Petite Michel

Prologue

It had been a long day. Micky showed up to rehearsal late, the third time in the past two weeks, and Mike snapped at him for it. Micky stepped in to defend himself, but Mike went off on him, saying he had never cared or taken their rehearsals seriously. Micky said that it was only a rehearsal, not an actual show. That was when Mike broke and stormed upstairs.

"The nerve of that guy!" Micky muttered as Mike ran upstairs. Davy sighed and plopped down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands. Peter frowned and watched as Mike left, his eyes filled with worry.

"I can't believe him," Micky continued.

"I can't believe you, Micky," Davy sighed.

"Me?!" Micky snapped, offended. "What did I do?"

"Better question, what didn't you do?" Davy grumbled, glaring up at him.

"Guys, please don't fight anymore," Peter pleaded. "It's not worth it."

Micky groaned.

"He has no right to come in and act like he owns the world," Micky said, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're supposed to be a band, remember? A group."

"We can't afford for you to be goofing off all the time," Davy said, sternly standing his ground. Micky scoffed.

"It's always my fault, isn't it?"

"Great," Davy smiled, but it was a cold and dark smile. "Now you understand."

Micky sighed, trying to hold himself back from attacking the Brit. And Peter's warning look prevented him from going any further.

"Mike can't keep pretending like he's the leader of the band."

"He is the leader of the band," Davy snapped. "That's what we decided. We decided that while you were always goofing off and Mike would always have to bail you out."

"Davy, stop," Peter warned, shooting him a look. Davy sighed and sat back down on the couch.

"It was just one rehearsal," Micky said quietly.

"Every rehearsal—"

"Micky's right," Peter sighed. Davy quickly sat up and glared at him. "It was just a rehearsal. Let's please not get so riled up over a rehearsal."

Davy sighed and nodded, closing his eyes.

"I'm gonna go check on Mike..." Peter said, looking up the stairs, worriedly. He half expected the other two to snap at him or tell him not to, but Davy only shrugged and Micky nodded.

"Okay," Micky said softly, looking down.

Peter nodded and headed up the stairs. He knocked on the bedroom door.

"Mike?" He asked softly, not getting any response.

Slowly, he creaked open the door and stepped inside, going toward Mike's bed. Mike was curled up underneath the blankets, eyes closed.

"Hey, Mike? Are you awake?" He whispered and Mike let out a faint groan.

"Am now," he muttered, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted back to the light.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, concerned.

Mike groaned and closed his eyes again.

"'M tired..." he grumbled. Peter nodded and smiled slightly.

"Okay, well, I'll go and let you rest."

"Thank you..."

Mike drifted off again. Peter smiled and carefully made his way back, hoping not to disturb Mike any further.

Once Peter had gone upstairs, Micky groaned and sat down next to Davy.

"You can't tell me you're not upset too."

"I am upset," he said with a shrug. "I'm just also upset at you."

"He's just so..." Micky continued, missing Davy's comment. "He's become so obsessed in his own ways that he isn't listening to us anymore. We're not the Monkees, we're Michael Nesmith and the Monkees."

Davy sighed.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," he said, looking down. "You both are so stuck in your own minds that we can't work together. It's not just Mike, it's you too."

"Everything he says isn't right," Micky sighed. "He thinks he's right and perfect all the time. That's why he won't take help, and he won't listen to our ideas anymore."

Davy no longer felt the need to try and knock sense into him, so he simply gave up.

"Someone needs to bring Mike down to size," he muttered, surprised when Davy nodded.

"I agree."