Disclaimer: I don't own the Monkees, I don't even know them. Oh, and I don't have any money, so please don't sue me.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Sheila, Agent Newbeau, and the gals at Long_Title for their help. As always, couldn'ta done it without you.
If you are a Monkee, please email me because it would make my life.
That is all.

"Okay Dad, we'll see you then!" Micky made a big show of blowing kisses into the phone and then hung up with a huge grin. "We're going to my parents' house for dinner on Father's Day, Davy!"

"Alright! Food!"

Mike, sitting in the window with his 12-string acoustic, barely looked up, but shook his head slowly and rolled his eyes a bit. Micky noticed the movement, though, and his face grew sober. "Aww, gee, I'm sorry, Mike. I didn't mean to...."

Mike looked up, a little surprised at the sudden apology. "What?"

"I shouldn't have--I mean... umm...." Micky couldn't seem to find the words, and his face slowly began to turn bright pink.

"Oh." It suddenly occurred to Mike why Micky was having difficulty. He stood and crossed over to Micky, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey look, it's okay Mick. You don't haveta worry about me."

Micky seemed unable to look him in the eyes. "I shouldn't have been rubbing it in...."

Mike gave a rude snort. "You weren't rubbing it in, Micky, you were happy because you were going to spend Father's Day with your Dad. Hell, if I had a Dad worth mentioning, I'd do the same thing. But you shouldn't feel guilty just 'cause I don't. Honestly, Micky, it's okay."

Micky finally looked up, his eyes hopeful. "You can come to dinner too, Mike. I can call back-"

"No, I'll be just fine right here. Don't worry about it, you and Davy have fun."

"You sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Me an' Peter'll have a party, right Pete?" he turned to face Peter, who had appeared in the doorway to his room and was standing there watching them, his arms folded across his chest.

"Sure," Peter mumbled, his voice low, then he turned and walked back into the room.

Mike exchanged a look with his other roommates. "Is it just me or did he seem bothered about somethin'?"

"Yeh, 'e did," Davy agreed. "I wonder what's wrong?"

"One way to find out," Mike threw over his shoulder, already halfway to the room.

He knocked lightly on the door, wondering idly why he hadn't noticed Peter closing it. There was no answer from inside, so he opened the door slightly and peeked in. "Peter? You okay, buddy?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Peter's muffled voice spoke up. "I'm fine."

Mike almost took him at his word, but there was something in that voice that made him uneasy. "You sure?"

"Uh-huh."

This time, Mike could hear the tears in Peter's throat, so he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, then crossed over to the bed where Peter lay bundled up in his covers, sitting down on the edge of it and placing a hand where he thought Peter's back should be. "What's really the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, so then why are you crying?"

"I'm not."

It was absurd, really. The tears were obvious in his voice and yet he continued to deny anything was wrong. Mike gave a patient sigh and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Peter.... I'm tryin' to help you, but I can't if I don't know what's wrong."

"You... you can't help anyway."

Ah-hah! Now they were getting somewhere.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that, Pete? Now c'mon, what's buggin' ya?"

Peter was quiet for a long moment, and Mike was just about to try again when Peter's head finally came out from under the covers and he spoke quietly.

"I was upset about Father's Day."

Mike didn't respond. It was obvious there was more to it than just that, so he decided to let Peter talk through whatever had upset him so.

"... Micky gets to spend it with his family... and I know Davy can't, but he can call. I can't celebrate Father's Day like they can, because.... Because I don't have a father."

Mike was quiet again, but it seemed that Peter had finished, so he allowed himself the question. "What do you mean? I thought your father was in Connecticut?"

"He is.... But he's not my father. He said so."

Mike stiffened, hoping to God that Peter didn't mean what he thought he did. "He said so?"

"He wanted me to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or an accountant, or a fry cook."

_Fry cook?_ But Mike let it go.

"But I'm not smart enough. And he said I'm not his son anymore."

"Oh, Peter...."

He was crying again, openly this time. "He hates me, Michael.... Because I'm not what he wanted me to be...."

"What... when did this happen?"

"Last year... I don't know."

"Aww, Peter, I wish you'da said somethin', you didn't have to go through this alone...." He reached a hand out in invitation. "C'mere...."

With a loud sob, Peter threw himself into Mike's arms, and for once Mike didn't stiffen or pull away. He just rested his chin on the top of Peter's head and let him cry. When the sobs had finally slowed, he began to speak. "I know it hurts, Peter, but I don't want you thinkin' you did anything wrong. Your father should love you no matter what your job is, or how smart y'are. If y'ask me, he ain't much of a father anyway, sayin' somethin' like that to you. You're great just like you are."

"You... you really think so?" Peter sniffled, looking up at him with moist and vulnerable eyes.

"Sure! I wouldn't say it if I didn't. Now you an' me are gonna have Father's Day together. We'll do somethin' special... we'll go out for dinner, how's that?"

"Hamburgers?"

"Better than hamburgers. We'll have somethin' really special."

"Chinese food?"

"Better than Chinese food!"

"You can't get better than Chinese food," Peter told him solemnly, and Mike laughed, ruffling his hair a bit.

"Sure you can, shotgun, you'll see. You feel better?"

"Yes, I do. Thank you Mike."

"No problem." He smiled and stood up, heading for the door. "I think I'll go out on the beach for a while. You can join me if y'like."

~*~

Peter watched as Mike ambled out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. "I'm lucky to have a friend like you," he said to the closed door. And then a thought occurred to him.

His eyes lit up and a smile slowly began to form on his face. He jumped out of bed and bounded from the room, startling Micky as he lifted a hand to knock. "I have an idea!" he burst out, then slapped a hand over his mouth. If Mike heard what he had to say, it would ruin everything!

"What's your idea, Big Pete," Micky asked, and Peter noted with relief that Mike had already left the Pad.

"For Father's Day," he answered in hushed tones. "I want to celebrate it with Mike."

"You are, aren't you?" Micky asked, then quickly amended himself, "That is, unless you wanted to come to dinner with me and Davy, you're always welcome-"

"No! Micky, I think we all should spend Father's Day with Mike! He loves me for just who I am, and he doesn't care that I'm not a fry cook!"

_Fry cook?_ Micky shot a confused look at Davy, but Davy simply waved a hand as if to say, forget it, it's not worth it. So Micky let it go.

"He's always there for us, and I think he deserves to have a Father's Day."

"You mean...." Davy thought about it for a moment, letting the idea percolate in his brain. "You're saying that Mike's like a father to us, so we should treat 'im like one?"

"Yeah! We could get him a present... Ooh, and make him dinner...!"

Peter was really getting into the idea by now. Who deserved a Father's Day celebration more than Mike? No one he could think of.

"It kinda makes sense, I guess," Micky mused, "Although I kinda think of him like a big brother, not a father...."

"There is no big brother's day," Peter pointed out, "So this will just have to do!"

"You're really into this, aren't you Petah?" Davy asked suddenly, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes," Peter said with determination. "I want to do this."

"Okay," Micky agreed, and Davy nodded. "I'm in. What do you want to do?"

Peter grinned, then shot a secretive glance toward the bay windows that overlooked the beach. "We have to be really quiet," he whispered, "So Mike doesn't hear. I want it to be a surprise."

"Sure, Big Pete, okay. A surprise." Micky placed a hand on Peter's shoulder and led him to the kitchen table, where the three sat down to plan. "So what'll we surprise him with?"

"A present. We have to buy him a present, and it has to be something good." Peter frowned, deep in thought. "Can we all buy something together?"

"Sure," Davy shrugged. "I 'ave a little bit saved up."

"How much?" Peter asked, then looked slightly abashed. "If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind. I have twenty dollars."

"I've got thirty," Micky put in.

"And I have fifty," Peter finished.

Davy gaped at him. "Where'd you get fifty dollars?"

"I've been saving for a long time," came the vague answer. "It's in the bank."

"Okay, so how much should we each put in?"

"We can each put in twenty," Davy decided. "That gives us sixty altogether. That's more than enough for a great present."

"But... but that's all you have!" Peter protested, growing rapidly distraught.

"It's okay Petah," Davy assured him. "It's worth it, for Mike."

Peter still looked doubtful, but he didn't argue. Micky nodded decisively. "Groovy. So we have sixty dollars. What do we get him?"

The three sat in silence for a long while, each one trying to think of something special for Mike. What could they get for sixty dollars? Plenty. But it had to be something special. Something that would really blow him away.

"I've got it!" Micky burst out, startling the other two.

"What?" Peter asked eagerly.

"A guitar case! I know he doesn't really need one, but what if we got him a really nice one, all leather exterior... we could even get his initials on it!"

"Oh hey, that's a great idea," Peter crowed, clapping his hands eagerly. "He'll be so surprised!"

"I like it," Davy nodded. "Looks like we've got our gift."

"Groovy," Micky said again, a wide smile on his face. "Hey, this was a great idea, Peter, I can't wait to see his face!"

Peter smiled shyly. "I only wanted to thank Mike for everything he's done."

"Well, if this doesn't tell him how much he's appreciated, nothing will!"

"Okay, so 'ow do we do that?" Davy asked, bringing them all back to the present. "We don't want to spoil the surprise...."

"Yeah, we gotta get it without him knowing...."

"Davy can get it," Peter suggested. "Just tell Mike you have a date, and that way he'll let you use the car."

"Hey, that's an idea," Micky agreed. "Do you think you can handle it, Dave?"

"Of course I can! I've got the best taste anyway."

Micky snorted. "Yeah, sure. Right. Uh-huh."

~*~

It was twelve noon on Father's Day. Davy was out on his "date," and both Micky and Peter were practically vibrating with excitement, anticipating Mike's reaction to the surprise that awaited him that night. It was because of his excitement that Micky nearly leapt out of his skin when the phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, hi Micky," Davy greeted him. "I was hoping you'd pick up and not Mike. Listen, I'm at the store-"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong, just listen! I have the case, and they're putting a gold plaque on it that we can engrave. But here's what I was thinking. Instead of his initials, why don't we put 'Papa Nez'?"

"Papa Nez?" Micky repeated slowly.

"Yeah, you know... so he'll always remember it was for Father's Day...."

"Yeah, I get it.... I like it. Sure, go ahead, put 'Papa Nez.'"

"Okay, groovy. See you soon."

"Wait! Wait, how're you gonna get it in the house?"

"You'll just have to distract 'im. I'm going ovah to Daisy's before I come back, and she's gonna help me wrap it."

"Daisy...? Oh, girl of the week."

"Cut it out, Micky, I really like this one!"

"Sure. You said that about Flora last week."

"Did I?"

"Yup."

"Oh. Well, anyway...."

Micky chuckled a bit. "Right Davy-baby. Later."

"Bye."

"Why was Davy callin' you in the middle of a date," Mike asked suddenly from behind him, and Micky jumped three feet into the air, his hand flying to his chest.

"Don't do that!"

Mike chuckled slightly but held his ground. "Well, why?"

"He said he might be home a little later than planned," Micky improvised, "And I should be sure not to leave for Dad's without him."

"Oh. He doesn't usually call when he's gonna be late."

"Well, you know how he loves my Mom's cooking...."

"Hmm...." Mike smiled to himself. "Yeah, your Mom is a helluva cook!" And he wandered back over to the bandstand and picked up his guitar, strumming a few chords. "What time are you guys leaving, anyway?"

"Soon as he gets back, I guess," Micky told him. "Hey Peter!" He had just spotted Peter coming in from the beach and grabbed hold of the opportunity to get out of Mike's line of fire.

"Hi Micky," Peter greeted him, pleasantly surprised at Micky's enthusiastic greeting. "What's up?"

Micky made a big show of throwing his arm around Peter's shoulders, and guided him to the front door--as far away from Mike as possible. "Hey listen," he said, loudly enough that he was sure Mike could overhear, "You know you're welcome to come with Davy and me tonight, right? Just say the word."

Thankfully, Peter caught on right away. "That's okay Micky," he declined, just as loudly. "Don't worry about it." And then they were out of the house.

"Peter," Micky said urgently, his voice hushed, "You gotta think of a way to keep Mike out of the house while me and Davy set up his surprise. My parents are bringing over some food, so Davy and I can pretend to be leaving with them, ya know? I mean, when they pull up. But you gotta get Mike away so they can come in and help us."

"Your parents are helping?"

"Yeah, I told my Dad about it, and he thought it was a great idea! Mom made a whole meal for us."

"Gee, that's great, Micky, I love your Mom's cooking."

"Focus, Peter, that's not the point!"

"Oh, right." Peter screwed up his face, obviously thinking very hard about how he could trick Mike into leaving the pad.

Micky waited patiently for a few seconds, but then his impulsive nature took over and he couldn't hold it in any longer. "Well...?"

Peter's face broke out into a sunny grin. "I know what I'll do. I can take care of Mike, no problem."

"What are you going to-"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Peter said stubbornly, the grin never leaving his face. "What time are your parents coming?"

"Umm... around six?" Micky answered, a bit confused by Peter's secrecy.

"Oh, then I'd better get started right away!" And Peter squirmed out of his grasp and ran around to the back of the house, disappearing out on the beach.

"Ooh-kay." Micky shook his head with a shrug and headed back inside. He only hoped that whatever Peter had in mind would work. It just wouldn't be the same without the element of surprise.

~*~

Mike had been sitting in the window for an indeterminate amount of time, playing around with chord progressions and dissonant harmonies, when activity seemed to explode in the pad.

"My parents are here," Micky shrieked, with considerably more enthusiasm than usual. Given the fact that this was Micky, that translated to a lot of enthusiasm.

Davy burst out of the downstairs bedroom, rubbing his hands together with unrestrained glee. "Oh boyohboyohboyohboy!"

Mike rolled his eyes. "It's only food, you guys, calm down!"

Davy snicked a bit and joined Micky at the front door. "See ya Mike, have fun!"

"Yeah, don't get into too much trouble," Micky agreed, and the two launched themselves at the open doorway, promptly getting lodged inside.

Then Peter burst in from the beach, covered in sand and looking frantically around until his eyes finally settled on his goal--Mike. "Hey Mike!"

"Yes?"

"Hey Mike?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Hey Mike?"

"What, Peter?"

"I want to show you something!" Peter bounded over to him and grabbed at his sleeve, pulling him up from his perch and tugging him toward the beach outside. "Come on!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming, you don't have to pull...." With a bemused smile, he carefully put his guitar down and followed Peter. The blonde man was practically vibrating with excitement over something--he could only hope it was something normal. Well, normal for Peter.

"Look!"

He did. And didn't see anything. Until he looked down. "Oh."

"It's a sandcastle," Peter grinned, clapping his hands gleefully. "I built a sandcastle!"

"So you did...."

It really wasn't a sandcastle. It was more like a pile of wet sand that was vaguely shaped like a lumpy rectangle.

"It's, umm.... Nice."

"It took me three hours," Peter bragged, and Mike was hard-pressed not to make a smart remark. If it had been Micky, he'd have really gone off on him, but Peter would only get upset. So he thought carefully before he spoke.

"That's great, Pete. I'm glad you had fun."

Peter pulled him to a seated position and handed him a bucket. "Here, you can help me build the moat."

"Build... the moat?"

"All castles have to have a moat. And we can have a wall so the invading vikings can't get in. Ooh, and a tall, dimly lit tower where the beautiful princess languishes in wait for her prince. You can be the prince!"

"Are you gonna be the princess?"

Peter made a face. "No, silly, I'll be the impenatrable dragon that guards the castle gate!"

"The what kinda dragon?"

"The impenatrable dragon."

"Oh. Right."

~*~

Twenty minutes later, Mike found himself filling a flimsy hole-in-the-ground with water, proclaiming the moat open for business, and screaming for help in a high-pitched voice. He'd gotten roped into being the princess.

"Ah, there is the tower where the maiden lies languishing," Peter proclaimed in a deep voice.

"Languish, languish, tall cell, dim lit," Mike sighed, asking himself for what seemed like the zillionth time why he had let Peter rope him into doing this.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Peter proclaimed suddenly, breaking through Mike's rather annoyed train of thought.

"What?"

"I have to go to the bathroom," he repeated, somewhat urgently.

"Okay. I'll... wait here."

"No."

"What?"

"I don't want to go in there all by myself! Micky and Davy aren't home... what if there's a burglar?"

"There's no burglar, Peter-"

"Come with me?" Peter gave Mike the full force of his "puppy-dog eyes." The same eyes that had convinced him to play Princess for the past ten minutes. The same eyes that he could never resist, not even in his worst mood.

"Okay, okay, let's go." He stood and brushed the sand off his jeans, never noticing the thumbs-up that Peter flashed over his head.

~*~

It was dark. That was the first thing Mike noticed. Not too dark, since the large bay windows let in the sunlight from outside, but darker than it should have been, considering he knew the kitchen light had been on when they left. Now it was off.

"Hey Pete," he began, but then realized Peter was no longer at his side. "Peter?" He looked around with growing confusion. "Where'd you go?"

There was no answer.

Confused, and with growing nervousness, Mike stepped inside. "Pete...? Hey...." His voice trailed off as his eyes lit on a large wrapped package sitting on the couch. "Oh, man...." Micky had left his father's present behind.

_We'll just have to take it over there on our way to dinner,_ he decided, as he headed over to the couch. _It's a good thing his parents picked them up or I wouldn't have a car to take it-_

And his thought trailed off almost in mid-word as he caught sight of the small card stuck to the top of the box. "TO MIKE," it read in Davy's distinctive handwriting. "FROM US."

"What?" he said, to no one.

The lights suddenly went on. "Happy Father's Day, Mike," came a chorus of three voices.

Startled, he whirled around to face Micky, Davy, and Peter, standing in a cluster around the kitchen table. "What-?"

"We said 'Happy Father's Day,'" Micky said with a bright smile.

"What are you doing here," Mike blustered, unnerved by this rather strange turn of events. "Why aren't you at your parents house?"

"We wanted to spend Father's Day with you," Peter explained, unable to wipe the grin from his face.

"But... what?"

"Mike, when you spoke to me the other morning, I finally realized what you are to me," Peter began, smiling warmly at Mike. "You saw that I was upset and you did your best to make me feel better. In just the two years that I've known you, you've been more like a father to me than my own flesh and blood. So I wanted to celebrate my father's day with you."

"Peter's right," Micky agreed, stepping forward. "All this time we've been living here with you, you've been taking care of us. You make sure we have the rent and you deal with Babbitt when we don't. You do all of the shopping and the cleaning, or you make us do it when you get sick of being a pack horse. Whenever one of us is in trouble, you see to it that we get out of it. And whenever one of us is hurt, you're the one who won't leave us alone until you're sure we're okay."

"We always know we can count on you when we need anything," Davy nodded, stepping up to join the others. "And we feel safe knowing you're around to take care of things. We know you're not really our Dad, but if anyone deserves a happy Father's Day, it's you, Mike. So...."

The three spoke in tandem. "Happy Father's Day."

Mike was speechless. They were all waiting for him to do something, or to say something, but nothing came to mind.

Micky grinned and gestured toward the package on the couch. "Well? Open it!" The three of them came to stand beside him, and Peter hugged him gently before carefully pushing him to a seated position on the couch.

Almost numbly, he took the present up onto his lap and tugged at the wrapping paper. It fell away easily, revealing a long rectangular box. After a moment's hesitation, he lifted the box top... and what he saw inside took his breath away.

"Oh my God...." He dimly heard the words leave his mouth, but if he hadn't recognized his own voice, he wouldn't have known he'd said it. It was beautiful. A guitar case, all black leather, with a subtle gold plaque on the front that read....

"Oh my God," he said again, his eyes growing wide and moist despite his best efforts to control himself. "You really did this.... You guys really did this...."

And to his intense embarrassment and extreme mortification, Mike Nesmith began to cry.

~*~

Of all the reactions Micky had expected, a sudden flow of tears had not been one of them. He froze, momentarily shocked into inaction, but then his instincts took over and he leaned over, putting his arm around Mike's heaving shoulders and squeezing him gently. "Hey, it's not that ugly, is it? I knew we shouldn't have let Davy pick it out!"

Mike tried to laugh but didn't quite manage it. "No, it's... I'm...."

"I know," Davy put in, doing his best to alleviate Mike's obvious embarrassment, "He's allergic to leather."

"Or gold," Peter guessed, surprising the others. They had fully expected him to be uspet by Mike's reaction, taking it to be anger or sadness rather than joy.

"You guys," Mike sniffled, swiping roughly at his cheeks, "I can't accept this... I don't deserve it...."

"Of course you do," Peter burst out, grabbing Mike about the shoulders. "You're Papa Nez!"

"Yeah, I can see that...." Mike's fingertips lightly brushed the gold plaque that bore his new nickname, feeling new tears rising to his eyes. "But I didn't... I never tried to be...."

"We know you never tried to be anything other than just yourself, Mike," Micky told him quietly. "That's what makes it so special."

"Yeah," Davy agreed, taking one of Mike's shaking hands into his own. "Somehow it wouldn't mean as much if you worked at it. It's just who you are. You are Papa Nez. And it's about time we let you know."

"But this... this is too expensive, how did you-"

"It's all bought and paid for, Mike, and we didn't even have to sell ourselves into slavery to get it! Don't worry about money for once, just enjoy it." Micky stopped, biting his lip worriedly. "You do like it... don't you?"

"Oh God, Micky, I love it! I just don't know if I can-"

"You have to keep it," Peter said firmly. "It's got your name on it, so it can't be returned."

"My name...." Mike said it almost wonderingly, fingers still tracing the engraved letters on the plaque.

"Yours," Davy confirmed. "And there's more!" He stood and gestured toward the table, which, Mike noticed for the first time, was carefully arranged with four sets of good china (obviously not theirs) and heaps of steaming food.

Peter grinned. "We've got tons and tons of food, specially prepared by Mrs. Dolenz."

"The best cook in all of L.A.," Micky added proudly.

"Oh man, what about your father! Mick, you should have spent father's day with your-"

"With my family? Naw, this was my Dad's idea! Well, the meal was, anyway. He insisted!"

"He... he did?"

"Yeah. Oh, and my Mom said to give you a kiss for her, but let's not and say we did, hmm?"

"But-"

"Oh Mike, quit arguing and just eat," Peter scolded affectionately, dragging Mike to his feet and guiding him to the table. "I know it's against your nature, but sometimes it's better to just shut your mouth and say thank you."

"Kinda hard to say 'thank you' with your mouth shut," Mike retorted, but he smiled warmly through his tears as he spoke. "I still can't believe you guys did this, but I'll take Peter's advice.... Thank you."

"You're welcome," Micky answered for all of them, with uncharacteristic seriousness. But then his face broke out into a sunny grin and the moment was over. "Let's eat, I'm starved!"