Mike opened the door, and upon seeing Peter standing outside his home he grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

"This was your idea." Mike accused.

"What was my idea?" Peter questioned, nearly quivering with fear. Mike groaned and released him, giving Peter the opportunity to straighten his shirt. "What'd I do?"

"Ever since Micky moved in, I've had no time to work on my music at all. Because during the day hours, he's bugging me and bugging me whenever I try to work. Then, during the night hours he's banging on his drums all night. When does he sleep?" Mike raved. Peter said his next statement in reluctance.

"Maybe you've just got to get used to him."

"Used to him? He's a person, not a bad habit."

Peter shut the front door and walked further inside, specifically towards the bandstand. "Where's the drums? I thought you said he was playing them all night."

"They're in the extra bedroom." Mike nodded his head towards the room. "He likes having his own 'studio' He doesn't want them out here with all my stuff. But it's ten times worse coming from directly underneath me."

"You know, he did ask for a roommate who wouldn't get mad if he played his drums whenever he pleased."

"Yeah, but man his drumming is just so random." Mike complained.

"Then give him something to play. He's not in that stupid band anymore, he doesn't have any music to play. I thought the deal was for you to work with him."

"Hey, we got company!" Micky slid down the banister and met Peter in the living room. "I'm just getting settled in. Peter, right?"

"Right, and you're Micky." Micky nodded and started to head into the room his drums were kept. "Wait Micky?" Micky turned in question at Peter's interruption. "Why don't you move your drums out here and we can all play together? Mike and I were getting ready to work on some stuff."

"I dunno, man. I kinda like doing my own thing." Micky responded.

"Well, you're going to have to move them out eventually."

"How come?" Micky asked.

"Because Peter's moving in!" Mike blurted.

Micky, along with Peter, turned to Mike both in uncertainty and said, "What!"

"Right, Peter is moving in here this weekend and that bedroom is going to have to become his so you'll have to move the drums out." Mike explained.

"Huh, OK." Micky disappeared into the room.

"Why'd you do that? I don't want to live here!" Peter scolded Mike.

"It's no big deal, we can have a pretend fight later on and you can move out. Then we'll make up and be friends again and you won't live here."

"You're just booming with plans, aren't you Mike?" Micky appeared again, carrying one of his cymbols and his snare drum. "Welcome roomie! The more the merrier!"

Peter came over to assist him in carrying the drum set while Mike stood by in annoyance.

"Why are we here?" Mike asked, turning his head towards Peter. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Micky jumping on top of his former bandmate.

"Because we are supportive friends who are always there for each other," Peter said in a dramatic fashion.

"We're his friends, are we?" Mike paused to shift his whole body towards Peter. "I thought the reason we were coming to the airport with him was to keep him from getting too emotional when his buds left. Does he look sad to you?"

"I thought I spotted a tear." Peter defended. Over the past few days, Peter had actually taken a liking to Micky. He was forced to move in momentarily to keep up the charade, but as Mike said before. As soon as Micky's there to stay and everything's under control, he could leave. However, Peter actually had grown fond of him and had seriously considered him a friend. Mike, of course, was just always on the stubborn side.

"Hey guys, do you mind if we go up to the terminal with them? I'd like to see their plane take off." Micky asked, hopefully.

"Micky, Peter and I have been standing here for an hour while you said goodbye to them. Isn't that enough?"

"C'mon Mike, be understanding. They're his friends." Peter once again went to Micky's defendse. "Let's go."

"Thanks Pete." Micky smiled, and Mike followed them both reluctantly as they caught up to Micky's friends. He watched once again as Micky said goodbye, letting tears pass down his face. The plane took off with Micky still standing waving to an empty terminal.

"For pete's sake, Mick. You could have gone too, you just didn't want to." Mike walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. It was his only attempt to make him feel better.

"New York wasn't for me. I've lived here forever and I don't want to leave. I wish they could have understood that."

"Airports are dreadful, aren't they?" A new voice entered their conversation. They turned to see a young man dressed in a suit, trying his hardest to hold his tears in. A few managed to make their way through, though, visibly displaying his sadness. "I mean, what good comes from aiports? You're always leaving someone you love or them leaving you."

Mike didn't know how to react to this. The man obviously didn't know them and was rambling off to strangers about his distress.

"Who left you, if you don't mind me asking?" Micky managed to say before Mike could come up with anything.

"Well I left actually. My grandfather just came here with me to make sure I got here all right. I think it was because he wouldn't have to say goodbye as soon. I know that was my reason. He just left on his plane about a half hour ago."

"I'm sorry." Micky said.

"Yeah, sorry." Peter added.

"It's all right. I chose this. I could have gone to college in England, but I chose to come here instead."

"Oh, you're going to college here in Califorina?" Mike asked in interest. The young man shook his head.

"Well, no I'm not going to college at all. My grandfather and I have a deal. You see, if I become sucessful and have a good life here I can stay. He's giving me a year. If not, I have to return home and attend some kind of school."

"You got a place to stay? 'Cause you can stay with us." Micky offered.

"Micky!" Mike yelled.

"I couldn't." The young man objected.

"Yeah, we don't have the room." Mike pushed, but Micky shook his head. He grabbed Mike's arm and pulled him off to the side so their new acquaintance couldn't hear.

"Come on, Mike. Have a heart, the kid has nowhere to go." Micky pleaded.

"He's begging for pity. That's the whole reason he talked to us. He wanted to go on about his problems so we'd feel sorry for him. How blind are you?"

"I'm not blind, but I am considerate. You, my friend, are not."

"This was suppose to be my place, my pad."

"Then why'd you ask me to move in with you, huh? Why's Peter moving in, no one forced you to. It's my home too and I want him to stay with us until he finds somewhere to go. He seems like a nice guy. He's from England, man. Those guys are all nice and polite." Micky begged.

"Fine, but if he steals anything I'm holding it over your head."

"Whatever, man." Micky returned to Peter and the young man, beaming. "Guess what, I convinced Mike. You can stay with us."

"I don't want to be a bother." he replied.

"Don't argue with Micky, I've just learned that lesson. You won't win." Mike advised. "Hurry up and come on before I change my mind." he said. Mike turned towards the exit and started walking out of the airport.

"This is cool, you can room with me. I'm Peter." Peter held his hand out and the young man accepted the shake. "This, of course, is Micky."

"Davy. Davy Jones." he said.

A/N: No, this isn't the end. They're still not the Monkees yet, right?

continued