Micky came in soaking wet and sandy, a towel around his shoulders. As he was headed towards the bathroom to wash off the salt water and sand, he noticed Peter sitting at the dining table. His hands were all over his face. He paused by the bathroom door.
"Peter, are you still worrying about Davy?" he called out to his friend. Peter blinked several times, as if Micky's question was snapping him out of a daze, before replying with, "I know I shouldn't be worrying, but I can't help it."
"Look man, don't sweat it okay, Davy will be fine and-," Micky was saying but in the middle of his sentence, the door to Davy and Peter's bedroom opened up and out shuffled Davy.
"Speak of the devil! See Peter, Davy's all better. Now I gotta take a shower before crabs start crawling up my legs," Micky exclaimed and then bolted into the bathroom. Peter frowned at his friend's comment, unsure what he had intended it to mean, but then smiled as Davy made his way into the kitchen area.
"Hi Davy, are you feeling rested now?" he asked. Davy opened the fridge door and peered inside for about a minute. Then he took out the orange juice carton and got a glass out from the cupboard. He began pouring the orange juice into the cup but missed. He stopped and grabbed a nearby towel, mopping up the mess. Then he tried pouring again, this time succeeding. It didn't seem like Davy had heard Peter, so Peter repeated his question. "Are you feeling rested now, Davy?" Davy took a gulp of the orange juice. It still didn't seem like Davy had heard Peter or, at least, if Davy had heard Peter he wasn't giving any signs that he would be responding to Peter's question any time soon. The front door opened and Mike walked in, flipping through a stack of mail that was most likely just junk, perhaps a few bills, a gig offering if they were lucky. He glanced up and spotted Davy.
"Hey man, nice to see you up," he commented.
"Yeah," mumbled Davy, before gulping down the last of the orange juice. He dumped the empty cup into the sink and then headed for the door.
"Where you heading off to Davy?" Mike queried as Davy walked past him. Davy gave no response, merely exited the pad without a second word, letting the door shut behind him. Mike watched him go and then said to Peter, "Huh, that was weird."
"Certainly was, he didn't even answer my question," agreed Peter, whose right hand was absentmindedly rubbing the small of his neck. Mike frowned, setting the mail on the kitchen table and taking a seat.
"Ya think he's okay?" Mike asked.
"I don't know, maybe," Peter shrugged, unsure whether to believe his gut or the evidence that was in front of his face.
"I hope so," Mike sighed, only wishing the best for his bandmate, hoping this wouldn't end in Davy getting ill.
Later that evening, Micky had set up an elaborate tower of jenga blocks from three separate boxes. This swaying tower was precariously set up on the end table by the lounge chair. Gathered around it, ready to begin quite an epic game of jenga, one that make just make it into record books, was Micky, Peter, and Mike.
"Okay, no cheating, alright," Micky warned, grinning from ear to ear. Micky loved playing board games, and had quite the knack for jenga.
"How in the hell do you cheat at jenga?" Mike wondered aloud.
"You could put your finger in place of the block," Peter suggested, inspecting a block that he was thinking about removing when his turn came.
"Yeah, like that, sure," Micky yakked, impatiently waiting for Mike to initiate the game. In a lot of the games they played, Mike was the player that went first. And usually, Mike took his time in deciding his moves and counterattacks, depending on the game. After a moment of silence, Mike withdrew a block from the middle. The stack of blocks barely wobbled. Mike smirked and he showed off his good fortune, by putting up his feet and kicking back in the chair. Micky went next, pulling out a block with some trouble. Peter thought that the tower was doomed, a disappointing thought this early in the game, but Micky pulled through and the tower stayed in a straight line.
"Yes!" he shouted. Now it was Peter's turn and he began to gently ease out the block he had been keeping an eye on. Just as Peter got the last edge of the block out from the stack, the front door opened and in came Davy. He seemed distressed, and still very tired, with dark circles ringing his eyes.
"Hiya Davy," Mike called out, giving a little wave.
"Hey, Davy, wanna come join? We're playing jenga! Look how tall I built the tower this time round," Micky added, pointing enthusiastically at the block tower. Davy glanced at the tower, a pained expression flitting across his face for just a moment.
"Very cool," Davy said, his voice seeming to almost crack. Then he walked past the lounge chair and headed into the bathroom.
"Wonder what cat's got his tongue," Micky pondered before elbowing Mike in the chest in an attempt to get him to bring his attention back to the game. The shower started up. Michael took his turn, then Micky, and then Peter. The tower stayed upright and all three were quite impressed, considering how high Micky had managed to get it to stretch without tumbling over on it's own. It was about ten minutes into the game, Micky tied with Mike at this point and Peter constantly worried about knocking down the tower, when Davy finally came out of the bathroom. His hair was wet and his PJs looked rumpled.
"Davy, come on and join this! You're gonna miss the best game of jenga yet," Micky cried as he excitedly removed a block for his turn. The tower was beginning to lean sideways.
"Nah, I think I'm just gonna get some sleep," came Davy's reply.
"You feeling alright Davy?" Mike asked, sitting up in his seat to get a better look at his smaller friend.
"Yeah, I'm fine Mike," Davy reassured his friend, although it didn't sound to Peter like he meant it.
"Okay, let us know if we can help you or something, alright," Peter offered. Davy nodded before heading to his room.
"Peter, it's your turn," pointed out Micky.
"What? Oh yeah," murmured Peter, before picking a block out of the tower. It wobbled and Micky waited with baited breath for it to topple over but it didn't.
"Aw shucks," Micky remarked. Peter beamed proudly.
The game of jenga ended when Micky had been too overzealous in taking out one of the blocks after thirty minutes of gameplay. It had taken awhile to clean up but it had been worth it. After the game, Mike had headed up to bed. For a little bit, Micky and Peter just sat around, talking aimlessly. Once Peter had started yawning, Micky suggested that they hit the sack. It sounded like a good idea. So off went Micky to get into bed in his room, while Peter went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. After washing up, he went over to the bedroom door but paused before entering. Was that a voice Peter heard? He pressed his ear to the door, being as quiet as he could so that he could hear.
"You can't be serious," came a voice. Although muffled and very quiet, Peter could tell that the voice belonged to Davy. He sounded upset. There was a low mumble, but Peter couldn't tell if it was a voice or just a sound. Davy responded, but his voice was too hushed for Peter to make out anything concrete. Who was Davy talking to? Both Mike and Micky were upstairs, Mike probably fast asleep by this point. So if Mike and Micky were upstairs, and Peter was outside the room, who was Davy talking to? Maybe, thought Peter, he was talking to himself. Micky did that sometimes to be funny and Mike did that occasionally when he was frustrated or writing a song. Even Peter talked to himself now and then. But the worrisome feeling that had plagued Peter yesterday had returned. Peter opened the door and found Davy asleep. Peter blinked and rubbed his eyes. Davy was asleep, covers pulled nearly over his head. Strange, thought Peter. He could have sworn Davy had been talking. Maybe it had just been Peter's imagination. After all, it was quite late. So Peter clambered into bed, exhausted after such an intense game of jenga. Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, Peter was sound asleep.
It was still dark in the room when Peter opened his eyes. He wasn't sure what had woken him but he was awake now, even if it was barely. Peter sat up for a moment, wondering if maybe should go get a drink of water or something, but then Peter saw a figure standing over Davy's bed. The figure seemed taller than Davy was but not tall enough to be Mike or Micky.
"Davy?" Peter yawned, squinting at the figure to try and see if he could figure out who it was.
"Go back to bed Peter," hissed Davy. There was an edge to his voice that Peter wasn't used to hearing. It wasn't just fear, it was something more. Peter frowned, then yawned again.
"Is everything okay?" Peter pressed, despite his drooping eyelids.
"Peter, please, just go back to bed. Everything's alright," insisted Davy. Peter smiled to himself and nodded, even though Davy wouldn't see that. Peter loved Davy's voice, it was quite comforting. All his friend's were a comfort and he wouldn't want to see them hurt in any fashion.
"Okay, get to sleep yourself. Love you," he told Davy and then laid back down, shutting his eyes. When he opened them again, pale sunlight filled the room. He yawned and stretched his arms up above his head. After changing out of his orange bunny pajamas, Peter exited the room. Micky was busy making breakfast, and Mike was already playing around on his guitar. Davy was sat by the coffee table, flicking through some magazine that hadn't been read in ages. It seemed like a normal enough start to the day. Peter sat down at the dining table and soon enough Micky was calling everyone to breakfast. The guys talked while they ate, although Davy contributed very little to the flow of conversation, quietly eating the oatmeal Micky had slaved over for about an hour (mainly due to burning the first attempt at that morning's breakfast). Breakfast ended like breakfast's usually do and Peter helped Micky clean up the dishes. At about noon, Mike suggested that they practice some. Throughout the practice, Mike noticed that Davy didn't seem into it. Micky felt the absence as well, considering he had thrown out a few class A jokes that would have usually been picked up by Englishman, either through a rebuttal or an extendant. But today Davy didn't seem to be there with them, not mentally at least. He seemed to be worried about something, a permanent frown creasing his brow. After practice, Davy excused himself and went to his room.
"C'mon Mike, I think we need to get Davy outside," Micky stated after the bedroom door had closed, standing up and beginning to waltz out from behind his drum set, "That guy hasn't seen a woman in days. That's probably why he's got his knickers in a twist." That last sentence was said in a terribly executed, horribly exaggerated British accent courtesy of the one and only Micky Dolenz.
"Yes! Yes! We could go down to the beach!" Peter clapped his hands together in excitement. Mike put his guitar down, nodding his head in agreement.
"Okay, that sounds good. Some fresh air might help put Davy back into sorts," Mike agreed.
"We could build a sandcastle," Peter grinned, already thrilled by the idea.
"Yeah, we could bury Mike in the sand!" Micky threw his arms wide open, almost as if this head been Peter's suggestion and he was agreeing. Mike gave Micky a glare.
"That is not happening," he said.
"I'm afraid it is, Mike my old pal," Micky deadpanned, giving Mike a slap on the back before leaping off the slightly raised platform that was the alcove to run up the stairs to go put on his swimming trunks. Mike shook his head and then stood up. He knocked on Davy's door before opening it. Davy was sat on his bed, running his hands through his hair, not seeming to have noticed Mike's entrance. Everything about Davy seemed tense, as if the Englishman were a coiled up spring. Sitting next to him on the bed was, believe it or not, Mr. Schneider.
"Hey shotgun, we're all goin' down to the beach, wanna come?" Mike asked, a slight frown creasing his brow. Davy jerked upright and looked at Mike with wide, round eyes. In those eyes, Mike saw a mixture of fear, guilt, and worry. But the look quickly dissipated as Davy stood up, brushing off his jeans.
"Oh hi, um, no thanks Mike, I think I'll just stay here, ya know, relax an' all that," Davy stammered, hands not sure what to do until they fell into his pockets.
"What's Mr. Schneider doin' in here? Thought you was afraid of him," Mike inquired, peering around Davy to get a good look at Mr. Schneider. The dummy was leaned against the wall that Davy's bed was shoved up against. Davy threw a glance over his shoulder toward the wooden dummy.
"Um, well see I just thought that maybe, since he frightened me, that maybe if I, erm, I looked at him more he'd, umm, be less frightening, yes…?" Davy answered. Mike wasn't sure if he was asking him a question or if that was truly his answer though. Mike nodded slowly.
"I see… so you comin' with us?" he asked instead of pressing the issue, considering how uncomfortable and tense Davy seemed. Peter popped out from behind Mike.
"Come on Davy, it'd do you some good to get out into the sunshine!" the bassist chirped cheerily. Davy threw another glance back to Mr. Schneider.
"No, I think I'd like it much better-," Davy began but Peter interrupted him.
"We're gonna build a sandcastle and Micky's going to bury Mike in the sand and you can talk to some girls and we can all have a really lovely afternoon together," he added. Mike nodded, although the look he gave Peter made it known that Mike was not going to allow Micky to get anywhere near him in order to bury him. Davy opened his mouth to deny the offer a third time but Mike cut him off before he could begin.
"Don't make me carry ya outta here. Peter and Micky will hold your feet, and I'll get yer arms, and we'll carry you down to the beach if we have ta," Mike warned him, fixing Davy with a serious look, although the warning was semi-meant as more of a joke.
"Alright, alright, fine, but only for a little bit, yeah," Davy finally sighed, caving in. Peter clapped his hands together and inched behind Mike, slipping into the room. He went over to his dresser and opened a drawer, pulling out a pair of swimming trunks. As he exited the room, Peter said, "I'll go change in the bathroom, you can change in here, and Mike can go change upstairs cos Micky's already ready." Then he skipped to the bathroom.