Davy strolled away from the Monkeemobile, stuffing the keys in his pocket, then continued down the streets of Malibu. He whistled "I Wanna Be Free" merrily as he made his way to the music shop for a new set of maracas. The sun was shining and it was a gorgeous day, so Davy tipped the rim of his hat back, allowing the sun's rays to warm his face. He added a small skip to his step as he walked feeling that a great day was ahead of him. He turned the corner heading for the music shop, but started at the sight about fifty feet in front of him.

Running down the street was a man not much older than he was, and he was being chased by a mob of teenage girls. The crowd was screaming and reaching out, desperately trying to catch the boy. Davy smiled, able to sympathize with the young man. While it never got that extreme, girls were constantly hounding him.

Davy watched the young man glance behind him, the frantic look on his face revealed that he wasn't enjoying the mob's attention at all. While he couldn't understand why the young man wasn't enjoying it, Davy suddenly got an idea of how to help him out. He ran back around the corner he had just come around and waited for the boy to approach.

The young man turned the corner where Davy was waiting and Davy didn't hesitate to reach out and grab him by the shirt and pull him into the doorway of the café on the corner. The two watched silently as the mob of screaming girls ran by without seeing the boys huddled in the doorway.

Once the crowd was out of earshot, the two young men let out simultaneous sighs of relief. "Ah you alright?" Davy asked over his shoulder, glancing out into the street to make sure the mob was gone.

"Yeah," the boy answered in a clipped English accent. "Thanks man, I owe you one."

Davy turned around, intrigued by the familiarity of the answering voice. When he finally got a good look at the person's face, he found himself gawking. "You... you're...."

The boy laughed. "Ringo Starr, at your service." Ringo extended his hand to shake with Davy. Davy took his hand and shook it slowly, still unable to believe who was standing before him.

"David Jones," he said when his speech finally returned.

"Well, thank you again David, but I really need to get going. I have to get back to the hotel," Ringo answered. He poked his head out of the door tentatively. Ringo went to step out into the street, but Davy stopped him by grasping his elbow.

"You'll get spotted again." Davy took the hat off his head and placed it on Ringo's. "At least that way you'll be able to hide your face a bit."

Ringo smiled gratefully and pulled the hat down so the visor partially masked his face. "Like this?"

Davy nodded. "That's a bit bettah. 'Ey, I've got a cah right up the road. Which 'otel you stayin' at? I know all the back roads around this town. You could avoid big crowds."

"Thanks anyway," Ringo replied. "I don't want to be a hassle. You've already helped me out enough."

Davy grinned. "It's no hassle, man. I'm an out of work musician, I've got nothin' to do today."

"You're a musician David?" Ringo asked, one eyebrow raised.

Davy nodded. "Yeah, let me get the cah and we'll talk more once we get going." Davy stepped out of the doorway to get the Monkeemobile, but stopped and turned back to Ringo. "And call me Davy, everyone does."

Davy dashed over to the Monkeemobile, unable to believe his luck, or the stupid line he had just delivered to Ringo. "Call me Davy, everyone does?" he repeated, realizing how stupid that sounded. He jumped in the driver's seat and started the car. Davy pulled away from the curb and drove up to the door to the café. He looked out the window for Ringo, but he couldn't spot the Beatle anywhere. He was about to get out and look for him when he saw Ringo's head poke out from behind one of the large potted plants framing the door to the café.

Davy waved to Ringo, signaling for him to run over to the car. Just as Ringo emerged from his hiding spot, the group of girls that had been pursuing him earlier turned the corner. They had backtracked, realizing the musician had eluded them. The girls screamed as they spotted the drummer once again.

"Come on!" Davy cried, leaning over and opening the passenger side door.

Ringo ran to the Monkeemobile and jumped inside, slamming the door behind him. Just as he did, a wave of young people swept over the car. Faces were pressed against the windows, making it nearly impossible for Davy to drive away. Davy lightly tapped the gas, slowly moving out of the crowd, then gunned it once he was clear of the people.

"Oh man," Davy said, letting out a sigh of relief. "I 'ope they didn't scratch the cah. Mike will kill me if they did."

Ringo smiled. "Thanks again, man. And if anything happened to your cah, I'm sure I can take care of it."

Davy shrugged. "Don't worry about it. The cah is Mike's baby that's all. I'm sure if I explain, he'll understand." If he believes me, he added silently.

Ringo glanced around the souped-up GTO, grinning. "I can understand why he likes this cah so much. It's a beauty."

Davy beamed with pride. "That she is."

"How'd you get a cah like this? I thought you said you were out of work, if you don't mind my asking."

Davy smiled and nodded. "Not at all. We ah out of work right now. We got this cah from a junkyard and Micky, our drummer, fixed 'er up."

"Gear," Ringo responded, leaning over the seat to get a good look at the back of the car.

"Where ah we goin' anyway?" Davy asked. He had just been driving aimlessly, not wanting to get caught in a crowd again.

Ringo turned around and flopped back down in his seat, sighing. "I guess I should get back to the hotel, the Hilton across town. I have an interview late tonight. The guys and I are stayin' there till the interview."

"Okay," Davy nodded, now having a destination in mind. He sat in silence for a moment, not wanting to pry, but his curiosity won out. "You don't sound too happy about it."

Ringo sighed again. "It can be a drag. I love bein' famous and the fans ah great, but I just wish I could got out for a day and not be a Beatle."

"Oh," Davy said, understanding. He had no idea how to respond. He could never know how this young man felt. The Monkees weren't famous like the Beatles while they did have a small fan following around Malibu. While he wanted to be well known, Davy knew there were drawbacks to fame. He glanced over at Ringo, knowing he was experiencing those drawbacks on an extremely large scale.

Davy took a deep breath, ready to offer and idea that had popped into his head before he could stop himself. "Well if you want a place to get away, my friends and I live in a pad on the beach. We don't get many visitors so it should be pretty quiet. You'ah welcome to spend the day there if you like."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he began to feel how stupid the suggestion was. Here he was offering one of the most well known musicians in the world to stay at his pad. The Beatles were used to high class, better than royalty treatment, and he was offering his bottom of the line pad.

All his thoughts were halted when Ringo smiled and spoke. "On the beach, huh? I just might take you up on that offer Davy, but I have to stop at the hotel anyway. Let the others know I'm alive. George and I got separated by that crowd and I want to make sure he got back okay. Who knows, maybe the others might want to spend the day at the beach too."

Davy gripped the steering wheel excitedly. It was all he could do to keep from leaping through the roof of the car. Ringo wanted to spend the day at his pad!

As the Monkeemobile approached the hotel, the chanting Beatles' fans could be heard off in the distance. Ringo shook his head and prepared himself to make a mad dash for the door, hoping to make it inside before the crowd converged on him.

"I've got an idea," Davy said, veering the car off the main road and around the back of the hotel. He pulled up to a loading door, which he assumed was for the kitchen and stopped the car. He hopped out of the car with Ringo doing the same. The screaming girls came barreling around the corner, tripping over and trampling each other, having seen the car sneak into the back.

Davy and Ringo made a mad dash for the door and luckily made it before the crowd reached them. They ran through the kitchen, much to the surprise of the chefs and waiters. The two young men burst through the kitchen doors into the restaurant, hitting a waiter that was coming in square in the head. The waiter fell backwards, spilling the contents of the tray he was carrying all over himself. Davy and Ringo stepped over the fallen man and continued running out of the restaurant.

"Sorry mate," Ringo called over his shoulder. The two looked at each other and began laughing hysterically as if they were two best friends sharing a personal joke. They ran across the elaborately decorated lobby to the elevator. Ringo pushed the button while Davy glanced around the hotel. Above him a sparkling crystal chandelier hung and he was surrounded by expensive furniture and potted plants. He glanced around in awe.

_Someday,_ he thought.

The door opened to the elevator and the two got in, both still out of breath from laughing and running. Ringo hit the button for the penthouse suite and Davy began feeling very nervous. While Ringo had turned out to be a very nice guy, he had no idea what to expect from the other Beatles. He tapped his foot nervously as the elevator went up, unsure of what to expect when they reached the top floor.

~*~

The elevator doors opened and Ringo stuck his head out, making sure none of the fans had made their way to the top floor. He knew they had security, but the fans could be very clever in getting to the group. He stepped out of the elevator after confirming that there was no one in the hall. He began walking towards his room, expecting Davy to follow, but the Monkee lingered in the elevator. He was glancing out the door nervously, unsure if he should follow or not.

"Come on Davy," Ringo called from down the hall, noticing that he wasn't following. "They won't bite, I promise," he said with a chuckle.

Davy snickered at Ringo's joke as he cautiously stepped out of the elevator, but the nervousness had not vanished from the pit of his stomach. He slowly followed Ringo to the Beatles' suite, thoughts pouring through his mind.

_What do I say? What do I do? How should I act? Do I use their first names?_ All these questions and more crowded his thoughts. He knew they were just people, but they weren't just any people, they were The Beatles.

Ringo stepped up to one of the doors and gave it a quick knock before opening it and entering. Davy tentatively walked up to the door, which Ringo had left open for him, but didn't step inside. He stood in the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him. He looked around the suite, gawking at the beauty of it. The first room was elaborately furnished, expensive looking couches and chairs were casually spread about the room, lacy looking curtains sweeping over the windows, and lush carpets covering the floors.

"I'm baaaaaack," Ringo called into the suite.

Paul McCartney poked his head out of the bathroom, and from the white cream on his face, Davy guessed he had been shaving. "Ringo! We thought we lost ya! Brian was goin' nuts! Where've ya been?"

George and John walked out of an adjoining room to greet their fellow band member and friend.

"I got separated from George when we went out earlier," Ringo explained. "That crowd of girls chased me clear across town. Luckily, this guy," he said, indicating Davy, "saved me and drove me back here."

John walked up to Davy and shook his hand vigorously. "We are in your debt sonny for bringing our poor Ringo home safely to us," he said, grinning.

The other three Beatles laughed, but Davy only grinned lopsidedly, unsure of what to do. He couldn't believe that he was standing in the same room as rock legends. He was instantly snapped out of his awe when he remembered Ringo's comment of wanting to be a normal person for a day. He realized that they must be tired of people gawking, so he tried to act as normal as he possibly could, relaxing a bit. He laughed along with the others and returned John's handshake with equal vigor.

"Davy Jones, meet John Lennon," Ringo said.

Davy only nodded in greeting, not quite trusting his voice to work properly yet. Paul walked up to Davy, wiping a bit of shaving cream off his hand before shaking with him as Ringo continued with the introductions. George remained across the room and merely waved at Davy when he was introduced.

"Well come on in, Davy," John said, pulling him in the door and closing it behind him. He indicated for Davy to sit on the couch and Davy did. John sat down on the other end of the couch, leaning against the arm and Ringo sat down in a chair across the room. Paul made his way back to the bathroom to continue with his morning routine, and George returned to whatever activity had been occupying him in the other room. An awkward silence hung in the air, no one knowing what to talk about next.

"So," Ringo prompted, hoping to start a conversation. "You said you're a musician Davy."

Davy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, me and the guys 'ave a band. We're called The Monkees."

"The Monkeys?" John asked.

Davy nodded again. "But it's spelled with two E's instead of a Y. Kinda like how your group misspells the word."

"Oh," he said, understanding. "What instrument to you play?"

"Percussion mostly, and I do some of the singing. There are three other guys in our group. Petah is our bassist and 'e plays keyboard too, Mike is lead guitarist, and Micky is our drummah."

"Groovy," Ringo said. "And you all live on the beach togethah?"

"Yeah," Davy replied. "We've got a small pad on the beach, it's not much, but it's 'ome."

"Oh, that reminds me," the Beatles' drummer perked up, turning to John. "Davy invited me to spend the day at his place. You wanna go?"

"And get out of this place? You better believe I do!" he answered. "'Ey Paulie! George! Come 'ere!"

Paul once again leaned out the doorway of the bathroom as George ventured back into the main room. "What John?" Paul asked.

"How would you guys like to spend the day at the beach?" he asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye. George smiled, indicating he'd love to go, but Paul was a bit hesitant.

"Do you think Brian will go for it?" he asked.

"Oh, who cares? We've got nothin' to do today, so why not?"

Paul shrugged. "Well, I'm game."

"Well, then it's settled, we're all going to the beach," John said, clapping Davy on the back. Davy pitched forward from the force of the slap, but he was grinning from ear to ear. The Beatles wanted to spend the day at his pad. He wanted to jump up and shout, but he thought better of it.

"I just need to phone the pad and let the guys know," Davy said, still grinning.

"Go ahead," Ringo said, gesturing to the phone in the corner of the room.

Davy rose from the couch and casually walked over to the phone on a lamp table, tucked into the corner of the room. He picked up the receiver and dialed the pad.

"Hello, you've reached the Monkees' pad, home of the glorious Texas prairie chicken, this is Micky speaking, how may I help you?" the drummer's distinct voice said, doing his best to imitate a secretary.

"Micky, it's Davy."

"Oh hey Davy, you gonna be home soon? Pete wants to go the library later today and we need the car."

"Forget that Micky, get the pad cleaned up, we've got company coming over."

~*~

Micky grumbled as he sat in his bedroom, looking at all the dirty clothes littering his floor. He was sitting on his bed, arms crossed across his chest in protest. He didn't want to clean his room for anyone. Davy said the company was pretty important, but nobody was this important. Peter walked into the room, wearing an apron, a laundry basket full of folded clothes in his hands. He stopped short at the sight of Micky on the bed.

"Micky, why aren't you picking up? Davy should be back any minute with our guests."

Micky stuck out his lower lip, pouting. "We don't even know who his 'guests' are. Why the big secret?"

Peter shrugged. "I have no idea, but if Davy says they're important enough to clean up for, then we clean up."

"Why can't we just keep this door closed? I don't want to pick up."

Peter sighed, dropping the clean laundry on Mike's bed. "Micky, come on, at least just get the clothes off the floor and put them away, or at least in the hamper. Is that too much to ask?"

"Yes," he grumbled.

Peter rolled his eyes and walked out of the bedroom, off to complete some other chore he had in progress. Micky stuck his tongue out behind Peter's back and then rose from his bed. He grabbed an armful of dirty laundry off the floor and walked over to the closet, shoving it on the floor. He pushed it all back as far as her could and repeated the process until the floor no longer had clothes all over it, but there was a mountain of clothes on the floor of the closet. He smiled at his cleverness and closed the door to the closet as Peter walked in the room again to check up on his progress.

"See, Micky? It wasn't too hard to put everything away, now was it?"

Micky grinned. "Not at all."

Mike walked into the room a moment later, taking the clothes out of the basket to put them away. He walked over to the closet, and Micky cried out in protest, but too late. Mike opened the door and the heaps of clothing came tumbling down on the Texan. Mike fell backwards as the clothes tumbled on top of him and Peter let out a cry of surprise.

As the last of the clothing fell onto the guitarist, Micky giggled, but quickly covered his mouth with his hand after receiving a glare from the now buried Mike. Peter found himself laughing as well, but he did a better job of controlling himself as he bent down to help Mike. He pulled the clothes off of Mike allowing him to stand and give Micky the full intensity of his glare.

"Sorry Mike," Micky said between giggles.

"You know you're not shotgun, so don't even pretend," Mike said, but Micky could see a slight grin forming on his face.

Peter was grinning from ear to ear, chuckling a little. "Micky, that wasn't exactly what I meant when I said to pick up the clothes off the floor. I meant put them away where they belong."

"Well they belong in the closet, don't they?"

Mike sighed and looked at the heap of clothes that now covered the once clean bedroom floor. "Well I guess we should start puttin' all this stuff away."

As the three Monkees dove into the large pile of clothes, they heard the front door open. "I'm 'ome!" Davy called from downstairs.

"Well, so much for cleanin' this up," Mike said, shoving the clothes back in the closet like a bulldozer. The other two began helping, trying to get the clothes out of sight as fast as they could.

"Where ah you guys?" Davy called from the living room. They heard mumbling, but the voices weren't loud enough to distinguish whom they belonged to or what they were saying.

"We'll be right down!" Peter called, shoving the last of the clothes in the closet and sliding the door shut. "There," he said. "Now let's just hope our guests don't want to look in the closet."

"Let's go find out who the mystery guests are," Mike said, heading out of the bedroom. "I just hope Davy didn't bring home another girl sayin' he's gonna marry her."

Peter followed right behind Mike and Micky took a quick glance back at his room before following. He silently made a vow that if these guests weren't royalty, he was going to have to get Davy back for this one. Micky walked out of the bedroom and nearly slammed into Mike and Peter who had stopped at the top of the staircase. Micky jumped to look over their shoulders, but when he could see nothing, he leaned over the railing of the balcony to look down.

When Micky saw who had accompanied Davy back to the pad, he felt his eyes go wide in disbelief. His mind went blank, and every rotten thing he was going to do to Davy fled from his mind.

Davy looked up the stairs at his friends and grinned broadly. "Mike, Micky, Petah, meet John, Paul, George, and Ringo... The Beatles."

~*~

Davy grinned at the looks of disbelief on his friends' faces. Micky was leaning over the balcony and Davy was afraid he might tip over the edge. Mike took a deep breath and stood up to his full height, walking down the stairs. Peter followed shyly, biting his lower lip, but Micky remained at the top of the stairs momentarily.

The Beatles were in his pad! How the heck had Davy managed that one?! Micky shook his head and made a mental note to ask his roommate later. He slid down the banister and landed behind Mike who was stepping forward to introduce himself.

"Hi, the name's Mike Nesmith," he said, extending his hand to whoever would take it first.

John stepped forward first and shook his hand vigorously. "John Lennon, pleasure to meet you Mike," he said grinning. Mike looked all four men over as he shook hands with John, noting that they did not look much different than they had on the billboards that had been promoting their recent movie, Help! They all had their patented "Beatle" haircuts, Ringo's being the longest and most unruly. Mike shook hands with each of them and stepped aside to reveal Peter who had been hiding shyly behind the tall Texan.

Peter was slightly startled by Mike's sudden sidestep and was caught off guard. He straightened up and smiled shyly at the four visitors, grinding his foot into the floor nervously. George walked up to him first and offered a hand to shake. Peter smiled broadly, dimples flashing as he did.

"Gear costume," George said, eyes indicating the apron Peter was still wearing from the chores he had been doing earlier.

Peter's face flushed as he looked down at the apron. "Oh, thanks."

"This is Petah Tork," Davy said as the two shook hands.

"Hi," Peter said quietly, pulling his hand away from George's. He waved to the other Beatles then stepped back to his hiding spot behind Mike, pulling the apron off over his head.

Micky jumped forward and extended a hand to them. "Micky Dolenz, glad to meet ya!"

Ringo, being the closest to the drummer took his hand and shook it vigorously. "Ringo Starr."

Micky went up to each of them shaking their hands, wanting to make them feel comfortable at the pad. After he shook hands with the last visitor, there was an awkward silence, the four of them glancing at each other. They all stood in the doorway, and probably would've remained there for a long time if Mike hadn't spoken up.

"Well, come on in. Make yourselves at home," he said.

"Thanks," John said, walking into the pad, looking around. The other three followed him, all of them looking around, inspecting the place. Davy felt his face flush in embarrassment at the pad. He knew it wasn't very appealing to the eye, and he didn't know how the Beatles, who had been so accustomed to great accommodations, would react.

John turned around to face the Monkees, who had not left their spots in the door. "This place is fab! You guys are lucky to have a place like this."

Paul nodded in agreement. "What I wouldn't give for a chance to live here. This is great."

Davy felt the red tint fade from his cheeks at the Beatles looked around. They liked their pad! After all the fancy hotels and the room service, they liked his pad and were actually envious of it.

George had ventured up to the bandstand and was looking out the large window at the beach. He smiled as he watched the waves crash on the beach, cherishing the quiet and the escape from the screaming girls. Ringo walked up behind him, looking around him to see what had captured the guitarist's interest. Soon, all four Beatles were looking out the back window, enjoying the sheer beauty and quiet of the beach.

The Monkees watched from across the room, unsure of what to do. They didn't want to interrupt while they were looking around, but they wanted to try to relax while they were around.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Micky spoke up, causing the other band to turn around and face him. "Who's up for a swim?"

Peter jumped up and down enthusiastically, forgetting his shyness. "Me!"

"I'd love to go swimming," Paul said, glancing over his shoulder at the beach again. "Davy said to bring our trunks just in case, I'll go get 'em."

Paul walked to the door and opened it, poking his head out tentatively out of habit. Davy had reassured him that it was a quiet road and they rarely got visitors, except for the landlord, but he still wanted to be cautious. When he saw that the coast was clear, he ran out to the Monkeemobile and grabbed the bag they had brought along.

When Paul ran back inside and closed the door behind him, Micky pointed to the downstairs bedroom and the bathroom. "You can change in those rooms."

"Thanks," Paul said, pulling his swim trunks out of the bag then throwing it on the couch. He ran into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Ringo walked over to the bag and pulled out his shorts before walking to the bathroom. He walked inside and closed the door.

Micky ran upstairs to change into his bathing suit and when Paul emerged from the bedroom, Peter ran inside to change. Davy waited patiently for Peter to come out, and while he did, George went into the bathroom after Ringo came out. Micky bounded out of the upstairs bedroom and slid down the banister, landing at the bottom with a thud. He walked over to Mike and smiled.

"Your turn."

Mike shook his head. "No thanks shotgun. I'm gonna sit this one out."

"You sure?" Micky asked.

"Sure am. Not in the mood to swim this morning Mick."

"Your loss man," Micky responded.

Peter emerged from the bedroom wearing a loud orange bathing suit and Davy dashed inside to change. The others waited patiently for him, all eager to go play in the warm sunlight.

"I think I'll join you Mike," John said. "I don't really feel like swimming this morning."

Paul turned to his friend. "Your loss too, man."

Just then, Davy emerged from the bedroom, being the last one ready to go. "Last one to the water is a rotten egg!" Micky cried as he dashed out the back door. The troop of band members ran after him, each one not wanting to be last. Mike and John watched from the window as the group ran to the water and dove right in. They immediately began splashing each other and dunking each other under the water, the awkwardness completely gone from the meeting. They were all acting like good friends as if they had known each other for years.

The two leaders watched from the window, both with small grins on their faces. John looked over at Mike and smiled.

"You guys ah lucky to have such a great pad," he said.

Mike shrugged. "It ain't the Hilton, but it's home."

"The Hilton isn't all it's cracked up to be, I know," John replied, his gaze returning to the group that was playing outside.

Mike glanced over at the Beatle, and his heart went out to him. He knew that fame wasn't all good times, that there were some down sides to it. He tried so hard to get to the top, and he knew that he and the guys had the talent, but they just needed to be discovered. He knew he had a great thing going with the other Monkees, and he wouldn't trade that for any amount of fame or fortune. The two stood there silently for a long time, just enjoying the peace and quiet that surrounded them.

~*~

Micky ran from up to the shore, shaking his head to get the water out of his hair. Peter put his hands up to block the water splashing him from Micky's curly hair.

"Hey, watch it Shaggy," he joked.

Micky laughed and stuck his tongue out at the blonde. He ran over to where he had thrown his towel in the sand and picked it up. He quickly dried his hair as much as possible and proceeded to dry the rest of his body as the other members of the group got out of the water as well.

"I'm a prune," Ringo said, looking down at his waterlogged fingers.

"I think we all are," Davy replied, looking down at his own.

The group of musicians trekked back up the beach to the pad, drying themselves off as they walked. Micky walked at the back of the group and smiled mischievously, an idea popping into his head. He took his towel and began twisting it up and pulled it back before snapping it in Paul's direction. Paul let out a yelp as the towel smacked him right in the rear. Micky laughed and took off running as Paul chased him down the beach, eager to get his revenge on the drummer.

The other four watched at Paul tackled Micky and pinned him down on the ground. Micky tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but couldn't. Davy shook his head and led the troop back up the stair to the pad, leaving Paul to do with Micky as he pleased. Micky cried out for someone to help him, but too late, the others had already gone in door and couldn't hear him.

When they walked inside, Davy, Peter, Ringo and George found Mike and John sitting on the bandstand, each with a guitar in their hands. George and Ringo recognized the tune they were playing, even though it was at a slower pace than what they were used to. John was teaching Mike a song from their new movie, "Ticket to Ride."

"'Ey," George said. "You're not givin' away our secrets ah you?"

John and Mike both stopped playing and looked up. "No," John answered. "We're trading."

"Oh?" Ringo asked, hands on his hips, trying his best to look serious.

"Yeah, 'e's been teaching me some groovy stuff too," John explained. "What was that opening you showed me Mike?"

"Pleasant Valley Sunday," he answered.

"You showed him 'Pleasant Valley Sunday' Mike?" Peter asked. "We haven't even worked that song out ourselves yet."

"I know Pete," Mike said. "I figured he might have some advice, which he did. I'll show you later, okay?"

Peter smiled. "Okay."

Paul walked in a minute later, a big grin on his face. "Hallo everyone."

"'Ello Paul," Davy greeted him, then looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the curly-haired drummer to come in the door right behind him. "Where's Micky?"

"Oh, he's coming," Paul said, his grin growing.

The door opened a minute later and Micky came in, covered in sand and seaweed. Peter gasped and Davy nearly fell over laughing. Ringo and George tried to hold their laughter in, but weren't very successful. George had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. Mike and John just stared incredulously.

"Micky! What happened to you?" Mike said, trying not to start laughing himself.

"He did," Micky grumbled, pointing to Paul, who was grinning proudly.

"Paulie?" John asked, looking at his friend.

Paul shrugged. "He was asking for it," he said, and John knew that was the only explanation he was going to get.

"Micky, go get cleaned up before you start dragging sand and seaweed all over the place," Mike told him.

Micky walked off to the bathroom grumbling to go clean himself up. Peter bounded into the downstairs bedroom merrily to change, and then all of the swimmers took their turns at the bedrooms and bathrooms to change.

Soon they were all gathered in the living room on the floor. Mike and John had their guitars in their laps still, and Peter had grabbed his bass, eager to play. This time George was the one to venture out to the Monkeemobile to get their things, his guitar and Paul's bass. Davy had recommended they bring them, just in case.

George ran out to the car and opened the door to get the instruments. He saw a group of girls walking down the street, so he quickly jumped in the backseat of the car and ducked down as far as he could. The girls had seen him leap in the car, but hadn't seen his face, so they continued on their way after giving a curious look in the car's direction. He peeked up from under the seat and saw they were gone, so he grabbed the instrument and ran back inside before anyone else decided to come walking down the street.

When he got back inside, he handed Paul his bass and began tuning his guitar. Ringo was settling down behind the drums, but he gave Micky a quizzical look when he did. Micky had the drums set up for a left-handed drummer, even though he was right-handed. Micky helped him adjust the drum set and soon they were all ready to play. He sat in front of the drums with a set of drumsticks in his hand, tapping on the floor idly. Mike and John were sitting on the floor, still chatting amongst themselves.

Once everyone had tuned, Mike turned to John. "Okay, you guys want to show us your stuff?"

John grinned. "Ready guys? Ticket to Ride." When the other three nodded, John counted it off. "One, two, three, four..."

The four Beatles began playing, John taking on the lead vocals and Paul singing backing vocals. Paul was standing near the edge of the bandstand, bouncing to the beat a bit, and George seemed to get lost in the music. Ringo played the song enthusiastically, bouncing in his seat. John was harder to read. He seemed to enjoy the music and he loved to play, but something was bothering him.

"She's got a ticket to ride," he sang. "She's got a ticket to ride... She's got a ticket to ride, but she don't care."

As they finished the song, Peter clapped enthusiastically, smiling brightly. "That was great!"

Micky was also smiling, having been watching Ringo's drumming carefully. "Yeah, that was really good."

The compliments were interrupted by a pounding on the door. "Open up you guys!"

Mike sighed in frustration and walked over to the door, opening it. "Hello Mr. Babbitt."

"Don't you hello me, Nesmith," Babbitt growled, stepping inside the pad. "I've told you a hundred times to keep that music down. This is the last straw! You keep those records of yours down or I'm throwing you out!"

Paul walked up behind Mike and smiled politely at Mr. Babbitt. "We're sorry, sir. We didn't know we were playing so loud."

Mr. Babbitt was shocked speechless. He looked over Mike's shoulder and saw John, George and Ringo sitting in the pad as well. "B-but..."

Mike grinned at the stuttering landlord. "Mr. Babbitt, meet Paul, John, George and Ringo."

All the Beatles waved and smiled. "Hallo," they greeted him simultaneously.

"B-but..." Mr. Babbitt tried to speak again, but still found it impossible. Mike took him by the shoulders and began leading him to the door.

"Goodbye Mr. Babbitt," he said, shoving the landlord out the door and shutting it behind him.

"Nice guy," Ringo chuckled.

"You get used to 'im after a while," Davy said.

"Who was that?" George asked.

"Our landlord," Peter answered. "He's a pretty nice guy."

"Yeah," John said sarcastically. "It shows."

Everyone laughed and the tension of the moment was gone once again. Mike settled back down on the bandstand and picked up his guitar, slinging the strap over his head. He checked to make sure it was still tuned as Micky took over his drum set and set it up the way he liked it again.

"Now it's your turn," John said, looking at Mike.

Mike turned to his fellow band members. "What song guys?"

"How about Pete's song?" Micky suggested.

"For Pete's Sake?" Mike asked and the others nodded. "One, two, three, four..." he counted it off and they broke off into song, Micky taking the vocals as he usually did. Peter immediately began dancing to the music, bouncing as much as possible without interfering with his playing. Mike concentrated on what he was doing, his fingers gliding over the guitar strings. Davy danced around as he played the tambourine to the beat. Micky bounced in his seat, singing the lyrics out with his usual jovial energy.

When they finished, the Beatles started clapping. "Gear song," Ringo commented, causing Peter to blush.

"You wrote it?" Paul asked the blonde and Peter nodded, his face turning a deeper shade of red. "I really like it."

"Thanks," Peter replied, grinding his foot into the floor shyly.

"Well," John said, looking at his watch. "I wish we could stay longer, but we have to get back to the hotel. It's almost time for the interview and Brian's probably flipping his lid right now."

The other three Beatles groaned, but they knew John was right. They began packing up their instruments and the Monkees helped, carrying them out to the car so the Beatles wouldn't get spotted by anyone that happened to be passing by.

After the last of the equipment had been loaded into the Monkeemobile, Mike walked back inside to tell the waiting Beatles that they were ready to go. "Everything's all set," he informed them.

"Well, it was fun, thanks guys," Ringo said, shaking each of their hands.

"Yeah, thanks for lettin' us stay here for the day," George added. "It was a nice break."

"Hey, how would you fellas like to come back to the hotel with us?" Paul suggested.

"Nah," Mike said. "You guys have a lot to do and we'd just get in the way. But it was nice havin' you guys here, stop back any time."

"We'll remember that," John said, shaking Mike's hand. He led the Beatles out to the Monkeemobile and Davy followed behind them, having offered to drive them back. Mike, Peter and Micky watched them leave and Davy shut the door behind him.

"They were really nice," Peter commented with a smile.

"Yeah," Micky agreed. "I hope-"

His comment was cut off by ear shattering scream that echoed from outside. The three of them ran over to the window in time to see Ringo trying to scramble into the car behind the rest of them as some girls spotted them from down the street. Davy started the car just as the girls ran into their yard and jumped on the car. Davy tried to back down the driveway as the girls hurled themselves at the car, trying desperately to get at the Beatles.

Mike laughed at Davy's frantic expression as he backed down the driveway and tore off down the street to escape the pursuing girls. Micky was laughing along with him, but Peter had a worried expression on his face.

Mike turned to the blonde. "Don't worry Peter, they'll be fine."

Peter nodded and the worry faded from his features. "I'm sure you're right."

"That's a change of pace," Micky said with a laugh.

"What is?" Peter asked.

"I think that's the first time I've ever seen Davy running away from a girl's affection," he laughed, causing the other two to break out into laughter as well.

~*~

Paul led the way down the long corridor to the auditorium where they were holding the press conference and Ringo was right on his heels, literally. He stepped on Paul's shoe for what seemed to be the fiftieth time.

"Ringo!" Paul hissed, turning his head around quickly while he continued walking. "Would you watch where you're walking?"

"Sorry," the drummer replied. "If you'd walk faster we wouldn't have this problem, so hurry up, or I'll have to get out my towel."

George and Ringo both erupted into a fit of giggles and Paul whirled around, fixing them with a stern glare, but both of them could see the sparkle in his eyes that said inside, he was laughing too. John had no idea what they were talking about so he pushed them on.

"We have an interview to do, I just want to go to bed, so let's get this over with," he said, pushing them on into the auditorium.

All the reporters stood up as the Beatles entered and took their seats at the front of the crowd. They all sat as the band took their seats, but they were all waving their hands around, eager to get the first question in.

The first reporter was called on and he stood up. "I'm sure you get asked this a lot, but where do you get the inspiration for your music."

All of the band members turned to Paul, who took the liberty of answering the question. The interview continued on as all the others they had ever done. The reporters asked the same questions, about the movie, their new album, and upcoming releases. The band carefully avoided questions about drugs and any other controversial issues by making wisecracks as they had been instructed to do.

~*~

Peter sat in front of the TV, watching the interview with the Beatles intently, hugging his teddy bear in his lap. Mike sat on the couch with his guitar, plucking away at the strings, not really paying any attention to the group on the television, even though they had been in his house only a few hours earlier. Davy and Micky were sitting at the kitchen table, Davy eating a late supper after having gotten back from the Beatles' hotel late, and Micky enjoying seconds or thirds, no one remembered which it was.

"They were really nice guys," Peter commented, turning to Mike. "I hope they can stop by again."

"Dunno Pete," Mike said, not looking up from his guitar. "They're really busy guys."

"I know," Peter sighed, turning back to the TV. "I really enjoyed having them over though."

"We all did Big Peter," Micky said, stuffing his mouth.

"Yeah," Davy agreed, his mouth just as stuffed as Micky's.

Peter shrugged and turned back to the television set as another reporter stood up, raising her pencil in the air for emphasis. "What other musical groups are you boys interested in? Which ones do you enjoy listening to?"

The four Beatles looked at each other for a minute, pondering the question. "There are a lot of different style groups out there, we enjoy a wide range of music," John answered.

"Yeah," George agreed. "Bob Dylan for one."

"The Stones," Paul added.

"There's one other group we do enjoy a lot too, this band called The Monkees," Ringo said.

Peter's jaw dropped. "Guys!! Guys!! Did you hear that??" He bounced excitedly, hugging his teddy tight.

Mike immediately tore his attention from his guitar and waved at hand at Peter to quiet the excited musician down. Micky and Davy ran from the table and sat down on the floor next to Peter, all of them listening intently.

"Who?" the reporter asked.

"The Monkees," John repeated.

"I've never heard of them," the reporter said, but made a note of the name anyway.

"The Monkees, M-O-N-K-E-E-S. They're a little band out of Malibu, but man have they got a good sound," Paul said, and the reporter wrote it down.

The other three Beatles nodded in agreement. "If you get a chance, go out and see them perform, you'll be in for a treat," Ringo added.

Paul turned to the camera. "Mike, Davy, Peter and Micky, that's your cue to get out there and perform!"

The four Monkees were speechless. The interview continued with a different reporter asking questions, but the Monkees sat in shocked silence. Peter was the first to speak, jumping up from his seat on the floor and began hopping around the room excitedly.

"Did you hear what they said?? They like our music!!"

Mike sat up, grinning. "Wow."

Micky smiled. "That's groovy! We're sure to get gigs now!!"

Davy and Micky began patting each other on the back and giving each other high fives as Peter continued to jump around the room.

"Well guys, I hate to burst your bubble..." Mike began.

"I sense a but coming on," Micky interrupted.

"But," Mike continued, emphasizing the word for Micky.

"I knew it."

"Just because the Beatles gave us a plug, doesn't mean we're set for life. We still have a lot of work to do to live up to the reputation they've laid out for us. So how's about we do a little practicin'?"

"Okay!" Peter shouted, putting his teddy down on the couch and running over to the bandstand to grab his bass. Micky and Davy ran over to the bandstand, just as enthusiastically, eager to start rehearsing.

Mike rose from the couch and turned off the TV, just as the Beatles were getting up from their chairs as the interview ended. Mike smiled at the group gratefully then made his way over to the bandstand where his eager friends were waiting. When he got up there, they began rehearsing and didn't stop all night.