Chapter 25. And It Looks Like We've Made It Once Again

Slow it down. Just breathe.

He repeated this mantra to himself as he struggled toward the voices floating just out of range, familiar yet so oddly foreign. He paused to listen, forcing himself to focus on the voices, pushing the dreams back farther into the darkness as their words became clearer.

"…is taking so long? It's just been way too long, right?" one of them was saying. "Do you think maybe we should call the nurse again?"

"She said she'd break your finger if you touched that button again," a soft voice reminded the first.

"Guys, look!" an oddly accented one exclaimed. "Mike…Mike, can you hear me?"

"Oh wow, he's…Michael?" the second voice almost pleaded before reassuring, "It's okay. Whenever you're ready. We're right here with you."

"Come on, man. Come back, now." The first one directed. "You can do it, Mike. Just open your eyes."

The voices became clearer, and the identities of the three speaking hit him, as well, but the pain that accompanied that clarity left him wishing, if only fleetingly, that he could go back to simply floating in that midpoint between dreaming and waking where he was no longer haunted by memory, but wasn't quite aware of harsh reality either. Their voices pushed him onward, though.

Why do they sound so afraid?

He heard a sound unfamiliar to him, somewhere between a groan and a painful sob.

"That's it, Mike. Easy now. Just open your eyes. You can do it." Micky said as he reached for the nurse's call button, pressing it again despite her previous warning.

Wait! Did that sound come from me, then?

"Michael, please wake up now." Peter begged, abandoning his earlier assurance that Mike could take whatever time in needed for his own need to see his friend awake.

"You can do it, mate. I know you can. Just open your eyes, now." Davy tried his best to sound encouraging.

Mike forced his eyes open, only to shut them once again as the light tore through his head.

"sonofa…" he caught himself, his voice like gravel in his painfully raw throat, as he slowly opened his eyes again. He couldn't seem to locate a part of his body that didn't hurt. What had happened now?

Micky let out a loud WHOOP of joy.

Mike clenched his jaw and pressed his eyes tightly closed as the sound had essentially the same effect as the light had a moment before.

"Micky!" Davy chastised. "Sorry, Mike." The soft squeeze of his shoulder convinced Mike to force his eyes open yet again, if only to prove to himself and his friends that he could.

Peter smiled, too overcome to say anything in that moment as Davy patted him gently on the shoulder and offered a soft, "Welcome back."

"I warned you, if you so much as looked at that button…" the nurse bellowed as she entered the room.

"Keep it down," Davy demanded, noting the grimace that passed his friend's features. "He's got a headache, he has." He gestured toward Mike so she could see why they'd called her this time.

"Oh. I'm sorry," she offered more quietly. "You're finally awake. Your friends were starting to worry about you."

"Starting? " Micky asked incredulously. "What's this starting? We've been worrying, the only thing we've been starting is to go completely mad."

A smile touch Michael's eyes which he rolled heavenward, as always amused and somewhat baffled by his friend's antics.

"You've been there a long time now, too." Davy teased Micky, thinking that this seemed like a good time for just about anything that would make Mike smile.

"How do you feel?" the nurse asked, picking up the clipboard at the foot of his bed.

Uncertain he wanted to try speaking again just yet after the last attempt produced a sensation something like a course-grade sandpaper being dragged along the inside of his throat, he settled for wiggling his fingers, prompting snickering from his band-mates.

At the nurse's confused expression, Peter supplied, "He feels with his fingers." Garnering a few more snickers from his bandmates and a loud guffaw from the nurse.

"Oh, really, Mister Nesmith, I would think you'd take this all a bit more seriously." She admonished sternly.

"He was being perfectly serious," Davy said with as straight a face as he could manage." Why? How do you feel?"

"If you're feeling well enough to treat this as a joke, then perhaps you're ready to be discharged," she threatened, thinking that might bring him around.

Mike quirked a brow, thinking that might not be the worst idea, especially if everyone who'd be in and out of the room had so little humor, but his band-mates, seeming to catch the look in his eye, were quick to unanimously veto the suggestion in his stead.

Peter shook his head, his eyes going wide in fear and desperation.

Micky sobered quickly, his eyes narrowing, "You can't do that! You don't have that authority."

"You must be joking?" Davy spat. "Why would you even suggest such a thing? Is that even ethical, making a threat like that to someone in his condition?"

"Guys," Mike croaked painfully. "settle down…"

"You're throat might be raw for a little while. That sometimes happens when they've had to establish an airway the way they did. It's just a bit of swelling. You should be fine. Let me just get you some water. Here," the nurse poured him a glass, carefully leveling it at the 4 oz mark and popping in a straw. "Sip it slowly."

Mike hesitated, then nodded and did as he was told, sipping briefly then settling back, closing his eyes tiredly.

As she held the straw toward Michael's lips, she told the others. "When you help him with this, you need to make certain of exactly how much you put in the cup and how much he drinks. It's important because we're still monitoring his fluids in case there any injuries were missed." They all nodded, having already been given that speech from Doctor Hannigan and each of the previous nurses. Noting Mike appeared to be drifting off again, she frowned. "Mister Nesmith…" she began, more gently this time.

"Mike," he corrected without opening his eyes, his voice sounding a little more like his own this time.

The nurse smiled. "Mike…I need you to try to stay awake long enough for me to alert the doctor that you've regained consciousness. He's going to want to speak with you a moment."

" 'm 'wake," he murmured, though his friend's smirks all suggested he might not be for long.

"Hey, Mike, I'm sorry about what happened to your blonde." Micky offered, glancing mischievously toward the others.

Mike's eyes snapped open at once, then narrowed, just as Micky had known they would. "Mick?" he asked carefully, the discomfort in his throat ignored in light of his concern for his beautiful guitar though it could still be heard in his tone. "What happened to the blonde?" The snickering of the other two told him he'd been had. "Now, why would you go and suggest something like that?" he asked, bewildered.

"Just trying to keep you awake, Mike," Micky replied innocently.

Mike looked flabbergasted. "Dangit, Mick, I said I was awake."

"Uh-huh," Micky grinned. "Sure, Mike. Sure you were."

"Let me just go get the doctor," the nurse sighed, shaking her head as she left the room, still trying to decide for herself if these three visitors were really a good thing for her patient or not.

"So…you weren't any of you hurt, were you?" Mike asked, looking each of them over as carefully as he could manage. Not quite liking the limited view of Peter over his shoulder, he made as if to push the button to sit up but was halted quickly by three sets of hands over his own.

"No, Mike. Just stay flat until the doc looks you over, okay? We're fine. All of us. Not a scratch. Really. One of the detectives sprained his wrist landing on it wrong when he slipped on the dish soap, but other than that, the good guys all came out okay." Micky filled him in quickly, keeping his hand in the way of the button. "Except for you, I mean."

Mike nodded, his eyes trying almost desperately to close again despite his clear effort to keep them open. "What about the bad guys. Did they get them?"

"Every last Sandoval has been accounted for." Davy nodded, choosing his wording carefully, then smiled brilliantly as he added. "Including Louis and his brother Julio, even after they made it out the door."

"How'd they stop'em?" Mike asked, certain that any who made it out the door should have been lost causes.

"Potatoes." Peter announced proudly.

"Pota…oh!" Mike smirked in amusement, turning his gaze to Peter and giving a slight nod of approval as he challenged, "You didn't…did you?"

"That's right. The good old stuff up the tail pipe with a potato trick. It was all Pete's idea," Micky laughed. "Mister Antonelli handled it great once I explained what we needed him to do."

"Took forever for them to explain it to me." Davy groused good-naturedly. "I didn't know you'd blow the motor if you blocked up the tailpipe, but sure enough, they captured Louis and Julio just as they were climbing back out of their automobile."

Mike gave a faint huff of laughter followed by a groan. His hand fluttered weakly at his side and he held his breath, closing his+++ eyes as the pain increased to a nearly unbearable level.

"Remember before, mate. I imagine it might even be a bit worse now. Just try to keep still." Davy urged gently. They all fell quiet as they waited for Mike to gather himself again.

"Wait," Mike said finally, as something in Davy's wording dawned on him. "You said all Sandovals were accounted for…"

The three boys standing around the bed exchanged guilty looks. "Um…yeah…about that…" Micky began.

"Who got away," Mike demanded, his stomach dropping at the thought that this still might not be over.

"Well no-one got away exactly," Micky answered quickly.

"That's right, both are accounted for, too." Peter assured him, hoping that would be enough to keep Michael calm, at least for the moment.

"Let's just leave off this for now, eh Mike? Just until you're stronger." Davy urged him, hoping that he'd agree just this once.

"That's right, son," Doctor Parsons said from the doorway as he entered the room. "You gave us all a terrible fright. We're all very lucky that Jimmy is as fine a surgeon as he is. It came closer than I ever want to be to your funeral, do you understand?"

Mike nodded, his eyes closing again. As much as he wanted his questions answered, he was too tired to put up much of a fight. Besides, he'd given the doc his word that he wouldn't argue with him about his care once the whole Sandoval thing was done and he meant to keep it.

"Come on, son. Just another minute or two and then we'll let you rest again." Parsons assured him. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Mike Nesmith." Mike croaked tiredly, wishing they could hold off on this part for just a little while. At least until his throat didn't feel like he'd tried to swallow the whole Sahara Desert.

"How about your given name, just to make certain you didn't piece that together from the names you heard them calling you." Parsons smiled, taking his hand and gently compressing the nails on each finger, noting the capillary refill. He could see the boy was tired and in pain, but he needed to know his cognitive functions were all intact, nonetheless.

"Robert Michael Nesmith Junior." Mike replied, his stomach threatening to send back up the water he'd sipped on moments before at the thought of becoming anything at all like the man he'd been named after.

"How old are you?" Parsons asked, noting something in the chart.

Mike sighed. "Twenty two." he replied, though he felt far older in that moment. "Near enough twenty three."

"Too close to not seeing it for the rest of us," the doctor supplied, shaking his head. "I expect you're due a hell of a party this year."

Mike shook his head. He could pretty much guarantee they'd be trying to make up bills longer than that and desperately wished there was a way to shift his care to him and his own home to prevent them from starving for the next ten years paying for all of his hospital bills. He'd be lucky to afford so much as a card for Davy this year.

"Took me over a year to get out of him when his birthday was," Davy told the doctor, "and then he didn't understand why I was put out with him."

The doctor wasn't entirely sure why either, but he'd become accustomed to the way the boys tended to supply details for one another, so he was sure that someone would tell him soon enough.

"Well we could have exchanged gifts together instead of him going without." Davy supplied. "Instead, he went and spent the whole of it on me with not a bit left for me to do for him."

Parsons looked at Mike curiously, supposing he'd supply the clarifying detail.

"We share the date. Well, month and day, anyway," Mike filled in.

Davy added unnecessarily, "with Mike just a bit older."

"Four years," Micky chimed in. "Davy'll be 19 and Mike'll be 23 December 30th."

"Only Mike usually finds an excuse to avoid letting us celebrate him." Peter sighed.

"His favorite being that for his birthday he wants us to celebrate mine." Davy grumbled.

"You always liked bein' fussed over an' I always didn't." Mike summed it up at last. "Made perfect sense for our birthday we'd both get what we liked."

"At last there is clarity," Parsons chuckled. "Well, I do think you owe it to your friends to allow them to celebrate you this year, Michael, if only for relief that they've still got you to celebrate. Now, I want to listen to your heart and then your lungs, so you're going to take a few nice deep breaths for me."

Mike shot him a look as if he'd lost his mind, which only made the old man chuckle. "Just do your best, son."

The doctor listened a moment, frowning, then nodded. "It's about what I expected." He put his stethoscope away, waving off questions from the others. He patted Michael on the shoulder and smiled as the younger man continued to fight the clearly losing battled of remaining awake. "You did fine, son." He told the guitarist as his eyes closed again. "Go ahead and rest now. I'll be back to check on you a little later on."

"How's he doing?" Micky asked as Mike drifted off again.

The doctor answered as he charted his findings. "Better than I expected, actually. His capillary refill is fine, meaning," he held up a finger to ward off the obvious questions, "that Jimmy got all the bleeders again and he's on the mend. His lung function also seems to be improving in spite of everything. If we can just manage to keep him still and cooperating awhile, we could see him through this yet."

Peter and Davy both held their hands quickly over Micky's mouth, cutting off yet another elated whoop.

The inspector barged in before the boy's could even remove their hands and announced loudly. "Your nurse out there informed me that he finally woke up, and I still need to talk to him so I can close out my paperwork, so if you don't mind…"

"I most certainly do mind," Parsons replied, narrowing his eyes even as the three boys positioned themselves protectively between the inspector and their friend. "He's resting now and I won't have you disturbing that. Whatever you need for your paperwork…."

"It'll only take a minute," the inspector said, ignoring the rest of the doctor's answer and calling out loudly, "Alright, Nesmith…"

"Look here," Davy fumed. "You've already endangered him enough, you have. Whatever else you need to know I'll tell you out there." He stormed past him, toward the door. "Come on, then." He demanded, glaring back at him.

The inspector seemed torn for a moment, between following the little man and pressing his need to talk to the patient direct, however the expressions on Micky and Peter's faces seemed to convince him to follow Davy instead.

Civilians. He thought. They never appreciate what I do for them.

"Fine, fine…" he grumbled on his way out. "But you'd better be able to answer my questions, or I'm coming back in here."

The doctor smiled at the other two who slowly relaxed and took up their places on either side of their now-sleeping friend. Glancing at his watch, he informed them on his way out the door, "Grace should be going off shift now. That means Hattie's just come on, then Paige will be here tonight. Seeing as how they're both fond of you boys, I think it's a safe bet that man won't get back in here anytime soon. Paul is planning on swinging by after he's off shift in case any of you need a break, too. If there are any other problems tonight, though, you make sure someone calls me right away."

"Sure thing, Doc," Micky agreed easily, though his eyes remained fixed on their friend. Peter nodded, smiling softly as both settled in to continue watching over their friend.