C10 - TUESDAY, NIGHT

Micky awoke to fumbling noises and the sound of a drawer being smoothly closed. The light in the half bath was on, but the door was mostly shut, supplying only a sliver of illumination to work with. He had no idea what time it was apart from the fact it was still dark out. Him waking up at night was a rare occurrence, so he couldn't imagine what had caused it. Groggy, he shifted to prop himself up on an elbow and squinted across the room. He could make out a tall shadow standing there. Mike. "What are you doing?", he asked softly, sleep causing him to not have a full voice just yet.

Mike, still dressed from earlier and now with his green pom-pommed hat back on his head and his boots back on his feet, went motionless upon hearing the question. He realized he must have woken Micky up when he'd accidentally knocked the box he was holding against the side of the drawer. For some minutes he had been on autopilot, refusing to think, just pushing through until everything was squared away and he was out the door at which point it would be all over and done with, and he could slow himself down and acknowledge his emotions and come to terms with the aftermath — alone.

So the first thing that Mike thought when Micky spoke up was that, until such time, he could not let Micky through the protective barrier he had mentally formed. If he did, he'd lose all self-control just like every time before, and just like when he was tipsy from the brandy and set off this whole complicated implosion, and he felt that this was his last chance to take responsibility for his actions. He had to be strong, even if his mindless headway had gotten interrupted by the one person he absolutely could not have a discussion with. I guess I won't need to write a note now., he sighed internally, willing himself to answer Micky's question and only that question. And he didn't, couldn't, look Micky's direction when he did so. "Moving out."

Holy hell. "What?", Micky quietly shrieked before jolting upright in bed, suddenly completely awake. He swiveled his head around and found neat piles of Mike's clothing and other belongings arranged in and around the Texan's suitcase and laundry bag on his bed. He was apparently quite serious about moving out and quite serious about doing it right then. What the...? Without any comprehension of the situation or any idea of what to say, Micky jumped out of bed, nearly tangling in and tripping over the covers in the process, and dashed across the room stopping just short of his friend-turned-lover. "Mike.", he said with softness and concern, placing a tentative hand on his arm and hoping his progression would be halted.

"Lay off.", he snapped, numbly recoiling at the touch and turning away further.

Micky wasn't prepared for that reaction, jerking his hand back when Mike acted like he'd been burned by it.

Still without even a glance his way, Mike crossed back over to his bed to put the box of miscellanea which he had gotten out of the drawer into a corner of his suitcase next to his baggie of toiletries. The box contained a pocket dictionary, two little tin toy cars he got as presents when he was a boy, a bookmark with sentimental value, past Christmas cards he'd received from the guys and from his mother, random odds and ends, and, now protected with his blue hat so as not to get damaged, a small wooden guitar Micky had carefully carved, assembled, and decorated for him last year for his birthday that was a scale duplicate of his acoustic guitar. It and the real thing were two prized possessions he could never see himself being able to part with. But he methodically veered his attention to what items were left. I'll leave my records. Should I take my band shirts or leave them here for the next guy?, he wondered before moving to the closet to make a decision on that matter.

Micky pinched himself to make sure this wasn't a very bad dream, that this really was happening, that Mike really was leaving. Micky's heart was beating in overdrive. Taking in Mike's stuff that was spread out on the bed, he wanted to grab all of it and throw it out and make it disappear and then shake Mike until he had reverted back to his normal, rational, and verbally analytic self. Micky's head called on him to act, but he had no clue what to actually do without setting his best friend off further, so he simply stood there gawking at him. He felt like it was a dream state indeed, but more in the realm of a waking nightmare.

After a minute of his anxiety ramping up notch by notch and having nothing to show for it, just the feeling of Mike piecemeal receding from his life with every item folded or packed away, Micky slowly backed up to the door. Without removing his gaze from Mike in case he would somehow instantly disappear if he weren't looking, Micky flicked on the overhead light switch, turned the knob to open the door behind him, stepped one foot backwards onto the balcony and then another, and turned his head just enough to yell downstairs. "DAVY! HELP!" It struck Micky then that calling for Davy instead of Mike when something went sideways was an unpleasant, alien feeling in his mouth.

Mike turned around and hissed at his vocal disruption. "Whut're ya doin'?"

Before Micky could come up with an intelligible response, Davy rushed out of the downstairs bedroom in his pajamas having been obviously sound asleep until then. "Wot is it?", he demanded, looking looking up at the balcony and trying to decide what kind of emergency would require his presence up there.

"Mike — he can't leave!", Micky called down in response, as if those few words made a whole lot of sense on their own.

With the words being out of Micky's mouth and Davy now awake, Mike turned his back to him again and suppressed a growl.

"Wot?!" Davy wiped the blur out of his own eyes, annoyed that he wasn't jostled awake for something more important-sounding — like, say, an earthquake. Or Micky being on fire. Or better yet, a Beatles concert in their living room. He'd just flown half way around the world, was terribly jet-lagged, and had only gotten a couple hours' kip at the most. But he trudged up the stairs for his friend nonetheless.

"Mike said he's moving out." Micky breathed loudly, his mind racing. "He can't. We need rope. Or something. Do we still have the rope from— from when—", he trailed off in a stupor, the visual flitting through his head of Mike being tied up by the unruly kids when Milly had moved in for a short time.

With Davy about to get in his business, Mike switched gears and began haphazardly shoving his socks and underwear into his laundry bag. He needed to get out of there.

Having come up behind Micky, Davy could see that the drummer hadn't been awake long either from the looks of his disheveled hair and the rumpled clothes he'd been wearing earlier. Their shortest friend then leaned to the side and addressed his bustling friend from around his stupefied friend. "Mike, wot's the deal?", he moaned, sure that Micky must have been confused about whatever was going on as Mike wouldn't just get a wild hair and up and leave them. That wasn't Mike at all.

In response, Mike moved towards the door to push it shut with the intention of leaving the other two out on the balcony so he could finish up as quickly as possible in peace — save that Micky, who was becoming increasingly distressed, leaned forward on the door to prevent it from closing, and he, followed by Davy, continued on ahead, stepping into the bedroom. So Mike abandoned the door-closing option in an effort to temporarily calm the situation. He turned and went back to resume packing up the rest of his meager possessions. Pretty much all that would be left to grab afterwards was his acoustic guitar on the bandstand. He would leave behind the old 6-string electric and its amp; it's not like he could carry that and everything else at the same time, even if he had any idea where he was going and even if he would have a place to plug it in and play it. Maybe Pete or Mick'll teach Davy how to play it. Yeah. They'll do just fine as a trio if need be.

"Mike.", Davy repeated. "Don't tell me you're seriously moving out because of what happened earlier."

"Then I won't." Thinking he might need his blanket, he started to stuff it into the suitcase but then took it out again ascertaining the obvious, that there was no hope it would fit in there. He shoved it into his laundry bag instead and tried not to think about what it might weigh.

His short and abrupt reply, though, left them both gaping, and they were at a complete loss.

It took a moment of reflection, but a thought hit Micky then which caused his blood to chill in his veins and his face to go slack. Oh. Oh, man. I told him I love him. He had said it not just incidentally, as a friend might do, as he had told him a dozen times in the past, and they both knew it. I told him I love him, and that's why he's freaked out. It was too much for him. That's why he's bailing. But even with that understanding, he could think of nothing to do about it, and his brain's processing ability ground down to a crawl.

"Mike.", Davy repeated for a third time, one hand up, palm out to his tallest friend, and he spoke his command assertively. "Hang on for just a second, right?"

The request served to only negligibly slow Mike's operation due to a hint of guilt that crept in without his permission. And he had been doing so well with purposefully not feeling anything for the past half hour save only for the feeling of motivation.

Davy wasn't satisfied with Mike's moody 'Then I won't.' non-answer to such an onerous accusation of moving out. "Wot. is. the. bleedin'. deal?" Hit tone was even more insistent this time given he was becoming more irked the longer he was awake. He crossed his arms, brow raised in judgement.

Mike did pause then, at least momentarily, before answering in a hard, judgemental tone while his sight was focused on the items on his bed. "This isn' right." At that, Micky flinched as if he'd been slapped. "It's just gonna get more complicated, and that ain't gonna be good for nobody."

Davy noticed Micky's reaction, but he decided to continue speaking now that he was starting to get somewhere with Mike, wherever that might be. "I said I was fine with it. No doubt Pe'ah will be fine with it too. Don't you think you're overreacting just a bit?"

"Am I?", Mike fronted with a sudden intensity towards Davy that very nearly intimidated the smaller man into not holding his ground. "This isn't normal behavior; it ain't gonna go down anywhere else but here.", he gestured with his finger downwards in a circle indicating the inside of the pad in general. "Better to wrap it up before anyone gets hurt. And this is the cleanest, easiest way." And with that, he returned to his work, ignoring them.

Micky grasped for what braincells he could still find to rub together, his thoughts sluggishly all over the place and nowhere at once. He just didn't comprehend this one-hundred-and-eighty degree change in Mike, this new indifference — no, unfeeling antagonism. Is it that he cares just enough to instigate ...what, a fun little time for himself? — but he doesn't want to care too much? Or is it that he's that embarrassed and disgusted by me and what we've done together? But if that's the case, why would he care about me getting hurt? Obviously I already am getting hurt.

Just then, the phone rang. Davy huffed and ran back down the stairs to answer it, leaving Micky standing there staring stupidly at Mike's now accelerated movements. Powerless to stop him, Micky's hands hung limp and useless at his sides for quite some time. Where else will he go to live? What will he do? Will he stay in the band, at least? Or will I ever see him again? *What if I never see him again?!* But he can't leave. Except he really does look like he's leaving. He is leaving. But what can I do to change his mind? Oh man, I have to do something. "You don't have to go.", he breathed tightly. "Please don't do this."

Anger at himself seeping in to take the place of anything more questionable he could open himself to feeling, Mike frowned harder at Micky's alarmed and trembling tone. He didn't want to reply but felt he had to shut him down. "I've got to, Micky. It's for your own good." He couldn't look at him for fear of breaking.

My own good? Micky wondered if maybe Mike really was very embarrassed. I've upset him, obviously. Have I hurt him? Is he thinking he's going to take his hurt out on me?

Before anything more could be exchanged between them, Davy returned to the room having quickly changed into fresh clothes and still tucking in his shirt, jacket slung over his shoulder until he got himself completely together. "Pe'ah needs us to pick him up from the airport."

Damn, that's right. Mike had lost track of that inevitability in his zeal to leave. This threw a small wrench into his plan. But he reminded himself that Davy had just had to pay out of pocket to get a ride back to the pad from the airport even though he had told him and Peter last week that he would pick them both up. Having missed Davy because he came in early, Mike wasn't about to make Peter dip into savings to catch a ride home too. "I'll be done here in a minute an'll go get 'im."

Davy looked to Micky who couldn't look anywhere except wide-eyed at Mike. Rather than forming a reply, Micky rather seemed to be approaching a state of catatonia. So Davy spoke up again. "Well, we're going with you." Because his friend had asked him for help, he was resigned to do what he could. He also wanted this crazy issue sorted out along the way so he could just go straight back to sleep when they got home.

No. That's not gonna work. Mike stalked over to the dresser, scraped the keys up, and tossed them to Davy, looking away without care before he even caught them. "Then you go instead." On his way back by, he glanced at the bookshelf in the corner of the room by Micky's bed and considered whether he wanted to take a couple books along that belonged to him, but he immediately decided no; like his records, there was no room for them, and he could always replace them some day if he really wanted to. They were nothing like the little wooden guitar.

The Brit chuckled humorlessly. "No licence. You know that."

"Micky, you go get 'im.", Mike groused without looking at either one of them. His concentration shifted back to the task he had to finish. He decided against taking any of his books with him.

As if Micky were in a state of mind to drive anywhere for any reason anyway. Davy thought that would have been clear to Mike had he been able to cool his jets enough to notice. So Davy held the keys back out to his unnecessarily irritating friend. "Your car, mate. You drive."

"Fine." Mike abandoned his packing and snatched the metal out of Davy's hand, pushing past them both to leave. But with his newfound preference of making the drive alone, he wasn't impressed to find Davy hot on his heels on the way down the stairs and out the front door, Micky on panicked autopilot shuffling close behind, feet half out of his shoes and arms half out of his jacket. Who knows if the door got locked, but that was the last thing on anyone's mind just then.

Once outside and in the driveway, Davy answered the obvious question. "So you're just gonna announce to Pe'ah you're moving on? You know you'd have to do some explaining on tha'. And this is Pe'ah; he's not about to understand why. 'S not like I even understand it." He was about to ask if Mike had bothered explaining it to Micky of all people when Mike twirled around to face them.

"What do you want me to do?!", he yelled in emotionally-cornered frustration.

Micky flinched and gasped at the same time, nearly stumbling backward. He had never seen Mike act like that before — not to him, not to anyone. It was like he was possessed. All Micky could think was, What have I done? And that question echoed around in his head unanswered for a time, sinking him.

As the last word left his lips, Mike instantly hated himself for being like that and having had that effect on Micky. Instinctively, he wanted to apologize and ask forgiveness, but he held himself back knowing that doing so right now wouldn't help the situation and would surely make it harder for them both. This is the only way., he repeated to himself, holding firm.

He also realized after the fact that they were outside, in public, and his sudden outburst must have made him look and sound like a madman to more than just his friends. A neighbor from a couple doors down, lit by his porch light, was staring at them. Altogether vexed with himself and the state of affairs and at a loss as to what to about it at present, Mike whirled back around and got in the car, slammed the door shut, and started the engine. He tensed further when out of the corner of his eye he saw Micky open the passenger side door and timidly, hesitatingly move into his typical shotgun position, though closer to the door than to Mike or even to the middle of his seat. Dammit, I'm sorry, Micky., he berated himself before trying to make his mind go blank once more in order to deal more easily with the circumstance he'd brought into being. Davy climbed in the center seating, shutting the passenger door behind him, and not a moment too soon as Mike wasted no time in charging the GTO out onto the road and toward LAX.

On the way there, Mike restlessly tapped the steering wheel wishing miles would pass by faster. But despite trying not to think at all lest he find a way to change his own mind, thoughts nevertheless came to him. One of those thoughts was that Davy had a point: How was he supposed to explain the situation to their sensitive housemate? 'Hey there, Pete. Hope you had a merry Christmas. I'm movin' out tonight, and I don't expect I'll ever see ya again. Maybe you c'n teach the guitar to Davy. Good luck with everything.' Shit.

"Happy birthday to me.", Davy griped mostly to himself, sick of Mike's bizarre behavior.

Mike heard it and scowled. Of course Davy would make it about him. And then he let the complaint sink in. But, well, it kind of is about Davy., he had to admit. The young English transplant still mildly relied on Mike in a few ways not exclusive to transportation, and so suddenly departing might not prove stable for Davy or for the other two either; getting as far away from Micky as possible while remaining in the LA area would likely affect all three of them. He felt it would be the right thing to do to compensate for that somehow and give them the best chance to get by until they made it big; after all, it wasn't as if he had given them anything resembling a two-week notice. "I worked a lot of overtime lately to make sure we'd have some cushion next year. It's enough for a month's rent, so you'll have time to find another roommate. I'll leave it on the dresser."

A wave of sickness rolled through Micky. His arms already hanging stiffly beside his body, he gripped the cream-colored seat underneath his thighs, digging into it with his fingernails. This is really happening. This is really happening., he repeated to himself, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat.

Mike gave his housemates' coming predicament a few more seconds of thought. An' Mick cain' carry those drums around to gigs either. It'd only be fair to leave 'im the car so they can all have a ride. Maybe that'll help 'im not hate me so much.

"Not that we want you to think of us as charity cases, to be sure," replied Davy, "but where do you think you'd be going, exactly?" In truth, Davy believed he was something of a charity case and the older man had helped him out more than he thought he'd be able to repay him for years to come, but he wasn't about to admit that at this juncture. He was just looking to out-logic Mike and get results. "And with wot money if you're giving your extra to us?"

Mike eyed him in the rear-view mirror. "I don't wanna talk about it right now." While he had kept ten bucks in his pocket, he had no plan, to be honest. All he knew was that he had to get away to make things right. If he were lucky, he might find a friend in Malibu who would let him couch surf for the night before he headed into L.A. as he didn't know anyone too well in the big city. If he turned out not to be lucky, he'd hitchhike tonight and then find himself genuinely homeless right away. I'll either figure somethin' out or I won't. He pushed the thoughts away with determination.

"Brilliant. We'll just wait by the phone, then, for when you decide to open up to us about your life decisions."

Mike grumbled his overall dissatisfaction which kept him from actually opening his mouth back up.

"I'll say it again: I don't see what the problem is.", Davy flapped his hands in the air before flopping them back down to the seat and slid down into a slouch, a scowl etched into his features, lost as to the reason for Mike's overly touchy and in general supremely crappy mood.

They drove the rest of the way to the airport in strained silence. Micky hadn't said a word since they had been in their bedroom, when he'd all but begged Mike not to leave, and Mike had started to become slightly worried; this had to be an all-time record of quiet for the young and normally loquacious Dolenz.