C7 - MONDAY, LATER

"Good morning, Mike." His boss, a couple of inches shorter than him and always jovial, waved the young man over as soon as he stepped foot in the grocery store.

"Good morning, Mr. Garcia."

"And how was your Christmas?", he asked, handing him a store apron he'd had at the ready knowing how prompt Mike always was.

A genuine smile appeared on Mike's face as he thought back to Micky inviting him over to celebrate with his family and the groovy time they had all had. "It was really somethin'.", he replied, avoiding sharing details. "Yourself?"

"Oh yes, it was good as always. Even if it was at the in-laws' this year.", he chuckled. "So, I'm glad you said you could come in. Can you stay later than usual?"

He didn't think that should be a major problem. "Yes I can.", he replied while tying the apron strings behind him.

"Great. We need all the Christmas decorations taken down and New Year's decorations put up, then a new display of cans over there in front of aisle 12 and some things tidied up in back. And of course the normal stocking and cleanup. But there's also year-end inventory if you have some time to help us with that later?"

He nodded earnestly.

"Would you have time to come in tomorrow?"

It occurred to Mike just then that he probably should get the pad cleaned up some before Peter returned from his trip the next night, but he quickly decided he could get on that when he got home that evening. An' Micky's workin' anyway tomorrow too, so I may as well. "I'm free."

"Then I'd like you all day again if you can. Finish up year-end and stock-taking for the sale starting on the 30th — but I remember that's your birthday, so I won't make you come in then or 'til next Monday. In fact, if you get it all done today and tomorrow, I'll make it worth your while; you can go home tonight with a sack full of anything at all you want from here — lobster, chicken, wine, you name it."

"Oh, well that would be real nice! Thank you, sir. I'll get it all done."

"Good kid.", Mr. Garcia said along with a clap to his shoulder and left him to it.

I know we have leftovers to eat, but they can wait a day while I make him a real nice dinner tonight., he thought on his way over toward some decorations. And he knew that lobster, as tempting as it sounded, was out of the question since he had no idea how to cook it and didn't want to ruin perfectly good food. Not a second later, he was pulled from thoughts of food by a pale-looking woman coming up to him asking if he could reach a jar for her on a nearby high shelf.

"Not a problem, ma'am."

She coughed when she asked him and coughed a little again as he handed the item to her. It irked him some that she did so and without even a thanks before going on her way, coughing yet again. There were days when he wondered if there was just some cultural divide he sometimes didn't get. Why couldn't she'a' turned her head or used her sleeve if nothin' else?, he wondered, shaking his head before continuing on, setting to work taking down the tinsel and small trees while trying to think back on the song he'd been working on earlier that morning.

-—-—-

He had been sitting down for a couple of minutes in the employee break room in order to stretch his arms, back, and legs when the phone rang, so he answered. "Malibu Safeway. How may I help you?"

"Hi—Mike?", Micky's tone went from calm and polite to excited and bright in a quarter of a second flat.

That voice. It immediately soothed him, even down to his slightly aching feet. He hadn't been standing up for long periods for the last week, and he'd forgotten he'd need to get used to it again. "Hey, Mick.", he replied, upbeat, leaning back in the chair and straightening his tie before shoving the handset into the crook of his neck. It allowed him to spare holding up an already-tired arm unnecessarily, and he folded both arms across his front to rest them.

"Hey, just the man I wanted to talk to!"

Mike could hear his wide smile over the line. But when's he not smiling., he thought with gladness.

"So Brian's friend Steve was just here in the store, and he said we were all invited to his house today at six-thirty for Brian's surprise birthday party."

"Oh. W'll, 'fraid I can't go. I promised Mr. Garcia I'd stay late and help with some year-end work."

"Aw. We can show up fashionably late?"

"No, you go on ahead. Whenever it is I'll get out of here, I'll be beat." Besides, cleaning up the pad was one thing to Mike, merely busy-work not that different from what he was doing at his actual job, but having to put in the emotionally expensive effort of trying to socialize with a bunch of noisy revelers he didn't know all that well for a couple of hours was another thing entirely. That was Micky's habitat, and he'd rather leave Micky to it to have his fun. Moreover, he didn't want to chance finding out how Micky might act towards him in plain view of other people if booze were flowing, and he could almost guarantee that booze would be flowing at the party. I c'n hardly trust myself sober around him. What hope would he have tipsy? And anyway, if I'm not around, maybe he'll pick up a girl there. Then everything'd work itself out nice and neat.

Even though he'd much rather Mike go with him, Micky knew parties really weren't Mike's scene. But he always invited him anyway in the hopes he'd let loose and have even half as good a time as Micky normally had. It didn't usually work out that way, but when it did, Mike was happy enough, and Micky was tickled.

"An' I told him I'd come in tomorrow too. But I'll make ya dinner later tonight if you don't eat much at the party, alright?"

"Well, shoot. Okay.", Micky voiced his disappointment, though he was appreciative that Mike would take care of dinner for him if he wanted.

Mike knew the disappointment he heard wasn't due to his offer to cook. "Oh, cain't you git a ride there?"

"No, I'll walk. It's only a mile or two." He quirked a half smile. "I'll just miss you." Hey, just the two of us walking around would be nice., he thought on the concept. Maybe we could do that sometime, just walk around. Oh, that reminds me, I need to run down the street and buy his birthday present before I forget again.

Unthinkingly and automatically, he almost told Micky he'd miss him too; it was on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself at the last moment. "I'll—" Micky's just bein' Micky. I don' want ta encourage 'im thinkin'... "hope you have a good time.", he covered. "Tell Brian I said happy birthday."

"Will do. See you later tonight!"

"Bye, Micky." He sat the handset back down on its base on the break room counter, offloading a sigh in the process. He wished distancing himself from his best friend didn't feel like such a weight around his neck. At least we'll be apart for some of the evening. He stood up, shaking himself out of it, and left the room to go back out to finish stocking shelves. We'll work it out when he gets home.

-—-—-

Mike had picked out a few things for his sack of goodies that he knew Micky would like, Mr. Garcia generously piling on to it with smoked salmon and a bottle of champagne, and he drove home in the dark. He shoved the items needing to be refrigerated around what they already had in there and barely got the ice box to close. Though he'd been on his feet all day, he supposed then was as good a time as any to take down the decorations in the pad since he'd been on a roll at the store doing the same thing there. He removed, folded up, and put into boxes all of the bits and baubles as well as the tree and its ornaments. It was with a rueful smile he took down all the mistletoe, but instead of putting the one from the kitchen away and hauling it down to the basement with the other boxes, he took it up to their bedroom and put it in the back of his own sock drawer. He wasn't prepared to part with it for an entire year just yet. For at least a while, it would be a pleasant reminder to him of their time together.

At nine-thirty, Mike decided it was well past dinnertime, so he got to work on that with the assumption that Micky would walk through the door at any minute. He had actually expected to get a call from Micky at the party to see if Mike would come and pick him up, but no call came.

The total, abnormal silence in the pad was almost deafening to him. He would have welcomed such a thing a few short years ago, possibly even a few short months ago. This lack of any external animation reminded him of how much he missed his friends, his new family, when they weren't around. For the third time that night, he thought I miss Micky.; that's what it mostly was. Being able to hear himself eat was different as well since there was no one to even share his own noise with or make noise over the top of him. His stomach dropped a little with the thought that this was what his life would probably be like after The Monkees made it big and they all went off their separate ways to live their lives outside of rehearsing and performing. Maybe I'll stay here for awhile. We made some good memories here., he reminisced.

After putting the new leftovers for Micky into the ice box, he turned on the television, but the station that was on signed off for the night shortly thereafter, so he simply turned it back off. He knew he should just go on to bed, but with Micky still gone, he wanted to wait up for him if he could. So, he picked up his six-string and plucked out a series of notes. "Micky, Micky, where've ya gone to?/ Micky, Micky, wish I had gone too.", he sung along, making up the words as he went, thinking the basic idea might well be catchy enough for the band to turn into a real song. "Micky, Micky, when'll ya be home?/ Micky, Micky, hope it won't be long." After awhile, he put the guitar down for the night. On the one hand, he was getting tired and didn't want to fall asleep sitting up and drop his guitar or fall asleep in a contorted position on the sofa downstairs. On the other hand, Micky's absence was actually starting to make him antsy. But he told himself that Micky was a big boy and that he was off having a good time and didn't need Mike of all people bothering about him.

It was almost midnight when Mike finally decided to turn in, leaving the lamp on downstairs. He went up and started stripping both their beds, hesitating with a held breath when he saw on their dirty sheets the evidence of what they had done together. Stop it., he warned himself, shaking off the thoughts and averting his gaze from the stains, wadding the sheets up and putting them in the corner next to the laundry bags. He replaced them with their extra set of clean sheets from the closet, then went into the half bath to wash his face and brush his teeth before changing into his pajamas and climbing into his own bed for the night. Flat on his back, the whole of the narrow but long twin mattress to himself, it seemed almost too spacious. Too empty. He moved his hands out to his sides, palms warming the coolness of the bedsheet beneath them.

His attention shifted when he heard a car door slam, and not that long after, having left the upstairs bedroom door open, he could just pick up the sound of the front door closing. Oh good; he's home., he thought with relief as he waited for Micky to come up. I know I woulda stayed up all night worryin' if he hadn't come back tonight. But it's late now; we can talk about things tomorrow. Should I pretend I'm asleep? Then it won't have to be too awkward. That's why I got in my own bed, after all. With any luck, maybe he'll go right on over to his. I don't think I—

And then a fluffy-haired silhouette appeared at the bedroom door halting his internal monologue in its tracks. "Mike!", Micky sighed his name with intense happiness through his wasted state.

"Mick.", he replied automatically and half-questioningly with a smile. While he couldn't see the way Micky was looking at him because his face was shadowed, Mike could sure feel it. And what he wouldn't give to bottle that feeling up and keep it with him forever.

The drummer stepped into the room and reached inside on the left for the doorknob, missing it once, then twice, before finally grabbing a hold of it and shutting it behind him. In the darkness, he took off his jacket but didn't quite get it onto the coathanger, so a whooshing sound was heard as it fell and crumpled to the floor. Micky ignored that and proceeded to angle over to his roommate's bed specifically because it was where his roommate happened to be located. It wasn't clear if he would have been able to make it over to his own bed on a first attempt anyway. The idle thought flitted through Micky's head that he was proud of himself for making it in the house, up the stairs, and over this far before that thought was again replaced by the concept of Mike.

Listing over the side of said man's bed, Micky somehow had enough presence of mind to toe off his shoes and find and pull the covers back before plopping down in a curled-up ball next to him. He drew up his knees, his left one draped over Mike's thigh to where it stopped just shy of his sensitive region, and wrapped his arms and hands around Mike's left arm which was left uncomfortably bent and twisted, unnoticed by Micky. "Missed you.", Micky sighed, squeezing said arm before his whole body relaxed. But he was on the 'wrong' side of the bed, and, more importantly, his rear end was hanging off of it for lack of room, his choice of position leaving him precariously threatening to roll off and onto the floor.

The bed's previously sole occupant, who had stayed still throughout these developments to see what Micky would do, couldn't help but grin at his carefree antics. As the faint smell of cigarettes and pot wafted from Micky's hair and clothing to Mike's nose, he wondered just what his favorite person had been up to for so many hours. Having fun, like he should be doin'. After a handful of seconds, he decided what Micky had been doing didn't matter to him at all and that there was a more interesting and perhaps pressing question to be asked: "Micky? That where you wanna stay tonight?" It wasn't that Mike particularly cared — he didn't, at least as far as him being currently unable to do anything about Micky being in his bed was concerned — but he was more amused at just how out of it his boy was, having wandered in and been perfectly willing to go to sleep in that particular location and position.

"Oh.", came the fourth word that evening out of Micky's usually far more chattery mouth. Just as Mike was about to pull his left arm free and shift to make more room on his left side, Micky proceeded to roll-climb over him before halting his movements mid-way, lying front down directly on the lanky man, legs splayed to the sides of his, face burying into the curve of his neck and shoulder, loops of hair ticking his cheek. "Mmm. Yep. Comfy. Gonna live here.", Micky murmured, settled in and already starting to fall back asleep.

Mike exhaled with a soft chuckle and brought his hands up around Micky's sides as if he were about to help him continue his journey across the bed, but they simply paused and lightly held him there. Other scents had by then made themselves apparent, signaling that Micky had partaken in beer as well as hard liquor, but what liquor, exactly, Mike couldn't say. The fusion of smells was foreign to the Texan's palate, but the fact that Micky's scent was a large part of the mix settled him. Breathing in, he mentally caught and followed the tendrils of that essence back to its owner, its now unconscious, entirely trusting owner who had moulded into him. And Mike had gone and wrapped himself right around him in return. "It ain't too bad, but I don't reckon this'll work for us all night.", Mike told him in a near whisper.

But as he had expected, he was met with silence; the freewheeling Californian was out cold.

Sure is heavy when he's out. Makes for a nice, cozy blanket, though. Mike wanted nothing more than to enjoy the feel of just being with him, and he unconsciously moved one hand up to pet his hair. He wondered how much, or perhaps how little, Micky would have had to drink to make him feel indeed comfortable enough to conk out in this position. Thank goodness someone drove him home., Mike thought with gratitude as he slowly rubbed his other hand up and down his once-lover's back. Micky's shirt had ridden up some with moving around on the bed, so he pulled it down and smoothed it out. He wondered if Micky would have called him for a ride if he hadn't gotten one there. Mike was imagining him staggering home drunk from wherever he had been back to the pad and still being in one piece. Maybe I shouldn' worry so much. He's fine on his own.

Mike sighed deeply. The ache in his chest was ever-increasing. But if this was the last time he would get to touch him, he didn't want to let go too quickly. So he held him close for as long as he could stand before he started thinking about it too much and becoming somber — and before he started to feel a little too physically compressed. "Mick, I'm gonna move ya.", he whispered into his ear knowing his warning to be pointless. Arms and hands around Micky, carefully so as to disturb him as little as possible, Mike rolled him over onto the usual side.

Micky's head flopped down at an awkward angle between his neck and the bed. "Nnhh." was the entirety of his voiced complaint.

Oops, I forgot his head. Extricating his arms and legs, Mike curled a hand around Micky's head and lifted it just enough to scooch the end of his pillow underneath it. He then scooted further to his own side to give Micky some room and turned his back to help give himself some mental space.

"Mmmf.", came a new syllable from behind him as Micky reflexively cuddled up to him, weaving his right arm up and around Mike's waist before relaxing right back into unconsciousness.

Mike about drowned in the innocent sweetness of it and couldn't bring himself to remove Micky's generous, warm, heavy arm. Despite the physical comfort it provided him and the depth to which he'd prefer to get lost in the sensation, it wasn't entirely comfortable given that his rational brain was at odds with the arrangement. I'm gonna miss this with him. He shut his eyes and started to drift off to asleep. Tomorrow. was the last thought on his mind.