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"Teardrop City"

Title: Teardrop City
Author: Lucy
Rating: R.
Pairing: Torklenz! Yay!
Genre: Slash.
Warnings: Language and sexuality. And angst. Oooooh boy, there's angst.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Monkees and make no aspersions toward their sexualities.
Summary: Mike is angry. This never bodes well... Except, maybe, this time it does.
Author's Note: My first actual Torklenz. And I actually started crying twice when I wrote this, but I'm notoriously a pansy, so... Anyway. Hope you enjoy!


"... Because nobody fucking cares what you have to say!" Mike concludes in a shout, whirling and storming out the door in a fit of anger. Peter bursts into hysterical sobs and sits down on the bandstand right where he is. Davy and Micky exchange alarmed looks. 'I'll go after Mike, you help him,' Davy mouths before bouncing down the steps and out the door after Mike.

Micky scoots out from behind his drum kit and slides to his knees next to Peter. He hushes him gently, maneuvering him to lean against his side. Peter turns and buries his face in Micky's shirt, clutching at him helplessly.

"W-Why doesn't he like m-me?" Peter stutters into Micky's chest. "What did I d-do?"

"Nothing, you didn't do anything," Micky assures in a soft voice. "It's not your fault, Mike's just in a bad mood."

Peter shakes his head wildly. "No, it's m-me, I d-did something, I always screw everything up!"

"No, no, Peter, that's not true." Micky tugs Peter into his lap and rubs his back gently. "Don't pay attention to what he says. He's just mad."

Peter sniffles into Micky's shoulder, leaning back to look into his eyes. "Really? I didn't mess up?"

Micky shakes his head with a smile. "No, Peter. You didn't mess up at all."

"Thanks, Mick." Peter leans forward again to hug Micky tight. "You're a good friend."

'Too bad I don't wanna just be your friend.' "No problem, Pete. Just doin' my job."

When Mike comes back, he apologizes profusely. Apparently, he got a phone call the day before, and his mom is real sick. They tell him everything'll be alright. But Micky, watching Peter's smile and his hair and his everything, thinks that he's not so sure about that.

-~-~-~

Micky is sitting on the sofa relaxing when Peter comes bounding in.

"Micky Micky Micky Micky Micky!"

Micky laughs. "What what what what what?"

"Guess what?"

"Um... You got a haircut?" Micky guesses, running his eyes over Peter to determine any changes. Of course, that's why he was doing it. It had nothing to do with the fact that Peter was wearing pants tighter than he had any right to be noticing. Nope, nothing like that.

Peter's face is lit up and has been ever since he came through the door. "I got a date!"

And Micky's heart drops. He manages to keep the smile on his face, but only just. "Y-yeah?"

"Yeah! She bumped into me at the store and she's cute and sweet and funny and-"

"That's great, Pete!" Micky interrupts loudly. "What's her name?" 'I need to know for when I use it in a ritual to injure her in a near fatal accident...'

"Kayla. Isn't it pretty?" Peter says dreamily.

Micky thinks it's the ugliest name he's ever heard.

-~-~-~

Micky is sitting on the sofa yet again, but he is certainly not relaxed.

"What're you so bummed about?" Davy jumps over the back of the couch and landed next to Micky.

"Nothing." Micky grumbles.

"Is this because Peter's on another date with what's-her-name?"

Micky stops sulking to stare at Davy in shock.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, you spend the whole day pouting every time they go out. It doesn't take a genius."

Micky returns to sulking. Stupid Davy and his stupid noticing things thing.

-~-~-~

"You really ought to tell him."

"You know, too?" Micky glares up at Mike, who sits down next to him.

"You mean do I know that you got the hots for Peter so bad I'm surprised you don't have third degree burns?" Mike smiles quietly when Micky lets out a strangled groan and buries his head in his arms. "Yeah. I noticed."

-~-~-~

"Do you know, too?" Micky blinks at Mr. Schneider before pulling his string.

"About your crush on-"

"AAAAARGH!" Micky storms away before the dummy can finish his sentence.

-~-~-~

Micky sits dejectedly on his bed. Peter's out on another date with The Bitch, Davy's on a date with...somebody, and Mike is at the music store looking for a new pick. He is alone.

He is lonely.

He curls into a ball on top of his sheets. Stupid Peter and his stupid self.

He mentally apologizes. It isn't Peter's fault he's inlovewithhim. That's all on him. Peter didn't encourage Micky to fall inlovewithhim. Hell, Micky hadn't even realized until Peter walked in the door the other day. He looked up, Peter smiled, and he thought, 'I love you.'

He's in love with his best friend.

He turns into his pillow, trusting it to soothe his tears.

-~-~-~

"Micky? Are you awake?" A light flicks on.

Micky mumbles a brief negative before he realizes that the voice is Peter's. He tenses shortly but manages to relax. "What's up, Pete?" He sits up, rubbing his eyes.

"K-Kayla broke up with me." Micky suppresses a shout of glee. "Davy's still on his date and Mike's... Mike, and I was really upset, so... Have you been crying?"

Micky freezes. "No. Why?"

Peter comes closer. "You have been. Your eyes are all red and your voice always goes all raspy when you cry."

Micky frowns. He didn't know that... "It's fine, Peter. Nothing for you to worry about."

"Is so." Micky smiles at the childish rebuttal. "You're my friend and I- Micky, what did I say?" Micky's smile morphs rapidly into a hitch of the shoulders and then he's crying again, dammit.

Peter rushes forward and gathers Micky into his arms, crooning and hugging and it all only makes Micky cry harder.

"Micky, what's wrong, what did I do?" Peter asks helplessly, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head atop Micky's curls. His only response is another wail, and a pair of hands clutching at his back.

So Peter does nothing but hold him, and Micky can only love him more.

-~-~-~

Micky looks at his knees with determination, but he can still feel Peter's concerned look.

"What's wrong?" Comes the soft question.

Micky sniffles. "I guess you sorta deserve to know after I cried all over you." He looks up apologetically and Peter waves a hand.

Micky clears his throat. "I... I, uh..."

"Just say it, Mick. I wanna help you," Peter says softly, his voice drifting into Peter's ears like a fresh spring breeze. Micky wrinkles his nose. If being inlovewithsomeone made you this nauseatingly poetic, he wasn't at all sure he wanted to be.

"You can't help me. Nobody can."

"Well, I can try." Micky knows not to argue with Peter when he has that look on his face.

"I'm, uh... sort of..."

Peter's arm tightens around him and the words come tumbling out.

"... inlovewithyou."

The arm moves. So does Peter. The door opens and closes, and Peter has taken his heart with him wherever he's gone.

This time, when the tears come, there's nobody there to soothe them.

-~-~-~

Micky cries. For several days.

-~-~-~

Micky is sleeping. Or he was. He was in the middle of a dream where he loved Peter and Peter loved him and everything was light and bright and happy.

And then there is something on top of him.

He opens his eyes.

It's Peter.

And then Micky can't think anymore.

"I'm so sorry."

Silence.

"Micky, please... I didn't want to hurt you."

Silence.

"I was scared... and confused... I'm sorry."

Silence.

"Maybe I should go..."

And Micky knows that he would die if that happened. He wraps his arms around Peter before the other man can slink away.

He leans forward. Their lips touch.

Neither of them are thinking anymore.

-~-~-~

Micky groans.

He had thought about this quite a lot, but had never imagined the

tight good warm heat smooth sweat hot

feelings that being inside Peter would bring.

Peter moves and Micky is lost.

-~-~-~

"I love you, too, you know," Peter says suddenly, softly, and Micky realizes that Mike was very, very wrong last week. He definitely fucking cares what Peter has to say.

"You don't know how happy that makes me," he whispers. He kisses Peter's forehead. "I love you so much."

Nothing more is said.

Nothing more needs to be said.