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Fic: Word of Mouth (2/2)
Title: Word of Mouth (2/2)
Author: elimandjulian
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Mike
Genre: Slash
Warnings: Silliness
Disclaimer: Don't own these guys, but really wish I did! None of this even remotely happened. Dammit.
Summary: Several sets of eyes are open.
Author's Note: I want to so write a Peter/Mike told entirely from Micky's point of view now. Because I love him! X-posted to whereitssafe



Mike looked up from his book to see Micky gaping at him again. It was beginning to irk him just a little. He'd noticed Micky staring at him during dinner, but Mike had reckoned that was because he had bits of carrot on his chin. But even when those had been wiped away, Micky had kept gawking.

To top it off, conversation had been a little odd, as in, there had hardly been any. Peter had tried to talk about the progress they were making on the song, but Davy and Micky seemed uninterested. Davy in particular appeared preoccupied, quietly eating his food and intermittently looking at Peter and then over at him with an expression that Mike classified as half-questioning and half-irritated.

After dinner, Mike and Peter had practiced their guitars on the bandstand, and instead of joining them for an impromptu jam session, Micky and Davy had stood off to the side, simply staring at the both of them, occasionally breaking off to glance at each other. Mike found it downright eerie, but he and Peter had a good old time together improvising a few tunes, which ad cheered him up.

But now he and Micky were in their shared room, relaxing a bit before lights out, and Micky was picking him apart with his eyes again. A few times when Mike had looked up, Micky appeared startled, lowering his eyes with a cough or a forced laugh.

This time, however, Micky didn't break eye contact, and Mike felt a tad uncomfortable. He'd had a maiden aunt who used to collect butterflies and Micky's intense gaze reminded him of how she'd looked right before she stuck a straight pin in her newest "acquisitions."

Mike laid his book aside. "Y'got something on your mind, Mick?"

Micky jumped. "Uh, no. I mean ... yes! Uh ... I guess yes and no."

"Well, whyn't we handle the 'yes' part first. What is it?"

"Uh, well, you see, it's like this ..." Mike could hear Micky gulp for air. "Er ... Babbit stopped by today."

"Yeah? He finally fix that leak under the kitchen sink?"

"No luck." Micky paused. "He, um, he was pretty upset."

"What now? Were ya doin' your werewolf impression again?" Mike laughed beneath his breath. "Don't think I didn't notice monster movies were on all day."

His smile faded when Micky's serious expression didn't waver. "Well, what'd he want? We're paid up almost to the end of the year."

"He ... um ... he said - he said he saw you and Peter on the beach today." Mike thought Micky's voice sounded strained. "He said he saw you two ... y'know ... on the sand. Rolling around together, and he said you were making a lot of noise, moaning and -"

Mike had not really followed the first part of Micky's rambling, but as he got toward the end of it, he groaned.

"I knew I saw someone out there, that's why I was tryin' to get Pete to cool it. The last thing I wanted was an audience."

"You - you - it ..." Mike heard that gulping intake of air again. "So Babbit really did see you and Pete -"

"- Moanin'?" Mike frowned as he tried to recall the afternoon's events. "I wasn't moanin'. I got the air knocked outta me some. Pete caught me off guard. One minute, I was lookin' down at my shorts and the next Pete had me flat on my back."

"He - he ..." Micky's voice had become very small. "J-just like that?"

"Well, yeah. Good thing he made a move, 'cause I couldn't do it. All I could think was that I was about t'feel some major pain, but it came out all right. Pete knew what he was doin'."

"I ... I really can't see Pete making the first move ..." said Micky, sputtering somewhat. "And being good at -- at that."

"Pete's got a lot of hidden talents," said Mike with a smile, only half-noticing that Micky seemed to be turning really red in the face. "It was all right after a second. I think he was just movin' too fast in the beginning. Y'know, Pete's a lot heavier'n he looks."

"Uh, yeah. But, um, Mike, didn't you think that somebody might see you and Pete, uh ..."

"Well, it's not like I went out there expectin' it to happen. It just sorta did." Mike reflected. "Kinda weird it hadn't happened sooner, actually. Pete really knew what he was doin'."

"Uh ..."

"I mean, yeah, I could've taken care of it myself, but that mighta got a little messy --"

"Whoa, um, I think I got it, Mike --"

" -- But Pete's better'n I thought with his hands, and --"

"Got it, Mike. Thanks!"

Mike looked closely at his roommate. It looked like Micky was turning green now.

"Mick, you all right?"

"Yeah. Fine." Micky smiled widely -- and fakely -- Mike thought. "Um, listen, I gotta know, babe ... were you ever planning on telling me and Davy?"

"Why would I tell you two?" asked Mike, puzzled. "It's not like y'coulda done anythin' for me. Y'all were all the way back here in the pad."

"I ... guess you have a point." Mike heard another gulp. "But it does affect us," Micky said. "I mean, didn't you think we oughta know?"

"Uh ... I dunno, man. I didn't think I was keepin' any big secret."

Mike tilted his head, studying his roommate closely. He couldn't quite get why Micky would be so hung up about his nearly getting attacked by sand crabs. "I mean, you grew up around here; figured it wasn't anythin' new to you. Maybe Davy wouldn't be useta that sorta thing where he's from."

"Yeah, well, that's true. I guess -- it's just -- well, if everything's groovy with you, then it's groovy with us. But Babbit was really angry."

"I dunno why. Me and Pete weren't hurtin' nobody. He just needs somethin' to grouse about, I guess. Now that we're paid up on rent for awhile, he don't know what to do with himself.

"Yeah, but --"

"If he was so hung up about it, he shoulda come over to help Pete."

"Mike!" Micky turned that strange green color again and seemed, to Mike's eyes, to be in some sort of pain. He was clutching his head, anyway.

"Aw, forget it, Micky. I'll tell ya what's serious. This song me and Pete've been working on. It's gonna be ready in a coupla days, Pete just wants to do somethin' to the countermelody. Listen to this ..."

Mike sang a few lines of the song, wishing he had his guitar with him so that he could play the groovy new intro that Peter had thought up.

No heartaches felt no longer lonely
Heights of waiting finally won me
Happiness that's all rolled up in you

And now with you as inspiration
I look toward a destination
Sunny bright that once before was blue



Micky nodded, smiling slightly. "I like it. What's it called?"

"Y'know, I'm not sure. I'm thinkin' of callin' it 'No More Than I Did Before,' but I dunno, that just seems a little vague for a title." Mike scratched his chin. "Hope ya don't mind, Mick, but I think I want to sing lead on this myself. This tune's a little ... special to me. Me and Pete put a lot into it."

"I can dig it," Micky said quietly. "Can I ask you something, babe? This thing with Pete --"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, why him? I mean -- I don't mean it like -- well, Pete's a great guy and all, but why him? Why not me -- uh, I mean, why not Davy?"

Mike looked at Micky as if the drummer had just grown a second head. Micky was asking why he, a serious songwriter, would want to collaborate with a musician more on his level than with a guy who had the attention span of a flea and hadn't really shown any interest at all at writing songs?

"Davy? Are you puttin' me on?"

"It isn't because he's short, is he?"

"Size ain't got nothin' to do with it. Skill does."

Micky laughed under his breath. "Always thought one went along with the other, babe."

"Huh?"

"Nothing." Micky appeared to be lost in thought for a few seconds. "So it's because Peter has uh, skill? I mean that kinda skill?"

"'Course. I mean, Davy's still real young. Maybe in a coupla years when he develops more and knows where his head is at ... but I dunno, man, I never really thought about doin' anything with Davy. To tell ya the truth, I really didn't even think about gettin' together with Peter that way, until one time we were in the pad and it just all sorta ... flowed."

Micky began to wheeze. "You and Peter ... in the pad? I - I - we never saw anything!"

"Well, you and Davy were always out doin' your own thing. I think that's sorta how it started. Me and Pete were always sittin' around, kinda bored ..."

"You were bored?" Micky's face so red that Mike thought he could hear it sizzling. "All this started because you and Pete were bored?"

"Well, I mean, that's how it started with me and Pete. I always had all that inside me, but I just kept it to myself," said Mike. "Pete, too. But then, we just started talking about it, and we decided to give it a try just to see if we liked it. First, it started off as a good way to kill some time, but then it just went on from there."

Mike drifted back into the memory, oblivious to Micky's continued apparent respiratory distress. He'd been stumped on a tune and Peter, who'd been nearby eating a bowl of Rice Krispies, had, out of nowhere, just started humming a bass line countermelody that had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Two days later, after hours of brainstorming both on and off guitar, on and off the bandstand, in and out of the pad, 'Mary, Mary' had been penned. Mike had marveled at the time how Peter, whose thought processes could be ... unorthodox to say the least ... could be so in tune with him musically.

It was if they could read each other's minds, finish each other's thoughts - musically, anyway - make them real, make them come alive, a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Mike knew that as good a singer as Micky was and as energetic as Davy could be as a performer, no one would be able to get him like Peter would - in that way. Peter knew how to reach him through his music. He was a man of many talents, indeed.

And his music was, Mike had to admit, the most important thing in his life. He'd always longed for someone to be able to understand him, help him sort out the jumble of ideas he had inside him, and that his interpreter happened to be Peter was an unexpected, but not unwelcome, surprise. Mike had come to realize there was a lot more to Peter than met the eye. A lot more. And what he saw of Peter in those moments, he really dug quite a bit.

Mike surfaced from his thoughts to see Micky heading out of the room. "Where ya going?"

"I need to get Davy and Peter up here, we need to put our heads together on this thing." Micky paused at the door. "Don't worry, Mike. We'll find a way to throw Babbit off the scent."

"Huh - what're ya ... never mind." Mike adjusted his hat. Micky was acting odd, even for Micky, and Mike found that the best course of action in those cases was to let it work itself out. "Find Pete if you needta, but Davy's out for the night. I think I heard him say he had a date and was takin' her to Club Cassandra."

"What? But he was supposed to be talking to --" Micky rushed out, and the rest of his words were lost to the clattering of footsteps down the stairs and then the slamming of the front door.

Mike shook his head very slowly as the pad settled back into quietness, the silence occasionally broken by Mike's humming of the last verse of his song and what sounded like faint laughter coming from somewhere close by.

-*-

"Davy, cool it! It's not funny!"

Davy calmed down, his expression grave. "You're right, Peter. You're right. I'm sorry. It's not funny." His lips twitched and a few chuckles escaped. "It's h-hilarious!"

He convulsed in laughter again, nearly losing his footing on the sand.

"Sand crabs! Babbit got worked up o-over s-sand crabs!"

"Shhhh!" Peter glanced over his shoulder anxiously. He was half-afraid that their landlord was lurking behind some boulder, waiting to catch him out in some moment of perceived "impropriety," and he was half-terrified that Mike would come out at that moment on a late-night stroll of his own.

He felt bad enough as it was letting Davy know what had happened earlier, but he'd had no choice. He hadn't really noticed anything out of the ordinary when he and Mike had returned from their brainstorming session on the beach.

Peter been so full of thoughts of the song and how much he liked the changes Mike had made to the lyrics that he'd more or less tuned out during dinner and hadn't really been interested in the TV show Micky had on. It wasn't until he was playing the main acoustic riff of Mike's song on banjo that Davy had come into their room, shut the door quietly and asked what that groovy song was Peter was singing. Peter had happily told him. Davy complimented him on the work he and Mike had done to it and then proceeded to nonchalantly ask Peter how long he and Mike had been going steady.

"This, oh man, I can't believe it." Peter near-whispered, barely feeling the sand beneath his bare feet. "I can't believe Mr. Babbit would actually think -- and then go to Micky and say --"

Peter trailed off into a mortified semi-silence, trying to concentrate his thoughts on the roar of the waves. When Davy had first asked the question, Peter had been confused. The words 'going steady' and 'Mike' had gotten caught up in the filters of his brain and he couldn't immediately shake them free. But when he began to realize that Davy was not making a joke or really even asking a question -- that he was presenting it as fact, a done deal, Peter had donetwo things, both without thinking, really -- he'd blushed crimson from head to toe and he'd dropped his banjo -- on his bed, thankfully.

Even now he couldn't remember what he stammered out, but whatever he'd said had caused Davy's expression to change, and that was when he told Peter of their landlord's cameo on the beach that afternoon and subsequent visit to the pad later.

"It just goes to show how with-it Babbit isn't that he'd mistake you chucking sand crabs off Mike for some hot and heavy makeout session! Good thing they were on Mike's hand -- Babbit might've thought you were about to propose!"

"Davy, quit it!"

"What? Peter, c'mon, you've got to admit, it is a little funny," said Davy, looking up at him. "We can all laugh about it now that we know nothing's going on between you two and we're not gonna lose the pad. That's the important thing, isn't it?"

"I - I guess so." Peter looked down at the sand. "Davy? Mr. Babbit was really going to throw us out? Just because he thought he saw me and Mike ... um ... you know."

"Yeah, Peter. Micky said he was gonna get his lawyers to find a way to dispossess us, even though we've paid him rent for a good while yet."

"So Mr. Babbit doesn't like to see people kissing out on the beach?"

"That's not it," Davy shook his head. "Mr. Babbit doesn't like to see two guys kissing out on the beach, or anywhere else. If it had been you or Mike with a pretty girl, I doubt he would've had any complaints. Well, maybe he would've been upset that he didn't have a pretty girl to kiss, but he wouldn't've kicked us out over that."

"I don't understand why Mr. Babbit would be okay with me kissing a girl I maybe just met on the beach and didn't know too good but be mad if I kissed Mike, who's one of my best friends and I've known a long time."

"Well, lots of people Mr. Babbit's age have hangups about that, Peter," said Davy. "Actually, some people at any age have hangups about it. They just don't see that kinda thing as natural, that's all."

Peter walked silently for a while, lost in thought. He'd almost forgotten Davy was beside him until he spoke again.

"You look like something's getting you down, Peter. What's the matter?"

"It's just ... I don't think it's any of Mr. Babbit's business," said Peter, looking out at the water. "I mean, we weren't doing anything, but even if we had been, we weren't breaking any laws or getting in anybody's way or forcing people to look at us. If he really thought he saw that and he just didn't like it, he could've just done what you guys do when I make cream of rootbeer soup."

"Er, poured you and Mike down the drain?"

"No, he could've just eaten something else -- well, you know what I mean! He could've just left. He doesn't own the beach, and we pay our rent, and even though the pad needs a lot of work that Mr. Babbit is supposed to take care of, we don't hassle him about it unless it's really important. Why does he have to bother us over something that isn't even a bad thing except to him? And maybe some other people who don't even know us?"

Peter fell silent, slightly out of breath from his outburst. He wasn't angry, -- not not yet, anyway. He knew he'd never forgive Mr. Babbit if his shortsightedness, both literal and figurative, made it so that Mike didn't want to write songs with him anymore. That had become an important thing to Peter, and if it was taken away from him, he wanted it to be for a good reason -- that he and Mike didn't see eye to eye musically, or they didn't have any time, or Mike ran out of ideas -- not because a grown man had nothing better to do than to poke his nose into something that wasn't his concern

"I don't really know, man. He prob'ly was just brought up that way." Davy gave him a searching glance. "What difference does it make? It's not true, so we can just forget about it now, right?"

"I guess so," said Peter doubtfully, hesitating before voicing his true concern. "But what if Mike doesn't want to write with me anymore?"

"Why wouldn't he want to?"

"He might feel weird about me -- about this ..." Peter swallowed hard. "I don't want Mike to feel strange, I mean, wouldn't you if someone thought you were going around kissing him?"

"Well, I suppose ... Wait -- what?"

"I don't want that to end, Davy," Peter turned earnest eyes toward his friend. "It's like ... I don't feel like a dummy when Mike and I are working on a song."

"C'mon, Peter, you're not a dummy!"

"I know that," Peter said quietly. "And I know you know that. And after awhile, I even knew that Micky knew that. But I never really thought Mike knew that ... until we started writing together."

Peter didn't think he'd ever be the lyricist Mike was. Mike just had that ability to take words and arrange them in a way that just begged to be made into a song. But Peter had been surprised at Mike's inability to actually write music. He knew how to play guitar, he knew basic chords, but nothing he could put down on paper.

Peter, who often thought that he'd had too much formal training about the mechanisms of music and not enough practical experience, was nevertheless happy to let Mike "borrow" his abilities. And far from being angry or jealous about Peter's abilities, Mike had been encouraging and enthusiastic. Peter basked in the feedback, reflecting that he'd often felt that Mike's praise meant about as much to him as any he'd ever received from his parents, his music teachers, even from Micky and Davy.

Just that afternoon when presenting the acoustic introduction to the song, Mike had been so thrilled with the idea that Peter thought he was going to hug him. He reddened at that thought. Considering what Mr. Babbit had thought they were doing, it was a good thing Mike hadn't. They might've gotten carted off to jail.

"Look, don't worry about it. Right now, Micky's setting him straight -- er, I mean, talking to him. Mike probably'll think it's funny, too. It's just another little amusing anecdote for the book."

Peter's brow creased. "What book?"

"The one someone's gonna write about us when get discovered and become famous."

Peter smiled a little. "It'll be a pretty big book. We have a lot of those kind of stories."

"Well that's half the battle then, isn't it? The other part, the getting famous part, might take a bit longer."

"Not when someone important hears the song me and Mike have been working on!" Peter's eyes shone. "Davy, oh man, it's great. And I'm not saying that because I helped with the tune. The words are what make it so great. Listen!"

In a slightly wavering voice, he sang what he considered to be the best verse Mike had written:


So take my hand I'll start my journey
Free from all the helpless worry
That besets a man when he's alone

For strength is mine when we're together
And with you I know I'll never
Have to pass the high road for the low




Peter ducked his head, slightly embarrassed. He felt that his relatively weak voice didn't do such a groovy song justice. Mike sounded so much better singing it, and Peter hoped that Mike would stick with the idea he'd had of playing lead guitar and singing it himself.

"That's pretty neat, Peter. What's it called?"

"Um, I don't think Mike's got a name for it yet. But it's a great song. Once we get it all worked out, Mike said we should try those record producers who kicked us out last year and see what they have to say now!"

"Yeah, maybe this time they'll wait for the elevator doors to open before they try pushin' us into it."

Peter and Davy looked round in surprise. Mike was there behind them, looking somewhat bemused.

"I've been tryin' to catch up with you two for a while now. Y'didn't hear me callin'?"

Peter shook his head, suddenly unable to meet Mike's eyes. Beside him, Davy laughed loudly.

"No, man, I guess we don't have ears as good as Mr. Babbit's!"

"Davy!"

Red-faced, Peter looked at Mike and was stunned when the Texan merely shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

"Go on, laugh it up; Mick sure did." Mike sounded weary. "Pete d'you believe Babbit just skulkin' around here like he was James Bond? I still don't get why he had t'go to Micky and make such a big fuss over it. He's gotta be, what, late 50s? Y'can't tell me he hasn't been nipped by a sand crab or two."

"Prob'ly, but maybe not where you were about to be pinched," snickered Davy.

Peter's face burned brighter when Mike looked over at him, eyebrows raised.

"Sorry, Mike. I didn't want to tell him, but --"

"Aw, forget it, shotgun. I already went through all that with Micky." He looked around then turned to Davy. "Speaking of, where is he? Didn'tcha come back together?"

Davy's brow knit. "What are you talking about?"

"Didn'tcha have a date tonight? I figured he'd be at Club Cassandra trying to find you. Mick said he needed to talk to you and Pete."

"That was last night, and it wasn't really a date. I just happened to run into Mary at the beach." Davy still looked puzzled. "Why did Micky want to to talk to me and Peter?"

"I guessed it was about this Babbit thing."

"What about it? I thought he talked to you about it."

"He did."

"Well then why would he need to talk to Peter? I talked to Peter, that was the deal."

Peter and Mike looked at each other, then at Davy.

"Deal? What're you talking about?"

"Mike, are you sure Micky talked to you?" Davy asked slowly.

"'Course I'm sure, I was there. Though can't say the same for Mick. He really seemed out of it."

"He told you about Babbit stopping by?"

"Sure, he talked to me about it. Doesn't make anymore sense now than it did then."

"Then I don't get it," said Davy. "If it's all straightened out, I don't see why we have to talk about it anymore. I figured, you, Peter and Mr. Babbit would just as soon forget all of it."

"Yeah, I can dig that," said Peter with no small amount of relief. He was sure Mike couldn't wait to purge the entire day from his mind, save for the song-writing part of it. He thought he might have a harder time putting it out of his mind, but he reasoned that would be because Davy would tease him about it for a good while to come.

"Unless Micky thinks we should actually say something to Mr. Babbit," Davy went on, frowning. "But I think it'll blow over. He probably wants to forget he ever thought he saw you and Peter making out, too, and it'd be more trouble than it's worth to bring it up."

"Yeah, man," Mike began, "I --"

He stopped dead. Under the moonlight, Peter thought, Mike looked pallid and drawn and all eyes -- eyes that were doing their level best to bulge all the way out of their sockets.

"What?"

"What?" Davy echoed, looking at Mike strangely. "You think we should talk to Babbit about it? It'll prob'ly blow over in a week or two."

"Babbit thought me and Pete were doing what?" Mike's voice rose to a shout.

Davy shot a troubled look at Peter and took a step or two out of the line of fire.

"Mike, did or didn't Micky talk to you?"

Mike's mouth worked soundlessly for a minute. "Not about nothin' like that he didn't!"

"You said he told you Babbit came by!"

"He did, but he never really got around to why he was there."

Quickly, Davy filled in that part of the tale. At the end, Mike swore vehemently, taking Davy and Peter by surprise. "Babbit seriously thought he saw . .." Mike's head swiveled slowly toward Peter, who lowered his eyes again.

"If Micky didn't tell you about all that, what did he say?"

"Buncha stuff." Peter didn't look up, but he could tell Mike was still looking at him. "I thought he was just makin' conversation -- or somethin'."

"So he never said anything about you and Peter at all?"

"Well, he did start asking me a lot of questions about me and Pete, and I ..."

He halted abruptly, and Peter raised his head in time to see a look of realization, followed by complete dread, spreading across Mike's face.

"Oh lord!"

Mike spun around and promptly lost his footing, going sprawling over the sand. Peter was at his side immediately while Davy went after Mike's wool cap, which had gone flying a little ways down the beach.

"Mike! Are you alright?"

"Oof, yeah. Think so." Mike struggled up to his knees, brushing sand off his shirt. "Just don't seem to be having much luck out here on the beach today. We gotta find Micky. I mighta said some stuff that he took the wrong way --"

"Okay, Mike. We'll go. Let me help ..."

Peter was starting to extend a hand to the guitarist, when an unseen force knocked into Peter, throwing him off balance and into the sand.

"Are you guys crazy? You can't do that out here. Davy, were you just gonna stand here and watch?"

"Micky!"

"Micky! What the hell'd ya do that for?"

"M- pthew," Peter rolled over, spitting out a mouthful of sand. After a few hazy seconds, the familiar face of the drummer came into focus.

He grasped the hand that was held out to him and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Micky?"

"Sorry Pete, I didn't mean shove you that hard, but you guys can't just, y'know, do that sort of stuff out here! Yeah, I know it's dark --"

"Micky, they weren't --"

"-- but c'mon! Look, me and Davy'll split for awhile, give you guys some privacy --"

"Mick, y'don't understand. Nothin's goin' on --"

"-- Babbit's here! I saw him out in front just as I was gettin' back from Club Cassandra -- thanks for nothing, by the way, Mike -- and he had a camera with him! What he'd snuck out here and was hiding behind one of those sand dunes over there --"

"Micky!" Davy's voice sounded unusually sharp. "Sand crabs!"

"What? Where?!" Micky jumped nearly a foot in the air, looking all around him.

"I don't mean that! I mean on Mike's shorts!"

Micky squinted in Mike's direction. "I don't see anything on Mike's shorts."

"They're not there now. They were this afternoon! Peter was helping get them off --"

"Listen Davy, I think I sort of know how the whole thing went down. I-I mean ... oh brother ... forget I said that."

"Tryin' to, Mick," Peter heard Mike mutter. "Tryin' real hard."

"I wasn't talking about Mike's shorts, either," said an exasperated Davy. "The sand crabs -- Peter was helping Mike get the sand crabs off Mike's shorts earlier today when Babbit saw them!"

"Yeah? So?"

"So that's all that was going on! Peter accidentally fell on Mike. But what Babbit saw was Peter helping Mike to not get bit by a bunch of sand crabs!"

"Huh?" Micky's confusion was evident. "But what about the kissing?"

"There wasn't any kissin'!"

"The rolling around in the sand?"

"There wasn't none of that, either!"

"The moaning -- wait, I thought you said there was some kind of moaning, Mike."

"What I said was that I got the wind knocked outta me and I was caught off guard!"

Micky stared hard at Mike. "So you and Pete never --"

"No!"

Micky turned his attention to Peter. "Not even --"

"No!"

"Mick, whyn't ya just tell me the whole thing about from the beginning? We coulda saved us all a lot of trouble."

"Well, I --"

"So much for that 'cool confidence' and 'stunning wit,' Micky."

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Micky mumbled before turning an accusing eye on Mike. "But you sure talked like something was going on! All that stuff about Pete's moves and skills and all! What else was I supposed to think?"

"Peter's moves and skills?" Davy echoed.

Peter blinked. I have moves and skills? Mike thinks I have moves and skills? And he was telling Micky about them? Wow ...

"I thought you were talkin' about writin' songs. That's what I was talkin' about!"

"Writing songs?" Micky looked skeptical. "So when you were talking about Pete being good with his hands --"

"That was about the crab thing!"

" ... Oh. So nothing --"

" -- Ever happened," Davy and Mike chorused. "No!"

Micky considered that a moment, and then turned to look at Peter, regret evident in his face.

"Sorry, Pete, for, um, tackling you like that. It's just that I thought ... and I saw you and Mike, and Babbit's around, and Mike was, y'know, on his knees, and you were standing in front of him --"

"It's okay," Peter said in a rush, wanting to stop that train of thought. "You didn't hurt me, Mick."

"No, it's not okay, man. I feel like a real heel," Micky kicked at the sand. "It's just that Babbit seemed so sure, and -- I'm sorry guys."

He sighed loudly, looking very forlorn. Peter wanted to hug the drummer, but decided under the circumstances, it would probably be better that he didn't.

"Don't worry about it, Micky, it's over. We've gotten all this straightened out, then, no real harm done," Davy said. "Problem solved."

"Uh-uh," Mike said, shaking his head. "Problem not solved. We're all hip, but Babbit still ain't. Mick had a point: If Babbit'd been out here and saw me and Pete together, we mighta been sleepin' in the car tonight. He really had a camera?"

"Well, what can we do?" asked Davy. "If nothing's going on with you and Peter, then there won't be anything for him to see that would make him think something is going on with you and Peter. That should be enough, yeah?"

Peter colored when Mike looked his way. "Remember, this is Babbit we're talkin' bout. The same fella who said he'd kick us out if he caught us keepin' a 'real' werewolf in the pad."

"Oh, right. For a moment I did forget who we were dealing with."

"So we gotta tell him what really happened," said Mike. "'Cause maybe not sayin' anything would look more suspicious than if we did say somethin'."

"But do you think he'll believe it?" Micky paced in the sand. "He might think you're just saying it to keep us from getting thrown out of the pad."

"Well, we'll just haveta be sure we're convincin'," Mike said quietly. "I'll take care of it. Letcha know how it goes. Afterward."

Micky glanced at Davy, who shrugged. "If you say so, babe. But if you need us --"

"I'll be alright." Mike's eyes flicked Peter's way. "That okay with you, Pete? I mean, it does concern you, too. If you wanna come with me ..."

"No, that's okay." Peter pushed the hair out of his eyes. "I don't really think I'd know what to say anyway."

"Good. So that's that, then." Micky yawned widely. "Man, I'm beat. I think I've had enough excitement for tonight. Oh and speaking of excitement, Davy, I ran into Molly at Club Cassandra."

"Oh yeah?" Davy perked up. "Did she ask about me?"

"Yeah, but she didn't ask me about you. She was asking Mary."

Davy deflated quickly. "Mary?"

"Y'know, that's exactly how Molly said it when they ran into each other. That was some little 'talk' they were having about you, babe."

Micky's highly amused voice mixed with Davy's morose warbling, growing fainter as they trudged up the shore toward the pad. Peter and Mike followed at a slower pace, their feet crunching in the cold sand as they followed in their bandmates' wake.

"Pete?" Mike's voice was soft. "You're kinda quiet. You all right?"

"I guess." Peter bit his lip. "Mike, do you think Mr. Babbit will believe you?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't he?"

"Well, it's just that if he thought he saw ... things after just looking at us for five minutes, I don't know if just saying we weren't doing ... things would do any good."

"Trust me, Pete. He'll believe me. He'll wanna believe me." Mike's head dipped. "If he was worked up enough about what he thought he saw to want to get rid of us, that means he's got a big hangup about stuff like this. He doesn't want to see it, hear it, know about it. If I go to him all angry and outraged and tell him what really happened, he'll be glad to believe me because that'll mean he won't have to see it, hear it or know about it. At least not from us."

"Yeah ..." Peter took a few more steps and halted. Mike, noticing that he'd stopped walking, turned around.

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. I was just wondering about what were you telling Micky. About, um, writing songs with me?" Peter flushed at Mike's narrow-eyed stare. "It just seems like it was really nice. Whatever it is you said, I mean."

That I had skill and moves! And good hands ... wait, that was about the crab thing.

"Oh. Yeah." Mike paused, readjusting his hat. "Well, I just told Mick that I really like writing with you. That you're a great musician, man. You make my stuff sound good. Better than it would be if I had to just muddle through it myself."

Peter smiled. "Thanks, Mike. But you make it easy for me. Your songs are great! I feel lucky that you want my help at all."

"Well, we make a good team, Pete. It's nice that we can both learn from each other, and ... and ..."

Mike laughed suddenly, startling Peter. "Mike, what's funny?"

For a moment, Mike couldn't speak coherently. Making an effort to calm down, he wiped at his eyes.

"Oh, Jesus, Pete. I was just thinkin' about talkin' to Mick earlier tonight. Now that I know what Micky was really talkin' about ... he asked me why you and not Davy. I thought he meant why write songs with you and not Davy. Now knowing he meant why ... you know ... with you and not Davy ..."

Laughter overtook him again, bending him nearly double. Peter found himself laughing, too, albeit somewhat more soberly.

"I wish I could've heard you guys talking."

"Eh, well, that's a conversation I wanna forget as fast as possible, shotgun. Mick probably does, too, considerin'," said Mike through some residual chuckles. "Though thinkin' about it now, I probably shoulda known something else was up. But I wouldn'ta thought it was that! Guess it never occurred to me that Micky would think any of us would be interested in each other."

Peter hesitated a minute. "Because we all dig chicks?"

"Uh ... yeah." Mike sounded strangely uncertain. "Of course because of that, and because I couldn't imagine Mick thinkin' I'd be diggin' Davy. If anything, I'da thought he'd think you'd go for Davy. Y'know ... if you were to dig any of us. Which ya don't. Because of the ... liking chicks thing. Which, uh, goes for me, too."

But Peter wasn't really listening to Mike's fumbling reiteration of their preference for girls. He was too busy trying to figure out how Mike would think he'd have anything other than friendly interest in their British bandmate.

"Davy? Why Davy?"

"Well, I dunno. Y'all share a room already, and ... I dunno ..."

Peter shook his head. "Davy's great and all, but, no, it wouldn't be him. We're too different."

"Huh. Too young?"

"Well, no. It's just he's ... kinda short." Peter grinned sheepishly. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with Davy being short, but I just think it'd be strange going out with someone who's shorter than you and is a guy. I mean, shorter than me and is a guy."

"So Mick, then? Wow, Pete. I mean, I know you like challenges, but --"

"No, it wouldn't be Micky, either."

Mike looked mystified. "Well, then, who --"

Peter ducked his head when Mike stopped walking and turned a laser-like stare onto him. Neither of them said anything for several long seconds.

"Well, ever since we decided it wasn't really realistic to have Mr. Schneider to play tambourine, the only person left is ..." Mike harrumphed and started toying with his hat. "Uh. Me."

"Yeah."

"Me?"

"Um ... yeah. I mean, I really like girls and all ... but yeah."

"Me, man? Wow."

To Peter's surprise, it looked like Mike was having trouble with his mouth -- namely that it seemed his lips were trying to form a smile and something was fighting it hard. "Why?"

"Well ... I really like spending time with you. It always seems to go by so fast when we're writing a song, and I don't notice how much time has passed, and I sorta miss it when it's over, and I just know I can't wait 'til the next time. I ... I never really felt like that around Valerie, or even April, even though they were both groovy girls."

Peter dragged his toes across the sand. "I guess sometimes I think -- I mean, I hope -- that when I get another girlfriend I feel that same way, like that time doesn't matter and that it's always so much fun, and that I feel just really ... happy and I get sad when I have to leave and do something else. I like that feeling, and I only really know what that's like when I'm with you. Well, when we're writing music, I mean. Or walking on the beach, or talking. Or doing both ... like we are now."

He looked up, wide-eyed, knowing that it was what he'd meant to say, but not sure if he was saying in a way that made sense, or, at the very least, would not send Mike screaming down the beach. After a few seconds, it became clear that Mike wasn't fixing to sprint away, but Peter wasn't comforted. Considering all they'd been through that day, Peter wondered if his words were a little bit too heavy to lay on Mike at that moment.

"Mike, I ... sorry, I didn't mean --"

"Pete, that's probably one of the nicest, sweetest things anybody's ever said to me." Mike let his lips stop fighting each other, and smiled for real. "For what it's worth, man, I'm flattered."

Peter returned the smile tentatively, relieved that Mike wasn't angry or uncomfortable, but he felt a vague discomfort. He really did feel that way about Mike. He'd not thought to verbalize before now, even to himself. Peter wondered if that was any more significant than what he had just expressed. He really did feel comfortable and secure in Mike's presence.

He didn't really know what to think about the fact that Mike aroused a wellspring of feelings than had two really happening chicks that he had dug quite a bit. It was easy enough to say that neither Valerie or April had been "the one" for him. And he'd also figured that maybe his inexperience hadn't helped in either case. But thinking on it now, Peter wondered how those two girls could have fallen so short of a mark that Mike Nesmith was able to hit with ease?

Peter shivered at the implications, and forced them out of his head. He and Mike had already dodged a bullet. The thoughts he was having was more like placing himself in front of a firing squad, and that was the last thing any of them needed. He cleared his head and lightened his tone.

"So, have you decided on a title for the song yet?"

"Naw, I thought I had somethin', but it don't feel right to me. Maybe I'll just wait 'til we get the thing finished."

"Good idea." Peter saw the pad straight ahead. "Do you want to go over the last part before we turn in? I'm not sure I like that last transition I wrote. I think a switch to D minor might work better."

"We could do that." Mike started to climb the steps, then turned. "You sure you don't wanna come t'see Babbit with me?"

"No, I'll just ... get in the way." Peter tried to smile. "I know he'll listen to you, Mike. Out of all of us, you're the only one he does listen to."

"That's only when I have a rent check or two in my hand." Mike stood looking at Peter for a long while. "Hey, Pete?"

"Yeah?"

Mike looked up at the sky for a moment and Peter followed his gaze. It was a clear night, beautiful, too, the dark sky all dotted with stars and that moon shining down on the water. Peter thought about all the times he had wished on stars as a kid. Wondered if it'd be worth it to try it now ...

"It'd be you."

Peter's head snapped down. "Huh?"

Mike kept looking at him. "If ... if I was to dig someone in the band ... you'd be it for me, too."

Peter glanced up at the sky again. Wow, that's good service!

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, not that it would happen, but ..."

"What about Micky?"

"Great voice but snores like a freight train."

"Davy?"

"He's, uh, too ..." Mike grinned. "Well, let's just say I got the same issues you've got on that, shotgun. Love 'im like a brother, though."

Peter didn't laugh. He stared. Mike was leaning on the railing, gazing down at him. He knew that face, that expression. It was serious. Mike was serious.

Mike is beautiful.

Alarmed, Peter tried to shake that thought out of his head, but it wouldn't go, not while the moon was shining down on Mike making him look like some kind of shimmering angel with those dark eyes and those lush lips.

Somehow, he was able to find breath enough to ask the question. "Why me?"

"'Cause I like bein' with you, too," Mike said, looking down. "I feel less alone, around you, Pete."

Peter wasn't sure how to respond, or if there were words adequate enough to respond. He knew that this was not the time, however, to get hung up. Mike was a man of few words, and Peter knew first hand that he chose even those few words very carefully.

"Mike, you'll never be alone as long as I'm here," said Peter softly. "And - and Micky and Davy, too. You'll always have us."

Mike looked up then. "I know I've got Mick and Dave and friends and family and all, but I never thought anyone understood what was inside me. What was really important, what truly means something to me. But you know. And better than that, you ... you can pull it out of me -- the best parts -- you can find them straight off ... you make me see the best parts of myself, Pete. I've never felt that way around anybody. Never thought I ever would."

Mike paused. "It's a good feeling. A real good feeling. I really can't say much other than that."

Wow. I never thought ... wow. Wow.

"Wow," Peter breathed, then mentally kicked himself. "I mean, thank you, Mike. I'm ... um ... flattered too."

"Yeah?" Mike grinned a bit. "Good thing it would never happen. Or we'd be in some real trouble now."

"Trouble?"

"With Babbit, I mean."

"Oh! Oh yeah." Peter swallowed hard. He found he couldn't look away from Mike's eyes. "Trouble. Right."

"But we don't have to worry about anything like that." Mike looked sideways, biting his lip

"Yeah." Peter swallowed hard. "Right."

He took in a long breath of ocean air and let it out slowly as they stared at each other for several long moments, unmoving. Then Mike cocked his head and squinted.

"Pete?"

"Huh?"

"Y'got some sand on your face. Hold still a minute."

Peter stiffened as Mike's fingers brushed against his skin. The tingly feeling from the afternoon had returned, but it was more intense now and spreading throughout his body.

"There, it's all gone."

Mike's hand lingered on Peter's cheek for a few seconds. "Say, Pete, maybe I'll talk to Babbit later. End of the week, say. We got all those gigs to get ready for and we don't really need a buncha interruptions. I think Babbit can wait a little while longer to know that me and you weren't really, uh ... aren't really ..."

"Sure ... okay, Mike," Peter murmured. Mike's fingers brushed his lower lip and Peter rocked on his feet, clutching the railing to avoid falling. "Do you, um, want to put the song aside for awhile 'til we're not so busy?"

"No!" Mike looked slightly alarmed. "I mean, we're so close on it, man. I was thinkin' ... there's a little spot on the beach up aways. A nook kinda off the beaten path. I usedta go there by myself to work on things."

Mike smiled crookedly. "We could go there and have some peace and quiet, and, uh, some privacy. I don't think even Babbit can see up that far. And maybe the sand crabs won't make it up there for another day or two. That sound alright to you?"

Peter felt the smile coming on even before his lips started to move. He wrestled with his expression for a moment, but the smile took over, just as he knew it would.

"That sounds great, Mike."

Grinning so hard he thought his head would pop off, Peter bounded up the steps, the chorus of the song he and Mike had created together echoing through his mind as Mike returned his smile and held the door open for him.


I have no more than I did before
But now I've got all that I need
'Cause I love you and I know you love me.




The end