Summary: Peter accidentally starts a Lonely Hearts Club. Stuff happens.
Pairing: Eventual Peter/Davy
Warnings: Some homophobia, I guess.
Notes: I just wanted to write a Peter/Davy fic called Sergeant Peter's Lonely Hearts Club. Clearly, there is something wrong with me. Concrit, as ever, welcome :)
Disclaimer: I don't own The Monkees - this is done purely for fun. Please don't sue!
There was a term for this, and that term was 'collateral damage'.
Nobody liked to talk about it, because Davy was kind of like Cupid. Nine times out of ten, his love arrows hit the target dead-on.
The problem was, sometimes those arrows went wide. Or sometimes, the current object of his affection was standing a little too close to a victim of circumstance, who unfortunately got grazed by Davy's infatuation as it winged its way through the air to its true target.
It wasn't Davy's fault, Peter knew. The way he saw it, there was a reason cupidity rhymed with stupidity, and it wasn't just to make song-writing easier.
No, Davy was always so single-mindedly focused on the most recent girl-of-his-dreams that he never even noticed that he was wading knee-deep in broken hearts (Peter hoped he wasn't overstating the case – anyone else would only have been ankle-deep).
On Davy's part any hurt was purely unintentional and accidental.
Unfortunately this didn't make the casualties of his charm any less real. Or any less, well…awkward. Because while Davy was finely tuned to the slightest sign of feminine interest, when it came to guys, he had a tin ear.
And given Davy's inherent inability to disappoint a feminine female, that meant that the bulk of the collateral damage Davy caused was, well, male.
And that was how Peter ended up in charge of a Lonely Hearts Club.
Well, strictly speaking, Peter didn't think of it like that. But then, he'd never meant to start a club at all, so maybe he wasn't the best person to ask about it.
Really, it all began with Lucy Henderson. Well, actually, it began with Lucy Henderson's brother Neil, who didn't take it very well when Davy and Lucy broke up. He started lurking around the beach house, and haunting their all-too-infrequent gigs, eyes narrowed, a frown on his clean-cut, wholesome face, ham-sized fists clenched tight.
"S'funny, though," Davy said. "I can't think why he's so cut up about it. I mean – Lucy was the one who broke up with me."
"Well, Brother-boy here obviously didn't get the memo," Micky said, squinting through the window.
"Is he still there?" Davy asked.
Micky nodded. "Like Old Yeller." He considered the figure pacing outside. "Except more rabid."
"But I've got to go," Davy said, looking at his watch. "I'm meeting Susie on the beach in half an hour."
"In that case, you know what you've got to do, don'tcha?" Mike said.
Davy sighed, as he shrugged into an oversized coat and grabbed a walking stick. "This is ridiculous," he said, retrieving a grey moustache from his pocket and sticking it onto his face.
Peter tilted his head. "I don't know – I think you look distinguished." A Davy with a grey moustache was still Davy, after all.
"I mean, I can't keep disguising myself every time I have to leave the Pad," Davy said. "It's ludicrous. It's preposterous. It's absurd."
"Hey, if you want to go out there and explain that to him, be our guest," Mike said, gesturing toward the door.
Davy stared at it for a moment, probably remembering that a notable feature of this particular square was his sharp corners, because he said, "On the other hand" –
"I think you mean, 'on the other fist,'" Micky interrupted.
" – he can't keep this up forever." Davy said. "He's bound to get tired of waiting around for me sooner or later."
"Well, lets hope for all our sakes that it's 'sooner'," Mike said.
Davy jammed a grey fedora on his head, tilting it downwards until it covered as much of his face as possible. Then he opened the door and shuffled past the jock on the other side. Peter thought that in spite of his unwavering aversion to Davy, Neil Henderson couldn't be all bad, because he immediately stepped aside, with a polite, "Excuse me, Gramps."
Davy continued his stooped walk, very carefully avoiding any eye contact.
"Bye, Mr Moscovitz," Micky called from the door.
"Don't forget to visit again, real soon," Mike said.
"Have fun surfing!" Peter called. Micky elbowed him, and Mike closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face..
Neil Henderson's head whipped around. "Surfing?" he queried.
"Yeah – he uh – he finds that riding the waves really helps him stay loose," Micky improvised. Neil Henderson turned back to the bent, hobbling old man…only to do a double-take at his sudden disappearance (Davy having prudently vamoosed as soon as Neil's attention had shifted).
"See?" Micky said, with a dramatic flourish and a hopeful smile.
Neil Henderson frowned.
Hauling Micky and Peter backwards, Mike said, "Anyhow, fun and all as it'd be to stay and chat, we really oughta be going."
"You know how it is," Micky chimed in, "People to not see, things to not do…"
Mike began to swing the door closed, but was impeded by an oversized foot.
"Is Jones in there?" Neil Henderson peered over Mike's shoulder.
"Davy?" Mike said. "No, he's not here." He turned to Micky. "Have you seen Davy?"
"Not lately," Micky said. He asked Peter, "Have you seen Davy?"
"Of course I have," Peter said. "Don't you remember, Mick? He was here just a minute ag" –
Micky made an exasperated noise. "Thanks Pete."
Mike tried to salvage the situation. "What Pete is trying to say is – even if Davy was here before, he's not now. So maybe you oughta just – go home, man."
He tried to close the door again, but Neil Henderson's foot remained stubbornly wedged between the door and the frame, keeping it open. "I don't believe you," he said.
"Well, that's your prerogative, but I don't see what you're gonna do about it," Mike said.
Neil Henderson pushed himself against the mostly closed door, forcing it open and shoving Mike backwards.
"Well, I guess you could always do that," Mike allowed, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. Neil Henderson ignored him, in favour of prowling through the Pad.
"Hey, this is our home, and you can't just barge in here like that!" Micky pointed out.
Neil Henderson swiveled around to face him, and Micky quickly backtracked. "What you really want is the grand tour – so step right up! If you look to your left, folks, you might notice an item of particular interest – the stained glass window. Construction of this lovely feature was originally begun in 19" –
"I'm not interested in your grand tour," Neil Henderson said. "I'm interested in Jones."
"He is one of our most popular attractions," Mike allowed wryly.
"However, I think you'll find that Davy's currently on loan to another gallery," Micky finished. "The one with the cutest curator."
Neil Henderson started for the spiral staircase. "Then you won't mind if I make sure of that, will you?"
"Be our guest," Peter said.
"Our unwanted, unwelcome, uninvited guest," Micky muttered under his breath as Neil scaled the stairs. "I mean, he didn't even bring a fruit-basket. That's just common courtesy."
"Man, this is getting beyond a joke," Mike said, frowning at the staircase. "It's been a solid month since Davy and his sister broke up, and he's still parked outside our door every single day. That's not brotherly love – that's an out-and-out fixation."
Mike was absolutely right, of course, as Mike tended to be. Funnily enough, though, no-one, including Mike himself, realised just how right he actually was. Maybe it was because Neil Henderson didn't exactly seem like the type to be swept off his feet by Davy.
(He didn't seem like the type to be swept off his feet by anyone, given that he was taller than Mike, and built, as Mike said, " – like a barn."
"A barn full of rusty nails and dangerous machinery," Micky agreed).
And that impression wasn't exactly softened by the fact that when he came back downstairs, he said, "Tell Jones that when I see him…" and he smacked his right fist into his left palm hard.
"Tell Davy…" Micky copied the gesture, then grimaced in surprised pain as he shook out his punched palm. "Got it!" while Peter began to scribble on the message pad on the coffee table.
"Listen – Neil – don't you think this thing has gone far enough?" Mike asked, coming to stand in front of him. "I mean – when it comes down to it, Davy didn't do anything wrong. Matter of fact, to hear him tell it, your sister broke up with him, so I'm guessing she's not exactly crying into her pillow at night."
"What are you trying to say?" Neil Henderson asked.
"I'm trying to say – we could all save face if you just turned around and headed home right now," Mike said.
"How would me leaving help me to save face?" he asked.
"It would save Davy's face," Micky pointed out. When Neil Henderson swung around to him, he held up both hands placatingly, before saying, "I know, I know, tell Davy…" before whacking his palm with his fist again.
"Tell Jones this isn't over," Neil Henderson said, before slamming the door closed behind him.
"Well, we tried," Mike said, with a sigh.
"'…isn't over'," Peter repeated, as he scrawled the last of Neil's message.
When Davy returned later (via the downstairs bedroom window) and heard the full story, he said, "Looks like there's only one thing left to do. I've just got to face him, man to man."
"Don't you mean, mountain to midget?" Micky asked. "Davy, you can't face that guy – he'll cream you."
"We can't go on like this," Davy said. "Prisoners in our own home, waiting for the axe to fall…"
"Yeah, but you can't exactly blame Lucy's brother for that," Mike said.
All four stared upwards, at the precariously swinging axe above their heads.
"I wonder why Mr Babbitt put that thing up there," Peter said.
Davy shook his head, bringing them back to the present. "I'll talk to Neil tomorrow."
"He didn't seem real interested in 'talking', if you get my drift," Mike said.
"Yeah, he seemed way more interested in rearranging your face. In the style of Picasso."
"I don't think you should see him, Davy," Peter said. "I like your face."
"Me too, but I don't see that I've got much choice," Davy told him. "It's either that, or live the rest of my life as Benny Moscovitz. And those false moustaches are starting to chafe."
Later that night, as he and Peter got ready for bed, Davy was almost philosophical. "You gotta admit, that guy's turned into a first class drag. Maybe this will get it out of his system, and we can finally get back to normal."
"It would be nice if you could go back to playing gigs in your regular clothes," Peter admitted.
"Anyway – who's to say he won't be the one to get a nasty shock? I'm tougher than I look, y'know."
Peter thought about it. "You were the only one who could open that jar of pickles last week," he said.
"There you are," Davy said, but he frowned up at the ceiling all the same.
Peter took the opportunity to study him. He knew Davy's face off by heart by now, knew every feature so well he didn't even need to look. But he did anyway, every chance he got.
As his eyes traced every familiar contour, he was struck anew by the thought that there was someone who disliked Davy enough to want to physically hurt him. Even though Micky had once told him 'Gullible' was his middle name (actually, according to his mom, it was Marvin) – with his eyes still fixed on Davy's well-known, endearing face, Peter found this a hard thought to swallow.
When it came down to it, Davy never did end up confronting Neil Henderson, because early the next morning, when Peter left to get groceries, he heard a, "Hey!" from over to his left, which made him jump and try to hide behind the grocery bag.
But when he peeked out from behind the bag, he saw the exhausted figure of Neil Henderson, slumped against the side of the house.
"Oh, he said, rubbing his eyes. "It's you." The tone of his voice left no doubt as to his disappointment in that fact. "Which one are you?"
Still kind of jumpy, Peter blinked and said, "I'm not sure – but I'm certain it'll come to me in a minute." He frowned at Neil Henderson, and the wall he was leaning against. "Did you stay here all night?"
Neil Henderson didn't answer him, just squinted up at Peter and said, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," Peter said. "But I should warn you, history, geography and general knowledge are my weak areas."
"Did he move out?"
"Davy?"
There was a jerky nod from the figure on his left.
"What – um…what would make you think that?" Peter stalled, not really sure whether he should tell the truth or not.
Neil Henderson shrugged, and stared down at his hands. "I don't know," he said. "Just – I haven't seen him in so long, and now whenever you have a gig, that old man plays the maracas." He looked at Peter again, and asked, "Is he gone?"
Since he didn't seem violently inclined, Peter risked coming a couple of steps closer. "Well, Davy's been keeping kind of a low profile lately," he said finally.
"Oh," Neil Henderson said. "I guess I scared him off, huh?" He focused on his hands once more, flexing his fingers in his lap. And even though his hands were enormous, adult, there was something childlike in the gesture, and abruptly, somehow, Peter knew. The kind of knowing that didn't require a lot of thinking and puzzling out (luckily, because Peter wasn't so good at those things). This kind of knowing was more like a feeling. It seemed to bypass his brain altogether, lodging in his chest instead.
"I didn't mean to scare him off for good," Neil Henderson said, eventually. "I just…wanted…" He trailed off inarticulately.
Because it turned out that Neil Henderson wasn't a threat. Neil Henderson was just a larger piece of debris than usual – and it was suddenly impossible to feel afraid of him anymore. Looking at his twitching fingers, a wave of sympathy washed through Peter, and he swung himself down to sit next to him. Neil looked at him out of the side of his eye, but didn't object.
Peter studied his downcast head, his tired face, before saying, kindly, "Davy's a really great guy, you know. He would never hurt anyone on purpose."
Neil Henderson swallowed. "Yeah, but…my sister" – he stopped for a moment, before continuing in a low, urgent kind of voice, as if he couldn't help himself, "She can't eat. She can't sleep. She goes to college, but she can't pay attention in class. She's making stupid mistakes on the football field. All she can think about is Jones."
Peter's heart twisted inside him. "It – sounds rough."
"Yeah." Neil Henderson stared straight ahead.
"And – do you miss Davy too?" Peter asked.
He jerked. "What? Are you nuts? I barely know the guy. We went on two double dates, that's it."
"Oh," Peter said.
"Three," Neil Henderson said, as if he was admitting some deep dark secret. His gaze flicked lightning-fast to Peter before darting away again. "It mighta been three double-dates, now that I think about it."
"Well, two double-dates is maybe a little soon, but it's probably okay to miss him after three," Peter offered – though really, he had only the haziest grasp on the etiquette of the situation.
"No it's not," Neil Henderson said, in this small stubborn voice.
He just looked so tired.
"I would," Peter admitted suddenly.
Neil Henderson's head shot up. His face was set in grim lines, but his eyes were full of a kind of hopeful desperation as he looked at Peter. "You…would?" he said.
Peter tried to imagine a world completely devoid of Davy – a world where he wasn't able to look over and see Davy whenever he wanted, a world where he didn't fall asleep to Davy's even breathing, a world where Davy would never again smile at him. Just the idea made his heart cramp up with a kind of preemptive misery.
So he looked right at Neil Henderson and said, simply, but definitely, "Yeah. I would."
Neil Henderson turned his head away and stared blindly ahead, at the sea. "Oh," he said.
Peter scooted a little closer. "Would you try something?" he said, because the misery of thinking of a Davy-less world was still echoing in his chest, and if Neil Henderson was feeling like that, then it made Peter doubly sorry for him.
Neil Henderson glanced warily at him, but didn't say anything, and Peter took this as assent.
"Close your eyes," he said. After a moment, Neil Henderson did. "Now – try to fix on Davy – get a picture of him in your head." He waited. "Can you see him?"
"Yeah," Neil Henderson said.
"Make him as clear as you can," Peter told him. "Like you could reach out and touch him." He looked at Neil's face scrunched up in concentration. "Do you have it?"
"Yeah."
"Now hold on to him, as tight as you can." Neil Henderson frowned, and Peter laid a hand on one jittering wrist. He stiffened, but allowed the touch. Peter closed his own eyes, and summoned an image from last night, Davy – frowning up at the bedroom ceiling, a small preoccupied frown on his face, lips parted. Longing twanged in Peter like a plucked guitar string. "Now – breathe in. And out. And let him go."
"Let him go?"
Peter nodded, eyes still closed. He breathed in, in, in, until he was full to bursting with hopeless wanting, until it pricked at his chest, and pushed at the back of his eyes –
- and then he breathed out, out, out, and let it all go, letting every last aching particle of yearning drift up and away into the blue sky above.
He took another breath, feeling kind of bare inside and cleansed, newly aware of the sun-warmed ground he was sitting on – and opened his eyes. Neil Henderson was looking at him. The harsh, exhausted lines had smoothed out from his face somewhat, but he still didn't look relaxed.
"Feel any better?" Peter asked. It was an exercise that always helped him. See, Davy was like a gift, but – a gift that belonged to the world. So, the tighter you tried to hold on to him, and the more you tried to make him belong to you alone, the more you realised that he wasn't yours at all.
His mom had always taught him that it was bad manners not to share. And Davy was such a good thing – the best thing…so of course it would be selfish of anyone to try and keep him to themselves. It was easy, when you looked at it like that.
The only thing to do, Peter had decided, was to accept the little things that Davy offered him – a smile, a warm-breathed whisper in his ear, the steadying touch of a hand on his shoulder…but then let them go, before they had a chance to turn sour, before he started to think that those things belonged to him, that he had a right to them. Gifts were things that were freely given. You couldn't demand them, or expect them, or hoard them. That took all the magic of the gifts away.
"Yeah," Neil Henderson said. "I feel – better. How did you know" – he stopped.
He couldn't lie. He didn't think he had to. He just looked at Neil Henderson, carefully open, almost smiling.
Neil Henderson looked at him for a very long, quiet moment. Then he licked his lips and said, "Do – you" –
Peter waited, but Neil looked down and abruptly, his face closed off, as he forcefully shrugged Peter's hand off his wrist. "You" – he said, and, "You" – again.
He got to his feet in a jerky movement and stood there, breathing heavily. But he didn't break eye-contact with Peter, and Peter just looked steadily back at him. He couldn't think of anything else to do.
"Freak," Neil Henderson said finally, before he turned and staggered away – but any power the word had was negated by how terrified he sounded as he said it.
"Man, what did you say to him?" Mike said admiringly a couple of hours later, when Peter ventured a tentative explanation for Neil Henderson's sudden absence from the front of the Pad.
"Yeah – how'd you scare him away?" Micky asked.
"I don't know," Peter said, a little uneasy. Neil Henderson's secret was like a heavy stone in his pocket. "I didn't – I mean, we just talked."
"I guess that'd do it," Micky decided.
Davy turned and looked at him. "I was going to face him, you know," he said, quite serious. "I would've done it," he said. "Made up my mind, I had."
"I know," Peter said.
A brilliant smile spread across Davy's face, specially, entirely for Peter. He touched Peter's arm, just above his elbow. "Thanks," he said.
Like the gift that was, Peter took it, and held onto it for a few seconds, before breathing out, and letting it go. He felt compelled to say, "You know – I don't think he would've hurt you. I don't think that's what he really wanted at all."
Davy fixed him with a skeptical look. "Well, for someone who wasn't fixing to take me apart, he gave a pretty good impression of it."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Mike cautioned. "I mean, sure, he's gone for now, but he could always come back."
Peter shook his head, remembering the dazed, scared look on Neil Henderson's face as he had said, "Freak."
"I don't think he's going to be back," he said simply.
But Peter was wrong, because he showed up at the Pad four days later – and this time, he brought a friend.