Peter came down the stairs, tucking in his light blue shirt as he did, and smiled at the scene that revealed itself to him. Mike sat on the bandstand strumming his guitar, occasionally writing down notations on some sheet music. Micky and eleven year old Davy were sitting in the middle of the living room floor, playing cards.

"Killing time till noon?" Peter quipped. Noon was the time school began.

"Sure are," Micky said, grinning up at his friend.

"We're playin' go fish - and I'm winning!" Davy announced in a smug tone.

"I'm lettin' you win," Micky corrected.

Davy rolled his eyes. "Six games in a row?"

"Sure! You don't honestly think the Go Fish champion of the world would be beaten by a skinny little shrimp, do you?"

"He just was," Davy said, as he drew a card from the pile of 'fish' and set down a pair. Then, he held up empty hands to Micky to emphasize the point. "Now who's the 'Go Fish Champion of the world'?"

"I am," Micky said as he shuffled the deck. "You got lucky, is all."

Peter chuckled and sank down on the bandstand beside Mike. "They're off again," he said in a low voice.

Mike glanced over at Micky and Davy, smiling. "Sometimes, I wonder which one's the kid...and which one's the adult."

"Yeah, me too," Peter said as Micky loudly suggested that Davy could take his beginner's luck and --- "Micky!"

"...get ready for school," Micky said in a lighter tone, grinning.

"And you say Davy picks up that kind of language from me?" Mike muttered, shaking his head.

"He does," Peter said. "And from Micky and from me. All of us have contributed to his delinquency in one form or another."

Davy picked up the cards, and headed for the stairs. "I just gotta get my books!" he called over his shoulder to Peter. As he jogged up the stairs, he began to hum softly, and then to sing to himself. The other three looked up, recognizing the song -- Valleri.

Peter's eyes widened and a grin split his face. Micky gave a start and looked over at the two on the bandstand. "He... sang!" Micky gasped. "He's never sang before..."

Peter winked at Mike. "Maybe once he grows up a little more, he could join the band."

Mike shook his head, astonished. "Not only is he singing...the kid's not half bad!"

Mike smiled at that, his voice taking on a far-away quality. "You know, I always said if I had a son, I hoped he'd grow up to be a musician like his old man."

"And you know Davy was one Before," Micky said, moving over to join the group. "Maybe he's fated to be one again."

"We'll have to keep working with him," Mike said, nodding.

Peter nodded too. "And he already enjoys our jams... he sings along when I sing lead on his old songs..." He chuckled. "He said he likes the way our voices blend. Wonder what he'll say after his changes?"

Mike chuckled, too. "Won't have to wait much longer to find out...Man, that kid grows up fast!"

Peter sighed, locking his fingers around his knees. "We'll have to tell him the truth soon. Once puberty starts, he'll have to know. He's already started asking why he doesn't go to school like some of the kids he sees at the park."

Mike heaved a sigh. "Yeah...I guess he's gonna have to find out sooner or later."

Micky sighed too. "His childhood's almost over, guys..." he said sadly.

"And it went too damn fast," Peter whispered.

"I'm ready!" Davy announced loudly, bounding down the stairs, before either Mike or Micky could say anything. Davy stopped short at the foot of the staircase. "Hey, what's goin' on? Something wrong?" he asked, looking at Micky for reassurance.

Micky stood up and smiled. "Everything's fine, Champ," he said, walking over and steering the child toward the table. "Time to tackle fractions, huh?"

"Awww, Micky! Can't we do somethin' else today? I hate fractions...I don't understand 'em!"

"You'll get the hang of them," Micky said. "Hey... How's about after we tackle math you and me make a cake, huh?"

Davy perked up immediately. "A chocolate cake?" he asked, his tone hopeful. "With frosting?"

"With fudge frosting," Micky said conspiratorially.

"Well, what're we waiting for then?" Davy asked, hoping up into his chair, and reaching for his math book.

"Why a cake?" Peter called.

Micky grinned. "We're gonna halve the recipe... practical Fractions!"

Peter laughed. "Clever, Man!"

Davy eyed Micky suspiciously. "You mean we're gonna learn something?" he asked.

Micky leaned over the table. "Remember when we went to the beach yesterday? And we talked about the seagulls?"

"Yeah..."

"We talked about what they ate and how they made babies... all that stuff? That was science. You learn all the time, Davy. Most of it's fun. Like makin' the cake."

A wide grin spread across Davy's face. "I never thought of it that way..."

"So come on... let's get this boring bookwork outta the way then we can have the math class we can eat afterward!" Micky said, sitting beside Davy.

Peter smiled and shook his head. "I never would have thought of that," he whispered to Mike. "Micky should be a teacher on the side... he's good."

Mike nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's amazing...I never would have guessed it. You know, I think we've all changed quite a bit since Davy's...accident."

"Oh?" Peter asked, reaching for his bass.

"Yeah. We've all grown up quite a bit...but you know who's changed the most out of the three of us?"

Peter shook his head, turning the tuning knobs and wincing as the note came out sour.

Mike winced, too, as he continued. "You have, man."

Peter's blond hair flew till it looked like a halo as his head snapped around to Mike, tawny eyes huge in surprise. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. Don't look so surprised! You know, Pete, you've taken on the lion's share of the responsibility for Davy's care, and it shows! You're a lot more capable than I ever gave you credit for..."

"It's not the first time I've had to take care of a kid... I've got three younger siblings at home." Peter shrugged and went back to his tuning.

"Maybe, but this is different...I don't know. I guess I just wanted to say that...well...I'm real proud of you, man."

Peter looked back at him, the dimples emerging as the grin began to spread. "Really?"

“Yeah, really. Now, don't get all sentimental on me, or something. I just wanted you to know that...you know, that you're doing a good job...and well, I don't know what we'd do without you."

Peter just grinned at him... until the phone began to jangle. Peter lay down his bass and answered it. "Hello... Oh hi, Mrs. Purdy!" He listened for a second, then went pale as a ghost and fumbled for the stool by the phone. "I... I see... when?... yeah... yeah, okay.... we'll be there tonight.... yeah, I will.... no thanks, we don't really need lasagna right now, thanks anyhow.... okay, bye.." He hung up and raised horrified eyes to his friends.

Mike was on his feet and by Peter's side in an instant. "What's going on, Pete? What'd she want?"

"Mike..." Peter turned away and whispered so Davy wouldn't hear, "Babbitt had a heart attack last night. He... he didn't make it."

Mike's face grew pale, and he laid a hand on the table top for support. "You mean Babbitt...is dead?" he whispered, his voice catching in his throat on the last word.

Peter nodded mutely.

"Oh, man...what're we gonna tell the kid?"

"Somehow, we've gotta tell him the truth. Purdy wants us to come to the funeral home tonight... we were the only family he put down on his will!"

"F-family?" Mike stuttered. "He put us down as family?"

"Us and Mrs. Purdy, yes," Peter said, shaking his head. "Other than Agnes, the five of us were quite literally all he had."

Mike shook his head. "Wow...kinda sad, ain't it?"

Peter sighed, looking over his shoulder. "We need to tell them... you or me, Mike?"

"Why don't you tell them?" Mike suggested. "Man, I still can't believe he's really gone..."

"Me either." Peter stood up. "Davy, Micky... would you come here please?" He moved to the couch.

Davy put down his pencil and got up. He dashed into the living room, and hopped up on the couch. Noticing how quiet Peter was, he too became solemn. "What's going on?"

Peter put an arm around the boy and pulled him close. Quietly, he said, "That was Mrs. Purdy. Mr. Babbitt had a heart attack last night."

Micky drew in a horrified breath and shot a question to Mike with his eyes, which was answered when Mike bowed and shook his head, not meeting Micky's gaze. Micky's shoulders shuddered with a stifled cry.

Davy's eyes never left Peter's. "Is Mr. B gonna be okay?"

Peter shook his head. "No, Davy... he's ... he... He died last night."

Davy's eyes grew wide and filled with tears. "You mean he...he's gone? He can't be gone! I just saw him yesterday!"

"He's gone, Davy. Sometimes people die suddenly... and that's what happened to him."

Suddenly, Davy leaned over burying his head in Peter's chest, and began to sob. "Bu-but, now who's gonna help me with my math...and come over and pester about the rent...an'...an'..."

"We'll find out tonight," Peter said softly, stroking the boy's hair. "We're to go listen to his will being read."

Davy didn't even look up. "I don't even know what a will is," he mumbled against Peter's shirt. "But, if it won't bring him back, then what good is it?"

Peter sighed. "That's a good question, son," he said softly. "A very good question."

At the funeral home, Mrs. Purdy met the four at the doorway. "Michael," she said, embracing Mike. "So glad you could make it... Peter... Micky..." embracing each in turn. Then she stopped and gawked at Davy. "Oh my... you've grown so much..."

"You say that every time you see me..." Davy informed her, earning him Micky's hand clamped over his mouth.

She chuckled. "Come on in," she said, standing aside. "The lawyer's about to begin."

Once they were all seated, the lawyer began to read the will. They learned Babbitt's first name was Henry. First of all came the usual sound of mind and body jazz, then instructions to Agnes to be executrix of his estate... followed by one special instruction to her.

"...and," the lawyer read. "It is my wish that Agnes be available afternoons and early evenings in case a boy named David needs help with math. You will meet him soon enough... he's a special kid."

Davy grinned. "He remembered!" was all he said.

The lawyer read on, "As for the two rental properties I hold, I hereby bequeath both of them into the names of Messers. Michael Nesmith, Peter Tork and Michael Dolenz, with the stipulation that they permit Alice Purdy to live in her home till she dies. The beach house they reside in is now theirs, free and clear."

The boys exchanged shocked stares. "Well, I'll be," Mike muttered.

Peter turned to Mrs. Purdy, smiling. "Even if Mr. B hadn't specified it, you would have been welcome to live in that house as long as you liked."

She simply nodded, smiling, and squeezed his hand.

"And lastly," the lawyer said, "To David Jones, I leave my house and all within it. He seems to have a fondness for my piano, so it is his. You can do with it what ever you wish as soon as you reach the age of 22, son. That's all I have. And that's all I can give. Of all the tenants I've had, you five have been my favorites. You've managed to take a crusty old fogy and show him life is still worth living. And from the bottom of my heart --- I thank you." The lawyer lay the paper down. "This concludes the will of Henry Babbitt."

Micky sighed as he looked at the sleeping figure in the bed. Davy had gained his adult height of 5'3” and his voice had begun to squeak like it was changing. The idle thought struck Micky that maybe 13 was a little early, but he remembered all people hit puberty at different times, so maybe this was when Davy had hit his the first time around.

Peter and Mike entered the bedroom. "You two ever gonna come to breakfast," Peter asked in a whisper.

"I don't wanna wake him up," Micky whispered. "I want to hold onto this as long as I can... he's hit puberty, man. He's not a kid anymore."

"All kids grow up fast, Mick," Mike said in a hushed tone. "And Davy, well, he grows up a lot faster than most kids. We just gotta accept that."

Micky raised almond-shaped eyes to meet chocolate brown ones. "It's time to tell him, isn't it?"

Mike nodded. "'Fraid, so, man," he whispered, resting a hand on Micky's shoulder. "He's gonna have to find out sooner or later. Kid's all ready asking too many questions...Why can't he go to school with the other kids, and all that jazz."

"Wake him up," Peter whispered. "Get him ready --- we'll tell him after breakfast."

Breakfast was a quiet, strained affair. Afterwards, Peter asked Davy to come sit on the couch. Peter sat on one side of him, Mike on the other. Micky sat on the couch arm behind Mike.

Davy studied each of his fathers in turn, his brown eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Is something going on?" he asked, his voice cracking on the last syllable.

"I'm afraid so, Dave," Micky said quietly. "You're old enough now... well, it's time we answered a lot of your questions."

"Questions? Oh, come on fellas you gave me the old 'birds and the bees' speech a couple of months ago!" Davy protested.

Three pairs of eyes met. Davy's couple of months had been only two days ago. He seemed to see himself as growing at a normal rate --- no wonder he got so confused!

"It's not those questions, Davy," Peter said, slightly flustered. He'd thought he was gonna have a heart attack when he'd lost the finger shoot and had to give that speech!

"Okay..." Davy said, frowning slightly. "So, what kind of questions are you gonna answer for me then?"

"The ones you keep asking about yourself," Peter said softly. "Ask them again... and we'll answer them."

Davy thought for a moment, and then understanding gradually registered in his eyes. "You mean like how come I can't go to school with the other kids?" he asked, his voice becoming soft and thoughtful.

The three parents nodded in unison.

"Well, how come?" Davy demanded. "And how come everyone is always surprised by 'how much I've grown' since the last time they've seen me! I hate it when adults tell me that!"

"They wont' tell you that anymore," Peter said. "This is as tall as you're gonna get."

"And you can't go to school with other kids because... well... because you're not like other kids!" Micky put in.

Davy didn't seem to hear what Micky said, he was staring at Peter, incredulously. "Whadda ya mean this is as tall as I'm gonna get? I'm barely five feet tall! You guys are all tall! Why wouldn't I grow to be as tall as you?!"

Peter closed his eyes and lay a hand on Davy's shoulder. When he opened them, they were gentle. "You are your full adult height. You were only five foot three Before. And you are five foot three now."

"Before?" Davy asked.

Mike nodded. "Before...well...before all of 'this' happened." He paused, looking back at Micky for help. These 'father-to-son' talks had never come easy for him.

Micky slid off the couch arm and crouched in front of Davy. "Do you remember hearing us talk about Before among ourselves?"

Davy nodded, slowly. "Uh-huh...But, you always seem real sad when you mention it, 'specially Mike...So, I never wanted to bring it up. What is Before? Before what?"

"Before you were transformed," Peter said softly. "You're not Davy Jones Jr. You're Davy Jones."

"That's crazy!" Davy protested. "Then I'd have to be my own father, or something!"

"Your biological father's name was Thomas Jones. He lived in England. You were raised in England, Davy. You came here when you were fifteen after your parents were killed. And you moved in with us when we formed the Monkees four years later."

The boy shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. "But, I'm only thirteen now," he protested.

"Now," Mike repeated, his voice soft. "Davy, a little over a year ago you, well, you had an accident. Something happened, and Father Time turned back the clock on you, so to speak..."

Peter sighed and took up the tale, noting Davy's confused expression. "Davy, you went to a party with a girl named Anne. Near as we can figure, see we weren't there, you and Anne went to the party but you came walking home alone. On the beach, you met a pretty brunette named Chronaeia. And... well, Davy, Before, you weren't very nice to girls. You were... were...."

"You were sort of a love them and leave them guy," Micky filled in. "And you hurt a lot of women very deeply. Chronaeia, well, she was really pretty and from what she told us, you asked her for a kiss. Apparently she refused and you... well...."

"Pressed the issue," Peter finished. "Only she was Father Time's daughter. And he showed up mad and to teach you manners, and respect, he..." Peter looked at Mike.

"He turned you into an infant," Mike finished, "and left us in charge of raising you properly. You see, kiddo, now you're, well, you're like a son to us...But, Before, you were...one of our closest friends."

"You grow too fast to be in school," Micky said. "You age at a year every calendar month. You'll keep aging that way till you reach 22. Then you'll age normally."

Davy just looked from Micky, to Mike, to Peter, his expression one of pure disbelief. He forced a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, yeah, that's real funny!" he said, his voice cracking painfully. "Father Time...sure...which one of you thought this one up? Micky, it was you right?" There was no answer. The three adults just looked at one another with solemn expressions. "Guys?" Davy repeated. "You are kidding...aren't you?"

Peter got up and produced a key from on top of the refrigerator. He moved to a small cabinet near the bandstand and unlocked it for the first time in Davy's memory. He pulled out a small box and two large books and moved back to his place. Peter laid one of the books in Davy's lap and told him to open it. Davy found it was a photo album.

Davy slowly leafed through the pages, and found himself seeing not only his past...but his future. His hands trembled as he flipped through page after page of photos. Pictures of his three dads with another young man... him.

Playing on the bandstand... in a club... horsing around on the beach... usually with a different lovely lady on his arm in every picture... an older him.

And the pictures broke off abruptly... replaced by photos he barely remembered being taken...of him as he remembered himself... with his dads... a baby... a child...

Davy remained silent for several minutes. "Then, it's true?" he whispered at last. "That guy...that man in those pictures...is me?"

"Was you," Mike corrected. "Before."

Peter handed the box to Micky, who opened it. Several objects littered it. Micky held one up -- a silver class ring with a blue stone. "This never left your finger Before. Chronaeia brought it to us after you'd been transformed."

Davy took the ring from Micky, holding it up to the light for closer examination. "May I?" he asked, gently.

They nodded. "It is yours," Peter pointed out.

Davy slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand. It was a loose fit, but it fit him, none-the-less.

"It was your high school class ring," Micky said softly. "From England -- you graduated two years early."

The boy didn't even answer; he just stared down at his hand, numbly. "What else did you save...?" he asked, after a moment.

Peter laid a hand on his shoulder again. "You don't remember any of this, do you? We found out when you were about five... that your memories may have been erased."

Davy felt the tears that he had fought against so hard begin to spill down his cheeks. He shook his head, and when he spoke his voice quavered slightly. "N-no..." he mumbled. "It...I don't...I can't remember any of this...I can't believe what you're telling me...That, that everything - my whole childhood is just a lie!"

"It's not a lie," Micky said, laying a hand on his knee. "It's your life. You got a chance to grow up all over again. Any adult I know of that had a happy childhood would kill for that chance. And you got it."

From the look on Davy's face it was clear that he was not believing a word of it. "Would you have wanted this to happen if you were me...were him?" he demanded.

After a moment, Micky shook his head. "But the friendship we shared with him turned into something more precious, Davy. The three of us love you now. You are our son. And that is something we wouldn't trade for the world."

Davy nodded, sniffling. He glanced over at Peter. "What else did you save?" he asked, shyly. "I...I want to know what he - what I - was like Before."

"You're nothing like him," Peter said. "He was right handed, a little arrogant... and very cocky. You're a kind, loving boy."

Micky held up a folded square of leather. It was Davy's wallet.

The boy frowned slightly. "How come you kept that?" he asked Micky.

Micky smiled and pulled out a still-unexpired driver's license. "It'll still be good when you reach legal driving age. It has your birthdate on it. December 30, 1945."

"So, technically," Davy said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, "I could drive now and I wouldn't be breaking any laws or anything..."

"No, we'd just bust your butt if you tried it," Mike said just as quickly as the words exited Davy's mouth.

Peter hid the grin behind his steepled hands. Privately he was proud... Mike's cursing around Davy had all but stopped.

Davy crossed his arms over his chest and grumbled under his breath about never gettin' to have any fun...His curiosity quickly won out over his pride, however, and he was leaning forward again, trying to peer into the box. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Two more things," Micky said. He lifted out a small jewelry box. Inside, Davy found two wedding rings -- a man's and a woman's. "Your parents' rings," Micky said. "You kept them under your bed as a memory of them. We found them when we broke down your bed to install the crib."

Davy looked down at the jewelry box in Micky's hands, but made no move to take it from him. "I...I don't remember them," he said, feeling a fresh wave of tears. "You...you guys are the only parents I remember..."

Micky closed the jewelry box and set it aside without a word. Peter lowered his head so Davy wouldn't see the tears that had welled up at his sincere proclamation. Even Mike's eyes were none too dry at that one.

Micky blinked the tears away and lifted out the last item in the box --- a reel to reel tape. "This was the last thing we did Before," he said softly. "Would you like to hear what you sounded like?"

Davy nodded. "If you don't mind playing it...I - I'd kinda like to know how I'm gonna sound in a few years...Guess this has its advantages after all, huh?" he joked.

Micky shook his head. "Davy, you'll not sound like that again. Your voice is ... different."

Peter was stringing the reel to reel. Before Davy could react to Micky's statement, he looked up. "Ready, Champ?"

"Ready," Davy said, forcing a half-hearted smile.

Peter hit play and the distinctive flamenco guitar of Valleri poured into the room. Davy grinned, expecting to hear Peter's voice the way he always had.

Instead, a completely unfamiliar voice with a distinct accent sang the lead vocals. Davy's eyes widened in surprise. "Hey, how come that guy is singing instead of Peter?" he demanded.

"I took over the vocals on all the songs you sang lead on," Peter said simply, sitting on the bandstand.

"Y-you mean that guy is me?! But...how come I sound so funny?"

"That's you Before," Micky said softly. "We left the tape running after the song."

"Keep listening," Peter said softly as the final notes of the song began to play.

Once they had faded out, the four heard, "Ey, fellas, mind if we wrap it eahly t'nite? Annie-gi'l's waitin' for me. We're goin' to the Cassandra!"

"Sure, Dave," Peter said. He sounded different as well... almost vacuous. "Have fun, okay?"

The voice chuckled. "I will... aftah all, this is me, remembah? I always 'ave fun with th' ladies!"

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," Micky's voice cracked. "One of these days, you're gonna get into serious trouble, Davy."

"No way, I'm fine!" the voice laughed. "See ya, fellas. Don' wait up!"

"Bye, Davy," the three chorused.

Peter reached over and snapped off the tape.

Mike had closed his eyes, and now gently rubbed the bridge of his nose, blinking hard. "Wow..." was all he said.

Davy just stared at Peter, eyes wide. "That was me?" he asked, incredulous.

Peter nodded. "That was you."

"But I talked so funny," Davy said.

"You were British," Micky said softly. "That was your accent."

"...Oh...Hey, fellas?"

Three pairs of eyes turned to him questioningly.

"Do - Do you ever wish this hadn't happened...that he was still here instead of me?" Davy asked, his voice breaking as fresh tears slid down his cheeks.

"I used to all the time," Peter said. "But now... I can barely remember what life was like Before. It just seems... so much richer now."

Mike nodded, putting an arm around Davy's shoulders. "You're like - no you are a son to us, kiddo. Like it or not, we're stuck with ya!"

Micky slid onto the couch, adding his arm just below Mike's. "That's right, Champ. Before you were just a friend to us...now it's different... and we love you."

"Really?" Davy asked, wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve, sniffling slightly.

Peter crouched in front of him, laying his hands on Davy's knees. "Really, Champ. Legally, we became your fathers when you were a baby. Emotionally, we became your fathers as you grew. Now we can't imagine life without you as our boy."

Davy smiled, swiping a hand at his eyes. "Even when I don't listen, and I don't pick up after myself?"

Mike grinned. "Hey, if we went by that rule, then we'd of had to throw Micky out a long time ago!"

"Hey!" Micky bellowed.

"Even then," Peter said, laughing.

"Hey," Micky repeated, this time for Davy, "After school, you wanna jam with us again?"

"Yeah!" Davy said, jumping to his feet. "But, do we have to do school work first?"

"Yes!" his three fathers chorused.

Davy sighed, bowing his head. "Oh, all right. Back to the old, boring, routine..." he muttered, trudging out towards the kitchen.

And three small smiles crossed the adults' faces as they saw that he'd kept the class ring on.

Davy came down the metal staircase, tucking his turtleneck in and finger-combing his longish hair. He had not grown any more – Peter had been right. Now that he was 16 ½, he was finally convinced – this was as tall as he would get.

He hated being short.

Peter watched him and sighed. Davy was frowning again. He seemed to be frowning all the time anymore — and Peter wasn't at all convinced that it was totally due to the braces that forced Davy's full lips into a semi-permanent pout.

Davy came into the kitchen and snagged some orange juice, then went to the bandstand and sat down, staring out the bay window, lost in thought.

"It's almost noon," Peter whispered to Micky. "Just think — two more months and your teaching job is over."

Micky sighed, nodding. "Yeah... and you know something, Pete? I'm gonna miss it!"

Peter shrugged. "You could always substitute, you know."

The other man looked surprised. "I couldn't do that!" he protested. "I mean, I have a job — I’m a musician!"

"Who always needs money," Peter said. "If you substituted, you'd still get to teach and you'd help us out too — and besides, we never play during the day – practice is always after five and our gigs are in the evening!"

"I dunno, man. You really think I could?" Micky asked, furrowing his brow in thought.

"You have been for ten months," Peter pointed out, pouring the last of the batter into the waffle maker. "One kid ... and he turned out pretty good. If subbing isn't your bag, maybe you could tutor. You're good at that — look at how you taught Davy fractions!"

"Yeah.... That was actually kinda fun!" Micky muttered, thoughtful. "Aw, I dunno. Something to think about, I guess..."

"What is?" Mike asked, coming down the stairs to join the group.

"I'm trying to tell Micky he'd be a good tutor or substitute teacher." Peter smiled over his shoulder.

"Actually, that's not a bad idea, Mick," Mike said, shrugging. "You're pretty good at it ... Davy sure seemed to think so!"

Micky chewed his lower lip, thoughtfully. "Yeah, all right.... I'll think about it. Couldn't hurt to give it a try, right? Besides, I don't think any kid could prove to be more of a challenge than Davy!"

Davy sighed suddenly and shifted position on the bandstand. "Papa Mike?" he called out, and the other three instantly knew something was up.

Davy still only called them ‘Papa' when his emotions were running high.

Mike looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Something on your mind, Davy?"

Davy turned and tucked his legs under him. "You taught me to drive, right?"

A shadow of doubt crossed Mike's face. "Right..." he said, slowly, grimacing as the all-too-recent memories of Davy's first driving lesson flooded his mind.

"And that license is good for two more years, right?"

"Yeah, technically...." Mike said, his voice wary.

Davy stood on the bandstand, bringing him eye to eye with Mike. "Then why the hell won't you let me drive?"

The outburst caught Mike completely off-guard. He stood for a moment, too stunned to speak. But the surprise was quickly replaced by anger. "I'd watch my temper if I were you, son," he said in a dangerously calm tone. "We've already talked about this."

"Well we're talkin' about it again," Davy said, his clipped tone showing how hard he was struggling to keep the flare-up down. "‘Because you need more practice' ain't gonna fly, Papa Mike! How'm I gonna get it, unless you let me do it?"

"He's gotcha there," Peter whispered in Mike's ear.

Mike glared at Peter. "Stay outta this," he growled.

Peter raised both hands and retreated to where Micky stood. "Rock and a hard place butting heads," he whispered.

Micky nodded, covering his mouth to suppress a snicker.

Mike shot a cold look in his friends' direction, and then turned back to Davy. "All right, why don't you tell me how your gettin' into a wreck with my car, ‘cause you're too careless to pay attention to the other drivers, is gonna make you a better driver!"

"I'm not careless! I pay attention!" Davy said, waving his hand to prove his point —

And knocking the cymbal off the drum set.

Mike just raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Davy, your definition of careful and mine don't seem to meet eye to eye.

Davy was red-faced. "I'm better out there..." he began, but he'd lost and he knew it.

And Mike knew it too. "You are not taking the car — and that's final!"

"You're not fair!" Davy screeched.

The older man shook his head. "Maybe you don't think I'm bein' fair now," he said. "But maybe if you'd stop bein' so bull-headed you could see that we set rules for your own good!"

Davy shook his head, too angry to trust himself to speak. Suddenly whirling, he kicked out as hard as he could. His foot smashed through the bass drum, and he raced through the verandah doors, out to the beach, before anyone could react.

Mike's shaking hands were clenched fists at his sides. "Would one of you please go try to pound some sense into that boy's thick skull?" he asked, straining to keep his temper in check.

Peter moved to the bandstand, and Mike barely caught the mumble about a pot and a black kettle....

"Don't start," Mike growled, shaking his head.

Micky snickered, but said nothing. Instead, he joined Peter on the bandstand and knelt down to examine the damage to his precious bass drum.

"Replaceable?" Peter asked, fingering the leather piece that dangled from the rim. "Or do we need to buy a new drum?"

"What we need," Mike called, "is a new kid!"

Micky just shook his head. "I can probably patch up the damage," he said, sighing. "Kid could've been a place kicker – he certainly didn't show this drum any mercy!"

"Well at least it wasn't a fist through a wall," Peter said with a look at Mike. "Last thing we needed was another doctor bill for a busted hand!"

Mike snorted. "That was a long time ago ... and *I* had every reason to lose my temper..."

"Yeah," Peter said, sitting down and crossing his arms over his knees. "Your mother got remarried. Real excuse for losing it."

Mike opened his mouth, and then closed it. He looked over at Peter, thoughtful. "Just what exactly are you tryin' to say?"

"I'm trying to say that he takes after you more than you realise ... and that he's having a hard time right now. Sixteen's a tough age to begin with ... and he's having to deal with being an unconventional boy in an unconventional family –"

"--- with having a railroad track in his mouth..." Micky put in.

"--- with having a – hey!" Peter glared at him. "No help, thank you very much!"

"Any time," Micky said, grinning.

Mike just sighed. "Okay, Pete, I think I see what you're gettin' at... But, just because the kids' havin' a rough time of it doesn't mean he should be able to get whatever he wants... I never did when I was his age!"

"Neither did we," Peter said. "Mick, why don't you go calm down the rock while I talk sense into the hard place?"

Micky smiled at Peter, giving him a mock salute. "Roger that," he said, standing.

Davy sat, curled up on a small ball, watching the waves roll in and out. Playing percussion all his life had taught him to look for the rhythms in things, and he let the rhythm of the waves lull his anger away.

I shouldn't have lost it back there, he thought. Papa Mike is so mad he'd probably shoot me on sight... Papa Micky will never forgive me for the drum....

Davy lowered his head to the crook of his arms and sighed morosely.

What am I gonna do now? All I wanted was a little freedom ... and now I've alienated the only family I've ever known... None of them will ever talk to me again ... I just know it....

If Davy heard the sound of Micky's footsteps on the sand, he made no move to acknowledge it. "Hey, Kiddo!" Micky called out, coming up behind him. "What're you doing out here all by yourself? You've got school work to do this afternoon, you know..."

"I know." Davy raised his head just enough to peer at Micky. "Just thought I'd come out here and let the salt air rust my mouth."

Micky chuckled, flopping down beside him.

"What are you doing here, Papa Micky?"

Micky shrugged. "Well, Davy, you stormed off in such a hurry that I never got a chance to talk to you."

"What's there to talk about?" Davy sighed. He lowered his head.

"You seem kinda upset," Micky pointed out. "Why don't we talk about that?"

"So talk," Davy mumbled.

Micky sighed. "Davy, you're going through a tough time right now, and we know that. I mean being sixteen is never easy... and for you with, well, with our situation, it's bound to be even harder..."

"Your point, Papa Mick?"

"Not one to mince words, are ya Dave?" Micky teased. "Anyhow, the point is that we don't blame you for getting upset once in a while... we, well, we love you and we just want to do what's best for you, that's all. And, sure, Mike loses his temper with you once in a while ... but that's just Mike! I mean, he gets mad at me, too! And we all lose our tempers, we're human! Do you see what I'm saying?"

"Papa Peter never loses his."

"Well..." Micky said, hesitating briefly. "I'm sure that even Peter loses his temper once in a while... You just aren't around to see it."

Davy sighed. "You want me back in the band... like he was...."

"Only if you want to be, Davy..." Micky said, slowly. "No one's going to force you to do anything that you don't want to do."

"Jammin's fun, you know?" Davy shrugged. "But I'd... kinda like to do something else with my life... You three are really a trio, you don't need me to complete your sound — it sounds good as is!"

Micky looked startled by the admission. "Maybe we don't need you in the band, Davy... but, we'd like to have you play with us." He shrugged. "What sort of ‘something else' did you have in mind?"

"Well..." Davy looked up, his face animated for the first time that day. "Doc Beverly took me to the zoo again... and she introduced me to the veterinarian. I... I think that's a fascinatin' job."

"A vet?" Micky said, his eyes widening with surprise.

Davy's face fell. "You... you don't think it's a good idea."

"Davy, man, it's not that... I mean being a veterinarian takes a lot of hard work... that's like being a doctor or something! And what about your fear of horses?"

Davy chuckled. "Doc Beverly said she'd help me get over it."

"A vet..." Micky shook his head. "That's a lot of work," he repeated. "But, if you decide that's what you really want to do, we'll back you up on it. One hundred percent. Just be sure you think it through, huh?"

Davy smiled, the sun glinting off the metalwork. "I promise, Micky... And hey, maybe I can still jam with you guys anyway! I don't wanna lose that...."

"Anytime, Kiddo," Micky said, slapping him on the back. "I don't wanna lose that either!"

The teenager's arms wound around Micky's neck. "I love you, Papa Mick," Davy whispered.

Micky closed his eyes against the tears that welled up inside them. "Hey, I love you, too, Champ," he said softly. "Now why don't we head back inside? They're probably wondering where we're at by now."

Davy broke the embrace and sat back, wiping his hands on his jeans. "If it's all the same t'you, I'd rather stay out here a little longer... I wanna do some thinkin'."

"All right, Davy," Micky said, standing. "If you need anything, just holler, okay?"

"A day off from school would be nice," Davy grinned.

Micky rolled his eyes. "Nice try!"

"Ah, well..." Davy sighed. "I'll be in by one."

"Good. We're gonna start Geometry today... and I know you don't want to miss that," Micky said, with a teasing smile.

"Don't be so sure..." Davy said, standing up and walking away from Micky, down the beach, hands jammed into his jeans pockets.

The smile slowly faded from Micky's face. "Okay, Davy... just be in by one..." he called, before turning and heading back towards the Pad. He jogged up the rickety stairs and let himself in through the sliding glass door.

Mike and Peter were standing by the window, waiting. "Well?" Mike demanded as soon as Micky stepped inside.

"Where's Davy?" Peter asked.

Micky shrugged. "He wanted to take a walk... kid's got a lot on his mind."

Peter nodded. "Did you get him calmed down? Did you get anything settled?"

"What's to settle anyhow?" Mike put in. "Davy's only sixteen; he's still just a kid. What's he got to worry about anyhow?"

"Well..." Micky said, slowly. "For one thing, he's been doing a lot of thinking about the future. He wants to... uhm... well, he wants to be a vet."

"He wants to what?" Peter and Mike chorused, stunned.

Micky winced. "I guess that Doc Beverly took him to the zoo, and he got to talking to the veterinarian there ... and he just thought it'd be a neat job to have, you know?"

"But the band..." Peter breathed.

"He doesn't think we need him..." Micky said softly. "He says that we sound fine as a trio."

"Like hell we do!" Mike snapped. "So he's just gonna desert us, is that it?"

"He's not deserting us!" Micky protested. "All the kid wants is a chance.... Davy still wants to jam with us; he just doesn't want to play with us professionally."

"Well, isn't that generous?" Mike muttered.

Peter stepped forward. "Michael... he may be right. All he's seen growing up is us and our music... maybe this is just part of growing up. Maybe he just wants to make his own way, find out his own identity apart from his parents ... I, for one, am behind him in this. If he wants to be a vet, I say go for it!"

"I told him we'd support him one hundred percent..." Micky put in. "All of us."

Mike's expression remained dark. "A veterinarian – Davy! Well, let him try it – let him find out that college's not that easy!"

"Will you support him even if he decides not to be a musician, Michael?" Peter asked gravely.

"Of course I'll support him," Mike grumbled, glaring at Peter. "He's still my son, isn't he?"

Peter nodded slowly. "Then show him, Michael."

Micky nodded in agreement. "Yeah, man, he knows that we're behind him... all he really wants is your approval, Mike. Heck, that's all any kid wants – to know that their parents are behind them."

Mike's expression softened somewhat. "All right, okay, I'll go talk to him. There. Are you happy?"

"No," came the soft tenor from the bandstand. Davy had come in and was glaring at Mike. "I don't want your approval, Papa Mike. Not if it's given with a chip on your shoulder."

All three men looked over at the bandstand, startled. "Davy!" Mike said, eyes widening. "How long've you been standing there?"

"Long enough." The boy's voice was hard. "Thanks for your support, Papa Mick... Papa Pete... they mean the world to me. But I'm gonna follow my heart, Papa Mike — whether or not you are behind me."

Mike bowed his head, Davy's words draining the last of his anger. "Listen, kid..." he began. "I didn't say that I wouldn't support you – I just want you to think things through! I don't want ya makin' the same mistakes that I made..."

"I'll think it through! I‘ll think long and hard about... what mistakes?" Davy gasped.

Mike shrugged. "I was never very happy with my home life, Davy. When I turned eighteen, I just wanted to get out of there... Never bothered to think about what I was gonna do, or anything. I joined the Air Force, figured that any place would be better than where I was.... and well, I didn't like it to say the least... I wasn't happy.... and I ended up doing something stupid and getting thrown out. Mistakes like that don't just go away, you know.... they haunt you for the rest of your life. Just make sure ya think things through."

Davy gaped for a moment, then stepped off the bandstand and held up his hand. "I swear it, Papa Mike. I will."

Mike nodded, and when he spoke next his tone was soft. "Hey, Davy...why do ya wanna go away to school.... You're not... well, you're happy here, aren't ya? We try to be good to ya... do what's right...."

"You are good to me..." Davy said, also in a soft voice. "And I'm not goin' away. Doc Beverly says she can get me into UCLA. I'll still be livin' here."

Mike frowned for a moment. "You'd... you'd stay here?" he asked, wanting to be sure he'd heard right.

Davy nodded, smiling again.

"Well, I figured a smart kid like you'd probably wanna go to Yale, or somethin'!" Mike muttered, scratching his head. "You know, if you wanted to go, we'd find a way to afford it..."

"If I keep my grades up, Doc Beverly can get me in on scholarship... and I'd still have time I think to play with you three..." Davy frowned. "Unless... after this you don't want me to be in the band anymore..."

Peter and Micky both looked at Mike, expectantly, and he sighed. "Davy, of course we still want you to play with us, man. I mean... if you didn't, well, I'd...Well, I'd miss ya!"

Davy stood still for a moment, and then he closed the distance in one swift movement, flinging his arms around Mike's waist and hugging him tight.

Mike hesitated for a moment, and then he returned the embrace. "I guess maybe I shouldn't have lost my temper," he mumbled grudgingly. "I guess I just hate to see you growing up so damn fast!"

Davy looked up at him, still hugging him. "So I can drive tonight?" he asked with a grin.

"Not unless ya want to be seen driving your old man around," Mike said, winking at him. "Cause there ain't no way I'm letting my sixteen-year-old son drive my car by himself."

"Here we go again," Micky muttered, rolling his eyes.

Davy lay on his bed, turning the small picture over and over in his hands.

Christine....

He sighed. He'd never felt this way about anyone in his life. Was this... was this love? This was so different from what he felt for his dads, but somehow just as strong...

Davy sat up and sighed. There was one way he knew to find out if she felt the same for him.

"I'm gonna tell her," he decided, going downstairs and reaching for the phone. Ten minutes later, Davy and Christine were walking on the beach. "Christine," Davy asked suddenly, "how old are you?"

She frowned. "Twenty. Same as you."

Davy licked his lips. "Yeah... well... you see... technically I'm 23. But I've only been... aware... the last twenty months."

Christine stopped walking and frowned at him. "‘Aware'?"

Davy blew the air out of his cheeks. "That came out wrong," he sighed. He licked his lips. "Christine... maybe you'd better sit down."

She did, and Davy told her everything. At the end of it, her mouth worked, but no sound came out.

"Christine?"

Christine blinked at him. "David... this is... incredible."

His face crumpled and he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Maybe... we'd better get back to the house."

"Yeah..." she stood up. "I'm sorry... this is a bit much...."

"You don't believe me," Davy said with a resigned sigh.

"I..." was all Christine could say.

Davy sighed again and they walked in silence the rest of the way to the house.

When they walked in, Davy stopped short, nearly causing Christine to crash into him.

Peter, Micky, and Mike stood in a small semicircle facing the couch. A tall brunette stood with her back to Davy, facing his fathers. She turned, and smiled at him. He gasped as he heard her voice in his mind. Ah, you're here. Good. This does concern you, after all.

"What concerns me?" Davy asked, instinctively pushing Christine behind him to protect her. "What's this all about?"

Relax, young one – I'm not here to harm you. You don't remember me, I see. My name is Chronaeia.

"This is Father Time's daughter," Peter said softly.

Christine looked at Davy. "Father.... It's true?"

"It's true," Davy said with a sigh. "No offense meant... but what are you doing here?"

The ethereal woman smiled. I've a message for your fathers, David. She turned to Peter, Micky and Mike. Father Time is pleased. The boy is much changed from the arrogant one I encountered on the beach these many months ago. Her smile grew.

He is happy, adjusted, kind, sensitive – she chuckled. Yes, the boy has a temper, but it is itself tempered by a love that was not there before — a love for others greater than love for himself.

The woman inclined her head to the three parents. You have done very well. As your reward — we lift the remaining time. With that, she laid a hand on Davy's shoulder.

Davy gasped as three years were added to his age in an instant. The others gaped as his hair lengthened and shortened repeatedly – ending up just long enough to kiss the middle of his neck.

Chronaeia smiled and stepped back. You are now as old as you were when you were first transformed, plus the twenty months that have gone by. You will now age at a normal rate.

She turned and waved a hand. Three wallets appeared on the chaise lounge. The last of the money. We are aware of how you have saved and prepared for the day when it will no longer come. We are proud of that as well. You have proven yourselves wise and capable parents. Your ultimate reward, however, is not monetary — It is the bond forged between the three of you and the son you have reared. It is seeing him grow into a fine human being. That is its own reward. And we are so proud.... And she faded away.

Davy shook his head, trying to dispel the shock of his final rapid aging. Christine laid her hands on his shoulders and supported him till he got control of himself.

After a few moments, he turned and smiled at her — a smile full of joy and warmth that melted her heart. He then turned to his fathers. "I'm grown now," he said softly.

"You certainly are," Peter said in a whisper.

Then Davy flung his arms around Christine and lifted her up, swinging her around and around, cheering in celebration. Two of his fathers joined him.

Mike slid behind the staircase, phone in hand. He plugged one ear and spoke into the receiver. "Hello, UCLA? Yes, could you please send us information on your small animal veterinary program? ... Yes, my son wants to enroll...."

Mike snorted and let the curtain fall as he turned around and perched on the sill. "Perfect timing," he spat sarcastically. "Just the day we needed a wreck to close the freeway!"

Micky snorted as well, glancing up from his lesson plans. "Knowing Davy, he's probably in the thick of things!"

Micky's wife Mary passed behind him, swatting him on the head. "Behave!" she scolded. "Davy's not always in the middle of things!"

"No, just usually," Micky argued, setting his paperwork aside for the moment.

Peter came down the spiral staircase, his wife Kay behind him. "Any word?" they chorused, then exchanged dimpled smiles.

"Not yet," Mike sighed, absently twisting his own wedding ring.

Peter laid a hand on his shoulder. "They'll be here. All of them."

"I know," Mike sighed, nervously scratching the beard he'd grown two years before. "First her plane's late, then this damn wreck backs up traffic all afternoon..."

"And Davy and Christine live right near where the wreck was," Micky sighed.

"And they'd obviously not left yet, or they'd have been here by now," Mike sighed.

"I'm going home," Kay said suddenly. "Maybe I'll hear something on the radio."

"Yeah, me too," Mike said, standing up. They left the Pad and moved toward their homes – Mike's next door, Peter's wife heading across the street to what long ago had been Babbitt's house.

Micky tried to go back to his lesson plans, but lay the pencil down as he sighed in frustration. "You'd think it wouldn't take this long to drive across LA," he grumbled. "That damn wreck..."

Peter moved to the bandstand. His fingers lightly touched the framed photo there – of the three of them surrounding a beaming Davy and Christine the day they'd opened their Small Animals Clinic across town. Four years... and the Clinic was successful beyond their wildest dreams....

With a jolt, Peter pulled himself to the present, heat flooding his cheeks as he realised he'd been told something and it hadn't registered. "I'm sorry.... what?"

Micky was grinning. "Someone just pulled up. Dunno who yet — Davy and Isabel both have red cars."

Peter joined Micky and Mary by the window. He saw Kay emerge from his own house and Mike come down the stairs from next door, both sets of eyes riveted on the car as the door opened.

Mike was suddenly moving at a run, closing the gap and crushing his five-foot-nothing wife to him, his mouth hungrily claiming hers. Isabel surrendered to the kiss, both of them forgetting they were in public, that they were being watched — only knowing at that moment that the book tour had taken her away for two weeks and now they were together again....

Kay and Peter cleared their throats simultaneously and Mike broke the kiss, laying his forehead on Isabel's and chuckling. "Welcome home."

"Mm." She kissed him again, briefly, and grinned. "With a welcome like that, I'll have to go away more often."

He crushed her close for a second, then released her except for an arm around her waist. "You do," he whispered with a wink, "and I'll be sorry."

"You have been hangin' out with Micky too much."

Mike chuckled and kissed her forehead, steering her into the house.

Isabel frowned, looking around. "I thought there was a car missing. Where are Davy and Christine?"

"They're not here yet," the five chorused.

The frown deepened. "They're letting traffic through again... they should be here soon."

"I hope so," Micky sighed, rubbing his eyes.

As if on cue, a red car pulled up. Davy got out and moved to the house while Christine stayed behind long enough to unbuckle their daughter.

Removing his sunglasses, Davy shook his head in exasperation. "I'm sorry," he said. "We had an emergency at the Clinic and then that damn wreck..."

"Daddy said a bad word!" Lisa Jones gasped in astonishment.

Peter and Micky grinned at Mike, who turned devilishly gleaming eyes onto Davy. "Harder'n it sounds to break, isn't it?"

Davy chuckled.

Lisa squirmed from Christine's grasp and raced to Mike, wrapping her chubby arms around him. "Happy birfday, Pa-Paw," she said.

He picked Lisa up and smiled. "Thank you, Lisa. Did you tell your dad happy birthday this mornin'?"

"Nope!" she grinned. "Daddy moved his birfday!"

"What?" the others gasped, looking at Davy.

"I've thought about this for a few years now..." Davy said, sliding an arm around Christine. "He was born December 30, 1945. I was born February first, 1967."

"That makes sense," Peter said, taking the girl from Mike. "Where's my hug, Little Bit?"

"Right here, G'andaddy," Lisa said, hugging him.

"And mine?" Micky asked, tapping her small shoulder.

"G'ampa," she chuckled, hugging him too, somehow managing to stay in Peter's grasp as she did so.

Mike smiled at the child, and then turned to Davy. "Are you sure about this?"

Davy nodded.

"Well then," Mike said with a slight smile. "I reckon we'll be havin' two parties next February!"

Davy's smile grew.

"Speaking of parties," Mary laughed. "Let's get this one underway!"

And with much laughter and fun, music and merriment — that's just what they did.

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