Though he said he'd be back early, Mike didn't return to the pad until close to midnight. Micky was able to stay up this time and stood when he saw Mike enter.
"There you are!" He said relieved. "I was about ready to start calling hospitals or something."
Mike only nodded in response. He tried to walk toward Micky on the couch, but his movements were stiff and clearly painful.
"Are you alright?" Micky asked, rushing to his side for support.
"I'm fine," Mike sighed and pulled out crumpled bills from his pocket.
"Here," he said, pushing the money into Micky's hand. "It's 75. That's all I was able to get. Sorry."
"Sorry?" Micky laughed slightly, helping Mike to the couch. "I'm just sorry you're hurt, I don't care about the money. Besides, we've got the gig coming up anyways."
Mike sighed.
"I could've gotten more," he said heavily. "I screwed up and—"
"It's fine, Michael!" Micky said with a smile. Why was Mike getting so upset about it?
"There's always next time, right?" He said, wrapping his arm around Mike. "It's fine. I don't care about the money. Are you okay?"
Mike nodded and groaned as he sat down.
"Clearly, you are not," Micky sighed, shaking his head.
"I'm fine," Mike said quickly. "Just a little sore is all."
"A little sore," Micky said "Mike, you have a nice bruise forming over your eye and you look like you might have cracked a rib!"
"Shhh, keep your voice down Mick, you want to wake up Davy and Peter." Mike hissed "And I didn't crack a rib."
Micky frowned at him and went over to the bottom of the staircase.
"Davy? Peter?" He called out. "Get down here."
"What are you doing?!" Mike stood up so quickly he almost collapsed again.
"Getting Davy and Peter up." Micky said as he went back over and pushed Mike back into the couch "stay down."
"No," Mike said standing up again, a bit more slowly "there's not need to-"
"Guys?" A voice whispered from the top of the stairs. Micky and Mike both looked up and there was Peter in his orange bunny pajamas with Davy behind him.
"What's goin' on?" Davy asked his accent coming out more because he had just woken up.
"Mike got beat up again," Micky said bluntly.
"I did not get beat up—"
"Mike, are you okay?" Peter asked worriedly as he hurried down the stairs, Davy following closely behind.
"I'm fine," Mike sighed. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing Mike." Davy said as he went over and looked at Mike. "Micky can you get me some ice from the freezer and a cold wash rag, Peter go get the first aid kit from the bathroom."
"Oh come on," Mike rolled his eyes. "We don't need that. I'm fine."
"You're fine when I say you're fine." Davy snapped as he gently wiped Mike's face with a wet wash rag and then filled it with the ice and handed it to Mike.
"Here, put that on your eye."
"When did you get so bossy?" Mike asked as he held the ice to his eye.
"Since my friend spent the last 6 hours doing who-knows-what and getting beat up from it."
Mike sighed and didn't feel the need to defend himself.
"Hey, Mike?" A quiet voice asked and he looked up to see Peter, staring down at the money Mike had won. "Where'd you get this?"
"I earned it," Mike sighed. "It's only 75, I could've gotten more–"
"How'd you earn it?" Peter asked hesitantly, a slight nervous edge in his voice.
"It's not like that, Peter," Mike offered a smile but Peter only backed away from him.
"How'd you earn the money?" Davy asked as he opened up the first aid kit and took out a tub of cream.
"None of your business." Mike said.
"You made it our business when you started coming home looking like you got dragged to hell and back." Micky said.
"Here, take these." Davy said as he handed Mike two pain pills. Mike took them and dry swallowed them.
"Thanks Dave." Mike said as he slowly got up.
"You're welcome." Davy said as he closed the first aid kit and followed Mike up to bed. Micky and Peter doing the same. Mike crawled into his bed only to be followed by Peter.
"Pete, get out of my bed will ya?" Mike asked, a bit muffled.
"Nope," Peter said and Mike could tell he was smiling "Roll over." Mike sighed but gingerly rolled over and jumped a bit as he felt Peter's hands on his back and softly going up and into his shoulders.
"Peter," he said through a sigh. "What're you doing?"
"You looked tense," Peter said with a slight shrug. "Thought it might help."
"Hmm." Mike hmmed and hissed a little.
"Did that hurt?" Peter asked worriedly.
"Hmm, no." Mike slurred "felt good."
Peter nodded and rubbed his shoulder again, causing Mike to tense up again.
"Mike?" He asked in a whisper.
"What?"
"I think your shoulder's hurt. Can I turn on the light to see it?"
"Hmm." Mike sighed and turned on the light.
"Hey," Davy snapped. "What's the big idea? I was almost asleep."
"Yeah." Micky complained.
"Mike hurt his shoulder." Peter said "I wanna look at it." Mike gingerly pulled his shirt off as Davy got up and went over to them.
"What's wrong?" He asked as he looked at Mike's shoulder.
"It hurts when I do this." Peter said as he pressed lightly into Mike's shoulder.
"Oww." Mike yelped.
"Sorry." Peter apologized. Davy looked at it gently examining it.
"Mike," He said after a few seconds "I think it's dislocated."
Mike groaned, but it seemed more out of frustration than pain.
"Of course it'd be dislocated." He said.
"Should we go to the hospital?" Micky asked.
"No, I'll pop it back in." Mike said "might need some help though and I'll more than likely pass out."
"Pop it back in?" Peter asked, eyes wide. "Mike, I don't wanna pop it back in! What if it hurts?"
"I'm pretty sure it will hurt, Peter," Davy sighed. "Besides, I don't think you'd have to be the one to do it."
"I can do it." Mike said "I've done it before, I just need someone to catch me if they can."
"You've dislocated your shoulder before?" Micky asked.
"Hmm hmm." Mike said as he stood up and gripped his arm Micky went behind him.
"I won't be able to use my right arm for at least a day, maybe two." Mike said.
"Okay." Davy said
"Then how will you play at the gig?" Peter asked worriedly. "If you can't move your arm, you can't play guitar."
"I probably couldn't play the gig anyway, Peter," Mike sighed. "Just scheduling and stuff."
"Oh. How bad will it hurt to put it back in?" Peter asked.
"It'll hurt like the Devil, but it has to be done." Mike said. On the count of three. Ready?"
"No." Davy said, looking a bit green.
"One, two." Mike counted and then with a scream and a sickening pop his arm was back in and he toppled to the ground.
"MIKE!" Peter yelped and got onto his knees, checking on his friend. "Mike?" He asked again, getting no answer.
"He's okay Peter," Micky said as he carefully picked Mike up and put him into his bed.
"Told ya I'd pass out." Mike whispered through gritted teeth.
"Mike!" Peter beamed and wrapped his arms around him, Mike wincing in pain as he did.
"Careful Peter." Mike said.
"Oh, sorry," Peter answered quickly, letting go "Are you okay?"
"Hmm. I'll be fine." Mike answered "I just feel woozy."
"You should rest, Mike." Davy said with a small nod. "You've had a long day."
Mike hummed in agreement and laid down, closing his eyes. The other three quietly crept out of the room before speaking again.
"Do you think he dislocated his shoulder…in whatever he does at night?" Davy asked the other two, who both gave hesitant nods.
"He said he was going to be more careful," Micky sighed. "And he comes home, barely able to move with a dislocated shoulder and a black eye."
"I'm worried about him," Peter said, looking down at his hands.
"I think he needs an intervention, Micky." Davy said, looking at him with a frown. Micky nodded.
"I think you're right Davy." He said.
"What's an intervention?" Peter asked quietly, hoping he wasn't asking a dumb question.
"An intervention is something that you do to intervene or stop something that someone is doing." Micky explained. Seeing the confused look Micky tried again.
"Say you have someone who's addicted to pain meds." Micky said "You'd do a intervention to tell them to stop, that you'd support them in stopping and give them options on where to get treatment."
"But Mike's not addicted to pain meds," Peter said, looking at Davy.
"That was just an example," Micky sighed.
"Yeah, we'd be 'intervening' with Mike going out and getting hurt for whatever money or kicks he's getting out of it." Davy said with a nod.
"Oh, okay." Peter said. Then they heard a groan from the bedroom and the sound of throwing up.
"Oh great, now he might have a concussion." Micky muttered.
"He shouldn't be sleeping if he has a concussion," Peter frowned and made his way back to the bedroom. He tried to avoid the sick as he approached Mike's bed, gently shaking his good shoulder.
"Mike, wake up." He said softly.
"Hmm. Oh hey Peter." Mike said tiredly "What's up?"
"You got sick," Peter sighed, silently cringing at the smell. "Micky thinks you have a concussion."
Mike groaned and closed his eyes again.
"I don't have a concussion Peter, I'm fine."
"You say that, but—!" He hesitated, unsure if he should say it. "But I can't trust you, Mike…please, just wake up. If you have a concussion, you're not supposed to sleep."
"Not much." Peter said smiling "Are you okay?"
"My shoulder hurts," Mike said "And I'm tired."
"Yeah." Davy asked.
"Hmm hmm." Mike closed his eyes again.
"My head hurts." Mike said.
"Mike?" Davy asked "can you tell me where you are?"
"California." Mike said "in a house." Davy smiled.
"Okay, that's good, can you tell me what my name is?" Davy asked.
"David Jones."
"Okay, great, what year is it?" Davy asked.
"1969." Mike said through a yawn.
"That's excellent Mike." Davy said.
"Hmm. I passed. Can I go to sleep now?" Mike asked.
"Yeah, we'll wake you up again in an hour or so." Davy said.
"Hmm. okay." Mike said and fell asleep again.
"Well, it doesn't look like he has a concussion." Davy announced 'but we'll keep an eye on him."
"Okay." Micky said "Where did you learn all this first aid stuff?" Davy laid down on his bed and pulled the covers up around him.
"My dad taught me some stuff before he and mum passed, then my grandfather taught me a lot as well." Davy said.
"Oh, well it's a good skill to have." Micky said as he went into the bathroom and grabbed a rag and bucket with water and started to clean up the sick.
"I can do that Micky." Peter said.
"I got it Pete, you go to bed." Micky answered. Peter nodded and crawled into bed with Mike and started to rub Mike's shoulders again. Mike hummed in his sleep and muttered something. Peter snickered.
"What?" Micky asked.
"He said feels like jelly." Peter said.
"Oh." Micky smiled and put the bucket away and turned out the light.
"Night guys." He said as he rolled over.
"Night Micky." Davy said "don't be alarmed if my alarm goes off. I set it to go off in an hour so I can wake Mike up again."
"That's fine," Micky sighed and closed his eyes, going off to sleep. An hour later, Davy's alarm went off and all but Micky woke up to it.
"Hmm," Mike groaned, rolling over in his sleep. "Too loud."
"Sorry, Mike," Davy whispered, turning off his alarm. "How do you feel?"
"Hmm fine. It's too loud." He complained with a sigh.
"I turned the alarm off, is it any better now?"
Mike only groaned in response.
"What's your name?" Davy asked him and Mike opened his eyes to look at him.
"You know it."
"Yeah, I know it," he shook his head. "I'm asking if you know it."
"Hmm. Mike." Mike grumbled.
"Full name." Davy said. Mike sighed.
"Robert Michael Nesmith. I was born December 30, 1942. I share a birthday with you, I'm in California, I live in a house on a beach, we don't pay our rent on time, I have a handful of brothers and sisters. Anything else you need to know or can I get back to ben?" Mike asked nettled.
"Who's Ben?" Peter asked.
"I ment bed, you woke me up." Mike said and he closed his eyes.
"Yeah Mike, you can go back to bed." Davy said.
"Good. Good Night."
"Night Mike." Davy said "Good Night Peter. Sorry I woke you up."
"It's okay Davy, I'm glad to see that Mikes better." Peter said, yawning.
"Well, I don't think he's better, but I don't think he has a concussion." Davy said, turning the light off.
"Oh, well, good night."