NOTES: End of the road! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who commented on this story - I really appreciate it. This was my first time trying to write in this fandom, and I have to say, I had an absolute blast :) I really hope this last chapter works for everyone!
He knew something was wrong the second he opened his eyes and took in Davy, sleeping peacefully just a couple of inches away from him.
He blinked once, twice, and three seconds later, he knew exactly what was wrong with Davy, because even partly hidden by his hair, there was no mistaking the changed contours of his face. It was subtle, but to Mike, the shift was like a jarring klaxon horn.
He spent seven futile seconds just staring.
And then, with a jolt, he realized that nothing was wrong with Davy – as a matter of fact, everything was finally right again. The fact that he hadn't immediately jumped to this conclusion showed that if anything was wrong – it was with Mike.
Suddenly numb and clumsy, he pulled away from Davy, and got to his feet. He stared some more.
He had a vague idea that he should be doing something productive. Figuring out a plan. Deciding how best to handle this. Waking Davy up. Instead he just stood by the bed and looked.
The only thing he could feel, and only in an abstract, indistinct kind of way, was a kind of admiring revulsion for how very malevolent great aunt Jemima had turned out to be. Because you couldn't tell him that she hadn't planned this down to the very last detail – waiting until they'd finally stopped hoping, finally stopped anticipating the change-back, finally…
…given in.
And then she'd changed him back. It was the most creative, most judiciously considered piece of nastiness Mike had ever seen in his life.
Man, he hated great aunt Jemima.
Just then Davy stirred, stretched, and opened his eyes. Mike froze.
"Hey," Davy said, looking right at him, and Mike really shouldn't have been surprised that his eyes were the same. Then he blinked, and said in a different tone, "Hey…"
Abruptly, he began patting down his torso, and when he discovered a flat boyish plain instead of the more elaborate girlish vista, his head snapped up, the look of wonder on his face slowly changing to a wide, joyful smile.
Mike quickly pasted on a smile of his own and said, "You're back."
"I'm a boy again!" He gave himself another, more extensive patdown as if to make certain of this. Though Mike wouldn't have thought it possible, his smile became even brighter. Mike suddenly felt like a traitorous Geppetto.
"You sure are. A boy. Again." With a sense that more was called for than a simple statement of fact, Mike said, "How do you feel?"
Davy thought for a second. "I don't know. Different. The same." He paused. "It's weird."
"No it's not. At least – not anymore," Mike said. "Everything's…back to normal again."
Davy looked at him, smile finally beginning to fade, a crease between his eyesbrows, which now looked too thin for his newly…oldly….boyish face. Mike guessed his attempt at a buoyant tone had sunk like a stone. It was just…hard to make 'normal' seem like a wholeheartedly good thing, when it felt like the most foot-dragging, arm-numbing chore.
"I guess it is," Davy said slowly, frowning. He looked at Mike. "We…were going to tell Peter and Micky today."
It wasn't quite a question.
"And now…we don't have to," Mike pointed out.
"I suppose not," Davy said. The words came out flat. He held Mike's gaze, even though Mike wanted to look away. "What do you want to do?"
He didn't know why Davy was asking him, like Mike really had any say in how things should be. He'd only just got used to things being one way…and here the ground was shifting under his feet again. Admittedly, it wasn't like he'd had a whole lot of experience with this kind of thing – but surely, surely it wasn't supposed to be this hard?
He just felt so tired. Bone-tired, and raw, and like he just might fall down from the disappointment sawing through his chest.
Aware of Davy's eyes still on him, he said, slowly, "I want…I want things to be normal again."
It wasn't like Mike was in the habit of taking the road more traveled, and the Monkees journey toward fame and recognition was a steep and perpetual uphill climb. But that had never, ever made him feel even one little bit as tired as he was right now.
The memory of normality was a lifeline, and he did what anyone would do – he grabbed for it.
Davy didn't say anything, and he pulled another breath into his lungs. Even that took effort. "After all – it's not like anything really happened." Mike wished he could drag the back of his hand across his mouth to erase the memory of kissing Davy.
"Nothing happened," Davy said. The words were still pancake-flat, but Mike thought he could detect the tiniest frill of incredulity around the edges.
"It was just, you know – some kissing. It was no big deal."
Davy considered him for a long moment, and Mike kept his face stock-still, as impassive as he could make it, and hoped Davy didn't look at his sleeve, because he was pretty sure that's where his heart was.
"Right," Davy said finally. "Normal. That's – what you really want, then?"
"Isn't it what you want?" Mike countered.
Davy just looked at him, and even though Mike knew him – had known him as a boy for longer than he'd been a girl…it was like looking at a complete stranger.
"Course it is," Davy said.
Breakfast was a celebratory affair.
"Garcon, a bottle of your finest Tang," Micky said, clapping his hands, and Peter, a towel draped over his arm, carefully poured orange liquid from the pitcher into four glasses. Micky picked one up, and took a considering sip. "A good vintage," he declared, then turned to Davy. "So – how does it feel to be back?"
"Like I never left," Davy said, then reminded him, "You do know I was here the whole time."
"Some parts of you weren't," Micky pointed out.
"I wonder what happened to those," Peter said thoughtfully. "You know – the bits that are…" he made a vague motion in the direction of Davy's chest, "…gone. Where did they go to?"
The Monkees thought for a minute. "I guess we'll never know," Micky said, then got to his feet, and solemnly held out his glass. "A toast! To the memory of Daffy Jones. Daffy – we hardly knew ye."
Glasses were clinked and Peter wiped away a tear, while Davy reminded everyone, "I'm still here, you know."
Micky sat down again and said, "Seriously though, it's good to have the original, authentic, bona fide Davy Jones back."
"Hear hear!" Peter said.
"Thanks," Davy told them.
Mike forced himself to smile. It felt like he'd bitten into a lemon.
"Hey Mike, are you okay?" Peter suddenly asked. "You look like you just bit into a lemon."
All evidence to the contrary, it wasn't that he wasn't glad that Davy had changed back.
Davy'd been just fine the way he was, and great aunt Jemima'd had no business changing him into a girl just because her daddy hadn't let her go horse-riding when she was a kid. Davy hadn't asked for, or deserved, any of the problems of femininity that great aunt Jemima had heaped on him out of pure spite.
So, Davy changing back was – a triumph. It was a victory over petty meanness and bone-deep cruelty. It really was.
And Mike was glad he'd changed back. He just…wasn't happy about it yet.
He was willing to admit that part of it was because he and Davy had almost had something there, and the timing of the change made him feel like – like he'd finally got this fragile, beating thing in the palm of his hand, only to have it snatched away without warning.
So, sure, he could only appreciate Davy turning back on an intellectual level so far – but he was sure that in a little while, when the sting of disappointment faded, he was going to be genuinely happy about it.
After all, he and Davy'd only really inched their way to almost having something. And it wasn't like you could spend forever missing something you'd only ever nearly had.
Maybe Mike would've found it easier to come to terms with Davy being a boy again, if Davy hadn't embraced it so immediately and with an enthusiasm that bordered on the tactless.
Right after breakfast, Micky moved his stuff back into Mike and Davy's room.
He threw himself down on Davy's bed with a sigh and said, "Home sweet home. Did'ja miss me?"
Mike stared blankly down at the bed and had a weird disconnected moment remembering how just last night –
He forced the memory down and said, "You're moving back in here?"
"Yeah," Micky said. "No reason not to anymore, right? I mean – Pete's virtue is safe now that we have regular-Davy back."
"Makes sense, I guess," Mike said. "Only – you might want to clear it with Davy first. I mean, he's only just changed back, and he probably needs some time to get his head around" –
"Davy's the one who suggested it," Micky said.
"Oh," Mike said. "Well – in that case, I guess there's no problem."
It made sense. Of course it did. After all – it wasn't like Davy was going to need pep-talks from Mike on dealing with being a boy. He'd been a boy his whole life – apart from the last couple of months, and he'd never needed any help with it before.
Everything was slipping back to the way it should be. Mike tried to smile.
"Why is your face all twisted? You got a toothache or something, Mike?" Micky asked him, suddenly concerned.
The next morning, at breakfast, he asked Davy, "Was everything all right last night? You uh, you sleep okay?"
But Davy just looked at him, with his familiarly unfamiliar face, and said, "Never better. Why?"
It had taken Mike a long time to get to sleep. Even though he was trying to ruthlessly suppress all memories of the night before the switchover, the simple fact of Davy not being in the next bed nagged at him and kept him awake.
It was a little hard to turn off his almost-feelings, that was all. But going by how quickly Davy seemed to have flicked the off switch, it probably wasn't going to take long at all for Mike's nearly-attachment to fade away.
They threw out great aunt Jemima's wardrobe. But as Davy pushed the last voluminous dress into the trash and Micky played a jaunty drum riff to commemorate their newfound freedom from poly-satin eyesores, Mike felt a twinge of regret.
Davy's eyebrows filled out again. No-one else commented on it, and maybe they didn't even notice, but Mike found himself tracing Davy's features whenever he wasn't looking, trying to find – something. Some traces of the person he'd been for the last few months. The worst part was, he found them all too easily.
A couple of days later, they walked right past Madam Marie inside the department store. Her mouth formed a slight moue of distaste as she caught sight of Mike and the others, but her eyes passed right over Davy, like she'd never seen him before. Like the last couple of months had never happened at all.
He tried to stop looking at Davy – well, not not looking at him period, that would've required blindfolds and answering a lot of questions – but looking at him the way he had when Davy'd been a girl. But every so often, he'd catch himself studying the slant of Davy's jaw, or the way his hair fell now that it was cut back into its old style, or the shape of his mouth when he smiled. It was a hard habit to break.
See, the rhythm of normal was recognizable – but now it felt like everything had been speeded up, so Mike was always moving a beat behind, no matter how hard he tried to keep up.
And then, they got a gig.
Mike was relieved. Of course he was relieved. Normality's melody might be proving a little elusive, but he'd never had a problem when it came to playing real music.
Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about what usually happened after a gig.
"Everyone, this is Regina," Davy said, gesturing toward a pretty, smiling girl with curly, strawberry blonde hair.
"And he's back, ladies and gentlemen," Micky said, cupping his hands as if he were speaking into a microphone, "Davy Jones is officially back." He dropped the imaginary microphone and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Micky."
"Hi," Regina said.
There was a second's silence before Davy offered, "And that's Peter and Mike." Regina held up her hand and gave them a little wave. It was cute. Mike tried out another one of those smiles that didn't feel like a smile. He felt pale and washed out, like a ghost, or a sepia photograph, while Regina was standing next to Davy in glorious technicolour.
Another silence descended.
"So – d'you want to…?" Davy asked.
"Oh – yes," Regina said.
Davy turned back to the others. "We're just going for a walk. See you later."
Regina's hand reached out and curled around Davy's, and he smiled at her, and laced their fingers together, and…
…when he'd found out that Davy'd liked him, which suddenly felt like a very long time ago now, he'd said he was flattered. It hit him now with a suffocating kind of force that 'flattered' had been an alias or pseudonym for how he'd really felt. Still felt.
Maybe flattened was a better description.
Mike didn't watch them walk away, but Micky did, placing a hand over his heart and sighing. "Well, it's back," he said.
"What is?" Mike asked.
"The familiar gnawing jealousy whenever Davy snags a great-looking girl. Guess we really are back to normal."
Mike remembered how close Davy had stood to Regina, shoulders touching, and he made himself say, "Looks like it."
Two days later, Regina broke up with Davy.
"But why?" Peter asked. "She really seemed to like you."
Davy coughed. "She caught me trying on her lipstick."
Slowly, Micky repeated, "She caught you trying on her lipstick."
Davy shrugged a little defensively. "I just – forgot I wasn't a girl for a minute. You know, this changing back business isn't always easy."
"Oh, I'll bet," Mike said with cynical blandness. Maybe he should be relieved to see some sign that Davy wasn't taking the whole reversal thing so well…but really, it didn't help all that much. Because minor make-up slips aside, Davy hadn't seemed to have any difficulty with anything else – like say, wiping away his feelings for Mike. Turned out those'd been about as long-lasting as a coat of lipstick.
Peter appeared deep in thought. "What colour was it?" he asked.
"Raspberry Crush," Davy said.
"I can't believe she broke up with you over something like that. I think that colour would look really good on you."
Regina's defection didn't really matter, ultimately, because five days later, there was another gig, and another girl.
This one was small and dark-haired, and she had a way of bouncing on the balls of her feet whenever she saw Davy that Mike found extremely irritating. She came up to them afterwards, and introduced herself.
"Hi," she said, eyes focused on Davy. "I'm Cora-Lee."
He smiled at her. "I'm Davy." He gestured behind him at the others. "And these are my friends."
She didn't spare any of them a glance, intensely and absolutely centered on Davy. For the last couple of months this kind of scenario had resulted in Mike coming to stand next to Davy, and introducing himself as Davy's boyfriend. He had to fight the urge to do exactly that here, busying himself by tightening one of the strings of his guitar.
He'd tried to tell himself it wasn't Davy's fault. It was probably a pitfall of its own, being irresistible, and he was always sincere enough about – whoever he liked – at the start. It wasn't like Davy could help having an attention span shorter than he was.
Strangely, even though this was all still true, it didn't make it any easier to accept being relegated to the Davy Jones cast-off pile.
"Davy," Cora-Lee said, "I know this is awful sudden and everything, but – I'm having a party tomorrow night – 1229 Maple Drive…and I think I'll just die if you don't come."
Mike risked a look. The excited jittering had spread from her feet all through her body, so she looked like a leaf in a high wind.
Davy looked a bit taken aback, but immediately said, "Well, I suppose in that case, I have to go to your party, don't I?"
"I'm so glad," Cora-Lee said, clasping one of his hands between both of hers and staring deep into his eyes for a long moment.
"Can my friends come too?" Davy asked.
"Of course," she breathed. "I don't mind. You can bring the entire English army and I won't care, so long as you're there."
Davy blinked. "Well – how about we keep it simple tomorrow, and ask the army to pop round for tea another time?"
"Whatever you want," Cora-Lee said. "I'll see you tomorrow." She released his hand and began walking backwards, eyes still fixed on Davy. She didn't seem to notice that she was bumping into people.
"That one is gonna be trouble. I can feel it," Micky said, as he began to pack away his drum kit.
"She seemed all right to me. She seemed like a perfectly nice girl," Davy defended. "Anyway, what's the harm in going to her party and making her happy?"
Micky considered it. "I don't know – but I'm sure we'll find out." He frowned. "Hey, Mike – dont'cha think that string's tight enough?"
The party was everything Mike had expected and less.
As soon as they opened the door, Cora-Lee appeared and spirited Davy away to the dancefloor, Micky went to get something to drink and never came back, and he found himself standing by the wall with Peter.
Mike watched Davy dance with Cora-Lee in silence. He knew he should find something else to do – ask some girl to dance, or at the very least strike up a conversation with Peter, because looking at Davy smiling at some girl sent this awful ache crawling through his gut – it achieved nothing, and it just made him feel worse. But he still couldn't look away.
Even though it was in an entirely different part of town, this party reminded him of the last party they'd gone to, when Davy'd still been dealing with being in a feminine condition, and Mike – well, even then, Mike'd been pretty twisted up over Davy. He could admit that now.
In a weird way, it felt like if he turned around, he just might bump into himself. Instead, he kept his face forward and stared even harder at the dance-floor. After all, what would he say to his past self?
'Hang tough – it doesn't get better'?
'Don't, whatever you do, give in and pretend like you've got a shot with Davy'?
'The good news is, great aunt Jemima's curse gets reversed eventually. The bad news is – you'll wish it didn't'?
He couldn't lay that kind of a trip on himself. His past self had enough to deal with.
So he just kept looking at Davy and Cora-Lee, and out of nowhere, Peter said, "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Sure," Mike said, as Davy spun Cora-Lee around, and she laughed.
"I kind of miss girl-Davy," Peter said. Mike turned to face him, attention caught, and Peter continued, "I mean, don't get me wrong – it's great to have guy-Davy back, but I kind of wish girl-Davy was still around too…even though that'd be impossible. But then – guys turning into girls is supposed to be impossible too…so I'm just really confused right now."
"You're not the only one," Mike muttered. He took a deep breath. "And – for the record…I miss girl-Davy too."
It loosened the ache in his belly just a little to admit it out loud.
Davy broke up with Cora-Lee three days later.
She did not accept it with grace and stoicism. And, in a strange way, Mike couldn't exactly blame her, because even though Davy took her aside and explained to her very gently and sincerely that it just wouldn't be fair to her if he kept seeing her – for the first time this didn't read like kindness and honesty on Davy's part to Mike, instead, it seemed like a kind of carelessness. Almost callous, in a way.
Maybe it was because, once Davy'd broken up with a girl, they never really hung around. They'd always taken their heartbreak considerately out of sight. Cora-Lee on the other hand, kept coming back, brandishing her bewildered hurt like a weapon and trying to get Davy to change his mind. Mike felt a kind of furtive solidarity with her, because he knew there was no worse feeling in the world than realizing that while you were standing perfectly still, Davy Jones had already moved on.
But mostly, Mike just wished she would give up, because there was something very unsettling about having her unabashedly give voice to all the feelings he was pretending so hard not to have.
"I told you she was going to be trouble," Micky said, when they opened the door of the Pad to find her inside and waiting. Again. "Didn't I tell you?"
"Where's Davy?" she asked, getting up from the couch, and dropping the magazine she'd been reading.
"Davy's not here," Mike said. "And you shouldn't be either, Cora-Lee."
Davy was actually on the beach, having rescued a puppy. He was talking to its owner, someone Mike suspected would turn out to be interchangeable girl number three.
"I need to talk to Davy," she said, a determined expression on her face.
"Well, I'm sorry, but he doesn't want to talk to you," Mike said. "He's already broken up with you at least three times."
"Four," Peter chimed in helpfully. "She tried to serenade him last night, outside our bedroom window."
"What we're saying is…there's a pattern developing here," Micky said. "And it's not hearts and flowers."
Very calmly, Cora-Lee put down her purse. Then, she got to her knees, before lying down on the ground.
"What are you doing?" Peter asked.
"I want Davy! Make him talk to me!" she yelled, banging her fists and her feet against the floor.
"Ah – the terrible teens," Micky said. "Don't worry," he told Peter, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of Cora-Lee's outburst, "It's a perfectly normal stage of development, characterized by moodiness, temper-tantrums," he ducked as Cora-Lee flailed around and managed to grab the magazine she'd been reading, and threw it in his direction, " – and the need for protective padding."
Mike stared down at her, squirming and thrashing on the floor, and just like that, something snapped inside him. He strode over to her and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up. "Now, that's enough!" he said. "You oughta be ashamed of yourself, acting like that! Stop it right now!"
Cora-Lee sniffled. "I just want Daaaaavy!"
"Well, you can't have him," Mike said, with brutal honesty. "And you gotta accept that."
She blinked back tears. "But – I'll just die if I can't be with him!"
"No, you won't," Mike said. It wasn't meant as a reassurance, but a hard statement of fact. "Believe me, no-one dies of a broken heart." Mike felt he could say this with certainty. Maimed by a broken heart might still be a possibility, but outright death didn't seem at all likely.
"But" –
"But nothing," Mike told her firmly. "Davy doesn't want you – he's made that real clear – and now…you've just got to learn to live with that – because, well, because you don't have any other choice."
"Gee, Mike – that's not the most cheering advice," Peter pointed out.
Mike ignored him. "Look," he said to Cora-Lee, "I know it's hard…and maybe it never gets any easier, I don't know. But it's that, or lay down on the floor and howl the rest of your life away. And that's not going to bring him back either." He regarded her, and asked, "So – what's it going to be?"
Cora-Lee looked at him with new determination. She took a deep breath, tilted her chin up…and promptly threw herself to the floor again, wailing with new fervour.
"You know, after that speech – I kind of want to do that," Micky said, looking down at her. "Don't ever go into politics," he told Mike, over the sound of weeping.
It took them a while to coax her back into a vertical position, and even then, she wobbled a little on her feet, like she was ready to dive back down onto the floorboards at the slightest provocation.
This time, they propped her up with clichés, as they slowly shepherded her towards the door. Almost irritably, Mike offered, "Well, just remember, whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."
"Tomorrow is another day," Micky added.
"Time heals all wounds, all's well that ends well, and better safe than sorry," Peter said, not to be outdone.
Cora-Lee turned her woebegone face toward Mike again, palm on the door-handle. "But," she asked, watery-eyed, "What am I going to do now?"
The thing was, he just couldn't sugarcoat the truth.
"You're going to go home," he said, picking up her purse and hanging it on her arm, "And you're going to get over him. Because that's the only thing you can do."
After the door closed behind her, Micky asked, "What was all that about?"
"What?" Mike asked, carefully not looking at him.
Micky gestured the way Cora-Lee had just left. "That," he said.
"You have to admit, Mike – that wasn't the way we usually deal with those kinds of situations," Peter said.
"Yeah – usually when a girl comes down with a bad case of Davy Fever, we're…nicer to them."
"Well, what that girl needed was a dose of reality," Mike said, stubbornly. She'd only known Davy for four days, after all. Mike'd been stupid about Davy for a lot longer than that, and he still wasn't letting himself off the hook.
Micky didn't answer. Mike turned to Peter. "Don't tell me you think I was wrong too."
"Well," Peter said eventually, "Reality's a nice place to visit – but I wouldn't want to live there."
Mike had no response for that. Courtesy of the Davy situation, he'd been spending a lot of time there lately, and he had to admit, he didn't much care for 'reality' as a current address either.
The girl whose purebred puppy Davy rescued turned out to be called Letitia – and she was even worse than Cora-Lee, because when Davy tried to break up with her, her father had him locked up in one of their dog kennels.
"But Davy's not a dog – you can't keep him locked up like one!" Peter protested to Letitia's father.
"My Tish has decided he's the one for her," her father said. "And that's all I need to know. He looks like a fine, healthy specimen – bright, shiny eyes, good teeth, pink gums." The man paused. "It's a good thing we're not breeding for height – but I've always said, 'It's the quality of the litter that counts, not the size.'"
"Very true," Micky agreed, "Except that again – Davy is not a dog!"
"No – more of a tomcat," Mike muttered.
Peter turned to Letitia. "You can't keep Davy locked up forever!"
"Oh, I don't plan on it," she said earnestly.
Peter eased back on the impassioned expression. "Well, that's a relief."
"It's just until he sees sense," she explained.
"Well – if you and your father are the only two people allowed to visit him – he's not going to be seeing sense for a while now, is he?" Micky pointed out.
"For the last time – do you three have a purebred Coonhound you're interested in selling, or not?" Letitia's father demanded.
"No," Peter admitted. "That was just a ruse so that you'd talk to us."
Letitia's father shook his head in amazement. "Well, if that don't beat all. You know, sometimes, I think there are no decent, God-fearing people left in the world." He raised his shotgun. "Now get offa my land."
They got.
Once they had reached a safe, shotgun-free distance, Micky turned to Mike and said expectantly, "So – what's the plan?"
"Plan?" Mike asked.
"Yeah. How are we going to get Davy out of this one?"
"You know something?" Mike said slowly, as if he were just realizing it himself. "Maybe Davy doesn't want to be rescued." He felt like a pilot, sitting up in the cockpit, flicking off all the switches, and just – not caring anymore. He handed over to the co-pilot willingly.
"This note with 'Help!' on it in Davy's handwriting would seem to suggest otherwise," Peter said, pulling said note out of his pocket.
"Is that written in blood?" Micky asked.
Peter shook his head. "Raw steak."
But it turned out his co-pilot was a mean sonovagun, because Mike found himself saying, "Davy's old enough to get himself out of the situations he gets himself into."
Micky looked taken aback. "Maybe…but usually we help him out."
"There've been times when we let him stay engaged," Mike pointed out, folding his arms.
"Well, yeah – but only if there were guys with guns, or sticks, or really beefy arms involved," Micky countered. He paused. "And sometimes for comedic effect. But…this is different."
"How?" Mike asked.
"It's not funny," Micky said simply.
"Yeah. This time it seems kinda mean," Peter agreed.
Mike knew that, but the nasty sonovagun still seemed to be calling the shots…and truth be told, it was kind of satisfying to let him off the leash and give him free reign.
"Well," he said, getting to his feet and dusting off his pants, "You two can decide on what you want to do. I'm going to catch a ride back home."
He was wide awake a couple of hours later, when Peter, Micky and Davy returned. He'd made himself get ready for bed, and turn off the light, and he'd tried to force himself to go to sleep, but he just found himself staring up at the ceiling, tensely awaiting the sound of the door.
When it came and he heard the murmur of voices downstairs, he turned over onto his side. He stayed very still at the sound of feet on the stairs, approaching his room.
There was a pause, and he could perceive someone – Micky, he guessed, shifting from side to side. He waited for him to start fumbling around in the dark as he got ready for bed.
Instead, the light was switched on.
He sat up in bed, squinting in the sudden brightness. Micky was leaning against the wall and Peter stood in the doorway. Both had leaves in their hair, and Micky sported a long smudge of dirt across his cheek. Peter was wearing dark clothes, a necklace of sausages, and one glove that looked like it'd been chewed through in several places.
"Davy's downstairs," Micky said. "Gone to bed. Just in case you, you know, care, or anything."
Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? "Good," Mike said. "I think I'm going to follow his example."
Micky just looked at him. "Okay, spill it," he said.
"What?"
He refused to be distracted. "Come on, Mike. You know what we're talking about."
"You haven't been yourself for a while, Mike," Peter said reluctantly. "You've been someone else. And we don't like him very much."
"We're your friends," Micky said. "Don't you think we deserve an explanation at least?"
The kicker was – they did.
"I don't really want to talk about it," he said.
"Come on, Mike," Micky urged. "Whatever it is – it can't be that bad."
"Wanna bet?" he asked.
"Okay," Micky said. "I'll put ten to one on you coming clean. It's a long shot, but I've got a good feeling about you."
Mike sighed. "All right," he said. "But I'm warning you now that it's weird and dumb – and there's not even all that much to it." The words creaked out a little rustily. He took a deep breath. And then another one. Finally, he admitted, "I liked – Davy. Girl-Davy."
Micky frowned. "What's weird about that? You like guy-Davy – what's twisting your chops about liking girl-Davy. It'd be weird if you didn't like girl-D…oh."
"Yeah. Oh," Mike agreed.
"That is a little weird," Peter said thoughtfully.
Even though telling Peter and Micky didn't do a thing to improve the root cause of the problem – it did help. Mike had been turning himself in circles for so long now, he felt like he had a permanent case of vertigo. It was good to get a fresher, more hopeful take on the whole Davy situation.
"So – what happened?" Micky asked, with a frown.
Mike thought about it. "Nothing much, really. Mostly, we tried not to do anything."
Micky considered this. "Okay. But maybe, while you were trying to burn this thing out, you actually ended up stoking it."
Mike shook his head. "No way. We never – oh, stoked." He thought about it. "Yeah, that coulda happened all right."
"So, you got into the habit of wanting Davy. No big deal – you just have to break the habit."
"You think I haven't been trying?" Mike asked.
"I'm not saying that. I'm saying that…maybe you just need a little extra help."
"Why did you bring me here?" Mike asked, as they stood outside Caitlin Duvall (certified witch)'s door.
"Narrative symmetry?" Micky suggested. "Come on – it can't hurt to try."
The door opened and Caitlin Duvall peered out. "Oh. It's you," she said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. She perked up though when she saw Peter, standing to the side. "And you! Come on in!"
Inside, Missy Meow wound around their feet as Miss Duvall perched herself on a chair and said, "So – are you here about your little friend?"
"No," Micky said. "He's fixed now."
She seemed interested. "He is? Well, that's nice. I have to say, I didn't think you'd figure it out."
"Figure what out?" Mike asked.
"How to reverse the curse, of course," she said, with a roll of her eyes.
"We didn't," Mike told her. "It just happened, out of the blue."
"Oh," she said. "Well, if that's what you think…why are you here?"
"It's Mike here," Micky said. "See – due to that same curse he's come down with a major case of the love-bug and we were wondering if you have any powders or potions that might help."
"An anti-love spell? Well, let me see what I can do," Caitlin Duvall said. She squatted down in front of Mike and stared into his eyes. She caught his chin between her finger and thumb and turned it this way and that. "Say 'ah'," she instructed. Then she sat back on her haunches. "Nope. Sorry."
"That's it?" Micky said, disbelieving. "One look into his eyes and you say, 'No'? He's not asking for a date – he's asking for your help."
She shrugged and got to her feet. "From what I can see, it's a true-blue case of affection. Nothing to do with the curse. I can't take away real feelings – I can only remove false emotions…or induce a case of temporary desire. Which reminds me!" She patted her hair, then slinked over to the coffee table. She picked up a bubbling glass, before offering it to Peter. "Here. Have a drink," she told him.
Peter looked at the glass. It frothed pinkly, and the steam that rose from it formed little hearts before disappearing. "I am a little thirsty," he decided, and brought it to his lips.
Mike knocked it out of his hand, and it spilled on the floor. Missy Meow began to lap it up, eagerly. "Don't do that," he told Caitlin Duvall.
She pouted. "So, just because you can't have what you want – no-one else can, either?"
Missy Meow staggered over to Micky, and began to lavish loving licks on his shoes, purring like a motor engine.
It had to happen eventually, of course, but the straw that broke the camel's back, oddly enough, was the fact that Davy dated a girl named May, and then, right after, a girl called June – only to break up with her shortly afterwards, as they all found out during practice one afternoon.
"Again?" Micky said, darting a sideways glance at Mike.
"`Well, it wasn't fair to keep seeing her – not when I didn't feel the way she felt about me," Davy explained.
"Okay, but…don't you think you're going through the girls kinda fast…even for you?"
"Yeah, at this rate, you'll run out of months before we do," Mike said. "You'll be working on November before we're even into July."
Davy stiffened and looked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
"Nothing," Mike denied, and he meant it to end there, because well, like he'd told Cora-Lee – there just wasn't any dignity in throwing a tantrum over the grinding, monotonous drag of not being wanted.
Except…
He'd tried to get over it – he really had. But somewhere along the line he'd found out that 'normal' had far more sharp corners than he remembered, and his stitched up heart kept getting snagged and ripped – and now it felt kind of like it was infected, red and swollen to truly monstrous proportions, and it was only a matter of time before it burst.
So he found himself asking, " – but just out of interest – who called it off this time?"
"…I suppose I did," Davy said, eventually.
"Well, I can't say that's a surprise," Mike said. "What was wrong with her this time?"
See it turned out that Cora-Lee had been right too – eventually, there came a time when you just couldn't bottle up your hurt anymore, and the only reasonable thing left to do was howl and kick up about it – even if it didn't actually accomplish anything.
"There was nothing wrong with her," Davy said. "June's a sweet, lovely girl." Davy sounded like he really believed it, and that made the awful sour feeling in Mike's stomach even worse.
"Well, she can't have been that lovely – or you'd still be dating her," he pointed out. "There had to be something."
Davy just looked at him, and Mike frowned, because there was something in his face –
"All right," Davy said. He tossed his maracas onto the couch, then tilted his head a little to the side, assessing him. Abruptly, Mike felt a little off balance. "If you really want to know" –
"Hey, guys – maybe we should practice some more!" Micky suggested suddenly.
Peter nodded emphatically, and began to play random chords, while Micky banged out a haphazard rhythm on the drums. "Listen to that – we sound awful!"
Both Mike and Davy ignored all this. Mike took the barest step toward Davy and prompted him, "Well?"
"I told her there was someone else," Davy admitted.
And man alive, but it didn't get any easier hearing that – even if Mike knew there'd be seventeen other someone elses before the week was through. This time though, he tackled Davy on it, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Someone else? Another someone else? Well, if that don't just take the cake – and I'm not talking about a slice either…I'm talking about the whole dang thing!"
"Is anyone else hungry and confused?" Peter wondered in a whisper.
"Let me just get this straight," Mike continued. "You've got this girl who's positively nutty about you…but you're already eyeing up the next Mrs Davy Jones." His laugh sounded thin and bitter rather than richly amused. "Well, if that ain't typical, I don't know what is."
"I don't see how it matters to you," Davy pointed out, eyes unwavering. "What do you care how many girls I go out with?"
Mike opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Then Micky cleared his throat. "Listen, Davy – Mike's got a point. We all think you should slow down a little on the girl front."
"Oh you do, do you? Nice that you're all in agreement. Group decision, was it?" Davy turned to look at Micky and Peter, and Mike realised for maybe the first time that – Davy was angry. Maybe angrier than he was, even.
Quietly, Micky said, "Look – we all know something happened between you and Mike when you were – you know."
"You do?" Davy cast an indecipherable look at Mike. "All right. But I don't see why you're bringing it up now."
"…Well – under the circumstances, maybe you could stand to be a little more sensitive," Peter said, looking and sounding profoundly uncomfortable.
Davy blinked. "I need to be more sensitive."
"Come on, Davy – you've got to admit, it couldn't hurt right now," Micky said, bizarrely serious expression on his face.
Davy turned to fix a hard gaze at Mike. "A bit unfair, don't you think – only telling them one side of the story?"
"I don't see how your side's any different," Mike said, stung. He hadn't expected the truth to come out just like this – but if he had, he would've put money on Davy having trampled on his feelings out of ignorance – not out of sheer indifference.
"You don't? You –" Davy said, and stopped, forcing his lips together, as if he were afraid of what would come out.
"Well?" Mike pressed him. "If your side of the story is so all-fired different, go ahead and spill it. I'm on pins and needles over here." He crossed his arms.
Davy looked at him for so long that Mike got uncomfortable – not that he was planning on showing that. He stared back just as hard.
Then, "Tell me why," Davy said.
Mike frowned. "Why what?"
"Why did I change back?" He said it in the same, challenging tone, though Mike couldn't imagine why.
"Because your great aunt Jemima's a spiteful, vicious old lady who's got a lousy sense of timing."
There was a shocked gasp from Peter.
"No," Davy said. "Well, yes, but that's not it." He asked again, "Why did I change back then? That night?"
"I don't know – because curses always wear off eventually? Because great aunt Jemima thought it'd be funny? Because" –
Davy cut him off impatiently. "Remember what that lawyer said, when he passed the curse on to me?"
Mike frowned. "I don't remember – some nonsense about continued fortune and changed circumstances."
"And?" Davy prompted.
"I don't know..." Mike flailed, "Something about learning to be truly happy in order to overcome" –
He stopped.
The silence stretched out.
"Yeah," Davy said, with the tiniest shrug of his shoulders. "That's why."
Mike just stared at him, trying to take it in.
"Well – you did want things to go back to normal," Davy said, as if to deflate the hugeness of what had just been dragged into the open. "Must be nice to know you had such a big hand in it."
Mike opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't take it all in. "I…make you happy?"
Davy looked him up and down, mouth a straight line. "Well, not lately." But as he looked at Mike, the hardness faded out of his eyes. "I liked you, you know," he said, with that straightforward kind of honesty he'd always had in matters of the heart. "I really did. And I thought…" he trailed off, looking at Mike.
"I did," Mike said. The words were small, but they felt so big they almost choked him.
Davy shook his head slightly. "No you didn't," he said. "I was still here, you know. After. But that didn't matter because you were hung up on some girl I never was."
Instinctively, Mike took a step closer, because he just couldn't stand the awful look on Davy's face. But Davy stepped back immediately.
"The joke's really on me this time," he said, almost conversationally. "See – I finally get the curse reversed...and I'm still miserable. Great aunt Jemima must be having a good laugh."
Then he strode past Mike, knocking him a step backwards with his shoulder, and out the door.
Davy didn't come back for hours. Finally, it got so late that Mike told Peter and Micky to go to bed. "I'll wait up for him," he said. "We oughta talk anyway."
As Micky got to his feet, he said, "It'll be okay."
Mike managed to dredge up a smile from somewhere.
"It will," Micky insisted.
Peter patted his shoulder. "It's always darkest before the dawn," he said.
"It sure is," Mike mumbled. Right now, it felt like he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face.
Before heading for his room, Peter paused, then turned back and said, "Micky's right, you know. You and Davy – you're still friends." He nodded like he'd decided this, and that made it true.
Mike wished he could have that faith. "I hope so, Pete," he said.
Alone on the couch, he picked up one of Davy's maracas, and turned it over in his hands. They'd felt kind of unsteady since the fight earlier.
He tried to think of what he should say to Davy when he came back. He tried to focus on how to unknot the big tangle of misunderstandings and hurt feelings that had mounted up between the two of them.
Instead, he found himself remembering the night before Davy'd changed back.
He hadn't thought about what had happened since the curse had been reversed. Or, to be strictly truthful, he'd tried very hard not to think about that night, while every so often, the memory of it surprised him out of the blue, like a flash of lightning.
He couldn't get rid of it, but he'd done his best to ball up the recollection, crumple it up like all those dumb love-songs in his bottom drawer. But now, he took out the memory and smoothed the creases, and really felt it. Like if he only tried hard enough, he could get back to that night, and curl up on Davy's bed again, and maybe this whole thing would turn out to be a bad dream.
He wanted this so fiercely, it felt like it could almost happen, and so it was a surprise when instead, the Pad door eased open, and Davy stepped in – and Mike was aware once again of the new distance yawning between them.
Davy closed the door behind him, and Mike stumbled off the couch and to his feet. Davy halted when he turned back and saw him, and they just stood there for a second, in uncertain silence, which Davy then broke.
"What are you doing up?" he said. He sounded subdued.
"Waiting for you," Mike admitted. "I thought – after what happened…" He looked at Davy. "We should talk," he said.
Davy nodded a little to himself. "Got something to say to me, then?"
"Yeah," Mike said. He didn't know what he should say, but he knew he wanted to say something. Maybe everything. Right now he was more than willing to lay out all the words in the English language in the hopes that one of them might prove a fix for this thing between him and Davy.
"Do me a favour?"
Mike frowned. "Sure."
Davy didn't sound bitter, or angry. As a matter of fact, he simply sounded tired as he said, "Just – save it, yeah?"
Then he walked past Mike and into his and Peter's room, leaving Mike standing alone in the middle of the floor.
Of course, that couldn't be the end of it. Mike wasn't going to let it be the end of it. For better or for worse, the fact was they needed to straighten this thing out.
The thing was – Mike really wanted it to be for better. He'd gone to bed and lain down, and the memory of that night and the way he and Davy had been had laid down next to him and kept him awake.
And the thought that – he could have had that, that it had been there all along, his, if only he'd known…haunted him like a ghost. It had been a bitter, unbearable thing to think Davy'd just stopped his feelings cold – but this was ten times worse. To know that they'd been carefully been averting their eyes from what they'd both wanted – it struck him as just the most stupid, senseless waste.
He wanted to be Davy's friend again. He wanted to be able to talk to him for real again. He wanted – he wanted to go back to how things had almost been. He wanted to go back to that night, when he and Davy had been skirting the edges of something different, something more, and instead of worrying and holding back, just jump right off that cliff and – and just hang normal, anyway.
He didn't think it would be that easy, though. You couldn't ignore all the hurt that'd been caused and call a do-over, just like that. And maybe it shouldn't be that easy, anyway. Mike didn't mind if he had to work to get back to the simple way they'd lain down together on that bed. He didn't mind if it took a long time before he could just – reach out and touch Davy, and know that that was okay.
But…he wanted the possibility to be there. Even if it couldn't happen now, he wanted there to be a chance that it could happen someday.
That was a hard and delicate position to maneuver into, after everything that'd happened. But…after staring up at the ceiling for a long time, Mike finally figured the only thing to do was to lay it all out in front of Davy, and hope he felt the same.
Of course, it could turn out that Davy didn't want that at all – and the thought of that made something inside Mike's chest curl up small. But – the chance that Davy might feel the same was enough to make him forge ahead anyway.
He guessed…more than anything, he wanted to live in hope.
Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow, he would find a quiet moment, and he would take Davy aside, and no matter how he reacted, at the very least, Mike would have the time to say all the things he needed to say – and he would take the time to say them exactly right.
Like so many things, it didn't exactly happen as Mike had planned, because two minutes before Davy walked into the kitchen, Peter and Micky burst into the Pad, yelling incoherently.
"Slow it down," Mike said. "I can't understand a word you're saying."
Peter began to speak again, but Mike was distracted by Davy's sudden appearance. Their eyes caught, awkwardly, before Davy shifted his attention, and asked, "Why's Micky smacking his head against his drum kit?"
"Well, you see – that's what I was trying to explain," Peter said, over the sonorous thump of head against drumskin.
"After yesterday – we figured you two" – Micky's panted words were drowned out by a cymbal to the face.
"What? Speak up. And stop doing that," Mike said.
"I said, we figured you two needed to talk," Micky shouted. His body contorted wildly and he seemed to be avoiding hurting himself only by an immense act of will.
Mike and Davy exchanged the briefest uncomfortable glance.
"Well – you're right," Mike said. He turned to Davy. "I do think we oughta talk. Maybe, if you two could clear out for a while" –
"See – the thing is…we didn't think it would be that easy," Peter said. "So, we thought – what would make Mike and Davy talk to each other?"
"And?" Davy asked.
"We figured if there was a problem or a crisis, you two would have to put aside your differences and work together," Peter said.
"Well, that's pretty solid reasoning," Mike allowed.
"Yeah – except the problem is, now we've got a crisis on our hands – and there's a mean little girl on the beach with a hoo-doo doll of yours truly and ow-ow-ow!" he began hitting himself repeatedly on the head. "So you guys had better start talking – and I mean serious talking, not just abou-ow-ow-out the weather, you understand me?"
Mike and Davy looked at each other. Micky kicked himself hard on the ankle.
Finally, gamely, Peter cleared his throat. "The political situation in Guatemala" –
"Not you!" Micky said in between hits.
Peter sagged in relief. "Oh, good," he said. "Because I don't know anything about the political situation in Guatemala."
"I guess now's as good a time as any," Davy said, turning to Mike. "If you've got anything you need to say."
On the contrary, Mike felt that 'now' didn't stack up all that favorably to quieter, less stressful, crisis-ridden times. As if to prove his point, Micky suddenly stiffened, and said in a monotonous voice, "Must-walk-off-pier!"
"I don't believe this," Mike muttered.
"Oh no, it's true," Peter assured him. "That little girl really wants to see Micky walk off the pier."
The three of them managed to grab him and hustle him in to a closet, then wedged a chair under the handle. Davy leaned a hand against the door of the closet and admitted to Mike, "We should probably sort this out first."
A dull thumping sound issued from the closet. Mike guessed it was from Micky banging his head against the door.
It made sense. It wasn't very likely that they'd be able to resolve anything with Micky trying to use his head as a battering ram and a little girl on the loose with a hoo-doo doll and a mind to cause trouble.
"I don't hear talking!" Micky shouted from inside the closet. There was a pause as he wondered, "Is that because I hurt my ears?"
Mike stared at Davy. In a low voice, he said, "You were wrong, you know. Yesterday."
For all that he'd just said they should focus on Micky's problem, Davy immediately responded to Mike's words. Maybe he'd been feeling the pressure to finally put everything out in the open as well.
"Really?" Davy folded his arms. "About what?"
"Me," Mike said. "Afterwards, when you turned back. I wasn't hung up on the girl you coulda been."
"No?"
Mike thought about how it had been, seeing Davy with Regina, and Cora-Lee, and Letitia. "No," he said. "I was too busy being hung up on you."
"You were the one who wanted to go back to normal," Davy pointed out.
"It was – confusing," Mike said. "And – I don't remember you kicking up all that hard about it." The words weren't accusatory, just a statement of fact.
"It was confusing," Davy echoed.
An anguished howl came from Micky. "Someone left a baseball bat in here!" The tenor of the noise inside the closet changed. Both Mike and Davy ignored it.
"What do you want?" Davy asked him, and it was impossible for Mike not to flash back to the last time Davy'd asked him that question. But this time, he knew better.
"I don't think we can go back to normal," he admitted. If the past few months had shown anything, it was that they'd outgrown normal, like a pair of old shoes that just didn't fit anymore.
Davy looked away from him, at the closet door.
"But that's all right," he continued. "Because that's not what I want anymore." He took a breath, and finally laid it all on the line. "I want you."
Davy looked at him again. "Are you sure? You have a funny way of showing it."
"I haven't exactly felt like I was your one and only either, lately," Mike pointed out. He let out a deep breath. "Look – I admit that for a while, I got stuck on the wrong part of this deal."
"How d'you mean?"
"Yeah, Mike – please explain. I'm finding it a little hard to follow over here."
Mike cast an irritated glance in Peter's direction before turning back to Davy. "With the curse, and everything that happened…I should've been thinking about the part that stayed the same, instead of the part that changed."
"Don't you mean the parts that changed?" Micky inquired in a muffled voice. Absently, without shifting his gaze from Mike, Davy reached out and banged on the door of the closet. With a final 'Ow!' Micky subsided.
"See, the one thing that never changed, was that – it's been you, all along. Boy or girl."
The seconds stretched taut between them, as Mike waited for Davy to respond. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "'S' not your typical happily ever after, you know."
"You're right." Mike looked at him, and took a chance. "I think it's going to be better."
"You do?"
Mike took the time to study Davy's face – the way his hair fell, the arch of his eyebrows, the warm colour of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth.
"Yeah," he said. "I do." He hoped he wasn't imagining the slight expectant softness in Davy's expression. And even though he'd told himself that just setting them on the right course for someday would be enough, the words came bursting recklessly forth. "Just give me a chance, and I'll prove it to you."
He reached out and caught Davy's hand. "Please, let me prove it."
He counted one beat, two, three – before Davy blinked, and his fingers tightened in Mike's. "All right," he said.
Almost in disbelief, Mike took a step closer. Slowly, he brought his other hand up and cupped Davy's face, and he leaned down –
- before stopping, and turning his head to the side.
"Pete – turn around."
Peter, clutching a handful of tissues in his clasped hands, stared in incomprehension until Mike twirled his index finger in demonstration. Finally, he about-faced.
Then Mike turned back to Davy. He slid a hand around the back of his head as he bent down and kissed first one corner of Davy's mouth, and then the other. He pulled back a little, before moving in again for another kiss. This time, Davy tilted up to meet him, and Mike decided that was a good sign.
He tried to pour everything he had into this kiss – to make it say everything he wanted to say. For all his attempts, he'd never been able to write the perfect love-song to Davy – so this time, he tried to create one without words, using his lips and tongue and hands.
And Davy kissed him back, and then somehow they were bumping up against each other, in a tangle of hands and bodies, in an ineffective but enjoyable attempt to get closer, and this was all so much better than normal that he couldn't believe he'd ever chosen normal over this to begin with.
He pulled back, and Davy said, somewhat breathlessly, "No."
"No?" Mike repeated. The word seemed to echo in his chest.
"Sorry," he said, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "I don't think I'm – quite convinced yet."
Mike could feel the smile spreading across his own face, as he tugged Davy close again.
This time, as they kissed, Mike was pretty sure from the sound of the pounding in his ears that his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Instead, with a last colossal thump, Micky burst out of the closet, shoved through Davy and Mike, breaking them apart, and galloped toward the door, arms windmilling frantically.
"Heeeeeellllp!" he called over his shoulder, before smacking into the doorframe, picking himself up jerkily, and continuing on his erratic way. In a flurry of tissues that resembled a small snowstorm, Peter raced after him, doubling back briefly to say, "I'm glad you two have sorted things out!" He laid a hand on his chest and sighed, like a proud mother.
"I guess we'd better go and fix Micky," Mike said, watching Peter vanish through the open door.
"I don't think we have the qualifications to do that," Davy said, "But I suppose we could sort out the problem with that little girl."
They made their way to the door, but just as Davy was about to walk out, Mike caught his arm. He felt the need to say something – to make absolutely certain this time.
Davy looked at him.
"All right?" Mike asked, eyes intent.
"No." Davy shook his head. "Better." A smile spread across his face, and he caught hold of Mike's hand – just for a second, but that was long enough.
And, as they made their way across the sand, in the direction of the screams and general chaos, Mike finally felt, for the first time in a long time…
…that everything was probably going to turn out just fine.
Or even better.