Unsure as to whether or not he was ready to leave the safety of the pad, Micky still allowed Davy to take his hands and pull him out through the front door - gently, just baby steps at any time. Since their fight, Davy seemed especially keen to help where he could, and Micky was inclined to let him. Though he wouldn't push his English friend over the edge again, Micky did feel that some compensation was in order for all the severe, debilitating mental anguish he suffered.

Really, the drummer was over the whole fight thing. It was in the past, forgotten, water under the bridge… But Davy didn't seem quite so ready to forgive himself, and while the extra help came in handy at first, Micky was starting to feel worried over Davy's well-being.

They stepped out into the summer air, and Micky jerked, nearly pulling his hands away from Davy's. The shorter man managed to hold on, though. "C'mon, Mick. How're you gonna leave the house for the contest if you won't even come out onto the front porch?"

But the world outside seemed so big. Big and invisible.

"Other senses, Mick," Micky said to himself. "Right, I got this."

Orienting himself ended up being more difficult than it had indoors, where sounds bounced off walls with predictable regularity.

"You remember what it looks like?" Davy asked.

"Yeah," Micky replied. Turning his head, he tilted it, tapping his toe in an attempt to get the sound to bounce off the wall running next to the door. The echo diffused almost entirely, and with Davy holding onto him, he couldn't go explore the house with his hands to confirm its location. "Davy, you gotta let go," he said.

"You sure? 'cuz…"

Micky smiled, managing to shake one hand free, which he used to pat Davy's shoulder. "Hard part's over, babe. You got me out the door. Just don't let me fall, okay?"

Sounding unsure, Davy said, "Yeah, okay," and let go.

Micky allowed himself a single second of terror at his unknown position in space, before he wrapped his mind around his surroundings, took a step toward the house, and reached out for it. When it wasn't where he expected, he took another step, one hand waving back and forth, until it contacted the brick wall. There. "Hey, Davy?"

Davy was at his side in an instant, taking his elbow. "Too much for today? You wanna go back inside?"

Slightly irritated, Micky shook free again. "Now cut that out! C'mon, I'm all right." Frowning, he continued to run his fingers over he surface of the wall, creating its signature in his mind. If he ever stood at this spot again, he's know it. The door couldn't be far away, either… Shuffling along the wall, he slid his hand over it until he felt the doorframe. "You didn't sleep last night."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.

When Davy didn't answer, Micky added, "In fact, you haven't slept since I tripped over the phone in the living room."

Gingerly, Micky stepped inside again, reaching for the door handle so he could pull it shut. Then, reaching out for the wall perpendicular to the door, he felt his way down that, taking small, cautious steps along the walkway. "You gonna answer me?"

"How d'you know?" was Davy's timid answer.

"You breathe different when you're asleep." Pausing, Micky turned, attempting to fix his eyes where he last heard Davy's voice.

Suddenly sounding defensive, Davy snapped, "Well if you hear me bein' all awake, you must be awake, too."

"I wake up a lot during the night 'cuz my head hurts. When I hear you awake, it just…" He sighed, taking a step away from the wall, and leading with his toes until they touched the grass. This wasn't so difficult. "You've made up for it, okay? I release you! You are released! Poof!"

"I'm not a genie or somethin'. You can't just tell me to go away."

"Bet you were glad when I got up early yesterday, weren't you?" Micky pressed. "It meant you could finally catch a nap. How's that workin' out for ya?'

Finally conceding, Davy grunted. Micky could hear the tell-tale sound of face-rubbing, or so he imagined. "Not too well, mate, I gotta say. I didn't know you knew I was awake."

Growing slightly more confident, Micky allowed himself to move at a quicker pace. He tried to form a grid in his mind of the entire front yard. He also tried to picture where the garage was, and where the Monkeemobile would be parked in the driveway. As he mapped all this out, he neglected to account for the fact that there were several small boulders on the edge of the lawn to discourage people from driving over it. His foot contacted one, and he stumbled; too late, Davy reached out to catch his arm. The awkward balance sent them both sprawling across the grass, and for a moment, Micky wasn't sure if he was facing up or down.

"Thought I told you not to let me fall," Micky joked. When there was no reply, he frowned, reaching out for his friend. "Davy? You okay? I was kidding, look, I'm fine. Maybe a few grass stains on my elbows, but— "

"I'm here, Micky."

Heaving an exaggerated sigh of relief, Micky clutched at his chest. "Oh, thank God. I thought you'd tripped and fallen into a different dimension or something." He crawled across the lawn until he reached Davy, and sat next to him. "The bad news is, I don't know which way I'm facing anymore, so I'm going to have to ask you to help me back to the house. Probably should have tried to figure out where I could feel the sun coming from. I know it's out, 'cuz it's warm, you know? Might as well be night for me, though. You okay? Didn't break anything? I mean, my pride always takes a hit when I take a tumble like that, but…"

"You talk a lot," Davy interrupted, his voice heavy.

Narrowing his eyes, Micky turned toward the voice. It sounded wrong. Off. Using the closeness of sound to determine Davy's exact whereabouts, he leaned down until his face was close to Davy's, and listened to the breathing.

Not breathing through his nose. The very soft sound of sniffles. Curious, and to confirm, Micky reached toward the other man's face, his fingers carefully fluttering over an ear, then toward his cheeks, which were wet.

"You weren't supposed to know I was awake," Davy said miserably. "I just … I just need to fix what I did."

"So you stay awake? You got a weird, creepy way of showin' affection."

Despite himself, Davy chuckled, and gave Micky a gentle shove. "I'm afraid you're gonna get up in the middle of the night again, and fall on somethin', and really hurt yourself. So I've been clearin' the floor before I go to bed, and then I can't sleep, 'cuz I'm worried I forgot somethin'. What if I hadn't heard you fall that night and you'd hit your head again? I mean, you knew, Mick. You knew I was ignoring you when you called for help. That's why you didn't ask me that night, 'cuz you knew I wouldn't come."

"I didn't say anything 'cuz I thought it was about time I learned to get around by myself," Micky said. "You can't take on this responsibility all on your own. I had a rough time at first, but I'm gettin' better. If I promise to wake you up if I need to, will you promise to get a little rest?"

"You shouldn't have to 'get better' at it," Davy mumbled, voice still thick. "Your eyes should get better."

"And I'm sure if you stay awake and never sleep again, they will," Micky replied, hoping his voice was dripping with enough sarcasm that Davy would get the picture.

"Aren't you scared?"

Micky was quiet for a long time, turning away and staring at what he thought was the wall. But depending on the way he'd ended up facing, it could have been the sapling in the neighbor's yard, or even the Monkeemobile. The truth was, he was scared, but not quite for the reasons the others imagined. "You know me. I mean, we've known each other forever, Davy. Since before we met Peter and Mike. You know I adapt."

"What if your sight doesn't come back?"

Micky heard Davy sniffle softly. The only reason he'd allowed himself to cry at all was probably because he didn't think Micky would be able to see it. As long as they'd known each other, he'd seen Davy cry so rarely that he could count the number of times it ever happened on one hand. Of course, Peter more than made up for that, but that was beside the point. "You're really worried about this, aren't you?" Micky asked. "Uh. I dunno, I was kinda counting on it coming back at some point, but if it doesn't, I'm sure I'll figure something out. My mom always says, 'if is a big word.'"

The thought of his sight never returning made him feel weak inside. Like he wanted to curl up in a little ball and cry himself to sleep, where he'd be able to experience the wonderful world of color in his dreams.

"You're lying," Davy said. "You're lying. You don't just go from terrified to just fine in a matter of days. I know you're thinkin' about how scared you are, too, 'cuz your eyes are leakin' again."

Surprised, Micky dabbed at his eyes, only to find that Davy was right. "Dammit," he swore. "They always give me away."

"You said as much."

Micky laughed, though the sound didn't have much humor in it. "What a pair. I want to pretend I'm totally fine, and you want to pretend I'm not okay at all."

"Will you please tell me why you won't play at the contest then?" Davy asked. "I mean, you've as much as admitted you're not all right, so… Tell me?"

The answer would be complicated, and a little embarrassing. In fact, Micky couldn't think of a decent way to word it, since it had little to do with him not being able to see anything, and everything to do with his pride and sense of worth. He wanted others to see him as a man that could do whatever he wanted, who only asked for help when he was too busy with more important things to do menial tasks on his own. Lately, he'd had to admit to his closest friends that he did need their aid for the simplest things that would have been so easy to accomplish if he could see. While he'd gotten used to saying 'help!' to them, letting complete strangers see him in such a state of dependency would just destroy any vain notion of self-reliance that he had. Softly, he said to Davy, "I don't want them to know I'm blind."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

"Does it?"

"Yeah. You know, if you have to feel the drums like you do before you play…" Davy said, trailing off.

"Maybe if … Maybe if I find out that my sight's never gonna come back, then I'll think about letting the world know." He rubbed at his eyes again, finding that the tears had stopped. Thankful for that, and wishing to push himself out of this serious line of conversation, Micky got to his feet, holding his hand out to Davy.

"You sure?" Davy asked. A moment later, Micky could feel his friend's fingers close around his wrist, and pulled the shorter man to his feet.

"Yeah. Woulda been hard at first, but balance is a bit easier now," Micky said. Feeling like he should offer something in closing about the whole matter, he said, "Look, I'm scared, okay? Some days it's gonna be worse than others. Today, I just want to learn to find my way around outside, so I can at least make a decent showing at that contest. So, point me in the direction of the Monkeemobile."

"I'm not gonna let you drive, mate," Davy said. Nevertheless, he took Micky's shoulders and turned him until he was facing the car.

"Oh, wouldn't dream of it. But how often do I get to put my fingerprints all over the paint without Mike getting mad at me for it?"

"That's some dangerous territory you're steppin' into."

Gleefully, Micky said, "I know!"

—-

After Micky had his fun fingerprinting the Monkeemobile and subsequently found himself chased off by a rather irate Texan in a wool hat, he and Davy escaped to the beach, where they sat in the sand, facing the ocean.

The warmth on his face contradicted the darkness he sensed - he knew the sun was still up, but he saw no light. Granted, he couldn't actually see dark, but his mind filled in that missing detail for him, and his imagination swam with a confusing blackness.

That was all okay, though. Many times before, Micky sat out on the beach under the moonlight, his eyes closed as he listened to the sound of the crashing waves. Usually that relaxing ambiance accompanied the chirping of crickets, but today, he heard the sound of gulls overhead instead. It was a different song, but not terrible.

"Hey, don't do that!" Davy warned. Rather abruptly, Micky felt his friend's fingers tangled in his hair. Davy pulled down, until Micky's face was nearly parallel to the ground. "You're lookin' right at the sun, man. What're you tryin' to do, burn out your eyes?"

Micky grunted, angling his face up again, toward Davy. "Not like I can tell what I'm looking at. Guess I better keep you around, huh?"

Davy laughed. "Yeah, knew I'd come in handy for somethin' eventually."

Turning his back to the ocean - and therefore, the sun - Micky held his hand up in front of his face, flexing his fingers. One hopeful part of his mind always seemed to sense movement when he did that, but it always ended up being his imagination.

He heard Davy turn around next to him, and face the same direction. Meanwhile, Micky moved his hand forward and back in front of his face, pulling it close enough so that he touched his nose, then moving it as far as his arm would reach. He repeated the motion, again and again.

"What're you doin'?" Davy asked.

It was an odd question, to be sure, but Micky sensed the real inquiry behind it. Davy wasn't asking for a technical answer - clearly, Micky was trying to see, even by such an unconventional method. He repeated these exercises often enough so that the other guys would have seen him doing them at some point or another. Every time, despite the culmination of all the prior results, Micky would hope for something different - just a little bit of light, or a flicker of movement.

Davy's question involved the repetition.

Why are you doing this to yourself?

"The worst thing is…" Micky paused, pressing his fingers into his closed eyes. When he did so, the compressed nerves shot white-hot bands of color through his mind, which he could feel, but never see. He knew they were there, though, and if he could just get a fix on them again, just force his eyes to find them… "I always think, 'this time I'll see something.'"

Davy said nothing. For a while, they listened to the ocean. To the distant drone of a ship's horn. To the wind whipping tiny grains of sand about their feet and across dried seaweed. Every little sound created a new experience - wonderful, but ultimately disheartening.

Concentrating on his memory of what the ocean's waves looked like, Micky tried to force himself to see them. It should have been easy - his eyes were there. They were open. There was light all around them! Surely he should be able to make himself see the god-damned water right in front of him!

…Then he remembered he'd turned away from the ocean, and was probably looking at their house.

So he tried to force himself to see that, instead. The beams, the stairway up to the bay window… Eventually, Micky started to feel the strain as a growing pain in his temples, and, sighing, he massaged his forehead.

"You're tryin' too hard," Davy mumbled.

"I know. Can I tell you a secret, though?"

"Mm?"

Closing his eyes, Micky quietly confessed, "I don't think my sight's coming back."