Tomorrow was the day. The day that Peter would be allowed home. He'd be discharged from the hospital, finally be able to sleep in his own bed. Peter was very excited, so excited that he couldn't really sleep, despite how hard he tried to get himself to. Plus, there was something bugging him. He needed to say goodbye to Sam. Peter couldn't possibly leave without talking to Sam one last time. All day, it had been bugging Peter. That morning, Peter had asked Dr. Cole if he could go see Sam. Dr. Cole had told Peter that Sam wasn't really in a state for visitors. That had really scared Peter. It only resolved his determination to go see his first and say goodbye. He had to go talk to Sam that night. Which was now. None of his lovers had stayed the night with him, something that Peter was grateful for. It made slipping out of his bed and out into the hall that much easier. The coast was clear and so Peter made his way down the hall. He took a left and began his search for room 215. A few minutes later, Peter found his holy grail. Room 215 looked exactly like Peter's room. Two beds, a little bedside table in between them. A window, a chair. The same pale green tiles on the floor. Peter saw that Sam had a roommate, although Peter didn't pay any real attention to the other man in the other bed. All he cared about was Sam.
Sam was in the bed closest to the door. He seemed to be asleep. As quietly as possible, Peter pulled the chair in the room over to Sam's bedside, so that Peter was sitting right next to him. For a moment, Peter just looked at his friend. There was an IV drip attached to Sam's arm and he was wheezing, as if he were having trouble breathing. All his hair was gone, his cheeks sunken. If it weren't for his freckles, Peter would have compared Sam to a skeleton. Peter wondered how he was doing. By the looks of it, his condition had worsened. By a lot. The thought of Sam dying crept into Peter's mind like an unwanted rodent and caused him to shiver. That could very well be him some time soon, somewhere down the road. But it made this goodbye even more important. Sam might die before Peter ever had another chance to talk to him. So Peter moved to wake Sam up but it seemed that fate was on his side. As soon as Peter moved to wake up his sleeping friend, Sam's eyes cracked open. Peter froze, waiting to see what would happen. Sam focused on him and, for a brief moment, looked confused. But the moment passed and a warm smile spread itself across Sam's face.
"Peter!" Sam exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.
His voice was raspy.
"Hi, Sam," Peter couldn't help but mirror Sam's smile.
It was infectious and almost a relief to see the man smile.
"Hey, look, they got me on some of the good stuff," Sam gestured towards his IV drip, "Morphine. For the pain. I'm high as a kite right now, my friend."
Sam giggled and shut his eyes for a moment as a cough shook his whole body.
"Are you in a lot of pain, Sam?" Peter asked.
Sam opened his eyes, looking directly as Peter. Peter noticed, for the first time, that Sam had very dark brown eyes. They almost looked black and Peter couldn't help but admit that brown eyes suited Sam very well. They gave him a very handsome, brooding aura. Sam's smile crinkled his face again.
"Not with the morphine, no," Sam replied, "But it's not looking good, Pete."
Peter felt the numbness begin to spread inside of him, wrapping around him like a snake, threatening to strangle him. Sam's words echoed inside of Peter's head, burrowing themselves inside of him, trying to penetrate his heart. Tears stung Peter's eyes.
"I'm sure you'll pull through," Peter said, but he felt as if he were lying.
The words tasted horribly sour in Peter's mouth. How could he say such a thing to Sam? But, as Peter thought it over in a fraction of a second, it was probably something Sam would say to him if their positions were reversed. It was what one should say, wasn't it?
"That's the spirit," Sam laughed, causing him to cough again. "The chemo's stopped working. This round might see KS winning."
"Has it spread?" Peter wondered.
"In my lungs now," Sam nodded, patting his chest gently, "Always fancied that if I got out, I might proposition you into starting an AIDS band. You play, I sing. Guess KS has other ideas for me."
Sam was smiling. Still smiling, even now. Had their positions been reversed, Peter doubted he'd be like Sam. There would be more tears, more anger. Or perhaps Peter had no idea how he'd be acting towards the end. Perhaps Sam had the right idea. Smile while you could.
"I'll teach you to play the guitar," Peter offered, "You'll play and I'll sing."
Sam looked up at Peter. Their eyes locked onto each other and Peter saw true sadness. In that moment, Peter understood that Sam had already accepted the fact that he'd probably be dead soon. The look in the man's eyes was a mixture of bitterness, acceptance, and deep melancholy. But Peter also saw traces of happiness, as if just seeing Peter was bringing a little light to Sam's darkness in this moment. It made Peter uncomfortable and horribly, horribly sad.
"We'll make a great duo," Sam nodded, shutting his eyes for a moment. "The government'll have to listen to us when we make it big. Our hit single will be Give Us Funding for Medicine You Pricks up on Capitol Hill."
"That's an awfully long title, Sam," Peter snorted, not being able to help himself.
The image of him and Sam performing such a song was dominating Peter's thoughts and, truthfully, it was such a simple image that it made Peter laugh. It wasn't as if he found it funny but rather it seemed such an outlandish idea that it almost seemed plausible. And somehow Peter found that funny.
"Well, you think of a more apt title and get back to me," Sam hit back.
He opened his eyes and smiled up at Peter. Another cough shook his body, his face contorting in pain.
"Is there anything the doctors are trying to do to help you?" Peter asked.
It felt unfair to leave Sam here like this, with no hope. Certainly there was something that someone could do. They couldn't let Sam die without trying. Sam's smile faltered as Peter spoke, his gaze growing distant, almost as if he were looking through Peter for a moment.
"Dr. Andrews has me scheduled for a surgery tomorrow. Try and see if they can remove one of my lungs or something. I can't really remember much of what he told me, but said that most of the KS is in one lung so they could possibly remove some of it, see if that helps," Sam answered, although he seemed to sound skeptical, "To me, it just sounds like they're gonna open me up and muck around in there, no real results for me. I'm just some toy to them."
He spat his words out nearing the end. It shook Peter to his core, wondering if the doctors were really doing all they could to help Sam. Why wasn't there something they could do for him?
"Maybe it'll help," Peter countered, wanting to give Sam even a little bit of hope.
A thin smile spread itself across Sam's face.
"Maybe, yeah, you never know until you try," Sam agreed, his eyes falling shut again.
There wasn't any conviction in his voice. Sam was lying and Peter knew it. His words were merely an act to soothe Peter.
"I'm sorry to be keeping you up, Sam," Peter said, realizing that his time with Sam was probably running thin.
Sam immediately opened his eyes, his head shaking from side to side.
"No, no, no. Don't be sorry, Peter, I'm so happy you came to see me," Sam insisted, "I've missed you so much. My roommate, Joe, isn't much of a talker and he certainly doesn't play me any music like you used to."
Despite himself, Peter smiled at that comment. He missed Sam so much. Micky, Mike, and Davy were all so lovely. Their support meant so much to Peter but they all lacked understanding. None of them could truly understand what Peter was going through. Yes, they could sympathize and support him, but none of them could provide Peter with the understanding that Sam could provide. And now Sam would probably be dead soon. It filled Peter with a despair that he hadn't felt in some time, a sudden and choking sort of despair that stung his eyes and burned in his chest.
"I've missed you, too, Sam," Peter managed to say.
He reached out and grabbed Sam's hand, intertwining their fingers. Sam coughed again. Peter felt him shake.
"You leaving here yet?" Sam asked.
"Tomorrow morning," Peter replied.
"Good," Sam smiled, giving Peter's hand a squeeze, "You'll have to come back and play for me. Before I go."
"I promise I will," Peter instantly said, without any sort of hesitation.
"Thanks, Peter," Sam grinned, his words slurring together a little.
His eyes shut yet again and for a moment, Peter thought he'd fallen asleep. Sam's grip on Peter's hand relaxed and his breathing grew more even. Peter stayed motionless, sitting there holding Sam's hand for what seemed like ages. It was probably only a few minutes, six tops. But then Sam opened his eyes only a bit and a look of pure joy and disbelief overtook his face.
"Henry?" Sam whispered.
The name threw Peter for a second. Who was Henry? But then Peter remembered Sam's stories. And Peter remembered how drugged up Sam actually was. Sam thought that Peter was his lover, Henry, the one who had left him in the middle of the night. For a minute, Peter considered correcting Sam. Telling him that no, he wasn't Henry, he was Peter, remember? But when he opened his mouth to say something, he immediately stopped. He shut his mouth, teeth grinding against one another for a moment. This man was on his last legs. And he looked so happy to see Peter, to see who he thought was Henry. Peter couldn't take that away from him. Could he?
"Hi, Sam," Peter said, wondering if that would break whatever delusion Sam was under.
He hoped with all his might that it wouldn't snap Sam out of it.
"I can't believe you're here," Sam said, clearly still under the impression that Peter was Henry. "I've wait so long for you to come back to me."
The tears rolled down Sam's cheeks, his breath hitching. He slipped his hand out of Peter's grasp and brought his hand up to brush against Peter's cheek. Peter couldn't help but start to cry himself. Seeing Sam cry, seeing him lying in this god damned bed with so little hope left, it was all too much for Peter. Sam wiped the wetness from Peter's cheeks as the tears rolled down them.
"I'm sorry I left you, Sam," Peter said, wondering what exactly was appropriate for him to say in this moment.
"I forgive you, Henry," Sam's voice was shaking, "I forgive you. I forgive you. I… I love you so much, I knew you'd come back to me. I knew you wouldn't leave me."
Sam was sobbing now, gasping to keep in enough air for him to breath as the sobs shook his body.
"Shh, don't cry, Sam, don't cry," Peter hushed, lifting Sam up slightly so that he could press the sick man against his chest in an awkward embrace.
Sam wrapped his arms around Peter's neck. Peter wondered if he should say anything else? What could he say? Already he felt weird about lying to Sam like this, but wasn't it better for Sam to believe that the man who he loved, who had hurt him so much, had finally come back to see him. One last time, before Sam passed away. Didn't Sam deserve that? Plus, Peter reasoned, Sam might believe this was all a dream. Or maybe he wouldn't it. Either way, Peter was already in too deep to pull out now. Sam would fall asleep soon enough and Peter could slip out of the room then.
"I'm glad you came to see me, before I died," Sam sobbed, his face buried in Peter's chest, "Henry, oh god, Henry, I'm so sorry."
Peter stroked the back of Sam's head.
"You don't have anything to apologize for," Peter said to him, "I'm the asshole. I'm the one who left."
Sam pulled away suddenly and tilted his head upwards. Peter felt Sam's hands press Peter's head down a little, so that he was face to face with Sam. Then Sam kissed Peter, still under the belief that Peter was the lover that had abandoned him so long ago. Peter let himself be kissed. Their tears mingled together before Sam laid himself back down.
"I'm tired, Henry," Sam whimpered, "I'm so tired."
Peter felt nauseous with emotion. How much more of this could he take before he completely broke down?
"Go to sleep, Sam," Peter said, his hand stroking Sam's hand in a loving gesture.
"I'm scared to close my eyes," Sam admitted, his voice a high squeak, "I… don't want to wake up and find you were all a dream. I'm scared… that if I close my eyes, I might not wake up."
Peter leaned down and kissed Sam on the forehead.
"No matter what happens, you'll be alright. When you wake up tomorrow, you'll know that I'll always be with you, in your heart," Peter said, feeling so far out of his depth that he had no idea what to really say, "Just close your eyes, get some rest. You need it, babe."
Sam smiled, a smile filled with bitterness and joy.
"Goodbye, Henry," Sam mumbled.
"Goodbye, Sam," Peter replied.
He watched as Sam's eyes slid shut. His breathing became even and he seemed to be asleep, finally. Peter sat back in the chair, staring at his dying friend. Had he done the right thing? Peter wasn't sure but perhaps he had given Sam some sort of closure. Peter stood up, pushed the chair back against the wall so that it was out of the way, and stood looking down at Sam for one last moment. He looked so peaceful, like a baby when it was asleep. Peter's goodbyes had been said. He'd done what he had set out to do and Peter had the horribly gut twisting feeling that this would probably be the last time he'd see Sam Newly. With his legs feeling as if they were made out of lead and rubber all at the same time, Peter made his way out into the hall. As he walked back to his hospital room, Peter felt numb. The tears were still trickling down his cheeks but nothing was registering on an emotional level. He made it back to his room without being caught, surprisingly. Luck certainly was on Peter's side tonight.
As soon as he climbed into his bed, Peter pulled his knees up to his chest and began to sob. Sam was scared and alone and Peter had the horrible, awful image of Sam Newly dying exactly like that. Scared and alone, with no one to hold his hand. Everything was too much, too much. Peter felt as if he were drowning, despair and sadness gripping him with iron fists. He'd most likely never tell Mike, Micky, or Davy about tonight. He'd most likely never get to play Sam another song before he died. All of this had such a tone of finality that Peter couldn't stand it. That night, he cried himself to sleep. He dreamt of Sam.
Davy looked around the pad one more time, taking it all in. There was a banner hanging above the back door that read 'Welcome Home Peter!' in a variety of colorful letters. Bundles of three balloons were scattered around the pad, splashes of color brightening up the usually dreary paint that made up the walls of their home. On the kitchen table was a large variety of Chinese takeout and on the kitchen counter there was a beautiful chocolate cake that Beth had baked especially for this occasion. Davy couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. The idea for all of this had come upon him yesterday, seemingly out of the blue.
"I think we should have a party for Peter when he comes home tomorrow," Davy had suggested to Micky and Mike, while they were talking an evening walk on the beach.
They both chorused an agreement, Micky suggesting that they could even invite over Coco and Beth, make it a real shindig. The three of them agreed that Peter would probably like that. Even though both of them agreed, saying that they thought it was a good idea, Mike still asked why, stating that he was just curious.
"Well, he keeps on talking about having a party after he dies and I think it's because he doesn't think he'll make it to his next birthday. I'm guessing that thought's really bumming him out so maybe, I'm thinking, if we throw him a little sort of party, it'll cheer him right up," Davy had explained, "Then, he'll maybe have more optimism. A good attitude might make a world of difference for him."
This seemed to make sense to both Mike and Micky. And thus, Davy had enlisted Coco and Beth to help him get everything together. Coco and Beth had picked up the banner, a custom order thanks to Micky's mom pulling some strings, along with the baking of the cake. Beth had insisted she bake the cake. It seemed very important to her and Davy knew that Peter would appreciate it. Davy had set up the balloons and Micky had picked up the Chinese food, driving Coco's car instead of their own so that Mike could go and pick up Peter. Now it was just a matter of time, a waiting game of sorts.
"Aw, shit, when do you think they're gonna get here?" whined Micky, "It's been forever!"
He was sitting upside down on the couch, his legs kicking lazily in the air. Davy shook his head at him, wondering why he always acted so much like a child. When would he grow up? But there was an endearing quality to the position that made Davy smile. Since Micky had told him about his diagnosis, there was a heavy sort of weight that Davy felt nearly all the time. It had been there when Peter had revealed his own news and it was here once again. But Micky didn't seem to let it bother him. In fact, Davy would have never guessed that anything was wrong if Micky hadn't told him. Micky seemed just like his usual self, almost more so than before.
"Micky, Mike's only been gone thirty minutes," Coco pointed out.
She was sat on the end of the lounge chair, Beth's head resting in her lap with the rest of her body sprawled out on what remained of the lounge chair.
"And Dr. Cole said he wanted to give Peter one last check up before he came home," Davy added as he wandered over to the kitchen table, just to count the number of plates one more time.
They might have missed one or something. But there were six plates, six cups, six forks, a bunch of napkins, two bottles of cola, and enough food to probably make them all sick if they ended up eating it all. Everything was there, just where it was supposed to be. Now all they needed was Peter and Mike.
"I wish they were here now! I'm starving," Micky grumbled, but Davy picked up on what he assumed Micky was doing.
Micky wanted Peter home as soon as possible, just as much as Davy did, but by focusing on something like food, Micky could perhaps pretend that this was all relatively normal. Nothing to worry about. Davy had noticed the he did that a lot. Focusing on mundane aspects or treating tasks that weren't normal as the usual procedure. It hadn't occurred to Davy to ask Micky why he did that and so Davy made the mental note to ask him about it later.
"Me, too," Beth sighed, "I hope they hurry up."
Micky grinned broadly and gestured vaguely in Coco and Beth's directions.
"See, that's why I like her, sis," Micky stated, "She's got her priorities straight."
Coco quirked an eyebrow, giving her brother a skeptical look.
"You like my girlfriend because she likes to eat?" Coco asked.
"C'mon on, babe, I'd agree that it's my best quality," Beth giggled.
Coco turned her skeptical look now towards Beth. The younger Dolenz smirked and suddenly began tickling Beth.
"Oh no, Coco, stop!" Beth gasped, her body writhing as she laughed.
"Fight! Fight!" Micky began to chant.
Davy couldn't help but laugh as Beth began to snort, she was laughing so hard. In her attempt to get away from Coco's tickling fingers, Beth fell down onto the floor with a loud smack. The laughter died down, Davy quickly making his way over to the young woman.
"You okay?" Coco asked as Davy offered Beth a helping hand.
"Yeah, thanks, Davy," Beth answered, taking Davy's hand and using him to help pull herself up off the ground.
"No problem," Davy grinned.
Just then, in the beat of silence, Davy thought he heard a car engine outside. Suddenly, Micky tumbled off the couch and leapt to his feet. Davy must have really heard a car engine if Micky was getting so excited.
"Oh, I think they're home!" Micky exclaimed.
"Get underneath the banner!" Beth instructed.
The four of them scrambled to get into position. Coco and Beth had their arms around each other, facing the front door as they both eagerly waited to see Mike and Peter walk into the pad. Davy and Micky were both bouncing on the balls of their feet, neither of them wanting to wait another minute. There was the distant sound of car doors shutting. Then the door to the pad swung open. Mike walked in first, a big dopey grin on his face. It was an odd sight to see Mike Nesmith with such a look but it warmed Davy's heart. Of course, this was all forgotten as soon as Peter entered the pad. As soon as Peter entered, all Davy could think of was how good he looked.
"Welcome home!" Micky, Davy, Coco, and Beth all cheered in unison.
They all more or less threw their arms up into the air in a celebratory greeting to the blonde bassist. Peter's eyes grew wide and a smile began to dominate his face. Micky ran over to Peter and nearly tackled him as the curly haired drummer threw his arms around Peter. Davy stood where he was, almost glued to the spot. He wasn't entirely sure why he suddenly felt the cold shivers of anxiety but it didn't matter. Peter pried himself away from Micky and came over to Davy, pulling him into a hug of their own. The moment Davy felt Peter against him, the anxiety melted away. Despite the fact that he smelt of antiseptic chemicals, Davy thought Peter smelled wonderful. And seeing him here, in his own home after so long, was such a sight to behold. Even if he was a little skinnier then Davy remembered. Even if he looked tired, dark circles under his eyes.
"This is so wonderful," Peter said as he pulled away from Davy, looking around the pad at all the balloons and up at the banner.
"Yeah we all pitched in," Mike nodded.
"But it was originally Davy's idea," Micky added.
"We all helped," Davy didn't exactly want any sort of credit for this.
"Well, thank you all so much," Peter said, his eyes misting slightly.
He went over and hugged both Coco and Beth, pulling the two women into a group hug. Davy felt such joy at seeing Peter so surprised and happy. He was home and his welcoming was one for the record books.
"You're welcome," Micky replied, his chest puffed out for some reason, "But can we eat now? I'm famished!"
"You and your stomach," Mike shook his head at Micky, "We'll eat when Peter's ready."
"I could eat," Peter piped up.
"Well then, you heard him, let's eat!" Beth said.
Davy and Coco made up the plates of food, handing each of them out as soon as they were relatively full, while Mike poured everyone some cola. They ate at the kitchen table, the setting sun casting a warm glow inside the pad. Conversation was a mix of 'how was your day' and half remembered jokes, but it was an organic and wholesome thing that Davy loved very much. For a moment, Davy thought if only his grandfather could see him now. What a big, strong man Davy had grown up to be. He had a little family all of his own. And it was perfect. After everyone was finished and nearly all of the food was gone, Coco insisted she could handle the dishes all on her own so the rest of them pulled out a board game. They played on the floor, in a circle around the game. It got relatively rowdy, with Micky breaking out into a mock fight with Coco at one point that made everyone laugh. After two rounds, the subject of Beth's cake came up and it was decided that it was time to eat dessert. The board game was promptly abandoned on the floor, left to be cleaned up at a later time, possibly even tomorrow morning. Mike cut the cake and everyone received a nice sized slice. Davy liked the cake very much. It was probably one of the best baked goods he'd had in awhile. The frosting was a creamy vanilla that paired well with the rich chocolate of the actual cake.
"Damn, Beth, this is fantastic!" Micky said around a mouthful of chocolate goodness.
"Thanks, it's my own recipe," Beth beamed.
"Lair," Coco hit back, "You got it off the back of a box."
"Well they didn't need to know that, now did they," Beth replied with a humorous glare.
"It's better than anything I could have made," Peter piped up, taking a sip of his milk.
Micky had made coffee for everyone but Peter had decided he'd rather have milk. Davy had gotten it for him when he'd gotten up to make himself some tea. He didn't really feel in the mood for coffee, so Davy had opted for some herbal tea instead.
"I'm sure that isn't true," Beth assured Peter.
"Oh, he's right," Micky stepped in, still talking with him mouth full. "Peter's an awful cook."
"Couldn't cook if his life depended on it," Davy agreed, enjoying the laughter behind Peter's eyes as they went along with the joke, despite the fact that it wasn't much of a joke.
It was a fact that Peter was a terrible cook. Most of the time, he simply ended up burning the food and almost setting the kitchen on fire. Beth's brows furrowed together and she glanced over at Coco, almost pleading for an explanation. This only caused Coco to start to giggle.
"It's okay, Beth, it's true," Peter grinned, "It's the one stereotype that I don't fulfill."
"There's a stereotype for that?" Mike asked.
"Yeah, you're all supposed to like cooking," Micky nodded his head.
"That's ridiculous, I don't believe it," Coco said.
Davy shook his head, making sure to swallow his food before he spoke.
"No, it's true," Davy insisted, "A lot of guys I know like cooking."
"Or they have a personal chef," Peter added.
"What guy has a personal chef?" Coco asked.
"The rich ones," Mike guessed.
"Mmm-hmm," Peter confirmed.
"When have you ever slept with a rich guy?" Davy asked.
"Lots of times," Peter shrugged, "They're always in the closet but they have nice houses."
The conversation began to drift away from this topic, moving onto plans that Coco and Beth had for their house. They were going to be refurbishing it and they wanted opinions on such subjects as wallpaper and furniture. Eventually, the cake was completely consumed, Micky having eaten at least three slices, and the night was growing late. Coco and Beth decided to leave a little after ten o'clock. They all hugged each other goodbye and the four Monkees followed the two women to the door, waving at them as they exited the pad. Mike washed up the last of the dishes as Davy picked up the board game. Peter went into the bathroom and took a shower. It had been such a wonderful evening and Davy couldn't wipe the smile off his face.
"It's good to see him home, isn't it?" Davy asked Micky.
Micky was over in the band nook, the corner of the pad where they used to practice every evening. These days, it was an often neglected part of their house. Micky was messing around with his drums, tightening a snare or something, Davy wasn't entirely sure. Micky looked up and grinned.
"Yeah, it is," Micky agreed, "I think he's very glad to be home."
"I'm glad you thought of the little party idea, Davy," Mike added, coming up from behind Davy and wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
"It wasn't really anything," Davy said, not wanting that sort of recognition. "We all helped, that's the only thing that really matters."
"Aw, I think Davy's embarrassed!" Micky cooed.
"I am not," Davy protested.
"Yeah, Mick, I'll be damned. I think yer right," Mike chuckled, nudging Davy in the ribs with his elbow.
Davy's smile did not falter but he still tried to pull away from Mike. Mike wouldn't let him go though. He just kept his arm snugly around Davy's shoulder.
"I'm not embarrassed," Davy continued to insist.
"Then why're you trying to run away?" Micky giggled, getting up from behind his drum set and walking over to Mike and Davy.
"I am not!" said Davy.
"Yes, you are!" said Mike.
Micky then suddenly scooped Davy up, hauling him onto his shoulder. Davy involuntarily shrieked, which sent both Mike and Micky into hysterics.
"Oh, don't worry, princess, nothing to be embarrassed about!" Micky chuckled.
Davy just laughed. He felt complete, wonderful, and happy. The door to the bathroom opened and Peter stepped out, dressed in his pajamas. Davy waved at him and Peter waved back.
"What's going on?" he asked with a smile.
"Davy's embarrassed!" Micky exclaimed.
"Doesn't want to take credit for your homecoming celebration," Mike added.
"Oh, Davy," Peter's smile widened, "That's cute."
"Cute?!" Davy frowned.
"Well, you are a little man being held by a big, strong man," Micky pointed out, bouncing Davy up and down a little.
"Sounds like a fun night," Peter smirked.
All four of them burst into laughter. Micky plopped Davy back down onto his feet and the four of them sat down to absently watch some TV. There was nothing good on so, eventually, they decided to just go up to bed. The goodnights were exchanged as per usual, something that filled Davy with warmth. The tradition of goodnights hadn't been the same for so long. It felt good to say goodnight to all three of his lovers in their own home. Mike and Micky went upstairs to their bedroom while Davy and Peter headed into theirs.
"I'm so glad to be home," Peter yawned as he clambered into his bed.
"I bet you are," Davy agreed, turning off the light before beelining for his own bed.
He didn't get far though.
"Davy?"
Davy paused.
"Yes, Peter?"
"Would you mind sleeping with me in my bed tonight?" Peter asked.
The tone of his voice reminded Davy of dark stormy nights, when thunder would shake the pad and rain would pelt violently against the windowpanes. Peter's voice would cry out in a similarly fearful whimper, "Would you mind sleeping with me tonight, Davy?". Because there were many things Peter Tork wasn't frightened of and there were many thing Peter Tork was frightened of. Thunderstorms were things that caused Peter to unravel. But tonight, in this moment, the night sky outside was clear. The moon was shining brightly, not a raindrop to be seen. There probably wasn't even a single cloud in the sky and the wind was nonexistent. This time, it wasn't a silly little storm that was causing Peter to unravel. He couldn't have said no to Peter back then and he couldn't say no to Peter now.
"Of course I will," Davy said as he turned around and laid down next to Peter, who held up the covers so Davy could settle himself down comfortably next to Peter without having to jostle the blankets around.
"Thank you," Peter said, wrapping his arms around Davy so that Davy could comfortably curl up next to him.
It was very warm, lying down so close to Peter underneath the covers. Davy almost wished there was a thunderstorm raging outside. It would, in his opinion, make this situation a lot more cozy.
"I've missed you so much," Peter whispered, hand absently rubbing up and down Davy's back.
His breath smelt minty and Davy placed a quick kiss onto Peter's lips. Thunderstorms and kisses. But there wasn't a thunderstorm to be seen.
"You've only missed me?" he smirked.
"Don't be ridiculous," Peter replied, "I'm just trying to flatter you."
"Cheeky," Davy rested his head against Peter's chest, the blonde holding tightly onto him.
Davy listened to Peter breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall. Eventually, Peter drifted off to sleep. Davy had to admit that it felt slightly odd, to be keeping such a huge secret from Peter. Micky had decided that he'd tell Peter about his diagnosis after their ring ceremony. It felt odd not to tell Peter Micky's secret, but Davy had sworn himself to silence. At any rate, it wasn't his place to tell Peter. Exhaustion was beginning to pull Davy down into its warm depths, the siren of sleep calling to him, but a part of Davy didn't want to fall asleep just yet. He wanted to enjoy this quiet moment a little longer. If he'd had any sort real choice in the matter, he'd actually want to stay in this quiet little moment forever and ever. But he didn't have any real choice and sleep eventually overcame Davy, dragging him down into the depths of dreams.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this latest installment of this fic. As per usual, please remember that I am not a historian or a medical doctor, I do not now a lot about medicine, and although I did try to keep this fic as real as I could, it is fiction and my research might not have been extensive enough to be completely accurate. I encourage anyone interested in the AIDS epidemic to check out books such as And the Band Played on by Randy Shilts or do a google search. There's only two more chapters after this guys so I hope you all are enjoying it. We're nearly at the end. This project has been so much fun for me and I'll be sad to post the last chapter. But, we got two more to go, so stay tuned for more soon! As always, all reviews and favorites are very much appreciated.