"Goodnight, Susan," Davy murmured. The small blonde in the passenger's seat of the Monkeemobile beamed.
"Goodnight, Davy. Thanks for the flowers." She lifted the small bundle of wildflowers he had picked earlier for her, which were beginning to wilt sadly.
"Oh, that was nothing. You should see what I've got for you tomorrow." That deepened her dimples just like he knew it would. He smiled at the sight and then she leaned over and kissed him. It was short, but he enjoyed what he was given. The ladies liked a polite gentleman, and that's what he was.
She made a hasty retreat with a little giggle and a "goodbye." He didn't even get the chance to return the farewell before she closed the door and hurried up the walk to her boarding house. He sighed happily and watched her go, only getting lost in thought for a minute or so before remembering that he had to turn on the car before he was going to go anywhere. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred. What a groovy kid.
He had little on his mind going back. Just a light feeling in his heart—the sort that spending time with a pretty girl and making her happy always gave him. It was a little addictive. He was glad there were few cars on the road this late at night. He didn't want to concentrate much.
As the roads became more familiar closer to home, though, he noticed just how few cars were on the road. What time was it?
Without his watch, he was left wondering until he got home. He pulled in the driveway, hoping he wasn't waking the neighbors, Mr. Babbitt, or Mike. He turned the car off, checked that he had his wallet, and stepped out.
Silence greeted him, none of the usual sounds of early night. He supposed he must have lost track of the time with Susan since she didn't have a curfew.
He walked softly to the door, figuring that his best move was not to wake anyone. Well, maybe he'd wake Mike. Mike tended to want to know what was going on and whether everyone was safe, and he was usually—somehow—awake anyway. Davy was careful with the keys and the door and thought he was quiet, but as he opened the door he heard something. Then he got a look inside the pad.
The couch had been moved in front of the TV, and sitting on it, all propped up on each other, were three of the Monkees, fast asleep. The TV was broadcasting static. Davy smiled broadly, touched and a bit amused. So it was past midnight and they had stayed up to wait for him, apparently all falling asleep at about the same time, or Mike would have sent the other two to bed. Now Davy would have to wake them all up anyway.
He put the keys on the side table under the flight schedule and tiptoed over, still loathe to wake them, though he was about to. He paused, trying to decide who to wake first. As the soft gray light played on their faces, he chuckled softly.
Mike was in the middle, sitting straight and amazingly asleep with his head tilted back, Peter was snuggled comfortably into his side, and Micky had his head on Mike's shoulder, mouth wide open, one leg up on the arm of the couch, and spine at a funny angle, as if that were the most comfortable position.
Davy leaned down and turned off the TV, silencing the static and not fully darkening the room. Diffuse moonlight and streetlight dimly lit the pad from the windows. There was the sound of some shifting and a soft groan. Then Peter's voice whispered, "Davy?"
"Yeh. It's me. Sorry I stayed out so late."
Peter yawned quietly. "S'okay."
"Will you 'elp me get Micky t' bed?" Davy asked. "You know 'e won't wake up, an' I can't carry 'im."
Peter sighed sleepily. "Yeah."
Davy went to tap on Micky anyway, just in case he did wake up and he could save Peter the trouble of getting him upstairs. "'ey, Mick. You there?" He knocked on Micky's forehead, then heard a snort and saw an arm go flying.
"Ah! Holy— gophers, Micky!" There was a great upheaval, and, to sort out the confusion, Davy ended up turning the TV back on. Peter was squished, the other two on top of him, and Mike was trying to disentangle himself from a limp Micky, who had apparently shot up, hit Mike in the face, and never woken up. Davy immediately went to Mike's aid, and eventually everyone was seperated, Davy's late presence was explained and forgiven, and Mike had Micky—who hadn't yet woken up—in his arms and heading up to bed.
"G'night, Davy," he called softly.
"Night, Mike."
Davy ducked under the stairs and headed for his room, where Peter had already retired. He got his pajamas on in the dark and tucked into bed.
He'd thought Peter was asleep till he heard him murmur, "Goodnight, Davy. Don't let the bedbugs bite."
Davy smiled to himself. "Alright. Goodnight, Petah."
He turned and wriggled until his sheets were tucked around him and he felt comfortable. He thought back on his long evening, smiling at his new memories with Susan, but, he found, smiling even more at the scene that greeted him on coming home. On further thought, as his eyelids began to droop, he realized why this might be. It might also be the reason none of his girls ever stuck around long. It wasn't that he dated girls for play. He was still looking for the right one, and why not start now? But as far as long-term relationships… he had a pretty good gig going right now, in the form of the best friends anyone could ever hope for. And that was something he wasn't ready to give up just yet.
He finally slipped into sleep.