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DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.

"Me Without You"

Title: Me Without You

Author: Manchester Girl

Genre/Pairing: Fantasy/Drama/Micky-centric

Rating: PG

Warnings: A little dark and depressing at times, but everything turns out okay!

Disclaimer: This story is 100% fictional.  

Summary: Micky finds himself living in different realities following a serious car accident. Realities that he seems to have the power to change after receiving a mysterious gift.  

Author’s Note: Not a completely original idea. I’ve seen movies that revolved around a similar premise, but I thought this would be interesting to do with the Monkees. Especially since we’ve seen various combinations of 3Kees over the years: Micky/Mike/Davy when Peter originally left the group and Micky/Davy/Peter during more recent reunions. Of course now we are sadly faced with a possible Micky/Peter/Mike combination if any such performance should ever come to pass. The best thing about writing a fictional story is knowing that all four Monkees will ultimately always be together!


Micky slowly opened his eyes and stared at the tiled ceiling of a hospital room.    

“What happened?” he asked slowly.   Two people were looking down at him.  A doctor and a nurse he assumed.  

“Try to relax.  You have a concussion,”  the nurse said soothingly.  “You have a few other minor injuries, but you’re going to be just fine.”

“I was driving home from the Riviera Country Club,” Micky began.  “We’d just finished a gig.  A car pulled out in front of me and I swerved to miss it.  I think I hit a tree or something . . . . What about my friends?  Are they okay?”

The doctor and nurse exchanged concerned glances.  

“Two of them are here,” the nurse said soothingly.

Mike walked slowly into the room while Davy lingered in the doorway.  As Mike came closer to his bed, Micky noticed that his eyes were red and puffy.  

“What’s wrong?  Where’s Peter?  Have they got him in a room too?”

Mike touched Micky’s shoulder gently.  “He was hurt really badly,” Mike’s voice was unsteady.   He paused for what seemed like an eternity.  “He didn’t make it, Micky.”

“NO!” gasped Micky.  “No!  It’s not true.  Davy tell me the truth!”  Micky looked past Mike.  Davy was standing in the doorway sobbing.  

Suddenly Micky couldn’t breathe.  The room went black.


Peter’s  parents flew out to California the next day so they could take him back home.  The boys spent almost every penny they had on three plane tickets so they could fly to Connecticut for the funeral.  It had been strange meeting Peter’s family for the first time under such circumstances.  Although no one had blamed him, Micky still felt the burden of guilt because he had been driving.   He played the accident over and over in his mind wondering what he could have done differently.   

After the long trip, they had all dreaded coming home to the pad alone.  They tried to rehearse, but their hearts just weren’t in it.    Mike tried to keep himself occupied with songwriting, but all the songs were so depressing he couldn’t imagine anyone ever wanting to listen to any of them.   More than once, when Micky came downstairs during a sleepless night, he could hear Davy in his room crying.    

A few days later, Micky was taking a walk through town trying to clear his head and come to terms with his grief.    As he turned down a side street an interesting little antique store caught his eye.  He had never been particularly interested in antiques, but he found himself drawn to the shop.  

The bell on the door jingled as he walked inside.  He wandered through the store looking at old furniture, paintings, and other knick knacks.  As he approached a small jewelry counter, an elderly man came from the back of the store.  

“Good afternoon!”  he said cheerfully.  “May I help you with something?”

“Oh, no.  I was just looking.  Some interesting stuff you’ve got here,”  Micky said taking another glance around the store.    

The elderly gentleman smiled.  “Oh yes.  Discarded bits and pieces of people’s lives.   One man’s junk is another man’s treasure and all that!”  

Micky glanced around the store again.  He noticed some musical instruments hanging on the back wall.    His eyes filled with tears at the sight of a bass guitar.

“What’s wrong, son?”  The man asked sympathetically.  

“Oh, nothing.  I’m okay.  I just . . .” Micky struggled for something to say as he tried to blink away his tears.  

“You’re going through a hard time,”  the man stated.  “You’ve experienced a recent loss, haven’t you?”

Micky nodded and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.    

“Yes, sir.  A good friend of mine died recently.  Car accident.  I was driving.”  He swallowed hard.

“You wish you could go back and change things?”

“Of course I do!  Who wouldn’t?”

The man shook his head in an all-knowing way.  “Time is a strange thing.  An intricately woven tapestry.  Who knows what will happen if you just pull away just one thread?”

Micky shook his head slowly.  He was feeling confused and almost a little angry toward this old man.  Why wouldn’t he want to change time?  Of course he wanted Peter back.  They all did.

“Speaking of time,” the shopkeeper continued, “take a look at this.  It’s beautiful.”

He took a gold pocket watch out of the jewelry case and handed it to Micky.  

Micky turned it over in his hand and studied it closely.   “It is beautiful,” he agreed.  “I’ve seen pocket watches before, but never one quite like this.”

“Listen to this . . .”  The old man pressed a small button on the side of the watch and a beautiful tune played.  It sounded almost like a music box.  

“Wow . . .”  Micky smiled as he gazed at the intricate carvings inside the watch.  

“It’s yours!”  

“Oh, no.  I can’t afford anything like this.”

But the elderly man just smiled and pressed Micky’s fingers closed around the watch.   


Micky walked home eagerly.  For the first time since the accident he felt almost happy.  He was anxious to get home and show Mike and Davy the watch and tell them about the antique store.  

When he opened the door of the pad, Davy was sitting on the couch looking at a magazine.  Suddenly he was thunderstruck when Peter came walking past the spiral staircase, a root beer in his hand.  

For a moment Micky couldn’t speak.   Then he grabbed Peter and hugged him with such force he almost crushed him.  

“Peter,” he sobbed.   “Peter!  You’re HERE!”

“Hey, Mick!  I can’t breath!”  Peter was laughing softly.  “You’ve made me spill my root beer!”

Micky wiped tears from his eyes.  He was confused, but he didn’t care.  Peter was back and that was all that mattered now.

“Well, aren’t you glad to see me?”  Davy asked with a mischievous little smile.

“Yes!”  Micky laughed.  “Both of you.”

Micky joined Davy in the living room while Peter went to get a towel to wipe up the spilled root beer.  He  wondered where Mike was.  Maybe he was out checking on some gigs.

When Peter joined them in the living room, Davy rose to his feet.  They both nodded to each other then looked at Micky.

“What’s wrong?”  Micky was suddenly very uncomfortable.

Peter nodded encouragingly at Davy.

“Well, Micky,”  Davy began.  “I know it seems unthinkable to even be talking about this, but it’s probably time we start going to some clubs and trying to find another guitarist.”  

Micky still didn’t understand.   “You guys want to add a fifth member to the group?”

Peter smiled, but his eyes were full of tears.  “I guess you could look at it that way.  Mike will always be a member of the Monkees.”

“Yes,” Davy voice was unsteady.  “He will.”  After a long pause, Davy continued, “I know it’s only been a few days since we came back from the funeral in Texas.  But we’re broke and we’ve got to try and think about the future.   Mike would have wanted us to go on doing what he loved.”

“Texas. . .” Micky suddenly felt hot and dizzy.  “We weren’t in Texas.  We were  . . .” he turned and looked at Peter again.

“It’s okay, Micky,” said Peter.  “You’ve been disoriented from time to time since the accident.”

“You mean Mike’s. . . .” Micky couldn’t bring himself to say the word.  “Davy, is that the way you remember it?”

Davy looked confused.  “Yes, Micky.  Mike was sitting up front with you.  He went through the windshield . . . .”

Micky shook his head.  None of this made any sense.  Peter had been the one sitting up front.  Not Mike.

“I don’t know about replacing anyone,”  Micky finally said.  “Can we talk about this later?  I think I just want to go to bed now.”

“Sure, Micky,”  Davy said patting him on the shoulder.  “Maybe it is still too soon.  We just need to be thinking about it.   Everything will come together again when the time’s right.”

Micky went upstairs to the bedroom he and Mike had shared and got ready for bed.  He laid in bed staring at the ceiling.  He had no memory of Mike being killed in the accident.  It had been Peter, but now Peter was back.

Was this what the old man at the antique store had been talking about when he had spoken of pulling a thread from the tapestry of time?  Had he unwittingly traded Mike’s life for Peter’s?  He felt more to blame than ever.  

Micky looked up when he heard a soft knock.   Peter was standing in the open doorway.

“Hi, Mick,”  Peter flashed a sweet dimpled smile.   “Are you feeling okay now?”

“I don’t know,”  Micky said softly.  “This is all still like some kind of nightmare.  There are some things I can’t remember and others that I remember differently than they actually seemed to happen.”

Peter looked over at Mike’s empty bed.  “Do you want us to come in here and sleep with you.  Or you could come downstairs?”

Micky smiled at Peter.  “It’s okay.  I’ll be fine, really.”  


Micky woke up early the next morning.  He decided to get dressed and go for a walk on the beach.  He peeked inside Davy and Peter’s room when he got downstairs.   They were both still asleep.

Micky walked down to the edge of the beach and stared at the gentle, ocean waves.    They had an almost hypnotic effect.   He stood there watching the ocean for a long time.  He pulled the gold watch out of his pocket and looked at it.  

“Hi, Micky!”  He turned to see Davy standing next to him.  

“Are you feeling better this morning?”

Micky shrugged.  “It’s all so confusing. . . .”

“I know,” Davy said quietly.  “This has been hard for all of us.  You never know how your life can change in the blink of an eye.   Sometimes it all comes down to just one split second when things can go either way.  And you don’t have any control over which way they go.”

“I still just don’t understand . . .” Micky said.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I nearly got hit by a bus?”  Davy asked.

“No,”  said Micky.  This story was new to him.  

“I was about three years old and I’d gone shopping with my mum while my sisters were all at school.  I thought it was so exciting.  I was fascinated with everything.  Suddenly Mum realized I’d let go of her hand.  She heard a squeal of brakes and there I was out in the street.  The bus stopped just in the nick of time.  She snatched me up and didn’t know whether to spank me or cover me with kisses.  She probably did both!”  Davy laughed and shook his head at the memory.

Micky remembered that Davy had lost his mother when he was only fourteen years old.  Davy knew what it was to grieve for a loved one.  He put his arm around Davy and they both stared out at the ocean.  

Davy looked down at the gold watch in Micky’s hand.

“What’s that you’ve got there?”

“Oh, I got this at an antique store yesterday.  The owner actually gave it to me.  I’m not sure why.”

“Can I see it?”  Davy asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

Davy opened the watch and pressed the button inside.  He smiled like a little kid at the sound of the tinkling bell-like music as he held the watch up to his ear.

“Wow, that’s really something,” he said handing the watch back to Micky.  

“I think I’ll go back to the pad to see if Peter’s up.” Micky said after a while.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” said Davy.

Micky started back toward the pad.    When he was about halfway there, he looked back at the beach.  Davy was nowhere in sight.


When Micky came back inside, Peter was in the kitchen getting a box of cereal out of the cabinet.  

“Everything okay, Mick?”  Peter looked over at Micky who was still staring out the back door at the deserted beach.

“Yeah, sure.  I was just wondering what happened to Davy.    He was right behind me.”    

“You met someone on the beach named Davy?”  Peter asked.

“No Peter,” he said as if he was speaking to a little child. “Our roommate, Davy.  We were on the beach together and he was right behind me.”

Peter looked puzzled and almost frightened.

“Micky, do you feel okay?  We don’t have a roommate named Davy.”

“Peter, that’s not funny after all that’s happened.”

“I’m not joking,”  Peter seemed genuinely confused.  “We don’t know anyone named Davy.  Or at least I don’t.”

“Yes you do!  He’s your friend, too.  You remember.  He’s British?  Short? Cute?  Great singing voice?  Plays maracas and tambourine?”

“We don’t have anyone like that in our group.”


“Micky, I think you need to sit down.  You haven’t been quite the same since the accident.  You shouldn’t be overdoing it.”

Micky gritted his teeth in anger.  “This has gone far enough!  I’m not crazy.”  

He yanked out his wallet and searched for a slip of paper where he had written a phone number in case of an emergency.     He snatched up the receiver of the telephone and began placing a long distance call to Manchester, England.    Davy’s grandfather had been there for a visit not long ago.  He’d settle this.  

“Hello,”  an distinguished voice came on the line.  

“Hello, sir.  This is Micky Dolenz.  I’m a friend of your grandson, Davy.”

There was a long pause.  

“Young man,” came the sharp answer.  “Is this some kind of sick joke?  Your idea of having a bit of fun with a grieving old man?”

Micky was too stunned to speak.

“My grandson, David was killed in an accident when he was three years old.”

Micky’s body went numb as he hung up the phone.   He felt dizzy and the room seemed to be spinning.    He sat down slowly in a chair near the telephone.

“Mike!  Mike!  Get down here!  NOW!”  Peter turned toward the stairs and yelled frantically.  

Mike?  Mike’s here.  Micky shook his head.   He began to feel weak like he was going to faint.  

Micky was shocked to see Mike come running down the stairs.  He stood next to Peter.   The both looked at him like he had lost his mind.  

“Who did you call, Micky?” asked Peter.  “Where did you get that number?”

“Who was he calling?”  asked Mike.  

“Someone in England,” Peter replied as if Micky wasn’t sitting right there.  “He seems to think we have another roommate who’s in the band with us.  Someone named Davy.”

“Micky, now just calm down,” Mike began slowly.  “We don’t have anyone in the group named Davy.  Never have.  But everything’s gonna be just fine.  Did you have a friend named Davy when you were a kid, maybe?”  

With a sudden burst of energy, Micky jumped out of his chair and ran out the back door down to the beach as fast as he could.  

“Not Davy . . . .” he sobbed.  “Please . . .no . . .not Davy . .  . .” he mumbled over and over as he ran down toward the ocean.  

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch.  The watch!  Davy was playing the song right before he disappeared!   Micky stared at the watch and wondered whether he should open it again.    But what else might happen?

“THIS ENDS NOW!”  Micky shouted.  “NOW!  DO YOU HEAR ME?”    He lifted the watch high over his head and smashed it against a large rock.

“Micky!  Micky! Where are you?”  He could hear Peter and Mike calling.

He smashed the watch again and again and finally flung it into the ocean.  He collapsed onto the ground exhausted and sobbing.

Slowly he was aware of the sound of laughter.  He looked up and saw three young men running along the beach.   Mike . . . Peter . . . Davy.  At one point Davy flung himself down in the sand and turned a somersault.  They were all laughing.  Safe, alive and happy.  

But what about me?  Micky wondered.  Had he somehow exchanged his life and very existence for the sake of his friends?  It didn’t matter.  They were okay.  He’d gladly give his life for any of them.  All of them.


Micky slowly opened his eyes and stared at the tiled ceiling of a hospital room.   It was all too familiar.

“Oh, God, no.  Please not again,”  he murmured.  He could feel his heart pounding with fear.

A pretty nurse walked over to his bed  and looked down at him.

“It’s okay, honey,” she said softly.  “You’re going to be just fine.  You’ve been in a coma for over a week.   You were in a car accident.  Do you remember?”

Micky licked his lips.  His mouth felt dry.  

“Yes,”  he finally said.  “We were coming home from a gig at the Riviera . . . I was driving . . . I hit a tree or something.”  Everything was slowly coming back to him.  “But what about my friends?”  he asked desperately.  “Are they okay?”  

“They’ve been here to see you every day.”  She said as she walked over to the door.

“Oh, boys,”  she called softly.

Micky raised up in his bed and was thrilled to see Mike, Peter and Davy all hurrying into his room.  

“Micky!!!”  Three happy voices exclaimed in unison.

“You’re okay?  All of you are okay?” Micky asked.

“We’re fine,” Davy smiled.  “A few bumps and bruises, but we’re on the mend.”

“The Monkeemobile on the other hand,”   Mike chuckled “is gonna need a few repairs.  But it’s gonna be fine too.”

“We’ve been so worried about you,”  Peter smiled with relief.  

“When can I go home?”  Micky wanted to know.

“Let’s not get in too big of a hurry,” the nurse smiled.  “I’ll have to check with the doctor.  But you’ll be home with your friends soon enough.

Home with your friends.   The words were music to Micky’s ears.