Of Spirits and Circuses 3/10
"I knew it!" Victor roared, readying another knife. "As if driving us broke wasn't enough, you've come to gloat?"
"What?" all four Monkees gasped together, even as Peter checked Mike's head for injury. Finding none, he clapped a hand onto Mike's shoulder and stepped away.
Pop, meanwhile, clamped a restraining hand onto Victor's wrist. "That's enough."
"But you heard him! They're--"
"Enough," Pop said, glaring into Victor's eyes until the younger man looked away with a groan.
Then Pop looked at the startled Monkees. "Our box offices have been steadily going down," he explained. "Because the young would rather attend rock and roll concerts."
Mike winced. "I get it. Well, thank you for your time."
"Boys." When he had their attention again, Pop asked, "Have any of you worked putting up a circus before?"
"They haven't," Micky said. "I have. I can teach them what they need to know."
"So will we," Pop said. "If you'll be here at 6 AM tomorrow, you'll be put to work."
"Thank you!" Mike grinned, shaking Pop's hand. "You won't regret this!"
Behind him, Davy grinned as well even as he pulled Mike's hat from the post and handed the knife to Pop.
~*~
Peter's eyes fluttered open and he rolled over, looking at the clock.
2 AM.
He frowned and rolled onto his back. He sat up and his frown deepened. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "I gotta be up in three hours, I can't --"
His eyes widened. "I don't know. Is that even possible?"
His eyes flicked to the dresser. "Are you sure?"
Getting out of bed, Peter padded ot the dresser and opened the large but shallow bottom drawer. His fingers found a latch and his eyes widened again as he uncovered a false bottom.
Filled with jewelry and other things. "Oh," he breathed. "Gloria...."
He nodded and lifted a cameo pendant. "This one?" His dimples shone as he grinned. "Your favourite, huh?"
The grin faded as his fingers found the chain rusted. "Can't use this... hang on." He replaced the false bottom and pushed the drawer back in. Then he found his smallest strand of love beads, the one he'd worn for many days on end.
It was only the work of a moment to untie the necklace. With the soft rattle of beads hitting glass, Peter dumped the beads into a small decorative ashtray they used to hold change. He slid off the peace symbol and replaced it with the cameo.
Then he swiftly re-strung a little over half the beads and tied the shortened necklace securely around his own neck, making sure it was loose enough not to choke him but secure enough that it would neither break nor move around too much.
Peter broke into another sunny grin. "You're very welcome. Let's see if this will work tomorrow. But for now - I have got to get some rest."
He got back into bed and smiled as his fingers touched his suddenly-tingling cheekbone. "Thank you," he whispered. "Good night."