InsaneJournal

 

(crossover with the Sentinel)

 

 

Micky held the baby in his arms. The baby cooed and laughed as Micky blew wet kisses on his stomach. 

 

The red headed woman laughed as Micky started babbling baby non-sense.

 

"Micky, will you stop that and talk to him normally," she chided.

 

"Naomi, this is the fun part of having a baby in your arms."

 

"Well, Blair will want to be treated more than a baby."

 

Micky looked down at the blue eyed baby. He hadn't asked Naomi who the father was. If it was true what he was thinking so much could go wrong for both of them that it was best not to ask.

 

"You sure you won't stay?" Micky asked. Naomi had called stating that she was passing through on her way to a retreat in the Napa Valley area.

 

"I'm sure. I wanted to stop by and say hi."

 

"Don't be a stranger," he told her as he handed the baby back over to her.

 

"I'll do my best," she smiled.

 

 

(Group two of the ficlet 100 challenge seems to be very inspirational)

 

 

Peter sat at the kitchen table and tried to weigh through his emotions. He was relived that Mike and his friends had won his soul back. He didn't know that such evil existed and that he had been singled out.

 

He felt the true love awaken to him as his friends defended him and brought done the devil himself. 

 

A tear rolled down his cheek.

 

He was so close to living life in eternity in hell. He didn't deserve that. All he wanted was to play music, to be the best at it.

 

"Peter?" Micky asked. "You okay?" Peter turned and wrapped his arms around Micky's waist and cried.

 

 

 

School was a place to go because you had to. You showed up on time to make your parents happy and you sat in class while you day dreamed of other places to be.

 

Mike passed through school, with his interests being in history and English. He remembered little else other than girl watching. He didn't openly go after the girls. He was to tall and gangly to think any of them would want to go out with him. But he watched. Dreamed about them like another other red blooded American boy.

 

Of course there was one that got away. Not one to leave the experience behind, he turned it into a song.

 

 

He might not have had the greatest education, but he knew he had the ideas to make things happen. 

 

He made it from New York to California with little problem. He knew a lot people didn't give him credit in being common sense smart. But little did they know he had it planned like that. He was smarter than anyone around him gave him credit for.

 

It was easier that way. Let people underestimate. They wouldn't expect anything grand from you. When needed, he could step in with something to save the day and let it be thought it was a grand mistake. That was fine with him.

 

One day he would step out of his persona he had created.  But for now, he'll stay back and watch.

 

 

The Monkee Mobile had stopped in the middle of no where in the late evening. After playing rock paper scissors, it was determined that Mike and Micky would walk the five miles down the road to the last town they past through to get help.

 

Luckily the car was big enough to hold their instruments and other items, like a tent, cooler and snack bags. They were prepared, strange for that happen but it does.

 

At sunset and the cooling air, Mike and Micky set off down the road. Davy and Peter set up their tent.

 

Taking out his guitar, Peter started strumming and practiced the lyrics to the songs with Davy.

 

As night descended, fireflies started to fly around, glowing off and on around them. Davy captured one in his hand and peered at it. Peter laughed. "Have you ever played with them before?" Peter asked.

 

"We don't have them in England."

 

"I used to gather a few up and put them in a glass and use them at night," Peter said remembering playing with them as a child.