Micky couldn't breathe, his mind was running wild. He stared out the window, fingers tapping a melody on his leg. Millie parked the car and looked at him.
"You sure you don't want me to come in with you?" She asked quietly and he shook his head.
"No-no. Thank you, though."
She nodded in understanding.
"Okay, Micky. I'll be in this area all day so I can drive you back home if you'd like me to."
"Okay..." he sighed and opened the door, giving one more "thank you" before stepping out into the parking lot. He had been saying those words a lot lately but he really did mean it. Millie had been coming to the pad to offer her help when she heard about what had happened. She was doing everything from making dinner to being a shoulder to cry on. She even helped with money when they stopped working. It was Millie who had explained the situation to Mr. Babbitt, who had become much more understanding and lenient towards the boys. He helped them out when he could, even if it was only pushing rent back a few weeks, but it was appreciated none the less.
Micky stood in the parking lot for a while, just taking everything in before he carefully made his way inside, expecting the worst. Still, he didn't feel prepared for the sight that greeted him when he finally made it to Mike's room.
"Hi, Mike." He choked, sitting in one of the chairs beside the bed.
Mike was alive, Micky was thankful for that fact, but he still cringed at how bad his friend looked. He was completely unconscious, but he didn't look asleep. He looked uncomfortable, almost in pain. His face was pale and bruised. There was a long cut running down the side of his face, looking infected. He also had a tube down his throat to help him breathe.
It pained him to see his friend like this.
"Hi, Mike..." he whispered again, unable to say anything else.
He caught himself glancing around the room. His eyes eventually landed on the monitor that displayed Mike's heartbeat. It was nice and steady, he couldn't help but smile at that.
"Y'know, on my way to your room, they were telling me about how you were. They said...they said that recovery would be hard but not to be afraid. You're a fighter. They told me that, but I already knew that you were. You can do it. I know you will."
He looked back at Mike. He didn't move.
"We're all here for you, babe. Me, Davy, Peter, Millie, even Babbitt. It'll be fine."
The silence made tears flood his vision. He blinked his eyes and grabbed onto Mike's cold hand, squeezing it lightly.
"Stay strong for just a little bit longer. We'll all be here for you when you get better. Just hold on...please, Mike."
He began to cry as he sang under his breath, not sure if Mike could even hear it. It was a love song, one that the two of them had been working on together. It almost sounded like a lullaby now. When he was done, Micky looked up at Mike, yearning for any response at all. He didn't get one. He sighed and attempted to give the Texan a hug. It was an awkward one as Micky tried and failed to successfully maneuver around the equipment.
"Excuse me?" A voice asked, causing him to jolt his head up. He faced the person who had shown in the doorway, dressed in a white coat.
"We need to run a few tests on Mr. Nesmith if you won't mind leaving the room to give us privacy."
"Yeah, sure," was all he could say, "I can go."
He looked back at the man in the bed.
"Bye, Mike..." he really didn't want to leave Mike alone but he didn't have the choice to stay. "I'll be back here tomorrow, and I'll see if either Peter or Davy will want to tag along too...bye, Mike. Be good."