Two Months After the Outbreak

The infected had nearly gotten in. It had been quite touch and go there for a little bit, especially from Mike's standpoint. Peter, although still unwilling to speak, had tried to stop him, Micky, and Davy from fighting the infected that were trying to get into the pad. Halfway through, Mike had told Davy to take Peter upstairs and keep him there while he and Micky dealt with the problem at hand.

Davy had struggled a little but he was eventually able to drag Peter upstairs. But now the infected were gone and everything was alright. When the all clear was given, Davy came downstairs with Peter. Michael made no comment about the red tinge he noticed in his smaller friend's eyes.

"Hey man, what's your hang up?" Micky asked Peter, wiping the sweat from his face with his palms. It sounded casual enough, almost as if everything wasn't falling apart, and they were still a band just looking for their big break. Peter didn't say anything, he barely even looked at Micky.

"Peter didn't mean anything by it," Davy said in response, his voice quavering a little.

"Micky, help me nail the broken boards back onto the back door," Mike instructed, picking up one of the three hammers they kept close at hand and a handful of nails as well. Micky placed a hand onto Davy's shoulder.

"Wanna make us some tea?" he asked, his voice soft. Micky hated tea, couldn't stand the stuff, but he had noticed earlier on that for some unknown reason it really helped Davy to… calm down, Micky supposed, or at the very least be less likely to burst into tears.

"Yeah, sure, I'll do that," nodded Davy. He lead Peter over to the lounge chair and sat him down there before heading into the kitchen. There it was again.

That cringing feeling in his stomach. Micky hated this, hated the fact that he and his friends had to live in this sort of world. Mike, like Micky felt, seemed unphased, dealing with the issues at hand and that was that. But Peter had completely shut down. That alone was enough to shatter Micky's heart, but Davy was falling to pieces, slowly. At least with Pete, it had been instantaneous (Micky despised thinking that but it often came to mind).

"Micky, c'mon man," Mike's voice cut through Micky's train of thought.

"I'm coming" Micky grumbled, picking up a hammer of his own. They fixed up the broken board easily enough, they had had enough practice at it by now, but before they left, Micky whispered to Mike, "What do you think was up with Peter today?" Mike shot a glance over to where Peter was curled up, apparently asleep again.

"I ain't really sure," Mike admitted, "But I hope he doesn't do that again. He could have gotten us in some real trouble there." There was a beat of silence between them. Micky heard Davy getting the mugs out from the cupboard.

"Mike, do you think Peter's doing okay? I'm worried about him… on the subject, you think Davy's doing okay too?" Micky inquired after debating whether or not to ask. Mike sucked on his bottom lip. A frown creased his brow.

"I dunno. They're doin' just fine, as fine as can be expected I guess," he finally answered with a shrug. Micky wanted to talk about their friends more but Mike sidled past him to go help Davy with the tea. He hated when Mike avoided that topic. It seemed as if two of the biggest concerns Micky had were off limits for Michael, those topics being of course all of their states (both mental and physical) and what their endgame goal was.

Micky shut his eyes for a moment, pushing the sickening feeling in his stomach away as best he could. Sooner or later, he and Mike would have to discuss everything, and Micky would rather that be sooner, rather than later. Before something irreversible happened.

The clouds the next evening were beautiful, a mixture of pale red and purple. The evening rounds were Micky's favourite because the sky was always quite beautiful. It made him feel better on this evening especially. He and Mike were walking along the beach, heading back from the rounds. Micky fumbled around in his pocket until he found the little box he had stashed a couple of joints in. Once he had found them, he spoke.

"Mike, hey man, c'mere," Micky said, flopping down onto the sand and patting the ground next to him. Mike turned around and heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Micky, we have to get back to the pad, we don't have time to sit down," Mike insisted. Micky shook his head, opening the box and taking out one of the joints. He held it up for Mike to see.

"Sit down man, have one of these if you want," Micky wouldn't budge. He couldn't let Mike go up to the pad. Sitting on the sand was sort of a cheap move, considering Micky knew that Mike wouldn't leave the beach unless Micky went with him. Mike had been buddy-system crazy since the disease had broken out.

"Where'd you get those?" Mike inquired as he reluctantly took a seat next to Micky and took the joint. Micky took one for himself, then pocketed the box and brought out a lighter.

"Not really sure, I think I either picked them up during a run or before the whole thing started," Micky shrugged, lighting both of the joints and then took a drag of his on. After a moment of consideration, Mike did the same.

"Mike-," Micky began but Michael cut him off almost instantly.

"We're not going to do this right now," Mike said flatly.

"When then? When will we do this then, Mike?" Micky demanded. Mike looked at the joint in his hand and raised it to his mouth.

"I don't know, but we ain't doing it now," Mike replied. A seagull screamed a couple of feet away before taking off.

"Yes we are. I'm not moving until we talk," Micky informed his friend. Mike shut his eyes for a moment and then looked at Micky. There was a cold anger in his eyes.

"What if I don't want to talk?" he questioned. Micky ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't care. You've had enough time to sulk and I need you back now Mike," Micky replied, pausing to take a long drag on his joint, "Look man, Peter and Davy aren't doing so good and I think it's about time we take care of this stuff." Micky could tell Mike was holding back a smart remark, probably a profanity or two as well.

"Micky, we don't have anything to talk about. Peter and Davy will be fine," he said through gritted teeth.

"Like hell we don't," Micky countered "Peter hasn't said a single word in about two months. Davy's cried about three times every two days and don't tell me you haven't heard him crying at night. And you… you don't want to face any of this. But you have to Mike. I can maybe help Davy on my own but there's no way I can help Peter without you. And we have to discuss what the hell we're going to do about the future. Fortify the pad or leave or whatever. I can't decide these things on my own babe, I need you to wake the fuck up and talk about these things with me."

Micky finished speaking, his stomach feeling queasy. He brought his joint to his lips. Thank god for marijuana. Mike was silent, his face turned towards the ocean now. The silence continued for longer than Micky felt comfortable with.

"I'm sorry Mike but-," he began, hoping that he hadn't completely ruined this conversation but Mike interrupted him.

"It's okay Micky, you're right," Mike said, "But I ain't got a clue for helping Peter. Or Davy, for that matter. I mean, maybe if we could figure out how to get some news from England, we could help Davy out, but Micky, how the hell are we suppose to help either of them?"

"I… well," Micky started but realized that he hadn't entirely expected to get this far, "I don't really know…"

"Exactly," Mike nodded, taking a long drag on his cigarette, "We can't help them until they decide to open up to us. I mean, let's drop some hints but that's all I can think of. And on the matter of the future, who the fuck knows? I vote we just board up the pad and hope for the best." Micky chewed on his bottom lip. Mike gave him a pat on the back.

"I'm not sayin' we can't help 'em Mick, I'm jus sayin' there ain't much we can do for 'em 'sides be there. And I'm sorry I've been a bit of an ass lately," Mike said.

"That's not true, you've just been working through your own problems and I can dig that" Micky instantly replied.

"Well look man, if you wanna, we can go back to the pad and tell the others that we're worried for 'em if you like," Mike said, flicking the butt of his joint into the ocean, "But we best be gettin' off this beach before the sun goes completely down, else we might get bit by somethin' nasty."

With that said, Mike stood up, dusting his jeans off. Micky finished off his own joint. Somehow the high was ruined by the mixed emotions he was feeling. Mike helped him up and then they headed back to the pad. They found Davy sitting on the lounge, crying quietly into his hands. Peter was nowhere to be seen, meaning he was probably laying in his bed. Upon hearing the patio door open, Davy quickly tried to stop crying, drying his face with the sleeves of his sweater.

"Hiya guys, what took you so long? I was beginning to worry," Davy exclaimed, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. His voice sounded hoarse. Micky wondered how long he had been crying and the cause.

"We're alright shotgun," Mike flashed Davy a reassuring smile, "I'm gonna start dinner. But Micky's got something to tell ya." Micky shot Mike a frowning look but the Texan's back was to him as he went into the kitchen.

"Did something happen on the rounds?" Davy squeaked, tears already appearing in his eyes.

"No, nothing happened on rounds," Micky assured the smaller man, "I just… well me and Mike wanted to let you know that you can talk to any of us if you wanna talk about stuff." Davy chewed on the inside of his left cheek for a moment.

"I don't cry that much," he murmured.

"It's okay to cry," Micky shrugged, unsure of the proper response to that statement. Davy looked down at his barefeet.

"Thanks Micky," he mumbled and then shuffled forward, wrapping his arms around Micky's frame.

"Hey Davy, can you come help me with supper?" Mike called from the kitchen. Davy glanced up at Micky, who nodded his head. Davy wandered over to go help Mike. Micky heaved a sigh and decided it was time. Mike didn't appear to be willing to help Micky out with Peter, but at least it seemed that Micky had gotten through to Mike a little, if not a lot. Micky went into Peter and Davy's room. Peter was sprawled on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling.

"Hiya Peter," Micky greeted, sitting down on the edge of Peter's bed. Peter didn't say anything.

"Look, I'm not expecting you to start talking until you're ready, but just remember that Mike, Davy, and myself are here for you when you wanna start. We love you man," Micky continued.

Again, Peter gave no response. What had Micky been expecting? He wasn't sure. So he gave Peter's hand a quick squeeze and then exited the room. Peter didn't come out for dinner and no one went to get him. Micky was relieved to see that Mike was engaging in conversation with Davy about a new song.

Mike hadn't talked about music in a while, none of them had, but tonight it seemed a hot subject that brought a little bit of a smile to both Mike's and Davy's face. Dinner was cleaned up and Mike got out his guitar. Davy sang and Micky drummed out a beat. That was how they finished up their evening. Micky was beginning to feel the relief wash over his. His plan, although not very well thought out, was seeming to be going well.

An hour or two later, it was decided that it was time for bed. The three Monkees exchanged good night's. Mike and Micky headed upstairs to their bedroom and Davy entered his and Peter's. Peter appeared to be asleep. Davy lingered near Pete's bed. Tonight, Davy wouldn't cry. He wondered how often Peter heard him crying at night.

"Goodnight Peter, love you," Davy whispered. Peter didn't move, his light snoring the only thing to be heard, excluding the ocean waves. With that, Davy clambered into his bed. Much later, in the early hours of the morning, Micky was woken up by Mike.

"Micky, Peter's on the beach," Mike was barking at him. A frown creased Micky's brow and he realized that Davy was in the room too, nearly hysterical.

"Micky! Wake up!" Mike snapped. Micky shook his head and leapt out of bed.

"I'm awake, I'm awake, let's go," Micky said, hurrying to the door.

"I don't understand why he's going down there," Davy whimpered.

"Davy, get a grip on yourself okay, everything's goin' be okay," Michael reassured the Englishman. They rushed down the stairs and headed towards the patio doors. Mike paused to open the closet door. He rummaged around for a moment before returning.

"Where'd you get that?" Micky asked upon seeing the gun Mike held.

"Had it for emergencies, let's go," Mike answered curtly, before moving past Micky. He and Davy quickly followed. They arrived on the shore and there was Peter heading towards the waves. It took them all a moment to realize that he was talking to himself.

"I have to wake up now, I have to wake up now," he kept repeating, his voice a whining pitch. The waves tried to topple him over but Peter kept pushing against them, going deeper into the ocean.

"Peter!" Day wailed and ran forward, but Micky knew he was in no condition to swim right now.

"I got him," Micky shouted and jogged towards the water, leaving Mike to keep look out for any infected.

"I have to wake up now," Peter kept repeating.

"Peter what are you doing?" Micky called out to his friend. Peter didn't seem to hear him. He just kept pushing forward. The currents were beginning to pull him under the water. Micky's heart began to beat fast against his ribcage.

"Peter! Peter stop!" Micky yelled, but again Peter didn't seem to hear.

A large wave sucked the blonde bassist under. Micky's heart stopped and he dove, blindly groping. Nothing. Micky came up and dove again. This time Micky got lucky. His fingers closed around Peter's nightshirt. Micky pulled the man closer, grabbing onto an arm. Peter flailed, trying to escape Micky's grip. Micky yanked Peter above the water.

"Wake up, Peter! Please, wake up! I want to wake up now," Peter sobbed.

"Peter, Peter, it's okay, it's me," Micky shouted, pulling Peter closer to him.

Peter blinked rapidly, seeming to be coming to his senses. His eyes went wide and he began to say something but a wave dragged both of them under. Micky struggled to keep a grip on Peter, but he managed. They came to the surface again. Not wanting to get hit by another wave, Micky began to swim back to shore. Eventually, Peter helped as well, and they made it back.

"Peter! Oh Peter christ, I was so scared," Davy sobbed, rushing over to embrace his two drenched friends.

"I don't… I don't understand, I- I was dreaming… I'm dreaming…," Peter mumbled. Then he collapsed onto the sand, sobbing. Davy fell to his knees, petting Peter's hair lovingly.

"You aren't dreaming but it's okay, shh," Davy said, his own crying seeming to be forgotten.

"Davy, give Peter some room," Micky instructed, tugging at Davy's arm. Davy looked up at Micky alarmed but backed away.

"Peter can you tell us what you were doing out there?" Micky asked, kneeling down next to Peter. Peter wouldn't stop crying. Micky glanced up at Mike. He noticed that the Texan was pale with fright.

"Peter, I know it's scary but please talk to us," Davy pleaded.

"I… I'm sorry, so sorry… I thought… I was dreaming… I needed to wake up," Peter sniffled. Davy wrapped his arms around Peter.

"It's alright Pete, you're awake now," Mike said, joining the others on the sand.

"And you're talking," Davy added, a smile grin breaking out on his face.