The front door to the pad swung open. The person that walked in held several boxes, blocking their view, and only their legs could be seen. They stopped in the middle of the room, paused, then bent down, leaving the boxes stacked in the middle of the room.

Micky straightened and looked around the room, grinning broadly. "This is gonna be so much fun!"

Peter entered next, looking very much like Micky did, except that he could just barely see over his boxes. "I can't wait to get started." He smiled, setting his boxes down next to Micky's.

Davy came in, also carrying several boxes, but couldn't see. Just before he ran into the other two, Micky pulled the top box away and grinned at the shorter man. "Thanks, Mick."

Micky opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Mike's entrance. The Texan entered empty-handed and muttering, with his arms crossed. Micky smirked and said for Peter and Davy to hear. "And here comes Scrooge, himself." This caused Davy to chuckle, while Peter shook his head slightly.

The guys had lived together for several years, yet every Christmas they went through the same thing: Micky trying to make everything wonderfully festive only to have Mike throw a wet blanket on practically the entire holiday. Micky understood that Mike didn't exactly have it all that good growing up in Texas, but did he have to bring all of them down with it? Micky didn't think so. He thought it was about time that Mike grew out of it and had nearly told him so every year.

Mike joined the others and motioned to the rather large pile of boxes. "I don't see why you need so many decorations. You could use all these on three houses."

Micky pointed at one box. "This one is all garland." He pointed at another. "Ornaments." He pointed at a third. "Lights--"

Mike held both hands up. "I get the point, Mick, but it's too much."

"Then leave this too large pile of decorations to me! I'll decorate and you can do your imitation of Ebenezer Scrooge!" Micky exclaimed, throwing his arms out.

Mike glared at the curly-haired man. He opened his mouth, but closed it, and then finally replied with, "Fine," turned on his heels, and made his way up the spiral staircase. He slammed the door to the upstairs bedroom behind him.

Micky sighed. "The main thing I hate about arguing with him is when he closes himself in our room, then I can't go in there until he no longer wants to wring my neck." He smirked at the others, who were frowning.

"Micky, I think you were too hard on Michael," Peter said, his gaze flicking towards the second floor.

"Yeah, mate, you know that Christmas 'as nevah exactly been Mike's favahrite 'oliday," Davy pointed out.

"I know that, but he doesn't have to drag us down with him!" Micky said, trying to get his own point across.

Peter gazed rather sadly at the boxes. "I'm not in the mood to decorate anymore. Sorry, Micky." He turned and headed for his own room.

Micky made a move to follow the blond man, but was stopped by Davy. "Mick..."

Micky turned to him. "You gonna bail out, too?"

Davy nodded. "Besides, I've got a date in less than an 'ouah that I've gotta get ready for." He made his way to the downstairs bedroom that he shared with Peter, leaving Micky alone in the middle of the living room.

Micky sighed. "All I want is a happy holiday for a change, is that so much to ask for?" He knelt by one box and opened it, then pulled out a short string of garland. He straightened and draped the garland around the back of his neck, criss-crossed it over his chest, around his back, then caught it up in front by tucking the ends into his pants pockets. He knelt back down and opened another box. He sighed again and began to sing "Silent Night" in a quiet voice.

* * * * *

Micky dragged the ladder out of the garage and into the living room. None of the others had left their rooms yet, not even Davy and he had a date, supposedly, about 15 minutes away. He set up the ladder, picked up a string of lights and tape, then climbed the ladder, beginning to sing "Jingle Bells."

He was taping the string of lights to just below the second floor railing when Davy emerged. He walked quietly past Micky, but not without hearing the drummer's quiet singing. He knew Micky meant well, he just wasn't exactly going about it the right way. Davy shook his head as he slipped out the front door, closing it quietly behind him.

It didn't go unnoticed. Micky paused in his decorating and singing to look at the door. He frowned, then went back to his decorating, this time without singing.

* * * * *

It was just after midnight when Micky finished decorating the inside of the pad. They'd yet to get a tree and that was the only thing remaining. Mike and Peter had both emerged earlier in the night to have supper, except Mike took his back upstairs. Peter stayed at the table, seated across from Micky. Micky had mowed his down in record time as usual, then went back to decorating. Peter watched him from the table. He knew what had happened earlier in the day was bothering Micky, but he also knew Mike's point of view. And the one thing that Peter never wanted to do was choose sides. So, he remained silent, at the table. When he was done, he cleaned up the kitchen area, then retreated back to his room, leaving Micky alone once more.

Micky hadn't picked up on his singing again. That was the other part of decorating that he loved, was singing carols while doing so, but without the others, his heart wasn't into it. Or maybe it was, just not in the right mood. Either way, it just wasn't enjoyable. He spent the rest of the night trying his best to concentrate wholy on decorating, but his thoughts kept resurfacing. Eventually, he had removed the garland he'd decorated himself with.

Micky closed up the ladder and was about to take it back to the garage when he spotted a section of lights hanging too low. He sighed and set up the ladder once more. He grabbed the tape and climbed up, stopping on the second to last wrung, then taped the lights.

Davy entered and smirked. "Gee, Mick, I didn't actually think you 'ad enough space to use up all the decahrations."

"Huh?" Micky's head whipped around at the Englishman's surprise entrance. His balance was thrown and the ladder teetered, finally sending him to the floor and landing with a resounding thud. "Oww..."

Davy's eyes widened. "'Ey, Mick..." He went to Micky's side as he tried to right himself. "Mate, I'm sorry, didn't mean to sahprise you like that."

Micky waved him off, frowning. "Just fits with the rest of this day..." he muttered, then groaned. He grabbed at his left wrist, which had hit the floor before the rest of him. "Oh, great."

The door to the downstairs bedroom opened and Peter came out. He crossed and knelt by Micky, glancing up at Davy. "What happened?"

"Fell off the ladder," Micky answered, shortly, still holding his wrist.

"What's all the racket out here?" Mike asked from upstairs, rubbing at his eyes.

Micky frowned again. "What do you care, Mike?"

Mike leaned on the railing, giving him a pointed glare. "I care because you're my friend, even if I am mad at you for the way you're acting." He straightened and made his way down the stairs. He indicated the wrist Micky favored. "Think it's broken?"

Micky's eyebrows knitted together, but he kept his gaze on his wrist. "Dunno..." he muttered.

Mike turned, sighing. "Davy, get Mick to the hospital in your jeep, Pete and me will follow in the MonkeeMobile after we change." Davy nodded. Together, Mike and Peter helped Micky to his feet. "Anything else hurt?"

"My mood, my pride..."

"I meant physically," Mike corrected, flatly.

Micky shook his head. "Might have a few bruises, though."

Davy waved off Mike. "Come on, mate, let's get you checked out." He helped Micky out, as Mike and Peter went to change.

* * * * *

The guys returned to the pad almost two hours later. Mike entered first, followed by Peter and Davy, with Micky trailing behind, holding his now cast-covered left wrist.

"Looks like we'll get to see how good your drumming is, Dave," Mike stated, glancing at Micky, "unless we just want to give up our gigs altogether."

"I didn't do this on purpose, Mike!" Micky exclaimed, swinging both arms out to his sides again. He cringed and brought his left wrist to his chest.

"Well, what good is a drummer with a broken wrist?" Mike returned, his voice remaining level.

Peter frowned. "Guys, please, don't argue. It wasn't anyone's fault."

"Yeah, mates. I've gotten rathah good at drumming and Mick can still sing," Davy offered.

Mike chose to not continue on the subject. "I'm going back to bed." He turned and headed back up the spiral staircase. He slammed the door once he got in the room.

"I think... think I'll go spend the night at mom's," Micky said.

"I'll drive you, Mick--" Davy offered.

Micky waved it off. "Thanks, Dave, but the walk'll do me good. It only takes half an hour, anyway." He headed out the front door, still cradling his wrist, and swung the door closed after himself.

* * * * *

The walk actually hadn't done Micky any good. He just couldn't figure out what Mike was so mad about. He reached the front door of his mom's house and reached above the door frame, pulling the house key from it's hiding place. He let himself in and found the living room light on.

Janelle met him half way through the room. "Davy called and said you were coming," she explained. She tried to inspect his wrist, but he wouldn't let her move it from it's perch against his chest.

"I gotta talk to you about something, mom, and it isn't my wrist," he said, and the two went into the living room.

* * * * *

The next morning, Micky returned to the beach house. The talk he'd had with his mom had been about Mike and the way he acted around Christmastime. To him, it had seemed that she took Mike's side, although she never said so. Maybe he should just give up and let Mike drag him down, too, since it seemed to have already happened anyway.

Micky found the door unlocked, which meant someone was still there, he only hoped it wasn't... "Hi, Mike," he offered, rather weakly.

Mike looked up from his newspaper and gave him a nod, but said nothing.

Micky paused a moment, then crossed the room and sat at the table across from Mike. He stared at him until he looked up from the newspaper again.

"Micky, don't stare at me like that, it's creepy," Mike said.

"Why do you have to put down my decorating every year?"

Mike's eyes widened slightly at the direct question. "All I said was it's too much." He glanced around the room finding it really only a little over done. "It was only my opinion--"

"That's fine, Mike, but you offered it like I was committing a federal offense!"

"Micky, there's more to Christmas than decorating, you know."

"I know that." Micky sat back in his chair and began tracing figure eights on his cast. "That's just how I show my good spirits for the season."

"And this is how I show mine. I haven't changed, Mick. Okay, so ma and Aunt Kate never really had much to offer me for gifts. So what? They loved me and I loved them. I've said it before and I know you heard it, love is power." Mike shrugged. "I'm from Texas, Mick, I've never been big on decorating."

Micky looked up. "And you think people are big on decorating here? We're lucky if we get snow at all. Didn't even get to string any lights outside. Won't get to play in our gigs, either..."

"Hey, Mick, I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean it the way I said it. We are gonna have to have Dave play the drums, though." Mike paused, then grinned, "How about we let you choose the songs?"

Micky broke out in a wide grin. "Really? Can we do all Christmas songs?"

Mike's grin turned tight-lipped. "Sure, Mick."

"Oh, man!" Micky jumped up and bounded his way to the bandstand. He picked up a book of Christmas songs and began leafing through it.

Mike just shook his head and went back to his newspaper.

* * * * *

Two weeks later...

"Looks like a great day to find a tree," Peter said, coming back inside.

Micky grinned. "Good! I was nearly getting ready to start decorating Davy!" He jumped up off the couch, away from Davy, who swatted at him.

"Come 'ere, mate!" Davy said, following Micky.

"Guys, if you gotta chase each other around, do it outside. We don't need any more injuries," Mike warned, a slight smile appearing.

"Don't worry, Mike, I'll just clock him with this!" Micky crowed, raising his cast covered wrist over Davy's head.

"'Ey, mate, watch where you swing that thing!"

Mike shook his head. "Let's just go. Remember, if you don't know what kinda plant it is, don't touch it!"

Micky stuck his tongue out, shrugging on his jacket, with Peter's help. "Yes, dad!" Mike swatted at him, but he was already headed for the door. The others followed, grinning.

* * * * *

Later that night, an almost 6 foot, rather full tree stood off to the side of the bandstand. Micky opened a box, reached in, and pulled out a string of lights. He kept pulling... until he finally pulled out a good sized knot in the wires. He frowned, pulled the entire thing out, and set it on the floor. He sat down and started working on untangling the wires, while beginning to sing again.

Mike and Peter sat out on the beach, trying to figure out how to revamp their playlist for after the holidays, since Micky still wouldn't be able to play the drums yet.

Davy, meanwhile, had decided to go for a jog. He returned to the pad, stopping just outside the back door. He saw Micky sitting on the floor, his back to the door, working on the tangled lights and singing. Davy smiled. Micky just sat there yanking at the strings of lights with one hand and never missed a beat in his singing.

Davy understood why Micky had acted the way he did about Mike a few weeks before. Micky was always very passionate about anything he liked, especially Christmas. Even with a broken wrist, Micky was determined to not let it ruin his spirit, the same way he had been with Mike. Davy turned away from the door as Micky started the second verse of "O Holy Night," headed for the stairs back down to the beach.

Mike and Peter both looked up as Davy approached them. "Thought you were goin' in," Mike said, picking out a few notes on his guitar.

"I was," Davy said, shrugging. "Changed me mind."

"What was Micky doing?" Peter asked.

"Trying to untangle the knot in the Christmas lights. 'Ope 'e don't realize I were the one 'o tangled them." Davy grinned, as he settled himself on the sand.

Peter smiled. "I told you to roll each string into it's own little ball. That could take him awhile, you know."

Davy waved it off. "Don't think 'e'll mind too much. 'E was tugging at the lights and singing away."

Mike strummed out a chord. "Either of you know why he's so into the season? That boy's got enough Christmas spirit for all of us."

Davy thought a moment. "I think I asked 'im once, the first Christmas I lived with 'im, 'is mum, and sistahs. 'E shrugged and said 'e 'ad fond memories of 'is dad working on the decahrations and singing Christmas carols around the 'ouse. Though I kinda doubt 'e did that while in 'is undahweah." He grinned.

Peter smiled and Mike nodded. "I get it now," Mike stated.

"Helps him to remember," Peter said, and also nodded.

"Maybe we've been to 'ard on 'im, fellas," Davy said. "'E isn't really doing any 'arm."

"We'll go easier." Mike gave small smile and strummed another chord.

* * * * *

Micky was still tugging at the ball of lights when the others returned almost 30 minutes later. He was no longer singing, but rather held his tongue out in concentration.

Davy smirked. "Don’t ‘urt your brain, mate." He thumped himself down next to the drummer and started helping with the knot.

Micky tugged at it from his end. "Very funny, Dave." He looked up in time to see Peter nod at Mike. "What’s going on?"

Mike took a seat on the psychiatrist’s couch. "You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to... but what’s the deal with you and Christmas?"

Micky paused in pulling at the lights. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked down at the lights again and shook his head. "I don’t..."

"You still miss him alot," Peter spoke up.

"Yeah." Micky didn’t look up again. "It was dad’s favorite time of year. He was always in great spirits. Singing, decorating... he was so happy." His head lowered more and he sniffed. "My senior year of high school, we had an arguement over what I was gonna major in in college. He wanted architecture, I wanted music. He wanted me to go with the safe bet in architecture." He shrugged. "Both him and mom were in show business. They didn’t want me to get into that. We argued about it for most of the last Christmas season that he was..." Micky finally looked up, tears in his eyes. "He finally gave in and said it was okay, but I never really believed it. He... didn’t see me start college, or even know what my major was. I’d already chosen architecture before he..."

Peter laid a hand on Micky’s shoulder as he finished, "He always did want me to keep up his tradition for Christmas. I figured it was the easiest way to make up for arguing and nearly ruining his last Christmas."

Mike gave a snarky grin. "Kinda makes my problems look petty."

Micky gave a short chuckle and shook his head. "It wasn’t you, Mike. I was trying too hard to keep my spirit up." He sighed. "I’m sorry, guys, I should’ve said something sooner instead just taking it out on you, Mike."

Mike shook his head. "You were right in a way, Mick, I was being a pain about it."

Micky tugged at the lights again. "Then I guess we’re even." He paused, glancing at the knotted lights, then at Davy. "This was your doing, right?"

Davy feigned shock. "You guessed!" He grinned. "Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to. All I did was toss them in the box. They tangled themselves!"

"Uh huh, sure, Dave," Micky said, then gave a small grin.

"So why don’t all of us give you a hand with these, then?" Mike suggested.

"And we can all sing!" Peter added.

They all set about untangling the lights, and began to sing a song that Peter had just recently finished: "Christmas Is My Time Of Year."

~End~