Chapter 9. And Perhaps I'll Quietly Withdraw Again

Mike made his way out onto the balcony in ill-fitting grey drawstring sweatpants and a baggy triumph T shirt – Micky still hadn't returned all his clothes - settling carefully into the deck chair to watch the sun sink into the water and ponder his current situation. The guys had just headed out for Antonelli's, ready after a bit of rearranging and a week of practicing, to play their first gig without him. He knew they'd be great. Peter teaching Davy how to play the bass had been a good thing after all. He could take up those duties and Peter could play Mike's part. Mike had helped them settle a couple of arrangements, figuring out how to simplify the bass line and work around the piano parts with the guitar instead without taking too much away from the sound of the song, then let the three do their thing. And they had. They'd sounded great.

They'd sounded great without him.

He sighed softly as the last ray vanished and darkness took hold, broken only by the spattering of stars and a thumbnail moon struggling in vain to illuminate the world as their predecessor had. He blinked tiredly, shaking his head before rising once more and making his way back into their livingroom, looking around it sullenly. He'd convinced Mister Babbitt to give them more time to get the rent together when he'd shown up earlier. Truthfully, it hadn't been as hard as he'd expected it to be. Mr. Babbitt took one look at Mike himself and seemed to backtrack on his demands without too much protest, giving them a full two weeks extra to come up with the rent that was now due. Mike didn't actually see all that much of a difference from what usually stared back at him from the mirror beyond a dark shadowing around his eyes. He'd never considered himself much of a prize to look at either way, but he wasn't quite sure what everyone else was seeing. Still, he found himself somewhat grateful that for once the fact he looked like hell seemed to work in their favor.

Silently, he moved into the kitchen area, mindlessly tending to the few dishes that had been left in the sink. He'd managed to keep a few things down over the last couple of days and wasn't quite as shaky as he had been, so at least the guys were easing up on the mother hen routines and hadn't protested too loudly about leaving him there alone tonight. This left him free to consider what it was he needed to do. Once he'd learned the outcome of tonight's performance, he supposed, it would be easier to let go. All he needed to know was that they'd been successful on their first try out. That would tell him all he needed to know except, of course, how to leave. He knew, though, that he'd have to if it was what was best for his friends. He owed them that, especially after all they'd been through for him. Nobody'd ever put in so much time and worry over him before.

So why was he still here?

Well, aside from having been too sick to do much up till now, there was that darned fool promise he'd made keeping him locked to the pad for the moment, he reminded himself. Doctor Parsons had agreed to giving him a bit more freedom around the pad after his last check in - no more restricting his movements to strictly from his bed to a chair now, at least - allowing him what he called 'light duty', but still wasn't ready to cut him loose and reminded him when he protested that he'd already promised to do it the doc's way. And then there was the fact that he needed to be sure they'd manage alright onstage without him there before he cleared out.

And why wouldn't they? That voice in the back of his head taunted. It's not as if your somethin' all that all-out special, now, is it? Now, you've officially failed at everything you've ever tried. Don't tell me you can't even do leavin' right.

Oh, how he hated that voice that piped up whenever he was trying to decide things like this, where his own selfish desires put him at odds with what he believed was best for the people he cared for. It always sounded like his uncle for whom he'd been named, though few would ever know it since he himself didn't use his first name and hadn't acknowledged to anyone but Davy since leaving home that the man existed at all. This was the voice of the man who'd always reminded Mike what a useless failure he was and always would be. The same uncle had reminded Mike regularly that if he'd been more of a man and a better help to his mamma, she wouldn't have come unraveled the way she did in the end and the remaining little ones wouldn't have been taken away like they were. He also seemed to always relish the opportunity to remind Mike that, somehow, everything that had gone so tragically wrong had been his fault. He'd loved reminding him that, even then, they'd all seen how worthless he was. That's why, his uncle had always insisted, nobody'd wanted the lanky pre-teen. He'd been just one of a string of family members Mike had been passed to and from before finally leaving Texas and never looking back, except for the odd call to his Aunt Kate, the one bit of family who'd never treated him harshly, never blamed him for those tragic events even after he'd long since come to blame himself, though even she hadn't been able to take him in for more than a single summer.

He smiled softly as his thoughts turned to Aunt Kate. She'd done her best by him in spite of everything, of that there was no question. First, she'd combined her meager savings with what little bits he'd managed to stash of his own to help him buy a car and a new suitcase when he'd turned sixteen, understanding better than anyone why he'd been so near desperate to run. Then she'd helped him get his place. True, he'd initially managed to get Mister Babbitt to rent him the shabby two bedroom house on the beach partly because nobody else had been clamoring to rent the run down old place and partly because of his willingness to do whatever odd job needed doing no matter how small in exchange for the money to pay the rent until a real job could be found. Anything from unclogging toilets to painting decks to sitting for other tenant's poorly behaved children all suddenly became his day jobs while he played for whatever he could get at night and took his GED to finish high school, forging his mother's signature to do so, knowing he couldn't get a real on the clock job until that was done. When suspicious officials flagged his forms, Aunt Kate had come to the rescue, calling and pretending to be his mother so that he could take the test. Then, when Mr. Babbitt had caught him preparing for the test, and realized how old his tall gangly young tenant really was, another call from "mom" had helped secure his independence as well. He'd gotten so used to being lonely in his young lifetime that he'd nearly convinced himself that it was a choice he himself had always made and not one foist upon him, yet he still relished being alone on his own terms for a change, and he'd enjoyed his freedom for a time. He'd eventually taken on roommates to help ease the burden of paying the bills when the odd jobs died down and real work became harder than he imagined it would be to find, but he'd never regretted it, nor had he forgotten how much he owed his aunt for helping him keep it in the first place.

He was going to miss this place. He'd had more of a home and a family here than he'd ever had anywhere else. Giving that up, even when he knew it was the right thing to do, was going to be harder than he'd imagined anything would. He'd moved here figuring he was here solely to find his own success. He'd taken on the guys not because he felt like he really the company at the time, or at least not so he'd have admitted, but because he'd needed the help making the rent at the time. He'd discovered along the way that they sort of needed him, too, and it was nice to be needed again, but it wasn't something he was looking for. He'd even tried to convince himself that it wasn't something he'd wanted. Having people counting on him again meant having people he could fail again, and that thought more than any other terrified him, so he'd tried to convince himself that he could just be roommates without getting close to them. Tried, but failed. The truth was, he'd missed being wanted and needed, so much so, that he'd eventually immersed himself in that feeling, even going so far as to foolishly convince himself that they really needed him to take care of them. But then they'd proven the truth to him. They'd done their best to be there for him when he'd needed them, taking care of him when he couldn't take care of himself, and managed to take care of themselves just fine without him. He'd been a fool, and, without ever meaning to, he'd let his own arrogance, hold them back. He owed it to them to let them succeed, and he understood now that wasn't something likely to happen so long as he remained in the picture. He pondered for a moment whether or not to take his GTO, the one the group had redubbed the "Monkeemobile" after he'd let Micky trick it out, or to leave it behind and just take the dune buggy he'd managed to barter for so they all would have something to tool around the beach in once in awhile. After a moment, he realized they couldn't carry their instruments and keep them safe in a dune buggy, and he couldn't leave them without a way to get themselves and their instruments to and from their gigs. He'd have to leave the Pontiac behind.

He sighed as he moved back into the livingroom. His livingroom. He absently straightened things here and there, carefully avoiding anything that would require strenuous cleaning as he remained mindful of his promise, noting with some surprise that it was nearly time for the guys' gig to end. He turned his attention to where their instruments usually sat, where his twelve strings, both electric and acoustic, rested alone now, the space between them empty now that he'd 'loaned' Peter both his six strings. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be reclaiming them and supposed that, on some level, Peter was too. Carefully he packed the twelve strings and his amp and moved them to just under the spiral staircase where the rest of his things were already packed up and waiting for the doctor's permission to go, with the exception of his clothes which Micky really did need to return. If pressed, though, he'd have to admit he hadn't searched too hard for them. Not when their absence still provided him the excuse to stay just a moment or two longer.

A pounding on the door, accompanied by a panicked-sounding woman's voice, broke him from his melancholy reverie.

"Michael," the unfamiliar voice called. "Please, Michael, they need your help…"

Mike hesitated for only a moment before pulling the door open quickly and catching the young woman who'd been pushing her weight against it and pounding upon it as she stumbled in.

"Hold on, now, slow down there. What's going on?" he demanded as he helped her gain her footing, stooping slightly to be more eye to eye with her, conscious as always of how intimidating his stature could be to some people.

"Louis is at Maria's," the dark haired woman began, her eyes bright with tears. "He found her." Noting how Michael's eyes widened, she nodded, assuming he understood enough.

"Let's go," Michael interrupted, remembering all Maria had told him about her abusive husband, explaining why she'd finally taken their daughter and left him. He fished around in a drawer for the keys to the rarely used dune buggy, tugged on his coat and donned his green wool hat to keep his hair out of his eyes as he drove.

They made swift time up the beach to Maria's house and hurried up to the balcony, spotting the muscular man through the double glass doors. Mike was reaching for the door when they both spotted what the ranting and cursing Latino was waving around in his hand, prompting him to draw back to the shadows, pulling Rosalie with him.

"Go back to my pad and call the police," he whispered as he pressed the keys to the dune buggy into her hand. "Tell them it's an emergency and make them believe it. Then wait there. The guys should be comin' back any time now. Tell them where I went and why, then wait. Do not come back here on your own, do you understand? You don't want to be standin' here if he decides to do somethin' with that thing."

Rosalie looked at the keys in her hand, confused. "What are you going to do?"

Mike drew a steadying breath and shook his head, unable to believe what he was planning himself. "I'm gonna go on in there like a damn fool and try to make sure nothin' happens we'll all regret," he said, shifting back out of the shadows before he lost his nerve.

Rosalie hesitated a moment, seemingly warring with herself over whether or not she should let him do this, or help him, or run like hell, before shaking her head and hurrying back down the way they'd come, climbing into the dune buggy, and driving back toward Michael's house to do as he'd directed.

Inside Maria's beachhouse, the frantic mother cowered in the corner, trying to shield her child with her own body. Her left eye was already swollen shut and her lip was split, but she wasn't backing down. "Por favor, Louis," she sobbed. "Put that away. You're frightening our daughter. Please."

"Shut up," the frantic man bellowed, waving the weapon wildly. "Shut up SHUT UP!"

Mike could see the man's body tensing and feared that he'd fire that weapon whether he meant to or not if someone didn't manage to calm him down. He wished for a fleeting moment that he could think of another way to do this, but, unable to come up with one, he proceeded in the only way he could, counting on the fact that the police were being called and the guys would soon be on their way. For all he'd always been a loner, he didn't relish the idea of being out here on the ledge alone just now. He tried to ignore the ramifications of that particular bit of truth as, opening the door to the balcony silently, he stepped in without a sound and closed the door before drawing the man's attention by saying as calmly as he could manage. "That ain't no way to talk to a lady, now, is it Louis?"

"Who the…" Louis turned toward the towering newcomer and spat, only to be interrupted by Michael.

"Watch it now," Mike warned, his eyes narrowing despite the situation. "There's no call to talk that way in front of them." He stepped to his right, intentionally positioning himself so that Louis would have to turn further away from the girls to track him. "Maybe you'd like to tell me what it is that's got you all riled up?" Mike suggested in a tone far calmer than he actually felt at the moment, thinking that maybe if he could get the man talking he could find a way to calm him down. He coughed into his sleeve, cursing his own weakness silently as he continued to fix the shorter, bulkier man with brown eyes that seemed far too old to suit one so young, keeping his expression deceptively neutral.

"Who are you?" Louis demanded, gesturing toward Mike with the gun in his hand. "What are you doing in my wife's house?"

Mike tried not to cringe as the weapon rounded to point in his direction. Nope, this was definitely not how he'd imagined himself spending his evening. "I'm your daughter's guitar teacher," he offered, supposing that was honest enough for current circumstances. "I live up the beach a little ways. Thought I'd check in on 'em when I heard yellin', seein' as how her mom said her husband was away when I started. I know I'd want someone to check in if it was my own left alone like that. "

"What if they were alone because the puta decided to steal your child and your money and run off, huh mister guitar man? Would you still want someone to check in on her, or would you want to put a bullet in her fu…" Louis was gesticulating wildly with the gun as he ranted, seemingly daring it to go off on its own.

"Language," Mike reminded him, his voice taking on a warning edge, as he took another step to his right to draw the man and his weapon further from the mother and her child. Again, Louis tracked him. "Whatever issue you two got, that little one don't need to be a party to it."

"SHE'S NOT YOURS," Louis shouted, waving the gun at Mike again. "You don't get to decide what she needs, you got that mister guitar man? I decide, not you. They belong to me. Both of them. I DECIDE."

Mike swallowed hard, trying to figure out a way to keep the man in front of him from coming completely unraveled and coming up empty. The scene became more and more reminiscent of one more than a decade before, and his hands began to shake.

What are you doing? He asked himself silently. You failed at this last time. What made you think you could do it now?

He glanced from Maria to the front door, hoping she'd take the hint and get Lucy out of there before things got any uglier. He'd meant what he'd said. There was just no way that little girl needed to be a party to any of this. Especially not if it ended up going the way it seemed to be heading.

Maria took hold of her daughter's wheelchair and began moving as quickly and quietly as she could toward the front door. She got managed to make it to the exit and grasped the handle only to be undone when the hinges squeaked loudly.

Louis swung the gun toward the sound, coming to rest with it pointing at Lucy's head as Maria tried to pull her through the doorway. Mike's long stride carried him quickly between Louis and Lucy, completely undone at the sight of the weapon once again aimed so coldly at the child he'd come to care so deeply for by her own parent as echoes of another child's long ago cries rang in his ears. He grasped Louis' wrist with his right hand, preventing him from aiming the metal monstrosity at the child or her mother, while his left hand balled into a fist seemingly of its own volition, drawing all the strength and weight the man possessed behind it in its fury. This wasn't happening again. This time, he'd find the courage to stop it.

All at once, in what seemed to be almost painfully slow motion, Mike's fist connected with Louis' jaw, the gun went off, and Maria screamed.

When normal time resumed once more, one man lay still upon the floor. The other stood over him, looking down in shocked silence. The only remaining sounds were those of the gun clattering to the ground before coming to rest between them and the woman and child sobbing.

Maria and her daughter were drawn the rest of the way out of the room, tears streaming down their cheeks, as frightened figures ran toward her. Two paused there with her and her child as one continued past.

"Are you alright? " Davy asked, kneeling in front of Lucy, his brow furrowed with worry. The child nodded, still too frightened to speak.

"Shh," Peter soothed to Maria, his voice gentle and sweet in tone and timbre, as the sensitive blonde drew her close, offering reassurances. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

But Maria knew better. She'd known from the moment when she'd first run with her daughter that nothing would ever be okay again.