A couple more days passed and Micky woke to find Peter sitting on the side of his bed, studying him intently. Micky shoved himself up on his elbows, wincing as his stiff body screamed in protest. “What?”
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
Peter smiled and pulled the notebook out from where it had fallen, half-under Micky’s bed. “Your studying.”
Micky fiddled with a loose string on his bedspread. “Yeah . . . what about it?”
“Tell me what you’re learning.”
Micky shrugged.
“I can tell you what I’m seeing.”
Micky looked up, a trace of the old fierceness in his eyes. “And what’s that?”
He smiled. “You’re calmer. You’ve lost none of your fire, but you’re more focused.”
“I’m not losing it again, Pete. I can’t. Next time I might get more than an ass kicking.” Micky sighed, his fists tightening on the covers. “It’s so hard . . . just laying here . . . but I gotta do it.”
“You’re not ‘just laying here’. You’re focusing your efforts on recovery.”
Micky’s knuckles turned white, contrasting sharply with the dark bruises on his forearms. “I want to be outside. On the beach, in the sun . . . with you guys. I hate being in here.”
Peter’s face suddenly brightened. “I think that can be arranged!”
“Huh?”
“Maybe the three of us can move the lounge outside.”
Micky’s face scrunched up. “Nah . . . all the sand’ll get in the leather and Mike’ll have a fit. It’s okay, Peter . . . I’ll make it.”
“It won’t be much longer, will it?”
“I hope not,” Micky said. “I don’t think I can stand this room much longer.”
“What is your body telling you?”
Micky grinned faintly. “That I’ll be here for another three hundred years.”
Peter chuckled. “Don’t ever lose that.”
“Dolenzes come and go but humor never dies,” Micky said, smiling.
“Oh, is that what you call it?” Mike said, walking in. Peter chuckled. Mike went over to Micky and held out his hand. “C’mon. Time you got outta this bed.” Peter moved to his other side.
Micky’s smile faded as his eyes widened. “Huh?”
“You heard him.”
With a protesting groan Micky was hauled from his bed and set up on his legs, which wobbled, but supported him.
“Now what’s your body telling you?” Peter asked.
Micky clenched his eyes shut. “Owww . . . ”
“That’ll pass.”
“It’s natural for your body to be stiff and sore, Micky,” Mike said sagely. “You got muscles that’re used to gettin’ daily workouts that haven’t really moved in a week.”
“And don’t go back to working out all day every day!” Peter told him urgently.
“I won’t,” Micky groaned as they eased him from the downstairs bedroom. They’d moved him there after realizing that going up and down the narrow tornado staircase was not an option. “I can’t.”
“You can’t?” Davy asked.
Micky shook his head. “It’ll be a long time before I can do that kinda stuff.” He looked at Mike. “If anything comes up in the next few days . . . I won’t be much help.”
“You’ll be fine,” Davy smile.
~~~~~
Massages and very slow katas became the order of the day once Micky was ambulatory again. Bruised, stiff muscles and joints gradually loosened, giving Micky back his mobility. He jogged up and down the beach, with Mike trotting beside him, urging him to take it slow and easy and to focus. Micky responded with great determination, his former temper nowhere to be seen. Mike and Peter were impressed with how he no longer obsessively exercised. He was, truly, more centered.
One chill, windy morning, Mike stood on the veranda next to Peter, watching Micky as he stood near the water’s edge, his movements once again fluid and graceful as the last of his injuries had faded. “He’s come a long way,” Mike murmured, pulling the neck of his sweatshirt up a little higher.
“He sure has,” Peter smiled. “I’m very proud of him.”
“He’s still impatient and temperamental, but the madness isn’t there.” Mike took a sip of his coffee, pausing to let the warmth slide into his chest. “I just wonder what exactly made him turn around so quickly.”
Peter smiled at him. “He came close to dying at their hands. That’d do it for anyone.”
“Yeah, but think about it. When I got hurt by those creeps, it just made me madder and more determined not to let them win. Micky doesn’t even talk about revenge. That’s not like him.”
Peter thought about it and his smile vanished. “Are you suggesting he’s traded one form of madness for another?”
“I don’t know what I’m suggestin’. I just think that we haven’t seen the end of this.” He lifted his gaze to rest on Micky, who continued his slow, silent dance. “It just can’t be this simple.”
Peter sighed and shifted his jacket onto his shoulders. “Nothing ever is anymore.”
Mike took another sip. “We should get used to it.”
“Although,” he added with a wink, “were things ever simple for us?”
Peter laughed. “Once upon a time, I think.”
“When we were five,” Mike said, smiling.
“I thought it was four.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Five is when we got all the heavy responsibilities. House, car, job, y’know.” Mike resisted the urge to laugh. Peter gave in to it, his head tilted back as the wind carried the sound of his mirth.
“Are you guys laughing at me?” Micky said as he climbed the stairs. His shoulders gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat, his forearms stiff with goosebumps from the cool air.
“We’re laughing at us,” Peter chuckled. “How’re you doing?”
“Just fine,” Micky replied calmly. There was no trace in his eyes of the manic anger of his previous workouts. They gleamed with the healthy energy of a balanced, sane person. Seeing this, Peter’s smile returned in full force, reaching his eyes at last.
Mike’s expression, however, could only be described as cautiously optimistic.
On to Six
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