Isolation

Helping hands

At about 7 that morning, Davy crept back into the pad as silently as he could. To his surprise, the other two Monkees were already awake and in the kitchen.

"Hey, Davy." Peter smiled. "How was Molly?"

"Oh, she was absolutely lovely." He said with a blushing grin. Micky let out a laugh and whistled, but Peter didn't seem to understand.

"I don't get it." He whispered, turning to Micky. He smiled and patted his shoulder.

"I'll explain it to you in a few years."

"Oh, okay. But that's nice that she's doing good." Peter turned back to Davy, who nodded.

"Yeah, it is."

Davy sat down, and the other two stood awkwardly for a moment before joining him. The mood dropped quickly. Everyone was thinking the same thing, but nobody was ready to speak about it. It was Davy who chose to break the silence.

"Hey, how's Mike doin'?" He asked hesitantly.

"He's sleeping now." Micky sighed and buried his face in his hands.

"I still just can't believe it." He muttered under his breath.

"Believe what?"

"How he could do something like that! Or at least, think about it." He kicked his chair in frustration before calming down.

"Maybe it wasn't what you thought. Maybe he was going to make a sandwich or something?" Peter innocently suggested. He knew what had happened, or almost happened, but was trying everything to not make it true.

"I just wish we could help, ya know? He never lets us help him when something's wrong. Until it becomes so bad that..." Micky sighed and looked back at the other two, tears filling in his eyes.

"Mike wouldn't talk to us even if he could remember what was bothering him." Davy looked down and tapped a nervous melody on the table.

"So, what're we supposed to do, then?" Peter asked quietly.

"We're not supposed to do anything, remember?"

"I mean, how are we going to help?" He clarified. "I know from experience that doing nothing doesn't help anyone."

"I don't know, Pete," Micky said sadly. "I don't know how or if we can even help him."

"Hey, now." Davy put his hand on his shoulder. "Things will all work out, right? Everything will be fine."

"I don't know."

"Well, we can't do nothing," Peter muttered and went back to the kitchen.

"What're you doing in there?" Davy asked, trying to hide his amusement.

"I'm gonna make Mike a *special* breakfast. Root beer soup and choco." He smiled proudly, and Micky's eyes widened.

"For breakfast?"

"Well, that's all I know how to make." He said with a slight shrug. Micky shot Davy a look before they stood up and joined him.

"Here, why not we help you? We could all make him something." Micky suggested, taking the wooden spoon from Peter's hand.

Preferably something edible, Davy thought but kept to himself.

Peter grinned and the three Monkees spent the next few hours giggling and making something vaguely resembling pancakes.