Mike crept into the house. His eyes were barely open and he was holding the newspaper in his hands.
"Morning," he slurred, half-asleep, setting the crumbled paper on the kitchen table. "Brought the paper."
"Mike, it's four pm. Micky got the paper this morning." Davy said quietly.
"Oh...kay." Mike slipped his shoes off, stumbling slightly as he tried to walk at the same time. He made it to the couch and plopped himself down, closing his eyes.
"Mike, where were you?" Micky wasted no time getting straight to the point. Mike had been out for hours. That whole time, they had no idea where he was. He didn't respond.
"Where were you?" Davy asked again, more concerned than upset.
"Hmm?" Mike opened his eyes and turned his head to see all three of the other Monkees looking back at him.
"Where were you?" Micky repeated.
"Mmm, here," Mike said after a little thought, closing his eyes again. Davy cracked a smile, he couldn't help it. It quickly faded when Micky shot him a look.
"Before here, Mike. Where were you before here?"
"Texas."
Micky rolled his eyes and sighed deeply, laughing a little to himself.
"Whatever."
"Whatever," Mike repeated with a yawn.
"Okay, Mike. We'll let you sleep." Peter smiled and stood up.
Mike smiled for a second and mouthed "thank you" before drifting off.
The group walked back and sat at the kitchen table, realizing they weren't getting anywhere.
"So, what do we do?"
"Talk to him when he's more awake, I guess."
"He seems fine," Peter defended. "If he wants to go out, he should be allowed to go out."
"Peter," Micky said sternly, "you know it's more than that."
He sighed and sat down. He glanced back over at Mike and nudged Micky in the arm to get him to look.
"What was that?" Micky asked softly. Mike was muttering something under his breath. He repeated it a little louder but it was still inaudible.
"You're gonna need to speak up, Mike."
"Tired!" He yelled, sitting upright, before groaning and laying back down.
"Tired?" Micky asked, clarifying. Mike's speech was pretty jumbled and slurred at the moment.
"'M tired," He complained, this time not moving at all.
"How are you tired?" Davy asked, now a little worried. "You've done practically nothing but sleep for weeks!"
"I dunno," Mike said giggling like he was up to something.
"Mike, are you feeling alright?" Peter frowned, slowly walking over to the couch.
"Yeah...Peter. Feelin' ~groovy~." Mike said with a large grin. Peter couldn't help but smile a little too.
"Okay, Mike. Well, just keep on keeping on."
"Wi-ill do."
As Peter went back to the others, the smile quickly faded.
"I think there's something wrong with him...I've never seen him like this."
Mike suddenly burst out into laughter at nothing, scaring Peter a little.
"Nothing's wrong!" He called out from the couch, still laughing lightly. "Everything's ~groovy~, Peter!"
"I think he's fine," Micky shrugged with an amused smirk. "People get weird when it's late and they're tired."
"Yeah, but it's four," Davy frowned, taking a peek back at Mike. "And he's done nothing but sleep."
"Doesn't mean he isn't tired."
"What're y'all doin'?" They all turned to look at Mike, who was staring back at them, an adventurous smile on his face. "Plannin' somethin'?"
"No, Mike," Peter shook his head. "We're not planning anything. Go back to sleep."
"Mmm, sleep," he groaned and closed his eyes, laying back down. Suddenly he shot back up, shaking his head. "Can't!"
"Can't?" Micky stood up, concerned by the outburst.
"You can't what, Mike?" Davy joined him.
He shook his head furiously and kept on rambling as if he couldn't hear them.
"What do you think he's talking about?" Davy asked the other two. Micky shrugged sadly.
"Don't know, but it can't be good."
"I can't. I can't. I can't." He was becoming choked up as he went on.
"Mike, it's okay if you can't," Peter said with a sad smile. "Really, it's okay. It doesn't matter-"
"No!" He yelled, causing them to jump a little. "Not okay! Matters! Miss it if I do."
They slowly began to make their way over to Mike. He was sitting upright, running his hands through his hair, repeating "miss it" again and again. The more times he said it, the less urgent it was. The sadder the phrase became.
"Mike, what's wrong?" Micky knelt down and watched him. Mike shook his head again and kept muttering to himself incoherently.
"What's he saying?"
"I can't hear all of it," Davy said with a frown, listening closer. "'Miss it?'"
"What do you miss, Mike?" Peter sat down in front of Mike's line of vision.
"Sleep?" Davy suggested, and Mike shook his head again.
"Mike, what is it?"
Suddenly he stopped and looked at all three carefully before standing up and walking outside onto the balcony.
"Mike, wait!" They all jumped up, though Peter was the only one who followed him out.
Mike was sitting on the edge, gazing out at the water longingly, still whispering to himself. Peter was able to get a little closer to hear what he was saying, but it didn't make any sense.
"The way it was," he sighed, pulling his knees to his chest. "The way it was...no more, no more."
"Mike?"
He turned around to face Peter, who smiled at him.
"Hi, Mike. Are you okay?"
Mike looked at him curiously but said nothing.
"Mike...?"
He came closer. Mike frowned and snapped out of it when he noticed that Peter was limping slightly.
"Peter? Is your leg okay?"
Peter closed his eyes and nodded, relieved that Mike was back.
"It's fine," he said with a heavy sigh. "Had a little accident the other day. It's fine now. Are you okay?"
Mike looked back up at him, mouth opened slightly like he wanted to speak. But quickly closed it and shook his head, turning away.
"Mike, what's wrong?" Peter sat down beside him, worried.
Mike looked at him sadly, much more awake than he was a minute ago. He didn't say anything.
"What is it? You can tell me."
He looked down and then back out into the distance.
"Everything."
"Everything? Everything's wrong?" Peter frowned and scooted a little closer.
"No."
"No," he repeated and watched Mike carefully, unsure of where this was going.
He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head up towards the sky.
"Michael?"
"I miss it, Peter."
"What?" He asked sympathetically. "What do you miss?"
He brought his head back down and hid it in between his knees.
"Everything, Peter. I miss my life."