tumblr hit tracking tool

Copyright (c) Naked Persimmon 2010-11. All Rights Reserved.

Contact Us - Submit Your Stuff

Feedback for the author...

Fic Title *
Feedback *
Home Slash Fiction Het/Gen Fiction Donatella's Head

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.


"The Prison: Part 1 - Life, The Unsuspecting Captive"



Title: The Prison –Chapter 1 – Life, The Unsuspecting Captive
Author: Woolhat’s Travelling Mood
Genre/Pairing: Slash Mike/Micky (but ever so slightly)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst and Monkee Misery and a little foul language
Disclaimer: I do not own the Monkees, this did not happen and is just a figment of my imagination
Summary: A dreadful accident could either bring them closer or tear them apart.
Author's Note: I am British, so please excuse any Britishisms that creep in (unless they’re from Davy). Also, this intends to be a long one, in a few chapters, so bear with me!



It was the smell that had upset him the most; that mixture of traditional tar soap and disinfectant. Sitting here in the corridor with a four month old magazine in his lap, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the day he lost his father. A little knot of misery started crawling around his stomach, but he swallowed hard and tried to beat it into submission. The article in the magazine was a review of The Beatles’ latest movie Magical Mystery Tour, with splashes of colour and crazy font slashed across the pages. A psychedelic coach was pictured, with the band standing around it. He couldn’t bring himself to read the actual article, he just kept staring at the band and wishing he was there too. A Magical Mystery Tour – that sounded groovy. A holiday, a break, an adventure with his best friends. Yeah, as if that was gonna happen now. He snapped the magazine shut in fury, and glanced gloomily around him.


Davy had gone home to get a few things and Peter was on a row of chairs a little way down the corridor, lying curled up on his side with his coat pulled around him for warmth. Micky suspected that the blond was just pretending, somehow sleep now felt like an impossibility, an unattainable goal. Maybe Peter had popped a pill, or maybe he was just hiding from what was all around them.


Micky picked at the bandage on his hand, trying to prise it up to see if the cut was still bleeding. It’s funny, he hadn’t even noticed he’d hurt himself at the time, but now it hurt like a bitch.


The door opposite him opened and a nurse with a clipboard slid out and pulled it shut again. She glanced up briefly and gave Micky a timid smile.


“Can I go in?” He asked quietly,


“He’s not awake you know,”


“I know, but can I go in anyway?”


The nurse looked up and down the corridor, and Micky saw her furrow her brow when she saw Peter, camped out like some hippie bum in her otherwise immaculate ward. He sensed she was about to say no, but when she looked back into his eyes, he saw concern.


“If you’re quiet, I suppose it won’t do any harm,”


“Thank-you,” Micky gave a small smile.


It was starting to get dark outside and the room was a washed out grey. Micky reached for the light switch and then hesitated. Maybe it was best if the lights stayed off. He shuffled over to the window and looked down into the yard below. A few nurses were huddling together in a shelter, smoking and sharing gossip. Down the end of the driveway, two workmen were clearing up their tools after spending the day planting flower beds. Life seemed to be going on as normal, something his tired mind found hard to believe. How could everything be the same out there, when in here he felt like this? He realised that he was deliberately not looking at the bed, perhaps hoping that if he didn’t see it, it didn’t exist.


A shrill laugh caught his attention and he looked back at the nurses. One of them was covering her mouth in phony shock whilst another gestured and joked. Micky wished they would vanish. They were a reminder of a normal life, and not twenty four hours ago he would have been down there in a shot, joining in the jokes and giving the old razzle dazzle to get one or maybe more to give him their phone numbers. But not now. Now they were as distant to him as the beach and the music and the parties. Everything seemed a lifetime ago.


A lifetime ago...


“Come on Micky, they shut at 5 man...” Mike stood at the bottom of the stairs with his arms crossed.


“I’m coming...I can’t find...oh, I’ve got it...” Micky stumbled out of the upstairs bedroom with one boot on and another in his hand.


“Thank Christ for that,” the Texan grumbled, trying to steer Micky towards the door.


“Thanks for giving me a ride...Carrie said she’d meet me at Grundy’s” Micky shook on his coat.


“Hey, where you guys going?” Davy asked as he wandered in from the beach.


“Micky’s got a date with Carrie downtown and I need to get a new cable for my amp...” Mike said as he continued pushing the drummer towards the door.


“Oh wait mate, can you give me a lift too? I may pop into that diner, the little waitress there was giving me the eye last time I was there, it was about time I dropped in again.” The Englishman grinned fiendishly and gave a wink.


Mike rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. But be quick, it’s 4.30 now and they shut at 5.”


“Ok ok, I’ll be right back,” Davy chuckled as he dashed into the downstairs bedroom.


Five minutes later and Mike was locking the door as Micky backed the Monkeemobile out of the garage.  


Davy was standing in the afternoon sun, appreciating its warmth on his back, and reminding himself that he should never take days like these for granted. These were the best days of their lives.


Across the street, little Tommy Drake and his brother Max were playing with a bat and ball. Their fraternal laughter drifted across the street and Davy felt at peace.  He stepped nearer the kerb, turning briefly to see Mike pointing a finger at Micky, motioning for him to move over and let the Texan drive. Micky was shaking his head dramatically and Davy couldn’t help but chuckle. Those guys were the best of friends but they could bicker like the best of them.


“Hey, foul ball!” Davy heard Tommy shout as the baseball flew out of the opposite yard and ground to a halt in the road.


“Don’t worry guys, I got it,” Davy laughed and he ran over to the ball and picked it up.


He didn’t hear the horn until it was too late. He didn’t hear Mike’s shout or the screech of brakes. All he knew was that at one moment he was standing in the road about to throw the ball back to the Drake boys, and the next minute he was thrown across the tarmac, scraping his elbows and knees but otherwise unhurt.


“Fuck!” He growled, clambering to his feet, the ball still gripped tightly in his hand. His ears were ringing and he could feel the blood pumping hard round his head.


“Mike. Christ, Mike!” It was Micky. Screaming.  Micky screaming the Texan’s name over and over again. A feral ball of panic and fear clawed its way around Davy’s stomach as he turned to look behind him.


It was a delivery truck, a big one. The driver was standing by the bonnet. He held his screwed up hat in one hand and the other covered his mouth. He was shaking his head but he didn’t make a sound.


Davy knew and yet his brain couldn’t comprehend. He had to see . He stepped forward shakily, and saw that the hood of the van was dented inwards and the windscreen was smashed.  Glass was shattered all over the road.


He could hear Micky whimpering and could see his curly head as he knelt in front of the vehicle. Was he hurt? Was Micky hurt so bad he would make such a pitiful sound?


He leaned closer, the fear now crawling up his throat in a silent scream. Micky was huddled on the floor, his head bowed as he cradled Mike in his arms. The drummer’s light blue jacket was stained a dark brown and he was openly crying as he rocked gently back and forth.

Davy couldn’t contain that fear any longer, turning and vomiting down the side of the van. Where had this day gone? Where had that contentment and happiness gone? Obliterated in the road.


The next few hours were a blur of ambulances, doctors and phone calls. Peter arrived to meet them at the hospital and an argument ensued with a hospital porter who refused to let him in. As far as the porter was concerned, this was just another dirty long haired drop out here to try and steal some prescription drugs. Davy stepped forward to smooth things over and they hurried Peter down the corridor and away from prying eyes.


Micky was sitting alone in a waiting room, Mike’s hat clutched tightly in his hands. Peter instantly went to the drummer’s side, enveloping him in a tight hug and stroking his hair. Only Peter had that gift of knowing what was needed, and Micky feel into the embrace and sobbed.


“You didn’t see him Peter, it was so horrible...” Micky bawled, pulling Peter closer to him. His hand was bandaged where he had cut himself on the glass from the smashed windscreen.


“Shhhh Micky, he’s going to be alright, but you have to be strong, you have to pull yourself together,”


Davy stood in the shadows of the room and watched the tragedy unfold. Mike had saved his life, pushing him out of the way of the delivery truck as he bent to pick up the ball. Mike, whose lean frame and fast legs had carried him across the driveway to save his diminutive friend from certain death. Mike, who was now lying in a hospital bed, defying science just by still being alive.


How could he ever look any of them in the eye again? It was his fault their friend was here now. If he hadn’t asked Mike for a lift in the first place, this never would have happened. If he hadn’t have been so stupid and walked into the road without looking. He deserved to be in that bed, not Mike.


He was pulled from his thoughts by Peter’s hand on his shoulder. Soft tawny eyes looking into his, reading his mind. “It’s not your fault David. It was an accident. Please don’t blame yourself.”


Davy managed a weak smile, “Easier said than done mate.”




Micky sat by Mike’s bedside for hours. Instinctively, he had taken the Texan’s hand and was unconsciously caressing it with the pad of his thumb. At first, he was unsure what he should do, but soon his natural instincts took over and he began to talk.


Mike lay motionless in the bed, but it didn’t stop Micky from telling him about everything and nothing. About the pretty nurse who only works on Mondays and Thursdays because she’s a student. About the old man in the next room who used to design cars for Ford. About the Staff Nurse who scowled whenever she saw Peter in the corridor. About the swans that roamed the grounds.


Sometimes Peter would sit with them and quietly listen as Micky babbled away, filling the space with as many words as possible. All the time a mantra ran through Peter’s head ‘Please Mike, please hear Micky and wake up. Please Mike, we need you.’


It didn’t surprise Peter that Davy very rarely visited, and if he did, he never stayed longer than half an hour. This angered Micky more than anything, mistaking the Englishman’s grief and sorrow for indifference and ingratitude, but Peter knew better. Peter just hoped they could all hang on long enough and still be friends by the time Mike woke up. And Peter was sure Mike would wake up, because Mike was Mike and he never gave up.




It was a Tuesday. Six weeks or so after the accident. As usual Micky was sat at Mike’s bedside, maintaining his one-sided conversation. The drummer was recalling an article he had read in the newspaper about the Mamas and Papas.


“Wouldn’t it be a bit weird to be in a band with the person you’re married to? How weird would that be Mike? I mean, can you imagine if you and I were in a relationship – you wouldn’t be allowed to shout at me when I got the drumming part wrong on one of your songs or if I was late for practice – hey, that’s not a bad idea. That’d be kinda groovy. I wouldn’t mind...”


Micky’s eyes darted to Mike’s face, taking in his features as he had every day since the accident. It had been the first time he had ever really looked at his friend properly – the wave of back hair, the plump lips, so handsome. Micky had spent the hours combing Mike’s hair, adjusting his pyjamas and watching over him as the visible scars and bruises healed and vanished. Now Mike looked almost as he did that day. Just asleep.


“I mean, you’re a handsome guy. I...I’ve always thought so, I guess. And you’re a great musician man, I’ve always admired that. I was thinking...actually...if you’d mind teaching me the guitar? I’d like to do more with the band than just drumming. We’ll do so much when you leave here – we’ve got so much to catch up on. And I think there’s something I need to tell you. I’ve always thought  that my feelings for you were stronger than just friends, but...well, man, you can be scary and I didn’t want to tell you in case you went nuts, but...well, I nearly lost you didn’t I? Maybe I shouldn’t be such a damn coward this time and actually just tell you? I wonder what you’ll say. I can imagine a few choice things, but I hope you give me a chance Mike. I know I can drive you up the wall, but I’m loyal, and...and I really do think I love you. There I said it. Aren’t you proud? Anyway, I’ll save that for when you’re feeling a bit better...Did you see that pretty nurse that came in to do your bed bath man? Woo, you’re a lucky bastard, I’d play with traffic any day if it meant having her giving me a good scrub...”


“Hey Mick, how’s everything?”


Micky turned to see Peter coming in through the door.


“Good. He’s...he’s looking better today don’t you think?”


“Better every day Micky.” Peter came over and sat on the edge of the bed, absently brushing Mike’s hair from his face, unaware of the hardening of Micky’s features as he did so.


“Hey Michael, how are you today? Has Micky been harassing the nurses again?” The blond smiled. It had been his mission to keep upbeat throughout this entire living nightmare and he just hoped he looked as convincing as possible. Inside, he was being ripped apart.


Peter turned to look at Micky, who in turn met his eye. Peter was trying to think of something meaningful to say after weeks of mindless small talk when Micky suddenly gasped and lunged out of his chair.


“Did you see that Pete? Did you? He squeezed my hand. Just then!”


Peter leapt off the bed and leant forward, until his face was almost touching Mike’s.


“Michael? Are you with us? Michael, please wake up. Please.”


Micky had never heard that pleading tone in Peter’s voice before, and with it his heart filled with hope. This was it, please let this be it. The end to all this madness.


“Mike. It’s Micky and Peter. Squeeze my hand again if you can hear us.” Micky then whooped with delight as he felt his hand squeezed again. He was filled with such joy and euphoria he almost didn’t hear the quiet croak from the Texan.


“Quiet...Mick...head hurts...” Mike breathed, his eyes still shut.


“I’ll get the nurses!” Peter beamed, dashing out the door as if he had heard the starting pistol.


“Oh Mike. Just you relax. Everything is going to be alright. We’re here. You’re safe.”


A small smile crossed Mike’s lips and Micky felt his heart burst. They were going to be ok. Everything was going to be ok.











The Prison: Part 2