TITLE: The Pictures
AUTHOR: jennytork
WORD COUNT: 1557
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Power Monkees AU (the boys are meta-humans). A letter arrives -- turn over money or the writer will release dirty pictures of the Monkees. Beyond the fact that they can't remember ever having anything like that taken, all the clues point to someone young. Why is this happening?



THE PICTURES

1972

The letter arrived with the Friday mail and threw a lightning bolt into the middle of the Monkees' world. Instantly Davy got on the phone with Micky while Mike just closed his eyes and sent an image of the letter and its contents to Peter.

Davy hung up and turned, wincing to see Mike holding his head. "How loud did he scream?"

"Less of a scream and more of an incredulous screech. They're on their way."

"So are Micky and Mel. Who in the hell would--"

"Mouth," Mike interrupted. "Or you'll get Peter's dirty looks."

Davy sighed. "I hate those. Make me feel like I'm about three."

The lock turned and the front door opened, admitting Micky and his wife Mel. A 'thump' from the balcony announced the arrival of Peter and his wife Valerie. Micky strode right over and picked up the letter while Peter paused to talk to Mike for a second.

When Peter took it out of Micky's hand, Micky paced. "What in the h—what in the world," he corrected when Peter looked his way. "A half million dollars? Where are we gonna get that kind of bread?"

"More to the point," Peter said, his voice annoyingly calm for the situation. "What are these 'dirty pictures' that this letter is threatening to release if he doesn't get paid?"

"I haven't done anything to get those kinds of pictures taken," Davy said. "And I know Peter or Mike haven't!"

"Oh, thank you for the vote of confidence, there," Micky snarled, rolling his eyes.

"Well," Valerie said slowly, "I honestly don't think any of you have to worry. This person doesn't have a leg to stand on." When all eyes turned to her, she smiled. "The words that aren't cut out are in crayon and the handwriting's that of someone young."

"What?" Mike took the paper. "......she's right!"

Peter got on the phone to the post office, and hung up with a sigh. "Closed."

"Okay, let's think," Mike said. "We've been able to track addresses before – does this have one? Who's seen the envelope?"

Davy recovered it. "It's a local postmark. Means it was from our post office --"

"Which means it's from Malibu Beach," Peter said. "Narrows it down to about a hundred thousand houses."

Mel nudged him. "Sarcasm doesn't become you."

Peter grinned at her. "You'd be surprised, Melanie."

"Okay, you two, cap it," Mike ordered. "Look at this, it's just marked 'The Monkees, Malibu Beach'. That means they don't know us personally."

Valerie grinned and grabbed her jacket.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked.

"We're overlooking a huge resource," she laughed. "Hank!"

Peter followed as his wife went to talk to their landlord. He'd met the mailman that morning, and taken the letter when the mailman had wondered where the Monkees lived. Hank was furious when he found out what was inside. "Need some help putting the fear into the punk when you find him?" he asked. "I could be a snake slithering into his face or a bear yelling at him or--"

Peter laughed. "We're fine, Hank. Appreciate the thought, though."

"Call me if you need me," Hank said. "I'll be right there."

Valerie hugged him. "We know you will. Thank you."

When they got back, Peter frowned as he did a mental headcount. "Where's Micky?"

"Went for a walk," Mel said. Then she chuckled. "Or a fly, knowing Micky..."

A rather tense hour and a half passed, with ideas being discussed and dismissed, and then the phone rang. Davy drifted over and picked it up. "Hello?" His eyes widened. "Whoa, Mick, slow down!... Okay, got it." He scribbled something down. "And you'll meet us on the roof? Got it. See you then." He hung up. "Micky's got him."

"What?" Peter gasped at the same time Mike asked, "How?"

"He didn't say how," Davy said, waving the paper. "He gave us this address, said he'd meet us on the roof."

Valerie kissed Peter. "Go. We'll hold down the fort."

Davy shrank to the size of a Ken doll, and Mike picked him up. "You shrank the address, too," he pointed out, and Davy rectified that so Peter could find it.

Peter's eyes flared light blue and he lifted both himself and Mike – holding Davy – and glided them toward the address.

Sure enough, Micky was waiting on the roof of a small house in the suburbs on the very edge of Malibu Beach. Micky nodded. "He's in here. He went to mail another batch of letters and one fell out. Same handwriting. So I went invisible and trailed him here. And Valerie was right – it's a kid."

Mike nodded. "You saw him head to mail them?"

"I saw a kid fall off his bike. I went to help and saw the letter instead, so I stayed invisible."

Peter nodded. "Well...let's go talk to him."

"What are we gonna say?" Davy asked, growing back to normal height.

"Leave that to me," Mike said, as Peter and Micky glided the quartet safely to the ground.

The kid couldn't have been older than eight or nine. He opened the door to Mike's "Hey, there. We're the Monkees and we think you might have something of ours."

The kid broke into a broad grin. "You brought the money!" he cheered. "I don't believe it, it worked! Come on, come on!" He ran inside and reappeared with an envelope. "When Bob told me this, I didn't think it would work, but it worked! So where's the money?"

"First things first," Mike said, locking eyes with the kid. "Who's Bob?"

"And where did he get the idea for this?" Peter added.

"My brother," the kid answered. "He read in some magazine or other that these famous people pay all kinds of money in trade for dirty pictures not to be released, so I figured since I needed the money and I had dirty pictures of you four..." He gasped as the envelope was jerked from his hand.

Davy had edged around while the kid's attention was on Mike and Peter, and grabbed the envelope. He walked over while the kid stood gaping and opened the envelope.

And started to laugh.

"Davy?" Peter asked.

He slid out three images and held them up. "Kid's right," he chuckled. "They are dirty pictures of us."

The other three Monkees broke into grins and a few chuckles. The pictures were, indeed, of the Monkees.

Clearly taken after something had happened – more than likely a battle – and the four of them were covered in dust and dirt from head to toe.

The kid frowned. ".....so, no money?"

"What's your name, son?" Peter asked.

"Barry."

"Well, Barry," Peter grinned. "Suppose you tell us why you needed money so bad you did this?"

"Well, it's just Bob and Mom and me and Mom just lost her job, so I was--"

"Trying to help out," Mike sighed. "The quick way. Well, I tell you what. Let us talk to your mom and see if we can't--"

"Barry?" A woman's voice gasped and a redhead with her arms loaded with grocery bags walked in the front door. "What in the world--"

"Ma'am, we need to talk to you," Davy said. "See, your son tried to get us to send him money in exchange for these--" he held them up "—dirty pictures."

She looked and her eyes closed as her mouth thinned. "Bobby," she snarled, setting the bags down. "I'm truly sorry, fellows," she said, her voice firm. "I will deal with this. It won't happen again."

Peter cleared his throat. "It was done from the best of motives, ma'am. He was trying to get money to help you out."

Her shoulders sagged, and Mike stepped in. "So, with your permission – I might have an idea."

Three days later, the Monkees were at the studio laying down tracks for a solo artist that would be coming in at the end of the week when two familiar faces walked in with an unfamiliar one.

Finishing the song, they headed out to them. "Kelly?" Peter smiled, greeting her by the name they'd learned just before they had left her house. "Hi, good to see you. Barry. I take it you're Bob?"

The older boy nodded distractedly, eyes rather greedily on Micky's drums.

Micky grinned. "Come on, I'll show you how to lay down a beat." As they walked into the soundproof booth, he winked at the others.

Peter returned a grin for the wink, then turned to Barry. "Are we square?"

"Yes, sir," he said. "I sent out the apology letters like you said, to everyone I tried to get money from. It's all done."

"We mailed the last this morning," Kelly said. "We're ready to get to work."

After finding out she was an accountant who had been fired for refusing her boss's advances, the Monkees had hired her immediately. They'd been needing an accountant for some time, and Kelly fit the bill.

They'd hired Barry, too, as an in-studio gopher. Bob would help if needed, but it was Barry who had wanted so desperately to help that he'd listened to horrible advice, so it was Barry who was going to help.

And both kids now knew better than to try anything so stupid again.

END