Monkees

Delirious

Micky let out a sigh, going into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The other two didn't seem too fazed by it, so he wasn't.

"Is that where you slept last night?" He called out to Davy, who was laying down on the ground, his legs leaning up against the wall. He said nothing, simply staring at the ceiling.

Micky frowned, turning around to face him.

"Davy?"

"He's been like that all morning," Mike said with a shrug, opening the newspaper.

"Is he even awake?" Micky asked, the only one who seemed concerned. Peter frowned, going towards Davy. He waved a hand over his blank eyes, but nothing happened.

"His eyes are open," Peter said quietly. "Looked like he's breathing too..."

"He's fine," Mike said, shaking his head.

"Well, then, why isn't he talking?" Micky asked. "Or even responding to us?"

Mike set his coffee cup on the coaster, the clang of ceramic caused the house to fall silent.

"I don't know," was all he said. "But he's been like this all morning."

"Davy?" Micky asked, going over and shaking his friend on the shoulder. "Are you up?"

"Are we friends?" Davy finally asked, his voice weak.

"What?" Micky scoffed, causing Peter and Mike to turn over in surprise.

"Are we friends?" Davy asked again, his eyes narrowing, as if he had to think of it. "Because we are supposed to create a more blessed union—"

"Yes," Micky said. "Yes, we are. All of us. You, me, and Peter, and Mike. We're all friends."

Davy only thought about it, not once changing his focus from the ceiling before nodding slightly.

"Okay..." he said under his breath, dropping his legs down and sitting upright.

"Now," Micky said, wrapping an arm around him. "How about I get you a glass of water and maybe a little something for breakfast?"

"I'm not supposed to eat," Davy said.

"Why not?"

"Just said I'm not supposed to," he shrugged.

Micky sighed.

"Well, we have food when you're hungry and able," he said, trying his best to get Davy back onto his feet. But Davy wouldn't budge from his place on the ground.

"Davy?" It was now Peter talking, leaning over his chair at the kitchen table to look at Davy. "Are you alright?"

Davy only looked at him for a moment, before turning his focus to the open window.

"When?" He asked to the open space, a longingness in his voice.

"Whenever you want, Davy," Micky sighed, not bothering to think anything of the question. Just as he said this, a bee came into the house, sitting on the windowsill.

"Hi," Davy said to it, which caused it to fly towards him.

"Hi there," he said, watching the bee buzz around him before landing on his arm.

"Aren't you allergic?" Peter asked with a frown. Davy only smiled, looking at the bee.

"She won't hurt me," he said, watching his arm.

"Yeah, but she might," Mike said quietly, realizing something was wrong.

"She won't hurt," Davy pleaded. "I know she won't."

"Okay, Davy," Micky said, trying once again to get him to move and trying to shoo the bee away from them. "Come on, let's go."

"No! I'm tired," he said with a groan, laying back down. "She won't hurt me here."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna risk it."

"Yeah, well, none of you are dying," Davy said, blankly staring up at the ceiling. Micky shared a look with the other two before getting onto his knees beside him.

"Davy," he sighed. "You're not dying."

"Am too," Davy said, sternly closing his eyes. "You guys just don't believe me."

"Davy," he tried again. "We do believe you."

"But...?" Davy asked, looking at him with wide and delirious eyes. "Why don't you...?"

"You're not dying," Micky said, closing his eyes. "You're frustrated and tired, you may have a fever, but you're not dying, Davy. You're gonna be okay."

Davy only stared at him and frowned, a certain rage behind his eyes.

"That's what she told me you'd say, Jack."