Mike coiled the cables and took the microphones down from the overhead booms, forcing himself not to look up in the direction of the engineering booth. He could barely see the top of her head bent over the board, and wouldn't see anything more unless she jumped to her feet in horror. Or rage. Or something else he figured he was risking.

He'd made a mental list of the things that he wouldn't worry about imagining, because he knew her style when she was listening to something new, no matter who wrote it. She always sat the same way, head bent forward, eyes closed, usually holding the headphones to her ears as if essential bits of the sound might sneak away unnoticed. And she didn't move a muscle... no dancing feet or bobbing head. Her face would go completely blank as soon as the play switch was hit... Mike and the guys called it her "listening trance". It was absolutely impossible to read her response as she listened; that had to wait until the tape spun out. And even then, after several minutes of silence she'd sit still as a stone, phones still clamped on tight, letting it swim and settle in her head before she risked translating hearing into words.

He wouldn't read anything into any of it, seen or unseen. But this time the waiting was killing him, so better to be where the vibe had no chance of reaching her. It wasn't that he needed her to like it... he just needed to have gotten it right. That would mean he'd gotten them right, so he could stop being scared that he never would.


The lead-in blew Bonnie's mind.

Whatta hook, that bass line, that percussion...

Two lines in, she knew what it was.

/she looked at me / and the emptiness in her eyes was cruel to see/

wait, this is... it's...

Then came some of her own words, the ones she'd spoken in pain and bewildered rage. Even though she'd said at first that she couldn't walk away, that bubble of certainty that surrounded them when she said it didn't last long.

it's not me, or us... it's him , where he was, watching and waiting for it all to be better... oh my god...

/I whispered sometimes love is only sleeping/

Assuming it was a metaphor was way too simple. It was more than that, it was everything that kept her from running in the beginning when she was so injured. It was about that night he came begging for sleep, begging for her to quiet the noise in his head that he'd made himself, when she needed the very same thing from him. That was the one thing that lasted through it all, the certainty that when one woke the other would be there because sleep was where they still resonated, quieting each other's noise, unable to hurt each other. But he was so afraid, the door to their house was where his fear always raised its head and showed in that heartbeat of hesitation in his eyes... would she still be there when he came home? Would she come back again after she went out? There were times when she wasn't sure herself, and there wasn't a thing she could do to hide it from him.

through the endless days and nights / she could not help but wrap herself in sorrow/
through the endless days and nights / we waited for a shiny new tomorrow/

All that time he was waiting, she was waiting too, but not for a shiny new tomorrow. She waited for him to believe like she did, that if they just hung on long enough it would pass. That was her fear... that he'd never believe it could. He believed in the permanence of damage... that's what she feared would kill them. "Shiny and new" wasn't in the cards for them; that only happened once, in Chicago, a lifetime ago.

stop... too many layers, too many meanings, just hold on and let it flow

Bonnie forced herself to shut off her reasoning brain. And then...

transition... minor to major, fear to...

She sat up straight, for the first time ever dropping the headphones on the board before the final fade. For the first time ever, not hitting rewind. No need for rewind; it was all right there the first time, in the modulation in the last verse. It was subtle, but it was there, and it told her everything.

Suddenly it all made sense; Mike's more-secretive-than-usual behavior surrounding the new song, his insistence she hear it right now before he was moved to remix and refine it. Before he lost his nerve. And Peter made sense now too. Guess he just loves you too. She knew she wasn't the only one. For Peter, love never slept.


When Bonnie descended to the now painfully-tidy studio Mike didn't look up from the equipment cases he'd (needlessly) stacked in the corner. He wasn't sure what he expected. Finally he straightened, slowly, and faced her. She wore an odd expression, one he couldn't read.

"Look, I'll keep it off the album," he told her. "I didn't want to drag us down that road again, but it was something that just... came out."

"You remember how you said to me once, that the best songs are the ones that tell you something? A story, or a feeling, or an experience?" Before he could answer she gestured toward the booth. "That... song. That thing you made... from us." She stopped for a minute, searching for words, and of course he misunderstood.

"I shouldn't have made you listen, bad enough I put you through it to begin with. Like I said, I'll keep it off the album."

"Don't you dare. You want only your best on this one, and no matter what else this one is, it's your best."

"Pete said that too." The possibility that it might be true seemed more than a little perverse.

"Pete's a smart guy. Michael... I was so afraid for so long that you'd never really believe we'd be okay." She looked at the floor for a minute. "Okay, we both know I wasn't all that sure either, but one of us had to believe anyway, and I was afraid that it wouldn't be you, not ever." She looked up at him again, smiling. "I'm not afraid anymore, because you just told me something really important."

"That we'll be okay?" In spite of how much better things were with them, he still wasn't sure; he needed to hear it but had never had the guts to ask the question straight out.

"That a sad song can have a happy ending." She didn't exactly want to cry, but there it was.

Suddenly she was wrapped up in that long-armed twice-around embrace that always made every good thing better.

"Morris, Morris... have I ever told you that you have the soul of a poet?" he whispered in her ear as he rocked them from side to side. When she looked up at him he saw her eyes were red from more than tears. "Aw baby, you are so worn out. Sweet Mamadillo... te amo..." He bent his head to breathe the last words into a lingering kiss. When he raised his head again she was still looking up at him.

"Can we go home now?"

"And I'll make you dinner, and put you to bed," he promised with a wink. He gave her another kiss and kept one arm around her as they moseyed to the parking lot in silence. When they got there and he'd dropped the rag top, she stopped him before he shut her door.

"Nesmith... you're gonna put it on the album, right?"

"Band one," he promised as he slid behind the wheel. "But remember, babe..." he added, smiling slyly, "I didn't write it for anybody."

Bonnie laughed out loud and dropped her head back against the seat as he gunned the engine.

"I do love you, you dumbass cowboy."

"How many times I gotta tell you, I ain't no damn cowboy..."

Some things never changed.


A/N: I twisted music history way outta shape for this story. The "new album" is not meant to imply "Headquarters". "Love Is Only Sleeping" appeared on Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones, Ltd. and was not written by Mike Nesmith but by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil. Likewise it was produced by Chip Douglas, not Mike Nesmith. Micky Dolenz sang harmony, with Davy Jones and Chip Douglas backing. And it had impressive session musicians on drums, bass, and acoustic guitar. (This ain't called fiction for nothing!) A bit of real trivia: the song was first intended as the A side for a single w/Goin' Down on the B side but was nixed by the PTB because it might be too risqué. So it was replaced by - ta da - Daydream Believer, which is a song about a man talking to a woman as they get up in the morning but was considered not to be risqué. Go figure.