Title: And He Is On the Run
Author: Lydia N.
Rating: R for depressing themes and sexuality
Pairing: Part I and II are Gen, part III is Mike/Peter
Summary: Wedding bells for Davy, an engineering scholarship for Micky, and a dream songwriting job for Mike break up the Monkees. Peter is simply broken.

And He Is On the Run

Part One: Conversations that Never are Complete

Mike could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Davy had called a house meeting. He exchanged a curious glance with an equally curious Micky. As Davy took his place at the head of the table and took the up the gavel, Mike could see that his fingers were shaking ever so slightly.

"What's up, babe?" Mike asked as he slid into the seat on Davy's right.

Davy squirmed a bit in his seat. "Let's get settled down first, okay?"

Micky, eyebrows now fully raised, sat on Davy's left and Peter took the chair beside him. Once all three pairs of eyes were trained on him, Davy cleared his throat.

"We're meeting tonight because of Imogene."

Imogene was Davy's latest girlfriend, a petite blonde who was British into the bargain. The general consensus amongst the group was that she was quite groovy. Respectfully absenting herself from rehearsals and only coming to gigs when she was invited was definitely part of that conclusion, but the clincher was that she didn't expect Peter to give up the bedroom for her trysts with Davy.

Thinking about those trysts at Imogene's studio apartment in town made the hairs on Mike's arms stand up in alarm. Had there been consequences?

Davy sighed and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. "She's, uh...pregnant."

Consequences, indeed.

Silence.

"Oh." Micky was the first to recover the use of his voice. "Congratulations?"

Mike patted Davy's arm. "That's cool, man, really. Congratulations." He winced at the hollowness in his voice.

Only Peter sounded genuinely happy. He was probably happier than Davy himself, Mike thought as Peter shouted, "I'm going to be an uncle! This is great, Davy!"

Ah, Peter, able to see silver linings when everyone else was shrouded in fog. Mike couldn't restrain a smile as he turned to Davy again. "So what happens next, Shotgun?"

"Don't say 'shotgun,'" Micky groaned. "I bet there's one pointed right at Davy's head. Right?"

Davy bit his lip and nodded. "We're getting married a week from Saturday."

Mike knew he should have seen that coming, but the words hit him like a ton of bricks. Micky was staring with shock plainly etched on his face, but Peter was practically glowing with excitement. "I love babies. I love weddings. This is going to be amazing, guys! This kid's going to have built-in entertainment for his birthdays, and it's gonna be us!" He bounced out of his chair and threw his arms around Davy. "I've gotta go. I've got baby things to buy!"

Mike opened his mouth to tell Peter to sit back down, but something in Davy's eyes stopped him cold. Instead, he pulled the car keys out of his pocket and slid them across the table. "Drive carefully, Pete."

"I will," he promised, eyes sparkling with joy. He hummed a lullaby as he left.

The moment the door closed, Davy hung his head and started to speak again. "I didn't want to tell this part in front of Peter. Not yet, anyway." He took a deep breath. "Imogene's parents aren't thrilled."

"I'd imagine not," Mike said drily. "So they have some demands on you, apart from making an honest woman out of their daughter?"

"Yes," Davy sighed. "They have, uh, money. And they're willing to help us with the baby and all...but they expect us to move to England. I'll have a job with the family business, make something of myself, you know?"

Mike's throat constricted painfully. He saw Micky blinking fast, fighting back tears, and his own eyes began to fill.

Davy must have seen their sadness because he forced a cheesy grin. "Hey, the band can go on without me. I just shake maracas and sing a bit."

"No way, man," Micky said. "We started this band together."

"And we'll end it together," Mike finished, although the words burned him to the soul.

It was all over.

After a few moments of mournful silence, Micky swept his hair out of his face and peered shyly at his friends. "I didn't bring it up before because, well, I didn't see how it could work out - but Pop Warner saw some of my inventions and he sent some of my blueprints to Cal Tech. They offered me a full ride to study engineering."

"Micky, that's fantastic!" Davy finally broke into a genuine smile. "With proper adult supervision, you might not blow anything up!"

Micky bumped his shoulder against Davy's. They both turned to Mike. "What about you?" Micky asked. "I know it's sudden, but...do you have any idea what you'd like to do?"

He knew exactly what he was going to do. A letter had been burning a hole in Mike's pocket for days. "Well, there's this club in Houston. They have a house band, and I sent them some of my songs-"

"Careful with that," Davy joked.

Mike wrinkled his nose. "Very funny. Anyway, they wanted to buy them. And they offered me the chance to come out and play, maybe record a little bit."

"But you wouldn't," Micky said softly, "because of us."

"Because of all of us." Mike reached out and patted Micky's hand. Davy placed his hand on top and all three of them grinned at one another.

Despite the sudden burst of affection, something was gnawing at Mike's conscience. He pulled away and leaned back in his chair. "There's just one thing about laying the Monkees to rest," he said as firmly as his emotions would allow. "One thing we've forgotten."

"What?" Davy and Micky chorused.

He couldn't believe they had to ask. "Peter," Mike murmured. "He's only thinking about a baby and a wedding. Losing the band is gonna knock him backwards."

"Oh, man," Micky groaned. "Music is...it's all he has."

"That's not quite true, Mick. He's got you. You're the only one of who'll still be here and Pete's gonna need you more than ever. He's never been on his own a day in his life. Sweet kid like that would get taken advantage of as sure as we're born."

Micky managed a smile but his eyes were sad. "I just wish the two of you weren't going so far away."

"I've got a week," Davy declared, "and I'll spend as much of it as I can with Peter."

"I won't be all that far away. He can come visit any time, or both of you when you've got a break from school. It's not fair to give you all the responsibility, Micky, even though you'd gladly take it on." Mike took a shaky breath. "The hard part is going to be talking to Peter."

He had no idea how prophetic those words were. When they sat down with Peter at dinner and broke the news, his reaction shocked them. Davy had feared tears, Micky was afraid Peter would simply deny that there was a problem, and Mike was worried that he'd bolt out the door and get himself into trouble.

None of these things happened. Peter simply nodded gravely, excused himself from the table, and went out on the balcony. He perched on the railing, facing the ocean with his eyes shut and the wind playing with his hair.

Micky wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up. "I'd better..."

Shaking his head, Davy said, "I think he wants to be alone."

"No." Mike's heart was heavy. "He's afraid to be alone so he's trying it on for size. C'mon, we should be with him while we still can."

The three of them tiptoed outside. Peter did not stir, did not acknowledge them in any way. "Pete?" Micky asked in a soft, tentative tone.

Peter's only reply was a slight shake of his head. Mike could see the trails of a tear on one cheek. "What is it, buddy? What can we do to help?"

The slim shoulders hunched as Peter struggled to control his breathing. A tear plopped down on the railing. "All I ever..." He sucked in a ragged breath that cut through Mike like a sword. Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "All I ever wanted was to play music with my friends. The only thing in the world. I had that for a little while, and now it's lost, and I just...just..."

"I'm so sorry." Davy's words were hushed. He walked over to Peter and tried to get him to look up. "Listen, Pete, I didn't get a chance to ask before, but...would you please be my Best Man? You are truly the best man I've ever known, and..."

"And I'm not going anywhere," Micky chimed in. "I'll be meeting a lot of groovy chicks at college. That means you'll be meeting them, too!"

Mike went next. "Once I get a little dough together I'll bring you down to Houston. You can hear the band, sit in - they'll go nuts for your banjo playing. I'll see you as often as I can, Peter, you know that."

"I'll write every week," Davy pledged. "Photos of the baby, hundreds of 'em. You'll be so sick of me that you'll forget that London's across the Atlantic!"

They were shocked when Peter shook his head. "Don't you see? I'd just be 'the dummy' in all those scenes. I'm going to lose all of you and I'm going to lose my home and it hurts, so please, please leave me alone."

After a few moments of leaden silence, Davy spoke gently. "I can't do a lot," Davy told Peter, "but you don't have to lose the Pad. Imogene's father sent us more than we need for moving expenses-I'm just taking my clothes, anyway-so I was about to suggest to Micky and you that I leave the rest of the cash so you two can stay in the Pad for at least another year."

Micky's beaming face could have lit up the night sky. "C'mon, Pete. I cook, you clean, what do you say?"

"Okay," Peter said without much enthusiasm. He slid off the railing and allowed Micky to catch him up in a clumsy but heartfelt squeeze. "Sorry to be a drag, guys. I'll be better in the morning."

But he wasn't.

The guys had seen Peter unhappy before, even occasionally depressed, but his mood for the next week was melancholy to the extreme. Mike got the feeling that every box he packed was a physical blow to Peter, who reacted the same way when Davy put the last of his wardrobe in his suitcase. Micky tried tempting him with food that went mostly uneaten. A leggy, suntanned blonde at Davy's rehearsal dinner flirted with him but he looked past her into the middle distance. Even Mike's request for "one last jam session" by way of a bachelor party went unheeded.

The quartet played for the last time together at the wedding reception. Davy sang lead on a song Mike wrote for the occasion. Peter played with consummate skill and utter lack of emotion, his face bearing the same stoic martyrdom it had when he had stood beside Davy at the ceremony. Peter was absent after the performance. In fact, he hid so well that even Micky could not find him. Only when the entire wedding was over and Davy and Imogene had gone off in their limo did Mike come across Peter sitting behind Micky's drum kit, holding on to Davy's discarded tambourine and crying as if his heart would break.

He was no good at this emotional stuff, Mike knew, but he also knew that Peter was suffering and it was partly because Mike would be leaving first thing in the morning. He crouched on the floor and wrapped Peter in his arms. "Aw, Pete, it's okay, really it is."

Peter buried his face in Mike's jacket. "He didn't even say goodbye," he muttered into Mike's shoulder.

"He did look for you. We all did. Where were you, anyway?"

"Women's bathroom."

Mike chuckled and held him closer. "You're a nut, man. Total nut. I'm gonna miss the hell out of you."

"Me, too." Peter sniffled and sat up, shaking his hair out of his wet eyes. "Let's pack up the gear and hide it so Micky thinks it's been stolen."

"Better idea." Micky appeared out of thin air, offering his hand to Peter and helping him stand. He slung an arm around Peter's shoulders and used the other to pull Mike into a loose embrace. "Let's steal the rest of the groom's cake and take it back with us." That earned a laugh hearty enough to keep Peter from breaking down on the drive home.

Exhausted and overly emotional, the three of them immediately changed into pajamas. Mike went upstairs to check on Peter and found him staring forlornly at Davy's empty bed. Before Mike had a chance to enter the room, Peter lowered his head and closed the door.

It was going to be a long night.

Mike lay in his bed for the last time, listening to Micky rattle on about college and girls and how happy Davy had looked. At some point, Mike must have tuned out because the next thing he knew Micky was sitting on the edge of his bed. "Micky? What is it?"

"Nothing. Just...I'm gonna miss you, man. You've always been such a rock, like the coolest older brother in the world. Not that I don't love Davy, because I do, he's the greatest, you know? But I'm feeling a little lost knowing that you won't be here to tell me to do the dishes or pay the bills."

Mike snickered. "I could call you on the first of every month. But you don't need that. You don't 'need' anyone to tell you how to live. You're a good guy, a little crazy but still a good guy with a good head under all that kooky hair. I know you'll do right."

Micky nodded, smiling the rueful smile Mike had seen so much of this past week. "Thanks, Mike," he whispered.

Neither man got a lot of sleep, and from the occasional footfall upstairs Mike knew that Peter was also awake. When morning came, the cheerful sunlight could not have been more inappropriate for Mike's mood. He went halfheartedly through his usual routine of a shower, a cup of coffee, and a walk along the beach. He came back to the Pad and saw Micky spooning half the sugar bowl into his coffee and Peter pushing cereal around in his bowl without eating anything.

Clearing his throat, Mike walked up to the table. "It's time, guys," he said as gently as he could.

"You can't stay another night? Please?" Peter pleaded. His eyes were so dark with sorrow that Mike almost relented, but he shook his head.

"I've gotta be in Houston by Tuesday. This truck I've rented won't hardly go fast enough as it is. I'm sorry, guys, but I've really got to go."

Micky stood up. "C'mon, Peter. Let's help him get his stuff on the truck, okay?" Peter followed in mute obedience, and the three of them began to place Mike's meager possessions into the truck bed. Finally, nothing was left but the electric and acoustic guitars Mike treasured. Mike picked up the case for the electric and put it in the passenger seat of the cab.

Turning around to face Micky and Peter was even harder than congratulating Davy on his marriage and impending fatherhood. He forced himself to stride over to Micky, who folded him in a tight hug.

"Take care of our boy," Mike whispered, "but most of all, you take care of yourself and do great things, you hear?"

Micky straightened his back and gave Mike his biggest grin. "You do great things, too, Michael."

Mike disentangled himself from Micky's long-limbed embrace and went back to the truck. He picked up the battered case that held his beloved acoustic guitar and took it over to Peter. He placed the case in Peter's hand, wrapping his long fingers around the handle. Peter looked up at him, shocked. "But Mike, this is your favorite. Why...why are-"

"So I'm always right here if you need me."

Peter set his lips tightly. Guitar case and all, Peter threw his arms around Mike and stood close, his head on Mike's chest. It was a struggle for Mike to rein in his emotions, especially when Micky came up and stroked Peter's hair. The three of them stood like that for several minutes while Mike regained his composure. He rubbed his cheek against the top of Peter's head and patted Micky on the arm.

"I gotta go." He sounded hoarse and desperate.

Micky backed away, still forcing a smile. Peter fumbled with the latches on the guitar case and pulled out the much-loved instrument. For one horrible moment, Mike feared Peter would smash it to pieces, but of course nothing could have been further from Peter's intentions. Instead, he began to play.

Mike found it fitting that his guitar had never sounded better than it did under Peter's skilled fingers. He got in the truck, rolled the windows down, and started the engine. He could still hear Peter's song and Micky's goodbyes as he put the truck in gear.

The last thing Mike saw in his rear-view mirror was Peter, the California dawn burnishing his dark-gold hair as he sat cross-legged with the guitar on his lap, playing his heart out.

End Part One