The sweet voice of Frankie Valli poured into the pad as Micky cranked up the stereo. Peter sat on the couch, nursing some disgusting smoothie that Mike was forcing him to finish, all because a nurse at the hospital had suggested it. The smoothie was supposed to help keep on weight and help provide protein, or something of that nature. It tasted like vomit though and made him want to gag. Peter watched as Micky leapt up onto the coffee table, tumbling a few magazines onto the floor in the process. He threw his arms wide open, as if pleading to Peter or some unseen audience.

"There ain't no good in our goodbyes. True love takes a lot trying. Oh, I'm crying," Micky sang before pretending to play a guitar as a rift sounded on the radio, "Let's hang on, to what we've got!"

Peter burst into laughter as Micky fell slightly off the coffee table, still singing despite the inconvenience.

"Baby! Baby! Let's hang on to what we've got!" Micky continued.

"Turn that racket down, Micky!" Mike snapped as he came into the living room area.

"Don't shut me out," Micky went on singing, this time pretending to plead with Mike.

Mike shook his head at Micky and then turned his gaze upon Peter, who shifted slightly under it.

"And you, stop messin' around and drink that," Mike gestured towards the smoothie Peter was still trying to avoid.

"But it tastes horrible, Mike," Peter whined, hoping that perhaps Mike would just let him dump the horrid stuff down the sink.

"Don't matter what it tastes like, you just drink it up and then ya can get something sweet to eat," Mike replied, before turning back to Micky, "I'm going out, so you gotta watch Peter. Make sure he finishes his drink. Davy will be home soon with groceries and dinner."

"Don't let go girl, we got a lot!" Micky continued to croon, pointing at Mike repeatedly.

Peter couldn't help but laugh at the scene, finding it very funny. Micky certainly was committed to his lipsyncing this evening.

"Micky, Jesus, will you please turn down the radio," Mike nearly shouted.

Micky faltered slightly, an eyebrow raised. Frankie Valli's voice began to fade.

"Jeez, man, what bug crawled up your ass," Micky said as the song changed on the radio.

"I gotta go," Mike ignored Micky's comment, "I'll see you guys later."

"Tell John to dig the bug out of your ass," Peter called after Mike.

Unfortunately for Peter, his comment was either not heard or Mike just flat out ignored it. But at least Micky found it funny. He laughed and then flopped down on the couch next to Peter.

"Is he really going to see John?" Micky asked.

"Probably," Peter shrugged, "It has been a while since they last met up, as far as I know."

"What? Do you spy on him?" Micky arched an eyebrow.

"No," Peter shook his head, "I just worry about him."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Micky pushed himself off the couch and went over to the radio to change the station. A few minutes passed and then Davy came through the front door. Two large grocery bags were hanging off of both his arms, a pizza box balanced precariously in his hands.

"Whoa, I didn't think you'd be bringing home the good stuff," Micky commented, coming over to help Davy by taking the pizza box.

"Well, I knew Mike would be out so I thought, what he doesn't know won't hurt him," Davy went over to the cabinets to hastily put away the food and foodstuffs that he had purchased.

"Aren't I in for a treat tonight," Peter whistled, "What's the occasion?"

"I know you hate those smoothies that Mike's been forcing you to drink, so I thought we could live a little," Davy shrugged, before slapping Micky away from the box, "Hey, wait till me and Peter get some before you make everything disappear."

"I gave up my undying passion for magic years ago, David, I'm offended you didn't remember," Micky gasped, sounding as shocked as he could in the moment.

Peter tried to finish the rest of the smoothie but couldn't stomach it. He only drank about two thirds of it before he decided to just dump the rest of it down the drain. The three of them then ate dinner at the table, Micky retelling a story about how one time his parents took him and Coco to a farm upstate, and how he had ridden a cow into a fence before breaking his arm. Thanks to Micky's story, Davy nearly had milk come out his nose, a sight that Peter found incredibly hilarious. After dinner, Davy cleaned up while Micky and Peter settled down on the couch. A slight chest rattling cough caused Peter to raise his elbow up to his mouth, to cover it. He could feel Micky's eyes burning holes into his skin, but Peter knew the cough was nothing. Nothing at all. He was just clearing his throat. It wasn't a real cough.

"So, hey, Micky, do you wanna know what other special treat I brought home for us?" Davy asked casually as he pulled up one of the armchairs, moving it closer to the couch.

"Sure," Micky seemed curious.

Peter knew that he sure as hell was. He hadn't missed the specific wording Davy had used. Whatever the special treat was, Davy certainly didn't mean for it to be a special treat for Peter. Which made him guess that it was probably pot. Davy reached into his pocket and pulled out a joint.

"I snagged it from Jimmy, a friend of mine, when we saw each other at the grocery store," Davy explained.

"Oh, nice," Micky took the joint from Davy and dug around in his pockets until he found his lighter.

Peter watched as Micky lit the end and took a drag, before handing it over to back to Davy. Davy took a drag and grinned. They passed it back again, between themselves, and Peter felt a little left out.

"Here, let me have that," Peter said after a moment.

Davy and Micky exchanged a look, one that Peter wasn't sure how to interpret. A small part of him wanted to feel upset, but he did understand their hesitation.

"C'mon, it isn't as if I'm gonna live to be killed by lung cancer," Peter joked.

By the look on Micky's face, his joke hadn't been all that funny. Micky paled and his jaw clenched. But Peter's comment hadn't seemed to affect Davy in the same way. He chuckled a little, sounding hollow almost, before leaning forward and handing Peter the joint.

"I guess you're right," he agreed, despite the slight glare Micky shot him.

"Thanks," Peter said.

It was the first time he'd done any sort of drug for about three months now, besides obviously the medical variety. Granted, it wasn't as if prior to his diagnosis he was a drug enthusiast, but he did enjoy the occasional smoke or trip. As he inhaled the smoke into his lungs, he felt a tickle in his throat and he began to cough.

"Are you alright?" Micky instantly asked.

"Yeah, fine," Peter nodded his head, passing on the joint, "It just got me."

Peter wished Micky would stop looking at him as if he were some sort of child. It wasn't as if he were a fragile china doll. He had felt fine all day, minus a slight ache to his body and a looming headache.

"It's been a while," Davy nodded, seeming to take Peter on his word that he was fine.

Although Peter did notice a glance he threw in Micky's direction. But nonetheless, Peter ignored it. He was an adult and it was true, the only thing that would kill him now would be one bad hospitalization or an accident. The trio talked absently as they smoked, which didn't last all that long. Then they just continued to talk. At one point, Peter realized that he was shaking. It didn't seem like Micky or Davy noticed, but Peter couldn't tell if he was cold or not. He excused himself and got a blanket from the closet. The night continued to grow old and the later it got, the worse Peter began to feel. He must have fallen asleep at one point, because one moment he had been listening to Micky and Davy talking about pugs or something and the next moment Davy had one of his tambourines and was showing Micky how to play it. Peter was feeling very sick. No, not sick. Hot. He was hot. He threw the blanket off of him and stumbled to his feet.

"Everything alright, Peter?" Davy asked.

Peter shook his head. What sort of stupid question was that?

"No, of course it's not," he snapped.

"You're shaking," Micky observed.

"I don't feel good," Peter stated.

Suddenly, Micky and Davy disappeared from the floor. Peter stood, staring at where they had been, but then something caught his attention. Davy was coming out the downstairs bedroom, carrying a black bag. Micky was in the kitchen, on the phone.

"Hello? Is Mike Nesmith there?" Micky was asking into the phone.

How had they both gotten up so quickly? Why was Micky on the phone?

"What's going on?" Peter asked as Davy passed by.

"We're going to go to the hospital," Davy explained, "You have a fever. 105."

"When did we find this out?" Peter asked, a deep frown creasing his face.

"Just a few minutes ago," Davy's brows were knitting together.

"This is John Denver's house, right?" Micky was saying, "Oh, okay. No, I'm not looking for John, I just know Mike's with him tonight. Uh-huh. No, um, our friend is sick and we have to go to the hospital. Can you let Mike know when you see him?"

Maybe it was time to go to bed.

"I want to go to bed," Peter stated, "I feel tired."

"I know, babe, come on and let's get in the car," Davy took a hold of Peter by his elbow.

"Okay, thanks, bye," Micky hung up the phone, before turning to face Davy and Peter, "We ready to go?"

"Go where?" Peter asked.

"The hospital," Davy told him, "Yeah, we're ready."

Peter felt tired and fuzzy, as if there were cotton in his ears making everything seem as if there were some sort of odd film covering everything. Not that he could see this film, he just felt as if it were there, in his head at any rate. Davy lead him to the car, where he buckled Peter into the back seat and clambered in next to him. Micky got into the driver's seat and started the car up. As they drove, Peter held tightly onto Davy's hand. When would they get to the hospital? It felt as if they had been driving for ages. Shouldn't they be at the hospital by now?

"Davy?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, Pete?" Davy answered him.

"I don't want to die in the hospital. Don't let me die there," Peter wasn't sure if he was pleading with Davy not to let him die in that antiseptic smelling place or if he was just stating it.

In fact, he wasn't entirely sure why he said any of that at all. It had just sort of slipped out. Davy rubbed Peter's arm.

"You're not going to die, mate," he reassured Peter, "We're just going to go see Dr. Cole and see what's up. That's all."

"I had a fever when I had thrush," Peter felt the cold hand of fear grip him, "Do you think I have thrush again?"

"I don't know, babe, but it's going to be okay," Davy ran his hand through Peter's hair, "Trust me, alright. It'll be okay."

Peter thought he heard Micky say something but he wasn't sure. Everything felt as if it were slipping away from him. How had everything gone downhill so quickly? He had felt fine this morning. Perfectly normal. Not sick at all. All Peter wanted to do in that moment was to disappear. He gripped Davy's hand in his, trying to stay with him.

Davy and Micky were sat in the waiting area again. Dr. Cole had greeted them with a cool, reassuring smile when the trio had entered the AIDS ward. Davy and Micky had kept interrupting each other when they tried to explain what was wrong with Peter, but in the end Dr. Cole understood. He had told Davy and Micky to try and relax, telling the two of them that they'd figure out what was wrong. Then he had whisked Peter away to run tests.

"Do you think it could be thrush again?" Micky asked.

"I dunno," Davy admitted, "I don't think so. His fever wasn't as bad as last time. And he didn't have any trouble with his throat."

A lull of silence enveloped the two men after that. Davy felt fidgety. When would Dr. Cole come and see them? Were they going to give Peter a room or were Micky and Davy supposed to just sit in the waiting room forever? Had Mike gotten Micky's message? Where was Mike right now? Would Peter be could? Why hadn't they noticed anything wrong with him? He'd been coughing so often. Why hadn't they seen this coming? What was wrong with him?

"Micky, Davy," Dr. Cole's voice cut through Davy's thoughts.

The doctor was standing a foot away from them.

"Is Peter alright?" Micky instantly asked as he stood up.

"Well, I sent some blood samples to be examined, but the results won't be back for a while. I also took an x-ray of his chest, but the results of that were inconclusive," Dr. Cole replied and Davy noted that Dr. Cole seemed to be nervous, "I ran a few other tests that I'm waiting for results on, but I'll have them soon enough. His fever has gone down a little, and he's sleeping right now. I thought I'd let you guys sit with him, rather than out here."

What could Dr. Cole be nervous about? It made Davy shiver a little. Did he know something that he didn't want to disclose to Micky and Davy? Maybe Peter was dying. Maybe that was why Dr. cole was nervous. As soon as the thought came into Davy's head, he immediately dispelled it. If Peter was dying, Dr. Cole would tell them right away.

"Thanks, doc," Micky said, instinctively clinging to Davy's hand.

"Alright, then, come on," Dr. Cole lead them to Peter's room.

There wasn't anyone else in the room, the other bed was just empty, and there were three fold-up chairs pushed against the wall, underneath the window. Micky began to bring two of the three chairs over nearer to Peter's bed.

"I'll be back soon to let you guys know what the tests results bring up," Dr. Cole informed the two of them.

"Thank you," Davy said, feeling a numb sensation spreading throughout his body.

And with that, Dr. Cole disappeared. Micky sat down in one of the chairs and, after a moment, Davy followed suit.

"I think he knows something he doesn't want us to," Davy commented, looking at Peter's sleeping face.

"What do you mean?" Micky frowned.

"Didn't you see how nervous he looked?" Davy pointed out, "He knows, or maybe suspects, what might be wrong with Peter, and he doesn't want us to know until he's sure."

"Good," Micky commented, "I don't want to know anything bad until it's for sure."

The tone in Micky's voice made Davy bite back any sort of retort he could think of just then, so the two lapsed into silence.

"Do you think that maybe the AZT stopped working?" Davy asked after a solid four minutes of silence.

"No," Micky shook his head, "That wouldn't have caused a fever, this has to be some sort of opportunistic infection."

Davy didn't have a response for that. He couldn't think of anything else to say. He wasn't even sure if Micky had answered his question. So once more, silence engulfed the room. There wasn't a clock in the room that Davy could see, so he wasn't sure how long he and Micky just sat with Peter, but eventually, Dr. Cole came back into the room.

"Alright, the tests results are back and they indicate that there's something wrong with Peter's lungs," Dr. Cole informed the two men, "But the tests aren't conclusive enough to tell me what exactly is wrong. So I'm going to prep Peter for a bronchoscopy, to find out just what's going on."

"What's a bronchoscopy?" Davy asked.

"A bronchoscopy is a procedure that will allow me to look at Peter's airways using a thin viewing instrument called a bronchoscope, hence the procedure's name being bronchoscopy," Dr. Cole explained.

"Will it hurt him?" Micky sounded scared.

"No, not at all. His throat will be sore afterwards, but he won't feel anything while the procedure is happening," Dr. Cole assured Micky.

"What do you think is wrong?" Davy wanted to to know.

"I'm not sure yet," Dr. Cole admitted, although Davy got the feeling that he was still trying to hide something from them, "Peter's CD4 count is low, his viral load is up, despite the fact that last week when he came in to be checked out, the AZT had been working fine and his count was higher and load lower."

"Did it stop working?" Micky questioned.

"I don't think so," Dr. Cole answered, "But I don't want either of you worrying. We'll find out what's wrong and we're going to fix it."

Davy threw a glance at Peter, who was still sleeping. He must have been exhausted to be able to sleep through all of this conversation. Dr. Cole then suggested that they go down to the cafeteria to get some coffee, as it would probably be a very long night for the two of them, but Davy knew he was only suggesting this to get the two of them out of his way. But Davy understood. It would be better for Micky to get his mind off of the bronchoscopy anyways. So Davy nodded his agreement and nearly dragged Micky down to the cafeteria. Once there, Davy sat Micky down in a chair and went over to the counter. A man behind the counter gave Davy the two coffees he had ordered, along with two cups of jello. Davy handed over the money he owed and then he took his purchased items back to the table that Micky was sat at, forgetting that the man behind the counter owed him change.

"Thanks," Micky mumbled, taking the cup of coffee and the jello that Davy offered him.

"Peter'll be fine, Micky, you'll see," Davy reassured his friend as he sipped at his own coffee.

Micky took a large gulp of coffee, staring down at the jello in front of him.

"I hate jello," Micky grumbled, poking at the red gelatin in the cup.

"No, you don't," Davy said, continuing to drink his coffee.

Micky sighed and took a bite of his jello. Davy watched him as he swallowed. He wasn't entirely sure how he was feeling but Micky looked miserable. Davy suspected that he looked similar. Two miserable people, drinking rather disgusting coffee and pitifully eating jello.

"Do you think Mike will show up?" Micky asked.

"I don't know," Davy admitted to him.

Had Mike gotten Micky's message? They wouldn't know until he showed up and god only knew when he'd show up.

"I wish he were here with us," Micky absently commented, jiggling the jello that was on his spoon.

"Me too, but he'll be here. If not tonight, then by the morning," Davy assured Micky.

"I should call Coco," Micky said to no one in particular.

"You can if you want to," Davy nodded his head.

Maybe they both weren't miserable. They probably both looked miserable but Davy wondered if maybe Micky was feeling numb just like he was. It would make sense.

"I don't know. I think I'll wait until we know what's wrong," Micky shrugged.

Yes, Davy thought to himself, Micky was feeling just like he was right now. What more could be expected with such a dreadful unknown hanging over their heads.

"Okay," Davy finished his coffee and finally ate some of his own jello.

"She and Beth have been thinking about getting a cat, you know," Micky commented.

"Yeah?" Davy took another bite of his jello.

It was surprisingly good. Or maybe Davy was just very hungry. Or maybe… maybe… it didn't matter.

"Yeah," Micky nodded, "She told dad, too, who then said that instead of a cat, she and Beth should get a kid. Coco just laughed dad off but do you want to know what she told me?"

"Of course," Davy said.

"Well, when we were talking, just the two of us, she told me that she wants to have a kid of her own. She and Beth. They both want to have a baby. Each. I joked that they should give us a kid, but, even though we both laughed about it, I think if I really asked, she and Beth would give us a kid. Maybe not for a while, and I'd wait for Coco and Beth to have as many kids as they want before I even thought about asking them. Plus, it'd all depend on if you guys want kids," Micky was rambling, "I mean, do you ever think about having kids, Davy?"

Davy watched as Micky continued to pick at his jello. The question made Davy want to squirm. He didn't really want to think about something that probably none of them would ever have.

"Uh, no, not really," Davy answered.

"I've always wanted kids," Micky went on, almost as if he hadn't heard Davy's response, "When I found out that I liked boys, I was real disappointed. No one's gonna let a pervert and his lover adopt a kid."

"Well you don't know that. You never know what the future might have in store for us," Davy pointed out, not wanting Micky to feel bad.

Micky took a long gulp of his coffee and then smiled bitterly.

"I guess that's true," he said, "I'm sorry, I just… talk when I'm nervous or scared."

"I know, Mick," Davy nodded his head.

They sat in the cafeteria for a whole hour. Micky talked and Davy listened, that was how it went. The words and stories that came out of Micky's mouth had no real substance to them and both men knew this. It was an unspoken understanding that Davy respected. Micky needed to talk. And he had to talk about nothing at all. So Davy nodded his head here and there, listening the whole time. After an hour, they found a bathroom. They both relieved their bladders and decided to walk around the hospital a little. A nurse noticed their little never ending adventure a half hour into it and kindly directed them to a courtyard where they could get some fresh air.

Outside, Micky pointed out all the star constellations that he could and then launched into a lengthy rant about light pollution. Davy at this point decided to kill some time and so he played Devil's Advocate. He argued that light pollution wasn't even real and Micky utterly destroyed that line of argument. In the courtyard they found a bench to sit on, and the talk turned to music.

"I wonder if we'll ever have another gig together as the Monkees," Davy commented.

"Of course we will," Micky immediately answered.

The way he said it made it sound as if Micky had been repeating that to himself for some time now. A mantra of sorts.

"Peter hasn't touched any of his instruments for a good while now, especially his guitar," Davy pointed out, "Neither have the rest of us."

"We've just been busy," Micky rested his chin in his hands, "With everything going on, how could we find time to practice."

"Maybe it's time we hang up the idea of being a band," Davy tentatively suggested.

It would make sense, of course. When Peter passed away, the band would be finished. It wouldn't feel right to continue being the Monkees without Peter. And since they didn't have time to practice, didn't have time to find gigs, could they still call themselves a band? Certainly their dream of being rockstars was a pipe dream to begin with but now with Peter's illness throwing a wrench into the equation, maybe it was time to give up the dream completely. Of course it broke Davy's heart to even think of such a thing. He loved being the Monkees with his bandmates. But even if Peter got well enough to play his guitar, who'd hire them if they found out Peter had AIDS? Who'd hire them when Mike or Micky or Davy got AIDS? The answer, of f course, was no one. No one was going to hire a band like that.

"Don't say that sort of shit," Micky snapped.

He sounded angry and Davy regretted having said anything. They sat on the bench in the courtyard, surrounded by nothing but silence, for a few minutes.

"Do you think Dr. Cole will have bad news for us?" Davy questioned after a while, deciding to test the waters and see if Micky was still mad at him.

"Probably," Micky shrugged, "But I don't know. We'll just… have to take it one moment at a time."

He didn't seem to be angry with Davy anymore. But he didn't exactly sound thrilled either. The air was a bit too stagnant in the hospital courtyard for Davy's liking. He wished there was some sort of breeze to break up the air a little. Break up the tension.

"Do you ever wish you'd gotten it to?" Davy asked.

The question came out of nowhere. Davy wasn't entirely sure why he thought to ask that. He felt Micky glance at him.

"What? AIDS?" he could hear the frown in Micky's voice.

"It's statistically impossible that you and me don't have anything," Davy explained, "I mean, Mike's probably clean as fuck. Or… was. I don't know."

Davy sighed, unsure of where he was even taking this conversation.

"I don't hope I get it, and I don't wish I had gotten it," Micky replied after a stretch of silence, "But we should get retested after six months. And continue to do so. Or at least, that's my plan. We could at any point become HIV positive and develop AIDS."

"Wow," Davy almost laughed, "You really sound like you know your stuff."

"I do," Micky nodded, "I asked Dr. Cole all about it. Said that it was uncommon for partners of AIDS patients to not become HIV positive and that all three of us should monitor ourselves closely, get tested every six months, be safe."

"Be safe," Davy repeated, a hollow feeling spreading throughout his chest.

The two men sat on the bench for a while. Davy felt a heavy stone begin to form in his insides and he felt a horrible guilt begin to wash over him.

"Micky, I have to tell you something," he mumbled after a while, eyes glued to the large slabs of stone that made up the ground of the courtyard.

"What is it?" Micky prompted.

Davy could feel his eyes on him. It was an unbearable sort of feeling but Davy was committed now. He couldn't exactly back out of it now, could he.

"I almost got it first," Davy finally admitted.

He braced himself for whatever came next. There was no telling what was going to happen. Or maybe nothing would happen. After all, so much had already happened that day. Maybe they were both too numb to react to anything.

"What'd ya mean?" Micky asked.

"I… a year or so before Peter got his diagnosis, I was at the baths," Davy began, his ears feeling extremely hot, "I… well I - there was this guy. He told me he had it and didn't stop to let me say no. I had to push him off me."

Silence. Why was it so quiet outside, in this damn little courtyard? Why weren't there even crickets? Then.

"Did he…?" Micky didn't finish the question. Davy understood what he was asking.

"I don't know, no I guess, no," Davy shrugged, "Nothing happened, I made sure of that."

"Did you get tested?" Micky asked.

"I… I had planned to. A flyer I saw ages ago said you had to wait, like, three months but I had… when three months rolled around I figured I hadn't actually been exposed to anything," Davy replied.

Davy felt utterly horrid. How had things devolved to this?

"I love you, Davy," Micky whispered, his hand suddenly grabbing Davy's.

The gesture made Davy feel a little better but only marginally. The worry he felt for Peter and the feelings he still harbored for himself were still mixing up inside of him.

"I love you, too, Micky," Davy said, squeezing Micky's hand gently.

They sat like that for a few minutes, heads tilted upwards towards the stars until they let go of each other's hands. Then Micky stood up.

"Let's go back to the room. See if that broncho-scopy thing's finished," Micky suggested as he offered Davy his hand.

Davy grabbed Micky's hand and stood up as well.

"Alright, that sounds good," he agreed.

The two made their way back to Peter's room, their hands clasped together as they both braced themselves to face whatever would come next. When they went into Peter's room, they found the blonde bassist sleeping in his bed as if nothing had happened. Davy almost wondered if anything had actually happened. But Dr. Cole was there, marking something on a clipboard. Upon Davy and Micky's entrance, he placed the clipboard back onto the end of Peter's bed and turned to face them.

"Is it over?" Micky wondered.

"Yeah, he'll just need his rest tonight," Dr. Cole answered.

"What did you find out?" Davy asked, ready to know whatever news Dr. Cole had for them.

He couldn't tell if his palms were sweaty because he himself was sweating or if it was because he was still clinging to Micky's hand. Was it nerves or heat? Nonetheless, Davy was highly aware of his sweaty palms. Were both palms sweaty or was just one palm sweaty?

"It isn't good," Davy watched as Dr. Cole grabbed onto the end of Peter's bed, as if he needed the physical support.

Or maybe it was Davy who needed Dr. Cole to need some sort of physical support as he informed Davy and Micky of the news. Just to humanize him a little. But wasn't Dr. Cole already humanized in Davy's eyes? Davy wasn't even sure if any of that made any sense in the least.

"Peter has Pneumocystis pneumonia, also shortened to three letters as PCP," Dr. Cole continued, "It's in its earlier stages though, so we'll start him on pentamidine as soon as possible, take him off AZT, all that. We'll get ahead of this the best we can."

Davy felt Micky pull him closer and Davy was grateful for the human contact. It felt sturdier to be so close to Micky. It gave him something to focus on while the rest of the world seemed to falter. Seemed to trip, stumble, and fall away. If AIDS was the death sentence, PCP was the confirmation of the date. In most cases. Not all cases. Maybe this wouldn't be all cases. Davy kept reminding himself that not everyone had the same experience with ADIS. It was always different. Similar, but there was always the hope that… maybe it wouldn't happen this time. Maybe this time would be different. Or a cure would be found. Or maybe this was all some sort of bad dream.

"Alright," Davy heard Micky say, the rumble of his words making Micky's chest vibrate, "Thanks, doc."

"One of the nurses will bring in a cot. And some blankets," Dr. Cole informed the two of them, "Since I'm assuming you two want to spend what's left of the night here."

Davy felt Micky nod his head in confirmation. Dr. Cole offered both of them a small smile, one that Davy reflected back in a hollow manner. Why was any of this happening to them? It just wasn't fair. Not fair at all. But what could be done? The answer was simple, of course. Nothing could be done, absolutely nothing. All that could be done was hope, such a fragile construct at this point. Hope and wait with fingers crossed.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you to everyone who reads this latest chapter! Again, this fic is fictional and it is not meant to make light of AIDS/HIV and it should be remembered that, although I did try to be as accurate as I could, I am only a high school, not a doctor or a historian. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, editing it was a lot of fun. I am nearing the end of the writing process (so far I have about 8 chapters unpublished, waiting to be edited & I have maybe 2-4 chapters left to actually write). My goal is to have this finished by the new year, January 1st, but no promises because school will probably be getting even more hectic from here on out. BUT I will try to keep publishing regularly and I really hope you all enjoyed this latest update. Feel free to leave a review and a comment, both are really appreciated! Your feedback is welcomed! Have a wonderful day & stay tuned for more.