis was averted after Davy panicked, thinking he had misplaced his passport, but it was Micky who had found it in the closet that Davy and Peter shared—for he had seen it the day he had given Peter his striped shirt, which the blond had put away in the closet.

But, eventually, four suitcases were neatly lined up near the door, each adorned with a ticket provided by his family—three for three different planes and the last one—Mike's—for a train to New Gallifrey, Texas.

"They said it couldn't be done," Micky said, striking a dramatic pose as he looked upon the luggage—and the now-spotless floor. "But we showed them all, didn't we? We successfully packed our bags in record time!"

"And it only took us the whole day…" Davy mused.

"Like I said, we did it in record time," the brunet grinned. "Or have you forgotten how, for the last out-of-town gig we had, it took us three whole days before we were finally packed and ready to go?"

"We can discuss it over dinner," the Texan said, as Peter pulled the leftovers off of the hot plate and transferred them to the table. "I, for one, am starving." He grabbed a celery stick from the fridge and added it to his plate.

One by one, they sat down at the little table—the table that served as both their dining table and their band meeting spot. The lively discussion that followed was one of high spirits—though they wished that they could spend the holiday week with each other, it was some comfort to know that they would still be able to share it with people they cared about.

They could not have known about Lady Fate's plans for them…