Author's notes: I got the idea for this after reading Stephen King's "Rose Madder," so if anything sounds terribly familiar, that's why. I got major help on this from my fellow Monkees fans, and a huge thank you goes to Agent Newbeau, without whom I probably would have gotten stuck somewhere in the middle. I also have to thank Jeremy Ray, who is a pal in a whole other fandom, but who was still willing to help me with the fight scene. <Micky Mode On>"Yes, fight scene."</MM>
As usual, the gals on Long_Title were great with reviews and constructive criticism, so thanks gals!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Monkees, I don't know the Monkees, and I don't have any money so please don't sue.
That is all.

The club was hopping. The Monkees had just started their latest gig at the Vincent Van Go-Go and were a major hit. People were up on their feet, dancing and cheering, and the energy was high.

They had just launched into "Last Train to Clarksville" when the door to the club swung open and he walked in. Mike didn't pay him much mind at first. He was a big guy--burly, muscular, and with a hard look in his eyes. Not exactly the Vincent Van Go-Go type, but he'd probably just wandered into the wrong place. Mike would have thought nothing of it if he hadn't seen the girl.

She was tiny--a petite brunette with mousy, stringy hair and a pale complexion, sitting alone at a table in the corner. When he walked in, she went eight shades paler, her eyes widening in fear.

Mike's own eyes narrowed, an uneasy buzz slowly growing in his stomach. He was immediately glad he didn't have to sing on this particular song, or he would have hit a bad note for sure. His fingers danced across Black Beauty's polished surface of their own accord, however, and the song remained untarnished.

He snuck a quick glance at the other guys, but they didn't seem to have noticed what was going on. Davy only had eyes for a cute little brunette in the crowd who was making eyes at him, Peter was pounding away at the bass, lost in the music, and Micky was emoting like nobody's business, putting an extra spin in the drumsticks at every possible opportunity.

Mike turned his eyes back to the menacing newcomer. The man had apparently seen the girl at almost the same time she saw him. He grinned--a toothy, predatory grin, and started toward her. She shook, hands clutching the edges of the table, eyes darting around desperately, looking for an escape, body tensed to run.

It all happened in the space of a few seconds, but to Mike it almost seemed like slow motion. His mind worked furiously, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Something was very wrong here... he had to help her. He needed a diversion.

He looked lovingly down at BB, an idea blossoming in his mind. But could he do it?

He looked up--the man was getting closer and closer to his terrified target, the dancing clubgoers swirling obliviously around them. There was no other choice.

Mike gritted his teeth, whispered a soft "forgive me," and yanked.

TWANG!

Micky dropped a drumstick.

"Oh my stars," Mike yelped, right into the mic, "Oh my heavens, I've broken a string, wouldya lookit that?!" He was babbling, his voice overly jovial, but his eyes stayed fixed on the strange man who kept moving closer to the tiny girl. "Well, I have an extra string in my case so we'll just haveta take a 5-minute break while I restring. So sorry! Five minutes!"

And with that, he vaulted off the stage, leaving his bandmates staring after him, open-mouthed, Micky's hands still poised over the drums.

"Uh, hi there, uhh... darlin'," he said to the girl as he skidded to a stop at her side. The other man reached her at the same moment and grabbed her, his fingers digging painfully into her arms. Mike forced himself to smile at him. "Hey buddy." Then he turned back to the girl.

"I broke a string, didja see? It was terrible, right in the middle of a song!"

"Is that right," she managed faintly, staring up at him with fear shimmering in her eyes.

He turned back to the man and held out a hand for him to shake. "Mike Nesmith, I'm a friend of uh... hers. I'm in the band."

The man just glared derisively at him, so Mike dropped the hand and wiped it on his jeans. "Anyway.... Listen darlin', could you maybe help me restring this beauty? Like you did last time?"

She startled, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Oh sure Mike, like last time. No problem."

"Was I interrupting-"

"Oh no." She pulled out of the other man's grasp and stepped closer to Mike, almost unconsciously grabbing at his arm for support. "No, he was just leaving, weren't you Charlie?"

Charlie glowered at them, hands clenching into fists at his sides, but he had no choice but to agree. They were starting to draw attention.

"Okay, great then! Bye Charlie!" Mike gently cupped her elbow and steered her away, back toward the dressing rooms. "Don't look back," he whispered, pulling her a bit closer to his side. "And laugh as if I said somethin' funny."

She did, albeit a bit shakily. He laughed too. Peter approached them slowly, confusion written all over his face. "Mike-?"

"Just wait 'til I get back, Pete," Mike hissed, never breaking stride. "This little lady an' me are gonna have a quick talk while I restring."

"Is Beauty-"

"She's just fine, a little shaken I suppose," Mike grimaced. He could practically hear the guitar's pained cries. "My finger musta slipped, heh-heh."

Peter eyed him suspiciously but decided against arguing. "Okay then.... Who is she?"

"No idea," Mike told him as they disappeared into the dressing room and closed the door behind them.

~*~

She sagged against him as the door closed, her heart beating wildly in her chest. "Oh, thank you so much, Mike.... I don't know what I would have done-"

"No problem," he interrupted brusquely, heading for his guitar case. He began muttering to himself--or to the guitar? "So sorry Beauty.... Jeez, that was terrible...."

"Is... is it gonna be okay," she asked hesitantly. "It's not damaged is it?"

"Heavens no," he yelped, cradling the injured guitar to his chest. "No, I just snapped a string, is all."

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

He didn't answer.

"To help me?"

He shrugged.

"Thank you." She sank down onto the couch and to her mortification, began to cry.

He was by her side in an instant. "Aw, hey, listen, don't cry...." He awkwardly put an arm around her shoulders, and she grabbed him in a desperate embrace, sobbing into his shirt. He stiffened a bit, but didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry.... I'm so sorry...."

"It's okay.... hey c'mon, it's okay...."

The dressing room door cracked open and a heavily accented voice rang out. "'Ey Mike, what's takin' so long? You forgot your extra strings?"

"No, Davy," he barked, his annoyance plain in his voice as his arm tightened around her. "Can'tcha see I'm busy here?"

"Oh.... Sorry."

The door closed again and he blew out a frustrated breath. "Look, uhh... miss.... I'm sorry but we gotta play.... You can stay in here if you want, it's safe. You can even lock the door in case he's still out there."

"I don't want to impose," she sniffed, pulling away and wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

"It's not an imposition." He got up, almost reluctantly, and went to restring the guitar. He did it carefully, lovingly; his brows knitted together, his hat askew, an adorable pout on his lips. She found herself staring, fascinated by him.

"Well, I gotta go," he said suddenly, and she shook herself out of her daydream.

"Oh! Right...."

"You just wait here, okay? I think there's magazines an' things. And you can play with Davy's extra maracas if you want, he won't mind."

"Maracas?"

"Yeah, y'know... if you get bored."

"Okay...."

"I gotta go."

"Right...."

He hurried to the door and stepped out, but before he closed it he poked his head back in. "I didn't catch your name."

"Oh.... It's Susan."

"Okay, seeya Susan."

"Bye...." she said faintly, but he was already gone.

~*~

Mike climbed back up on the stage, ignoring the questioning looks from the others. "Um, okay...." he said, wincing as a burst of initial feedback stung his ears. "Well, I'm back. Okay, so... should we start that song over again or just go on?"

"START IT OVER!" screamed the whole club, almost in unison, and Mike stumbled backwards from the force of the yell.

Micky was laughing, giving the clubgoers a thumbs-up.

"What-?"

"'E told them to do that," Davy told Mike, the laughter evident in his voice. "We knew you were gonna say that!"

"You're way too predictable Mike," Micky agreed through his laughter. The crowd roared.

Mike just frowned slightly and counted them off.

~*~

Susan closed her eyes and leaned back with a sigh, resting her head on the back of the couch.

Her arms were beginning to throb where Charlie had grabbed her, and she knew there would be new bruises to match the old. Her eyes flew open as a thought suddenly occurred to her. Charlie had seen where she'd gone, what was to stop him from just walking in? Praying she wasn't too late, she jumped to her feet and quickly locked the door.

~*~

Charlie cursed. He'd only just reached the door when he heard the tell-tale click of the lock. He pounded on the door with a closed fist, yelling, "Open this door, Susan, I know you're in there!"

She didn't answer, but he heard her gasp from just inside the door. "Open up," he yelled again, pounding even harder. "You can't treat me this way!"

"Hey man, keep it down, you're drowning out the band," sneered a skinny boy behind him. Charlie glared at him--just another long-haired weirdo like the jerk that had run off with his wife. Who did that Mike whatever-he-said think he was, anyway?

Charlie cursed again and stepped away from the door. He couldn't get to her here, that much was obvious. He might have been able to break down the door, but that would only attract attention. The hippies wouldn't let him get away with it. He slouched toward the door, sending a venomous look back at the stage, at the freak in the stupid hat. The freak just stared right back at him, and Charlie was sure he saw a smug smile cross his face.

"You better pray for your life, freak," he whispered, his eyes never leaving Mike's. "It won't last much longer."

~*~

Mike let out a shaky breath as Crazy-Charlie finally left the club. Davy was looking at him, obviously confused and a bit concerned, but Mike tried to ignore him. The sooner they got through with this gig, the better. He couldn't concentrate too well. Charlie had mouthed something at him before he left, and Mike would have been willing to bet Black Beauty that it hadn't been a very nice thing to say.

So what was he going to do? Susan was in trouble, but why? Who was she? Who was Charlie, and why was she so afraid of him? What was he going to do once the gig was over? She was safe for now, locked into the dressing room, but then what?

He forced his thoughts back to the music as the song ended. "Okay, this next one is called 'You May Just Be The One'," he began, and stopped, frowning as Micky started to giggle. "What, Micky?"

"It's 'You Just May Be The One,'" Peter snickered.

"Yeah," Micky added, "Don't you know the title to your own song?"

The crowd started to laugh, and Mike felt his face grow hot. "What is this, 'Pick on Mike Night'?" He faced the crowd and waggled a finger. "And shame on you for encouraging them!"

"We love you Mike!" shouted a pretty girl near the front.

"Yeah, we love you," agreed a drunken guy near the back. "Atta' boy Mike!"

"Well, so long as you love me. Anyway, here's the song...."

~*~

Susan jumped and leapt off the couch, dropping her magazine as there was a knock on the door. "Who's there? Go away!"

"Susan?"

Her hand flew to her heart and she sagged, letting out a long breath. It was Mike.

"Susan, we gotta pack up...."

"Yes...." She picked up the magazine and hurried to the door, unlocking it and stepping back. "I'm sorry... I thought you were Charlie...."

The band piled in, falling all over themselves to get into the door. Mike was violently shoved aside as the fuzzy one plopped himself in front of her. "Who're you?"

"I...."

Mike rolled his eyes as he made the introductions. "Her name's Susan. Susan, these're the guys. The blonde one's Peter-"

"Hi," Peter said with a shy wave.

"Davy's the short one-"

"'Ello luv!"

"And the fuzzy one with no manners is Micky."

"Hi doll," Micky said, grinning and shaking her hand vigorously.

Susan winced and pulled away, grabbing at her arm.

Micky stepped back, alarm flashing in his eyes. "I'm sorry, did I-"

Mike was by her side in an instant. "Are you okay? Jeez Mick, what didja-"

"No.... It's not his fault.... My arm's just sore, that's all...."

Mike took her arm, and with infinite care, rolled up her sleeve. All four men gasped when they saw the finger-shaped bruises left when Charlie had grabbed her. Mike went terribly pale and stumbled backwards. "Oh shit...."

"No... I just bumped into a door...."

"Yeah Susan," Mike said, his voice dull. "And I bet you fall down a lot too, doncha? You're so clumsy Susan, always bumping into things.... Things that just happen to be shaped like His hands."

She was crying now, shaking her head as the tears rolled down her cheeks. "No... no...."

Peter suddenly gathered her in a protective hug, carefully avoiding squeezing her too hard. He stared at Mike, bewildered. "What are you talking about, she doesn't seem clumsy to me. He didn't mean it Susan...."

Mike just glared at the doorway, then stalked over to BB's case and began putting his things away without a word.

Susan buried her face in Peter's shirt, feeling the sobs rising up from somewhere deep inside.

"Aww, come on," Micky said quietly, placing a hand on her back, "Don't cry.... we're sorry...."

"Yeah, it's okay, he just gets weird sometimes."

"You... you talk about him like he's not here," Susan managed, wiping at her nose and sneaking a glance at Mike. He had his back to them, his posture stiff.

"He's used to it," Micky shrugged. "Besides, it's his own fault for making you cry."

"He didn't make me cry."

"Then why ya cryin'?"

"I don't know...."

"Where you stayin' Susan," Mike asked suddenly, without turning.

"I...." She paused, unsure of what to say. She had been staying at a motel not far from the club, but now that Charlie had seen her here, she wasn't sure it would be was safe. Motels nearby would be the first place he'd look. "I have a motel room."

"Near here?"

"...Yes."

"But you don't want to go back there." It was a statement, not a question.

"Well... do you know of anyplace else? Somewhere cheap that's not too close to here? I just worry that he'd find me-"

"You're staying with us," he interrupted, his voice low.

~*~

He couldn't believe he'd just said that. How in the world were they gonna put her up? They only had two bedrooms, and both were already fully occupied. Not to mention he didn't even know this girl, and he hadn't asked the guys if they'd mind, and they barely had enough food to feed themselves....

"What...? Oh, I couldn't do that," she was saying, but when he finally turned to face her, her eyes were just brimming with hope. Davy was staring at him with his mouth open, as was Micky, and Peter looked even more confused than usual.

Mike sighed. "Look, Susan, we both know where you got those bruises okay? He's seen you tonight, and that means he knew you were somewhere around here. I dunno why he's chasin' you, or why he hurt you like that, but I don't intend to let him do it again. You gotta come with us until we can find a way to keep you safe from him--permanently."

She didn't have an answer for that.

"Guess we have a houseguest," Micky said finally, breaking the silence.

"Who...." Peter seemed to be searching for words. "Who's chasing you, Susan? Who hurt you? I don't understand."

"My husband," she answered quietly.

Peter gasped. "Your husband? But... but that's not what husbands are supposed to do!"

"No it's not, Peter," Mike broke in, "But it happens sometimes." He looked down at the floor and glared at his feet, remembering. "Happens all the time."

~*~

~*~

"Mike? You okay?"

Someone was talking to him. He wrenched himself back to the present and realized he was sitting on the couch, staring into space. Peter was looking down at him, his eyes concerned. "Oh... I'm fine."

"Why are you crying?"

Startled, Mike lifted a hand to his cheek and felt wetness there. He roughly wiped the tears away and stood. "I wasn't cryin'," he answered gruffly. "Had somethin' in my eye. You ready ta go?"

"Yeah," Davy answered quietly, while Micky and Peter nodded.

Susan silently handed him BB's case. "Lead the way."

~*~

Charlie smiled to himself as he finally spied Susan leaving the club. She was with that freak in the hat, and three other guys. "Slut," he muttered, but stayed hidden. He would catch up to her soon enough. Her and the guy in the hat.

~*~

Susan's eyes widened as the car pulled up to a nice-sized house right on the beach. "You live... here?"

"Sure do," Micky answered brightly, vaulting out of the car as Mike shut off the ignition. "You like it?"

"It's... beautiful!"

"You think it's great now," Davy teased, taking her hand and leading her to the door, "Wait'll you see the inside!"

He opened the door with a flourish and ushered her inside. She stared, her mouth working as she searched for words. "This is.... Well, it's.... That is...."

"I believe the word you're looking for might be 'interesting,'" Mike supplied helpfully.

"Yes," she nodded slowly. "Very interesting."

Micky looked wounded. "Doncha like it? I decorated it myself!"

"Really?" She tried unsuccessfully to hold back a giggle. "Well, it... looks just like you."

"Oh, thanks!" Micky thought about that for a moment. "I think."

"Peter, take Susan upstairs," Mike ordered, suddenly all business. "She's stayin' in my room. Mick, you take the couch, I'll sleep in the chair."

"What-? You mean you share that room? I can't put you both out, I'll stay on the couch, I can't let you-"

"Forget it, Susan, that couch is not suitable for a lady. Micky, on the other hand, could sleep on a bed of nails."

"Those are actually pretty comfortable-" Micky began, but Davy put a hand over his mouth.

"What about you?" Susan persisted. "You can't sleep in a chair!"

"Sure I can."

"No, I don't feel right about this. You stay in your rooms, I'll be fine on the couch."

"But-"

"HOLD IT!"

Everyone stopped short and whirled around to face Micky, who'd just shouted at the top of his lungs. "Susan, you can stay upstairs in my bed. Mike's right, I don't mind the couch, in fact, I kinda like it. It looks just like me. Mike, on the other hand, will never be able to sleep in that chair, so he will sleep in his own bed. He's a gentleman, he won't come after you in your sleep, and he doesn't snore or talk in his sleep or anything like I do. Besides that, you probably shouldn't be alone your first night here anyway, okay?" He drew in a deep breath, having made the whole speech without really breathing at all.

"Um...." Susan tried to think of a logical rebuttal, but couldn't remember enough of the initial argument to do it. "Okay... I guess."

"Great, then it's settled! I'll go make the bed." Micky bounded up the steps, singing to himself.

Mike shook his head. "I think he gets weirder every day."

~*~

Susan sighed and rolled over, pulling the covers up snugly under her chin. She smiled a bit as she saw Mike in the bed across the room, his dark hair mussed in sleep, his face slack in dreamless slumber. He looked very young that way, without the carefully constructed mask he wore when he was awake.

"What are you hiding," she whispered to herself as she watched his covers rise and fall with his breathing. "And why were you so determined to help me?"

She rolled back over onto her back and regarded the ceiling thoughtfully. He might have just done it out of the goodness of his heart. Maybe he always tried to rescue damsels in distress. But something told her there was more to it. The way he'd reacted when he found the bruises for the first time... he'd gone so pale, and something odd had flickered in his eyes. The way he'd retreated into himself and suddenly begun to cry....

Charlie never cried. Charlie rarely showed any emotion at all, except anger. It hadn't always been that way. Susan closed her eyes and tried to remember when she'd first met him. He had been kind, attentive, and gentle. He would treat her to meals at the most expensive restaurants, tell her how beautiful she was, and make her feel like a princess. The day he'd asked her to marry him had been the happiest day of her life.

The wedding was a fairy tale. She'd worn a lacy white dress with pearls and a veil, and he'd been very handsome in his black tuxedo. They'd written the vows themselves and she had never forgotten the look of love in his eyes when he'd promised to love and cherish her for all of his days.

"Why did it have to change?"

She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until Mike stirred, mumbling something unintelligible as he was roused from a deep slumber.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mike," she said hastily, keeping her voice quiet and even. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go on back to sleep, it's alright."

He mumbled again, something that sounded like "Okay, g'night," and was still.

Susan raised her eyes once more to the ceiling and tried to imagine what it would feel like to lie in his arms.

~*~

~*~

Charlie awoke with a start and for a moment he didn't know where he was. Then his dream came back to him and he knew. He was at their house by the beach. He sat up slowly and looked over the rocks that hid him from view. The fuzzy one was walking along the beach... he must've slammed the door, and that was what had wrenched Charlie out of his dream.

He smiled, remembering. There had been so much blood. He wished he really had a gun, but he'd have to use his hands. That Mike person didn't look so tough, and neither did his hippie friends. He could get to Susan, it would just take some careful planning.

He sat back and closed his eyes, trying to recapture the dream. This time he imagined it without the gun, he saw himself locking his fingers around Mike's throat and squeezing....

Charlie laughed.

~*~

Susan shuddered suddenly. She could have sworn she'd heard Charlie's laughter, but that was impossible, wasn't it? He couldn't find her here....

"You okay Susan?"

She jumped, startled, as Peter suddenly appeared in front of her. "What...? Oh... I'm fine...."

"You looked sort of pale."

"I was just thinking."

"You're still frightened," Mike guessed from the stove, where he was boiling water for coffee. "Don't worry, Susan, we won't let him get to you."

"I know." She smiled at him, hoping she didn't look as shaky as she felt. "Thank you."

"Susan," Peter began hesitantly, his eyes drifting to the spot where, under her sleeves, Charlie had left his mark, "Why does he want to hurt you? I don't understand."

Mike dropped the spoon he'd been holding and whipped around, regarding Peter with a dark glare. "Peter, don't ask her that, it's not polite," he said, obviously biting back harsher words.

Peter looked about to cry, so Susan spoke hurriedly, placing her hand over his. "It's alright Peter.... I don't know why he wants to hurt me. You're right, it's not what I expected from a husband either."

Mike picked up his spoon and turned back to the stove, muttering to himself. Susan hesitated, then stood and went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to talk about it, you know... whatever it is that's bothering you...."

"Ain't nothin' botherin' me," he snapped, wrenching away. "I gotta go, we're out of sugar."

"But Mike, there's more sugar in the-" But Peter was cut off as Mike slammed the door behind him.

"He's not going for sugar," Susan explained quietly, turning the fire off below the coffee. "Something's upset him."

"But he said-"

"He lied." Susan stared at the doorway, deep in thought. "Do you remember his reaction to finding my bruises last night, Peter?"

"Yes... he got all weird."

"And he started to cry...."

"He had something in his eyes," Peter started to correct her, but she shook her head.

"No Peter, he lied about that, too."

"But... why?"

"I guess he was embarrassed about crying in front of us. He doesn't usually show much emotion, does he?"

Peter thought about that carefully. "I guess not.... He pretty much keeps to himself."

"Did you ever wonder why?"

"Not really. That's just how Mike is."

"Oh...." Susan sat back and folded her hands in her lap. "I see."

~*~

Mike let out a shuddering breath as he stepped out into the early morning sun. His entire body seemed to be tensed up, and his stomach was rolling painfully. Part of him wanted to run back inside and apologize, but pride prompted him to keep walking.

He turned his gaze out to the water and watched Micky and Davy as they bobbed up and down in the waves. Micky looked in his direction and waved, but Mike turned away, pretending not to have seen.

He picked up his step until he was far away from them, hidden behind a cluster of rocks several feet from the house. Once there, he took off his shoes and socks and sat down, leaning back against the cold, weather-beaten surface.

The second he closed his eyes, he saw Peter's face as he had been in the kitchen, his eyes wide and hurt, his jaw working as he fought the tears that threatened to spring to his eyes. Mike grimaced and lowered his head into his hands. It seemed he'd been the cause of a lot of hurt lately, as his temper got away from him more often than ever. "Is this what it was like for you, Dad," he wondered aloud, his voice hoarse with sudden tears. "Or did you even notice what you were doing to us?"

The tears came full force then, and he clamped his hands over his mouth to muffle the sobs. His entire body shook with the force of his grief, and he was so lost in himself that he didn't hear Susan's approach.

~*~

He was curled up in a ball when she found him, his back pressed hard against the outcropping of rock, his face buried between his knees. He had shoved the knuckles of both hands into his mouth to quiet his sobs, but the soft breeze had still carried the sounds of his sorrow to her.

She walked to him slowly, knowing he would only be angry and embarrassed if she startled him. She had never seen anything so pitiful, though she knew that if anyone had ever ventured into her bedroom some days while Charlie had been at work, they may have found a similar sight.

After a moment's hesitation, she took the last few steps to his side and knelt there, wrapping her arms around him. He gasped and went rigid, but his tears didn't slow.

Susan pulled him close and rested her chin on the top of his head, letting his cheek rest upon her bosom. He tried to pull away but she held fast, murmuring softly and beginning to rock gently back and forth. Slowly, his resistance faded and he melted into her, his arms moving up to clutch her to him.

For a long time they sat there together, his sobs drowning out the lullabies she sang to calm his aching heart. Slowly, the sobs quieted to sniffles and his grip eased as all the strength seemed to leave his body. She let him lie there against her, her arms still wrapped around his thin form, the fingers of her hand trailing through his hair.

He let out a deep sigh and pulled away slightly, just enough to look her in the face with sad, wet eyes. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she answered, giving him a sympathetic smile.

He shuddered and leaned back into her, his arms still wrapped tightly around her waist. "How did you find me," he asked, his voice muffled by her shirt.

"Micky and Davy pointed me in the right direction," she answered. "I hope you're not mad."

"No...." He sat up, reluctantly removing his arms from her waist and wiping at his tear-streaked face. "I'm not mad...."

"Do you want to talk about it?" She placed a hand on his shoulder, not quite willing to give up the physical contact.

He shook his head automatically, but then he stopped and stared up into the clouds. "I was just.... My father used to... he'd hit my mother and me."

Susan drew in a sharp breath. No wonder he'd reacted so violently to seeing the results of Charlie's frequent attacks. But he'd said it so dully, his voice so low and so detached.... "I see," she managed.

"He would hit her for every little thing. If she didn't clean the dishes just right, or if he didn't like the dinner she'd cooked. But the worst was when he'd hit for something I did. He finally left us when I was six, and I was glad. Mom never wanted to leave him because she thought a child should have both his parents, but we were both glad when he left. We didn't have to be afraid anymore."

He turned and affixed her with a desperate gaze, his eyes flickering down to the bruises on her arms. "Susan... I hate it when Peter asks questions like that. When he asks why Charlie did what he did, because... because I'm scared of the answer. What if he can't help it? Maybe his father did the same thing.... Maybe I'll do the same thing-"

"No!" She grabbed him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she wrenched him around to face her, her eyes burning into his. "No, Mike, you could never be like them. You are a kind and gentle person, you would never hurt anyone the way Charlie has hurt me-"

"I hurt Peter didn't I? You saw the way he looked at me-"

"Peter is a very sensitive person, he reacts to things much more intensely than most people. But you know what? He accepts you for just who you are. When you said you had something in your eye, he believed you, and it was the same when you said you were going for sugar. Peter loves you to death, Mike, and he respects you. He wouldn't, if you were like them. He wouldn't trust you the way he does."

"Peter loves everybody," he mumbled, but she could see in his eyes that she was getting through to him.

"They're all your friends, you know. It's amazing how close you guys are.... They all look up to you, not just Peter. Doesn't that say something to you?"

"Yeah, that they have bad taste in friends." But he smiled as he said it, and he clasped her hand in his. "Thanks Susan, for comin' out here."

"I knew you were upset, and I felt kind of responsible," she admitted, squeezing his hand. "I'm just causing trouble for you-"

"No, I had to face it sooner or later. Besides, I'm glad to help you out. I guess it's my way of makin' up for not bein' able to help my mom."

"I can understand that.... So, are you ready to go back? I left Peter to finish the breakfast-"

"Oh man, then we better get there quick!" He stood without letting go of her hand, and she was hauled her to her feet with him. "Last time he made breakfast by himself, we ended up with mustard pancakes."

Susan gasped, her free hand flying up to her mouth. "Mustard pancakes?"

"'Fraid so. And don't even get me started on the cream of root beer soup."

"Oh dear...." Susan gulped and picked up her pace. "By all means, let's hurry back."

Mike laughed outright, and she looked up at him, surprised and delighted. He noticed her eyes upon him and looked over, squeezing her hand affectionately. "I feel so much better, Susan.... It's like a weight's been lifted off me for the first time in... in a long time. I guess I really needed to let that stuff go."

"You can't hold things in forever," she agreed, her voice quiet and somewhat sad. "They start to eat away at your insides until there's almost nothing left of you but the pain.... That's why I left Charlie. I realized one day that I wasn't even a person anymore, and... and that scared me. I was so happy, Mike, when I thought I was free of him...."

He nodded, placing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer as they walked. "I know it was a shock when he walked into the Vincent Van.... What were you doing there, anyway, how long had it been?"

"Oh, it's been almost a month since I left him.... I never thought he would find me.... I'd finally got up the courage to go out in public again and there he was...."

"That was your first time out?" Mike stared down at her, open-mouthed. "What were you doing before?"

She shook her head ashamedly. "Hiding. I stayed in my motel room and lived on crackers and sodas from the vending machines in the hallway. I was terrified all the time, convinced he'd come around the corner.... Convinced it was only a matter of time before he found me." She snorte laughed humorlessly. "Turns out I was right."

Mike was silent for a while, unsure of what to say. Then, "Why the Vincent Van?"

"Oh, it was just the kind of place I used to love before I married Charlie. He never liked go-go's, even when we were going out, so I'd just go with my friends. But when we were married... well, everything changed." She looked up at Mike again, her eyes begging for understanding. "He wasn't like that in the beginning, Mike. He was so nice and attentive.... He treated me right." She paused and swiped at the tears that sprang to her eyes. "The first time he ever hit me was on our wedding night."

Mike pursed his lips as an angry glower settled on his features. "That ain't right. Man, if it was my weddin' night, I'd have other things on my mind."

Susan shuddered. "Oh, he did that too."

"It ain't s'posed to be like that," Mike fumed. "It's s'posed to be somethin' you both can enjoy. If it was me-" He cut himself off and his face flushed as he realized what he was saying. "Oh... well... never mind that."

Susan blushed a bit too, but had to smile despite herself at the thought of it. "If it was with you, Mike, I know it would be wonderful."

Mike went even redder, but was saved from any comment on that remark as they arrived at the Pad. "Well, here we are," he chirped, in a voice two octaves too high. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Let's see what we got for breakfast, hmm?"

"Sure," she responded faintly, unable to stop smiling. "Whatever you say."

~*~

Peter sighed to himself as he finished dishing the fifth and last breakfast plate. "MICKY, DAVY," he called out the window, "BREAKFAST IS READY, COME ON!" Then, putting the empty pan in the sink, he sank into his chair and stared down at his food, wringing his hands in his lap.

He glanced at the closed front door and wished for the millionth time that Mike would hurry up and come back. It was driving him crazy knowing he'd upset him, and he hadn't even meant to! Mike was so sensitive lately, and it didn't help that Peter had no idea what was going on....

He frowned as he picked at his eggs. It all had to do with Susan. No, not with Susan, he amended, with Charlie. They were all worried about Susan, especially after seeing those bruises on her arms. Charlie was dangerous, and he meant to hurt her. Why, Peter couldn't understand. And it was because of him that Mike was so upset now.

He blinked back tears and tried to remember what Susan had said. It's not your fault, Peter. No one blames you for asking these questions, they make a lot of sense. But I think it bothers Mike that he doesn't have the answers.

He considered that. Why would not having the answers bother Mike? He'd not known things before and it hadn't made him so moody as he had been lately. It seemed to Peter that Mike ought to be used to not knowing things. Not that he didn't know much, in fact, Mike was one of the smartest people he knew, but he didn't know everything.

"Nobody knows everything," he said aloud.

He sighed again and pushed his plate away. The steam was slowly beginning to stop rising from the others' plates, so he stood and went over to the window, yelling out for the second time, "MICKY, DAVY, COME ON! YOUR FOOD'S GETTING COLD!"

"OKAY!!!!" came the yell back, and Peter trudged back to his seat. Susan and Mike's food would get cold too, but he didn't know where to yell for them. Susan had said she was going to try to talk to Mike, and if Peter knew Mike as well as he thought he did, she might be out there a while.

His thoughts were violently interrupted as Micky burst into the Pad, dripping wet and covered in sand. "TA-DAAA!" he yelled as he slid into the kitchen and bounced off the refrigerator with a whoop. "Hi!"

Peter barely looked up. "Yeah, hi."

Davy walked in much more casually. "'Ey, what's wrong Petah?"

Peter sighed again and rested his chin in his hand. "Nothing."

"Yeah, sure," Micky said, rolling his eyes. "So why do you look like you just lost your best friend?" He plopped down in the chair next to Peter's and placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's up, man, you can tell us."

"Yeah, we're'ere," Davy added, taking the seat on his other side.

"That's just it," Peter told them, tears finally welling up in his eyes. "I think I have!"

"Huh?" was Micky's incoherent reply.

"I think Mike's mad at me."

"Mad at you," Davy repeated curiously, "Why?"

"I kept asking him questions and he didn't like it. He got all upset and he went out for sugar we already have."

"Hunh?" Micky asked again, but Davy seemed to understand.

"Look Petah, you know 'ow Mike can be. Even if he is mad, he won't stay that way for long. Don't worry about it."

"You think so?" Peter sniffled, looking at Davy hopefully.

"Sure!" Davy looked at the two empty seats and shrugged. "Besides, Susan went after 'im, right?"

"Yes.... How'd you know?"

"We saw 'er going the same way he went an' figured she was goin' to look for 'im."

"Yeah," Micky agreed, through a mouthful of eggs. "Besides, it seems like she understands him pretty good. She'll talk some sense into him."

"She's really nice," Peter said absently, a smile lighting up his face. "I like her a lot."

"Me too," Davy agreed, and Micky nodded his agreement. "I'm glad we could 'elp 'er."

"Do you think she's found Mike yet?"

As if in answer to his question, the front door rattled and Mike stepped in, Susan following behind him.

"Mike!" Peter leapt from his seat and ran to them, throwing his arms around Mike. "I'm sorry Mike, I didn't mean to upset you, please don't be angry with me," he babbled.

Susan placed a hand on his arm and smiled reassuringly at him. Mike pulled out of the embrace, looking a bit red in the face. "Uhh... it's okay, Pete," he said, "I ain't mad. You just... it's just it's hard for me to think about this stuff, is all."

"Hi guys," Micky greeted them as he and Davy joined the group in the living room. "Didja have a nice walk, Mike?"

"Uh-huh."

Micky stopped dead in his tracks and looked hard at the red-faced Mike, then at Susan, who had a very peculiar half-smile on her face. Then his mouth widened into a mischievous grin. "You guys kissed, didn't you!"

Mike went yet another shade of red. "No we did not!"

"You did!" Micky began to giggle, while Peter just stared at the two of them, his eyes wide. Davy snickered into his palm. "I've seen that look before," Micky insisted, indicating Susan, who still wore a somewhat dopey grin. "Miss Buntwell left here looking like that after you two hooked up-"

And Davy clapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish his thought. Mike was turning purple by now, and Susan's lips were twitching as she fought her own impulse to laugh. "Honestly Micky," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "We were just talking."

"About kissing," Micky finished, as soon as Davy removed his hand from his mouth.

"No! For crying out-" Mike cut himself off with an angry sigh and stalked into the kitchen, pushing past Davy so roughly that the shorter man stumbled and almost fell over.

"Micky... I'm serious," Susan said quietly, the urge to laugh slowly passing. "We were having a rather serious conversation."

"Then how come you're all red and he's all giggly?"

"You mean how come I'm all giggly and he's all red?"

"Yeah."

"We.... Well...." The smile returned to her face unbidden. "Just trust me, Micky. We didn't kiss and we didn't talk about kissing. Okay?"

Micky looked doubtful, but finally decided to drop the subject anyway. "Okay," he shrugged, and both Davy and Peter let out sighs of relief.

Susan leaned in closer to Micky and whispered in his ear. "But later, you've got to tell me about this Miss Buntwell."

Micky grinned widely in response.

"If you're done," Mike grumbled from the kitchen, "I'd like to talk to you guys."

Peter was in the kitchen immediately, seated obediently in the chair across from Mike. "Sure, Michael," he nodded solemnly, barely noticing as the others took their own seats around the table. "What is it?"

Mike took a deep breath and glanced at Susan as if for support. She smiled at him and gently placed her own hand over his. He seemed to take strength from the gesture, and began to speak.

"My father used to beat me and my Mom when I was a kid."

Both Micky and Davy let out stifled gasps, and Peter's eyes widened, his mouth falling open in shock. Mike ignored them.

"I never told you, because... because I've been trying all these years to forget. He was cruel. My mother was afraid of Him, we both were. He would blow up at the littlest things.... I remember watching Him beat her, wishing I could help but knowing that... that if I interfered, it would only make it worse.

"When He was away, we were so happy. She would smile, and I never saw that smile when He was there. Her eyes would just light up, and she would laugh.... I used to love her laughter. When it was just the two of us, I knew we were okay. But it never lasted. He would come back, and her smile would go away." He paused, momentarily lost in memories. His throat tightened and he swallowed hard, refusing to let them see him cry.

"She thought she was doing the right thing, staying with Him. She thought a little boy should have his father. But I was afraid. I always wondered when the day would come that He'd go too far... when He'd kill us. And some days, when I huddled in the corner, crying... watching Him hurt her... I wished He would."

Faintly, he heard Micky's whispered "Oh God," and a choked intake of breath from Peter. It took all of his strength to continue.

"I'm sorry I've been so moody lately." He glanced up at Peter, but found he was unable to look him in the eyes. He dropped his gaze back to the tabletop. "I shouldn't have snapped at you, Peter, but... it's just so hard for me. You kept asking why, and... I don't know why, I never did. People say it's... it's hereditary. And I'm so afraid that one day I'll look in the mirror and I'll see His face looking back at me. I know I get mad at you guys sometimes, and I lose my temper.... But if I ever raise a hand against you in anger... I'll never forgive myself. How could I, when I've never forgiven Him.

"He left us when I was six, and I was glad. We were finally free of Him, I thought, but... I was never free. He died years ago, but I... He still hasn't gone away. So long as I remember... so long as it haunts me the way it does... I'll never be free."

He turned to Susan and grasped her hands, staring into her eyes. "I had to help you, Susan. When I saw you in that club, I knew. Deep down, I knew. I'd seen the look on your face so many times.... I felt in mirrored in my own eyes. Maybe somehow... somehow if I free you from Charlie, I'll finally be free myself...."

He smiled slightly then, feeling some of the pain inside him ease. "And if not, then at least I'll know you're safe... and that'll be a comfort to me."

It was finished.

Mike took a deep breath and looked around the table. Susan's eyes were wet with tears, her hands clasping his own, giving him wordless support. Micky was pale, his normally lively eyes dull with shock. Davy was looking anywhere but at him, his fingers drumming the tabletop nervously. Peter was crying openly, staring at Mike with sympathetic eyes.

"I'm so sorry Mike," Peter said, drawing in a hitching breath and reaching for him. "We didn't know."

"I didn't want you to know," Mike responded, shrugging him away. "There wasn't any reason for you to know."

"Then why did you tell us now?" Micky's voice was quiet and subdued, showing no trace of his earlier mirth.

"I had to," came the simple answer, accompanied by a negligent shrug.

There was a moment of silence as Mike stared down at his plate of cold eggs, unable to meet their eyes.

"Are you alright," Susan asked quietly, standing up and slipping her arms around his shoulders.

He didn't answer at first, unsure of what to say. Then, "Yeah, I think so." He stood too, and swayed slightly, startling Susan, who slipped an arm around his waist to steady him. "A little tired," he admitted, a vague smile flitting across his face.

She nodded her understanding. "You've been through a lot this morning, it took a lot out of you. Go on upstairs and rest, Mike. We'll be here when you need us."

He looked down at her, his eyes suddenly wide and childlike. "Come with me."

The other three watched in respectful silence as she helped him up the stairs, all too aware of the weariness in his posture and the tremor in his tired limbs.

Upstairs, Susan lowered him gently into his bed and drew the covers up around his shoulders, placing a comforting kiss on his forehead. "Stay with me," he murmured, feeling her pull away.

"I'll be right here," she assured him, stepping away to retrieve a chair to place by his bedside. "I'll sit with you until you fall asleep."

His eyes were already closing, but he reached for her. "Lie with me... please."

She startled, her pulse momentarily quickening before she quelched her thoughts and forced herself to nod calmly. "If you want."

She pulled back the covers and slipped in beside him, relishing his warmth as he snuggled up next to her and wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat, feeling herself grow drowsy as his breath lightly ruffled her hair.

Her mind whirled. Being here with him... she felt the glimmer of something she hadn't felt in a long time, not since the early days with Charlie, when things were good. Her body was alive, her heart warm just being close to him. Just before she fell asleep, all of her thoughts calmed into one.

_This feels so right._

~*~

"You tear the top right off my head, you blow my mind," Peter sang softly, his head bent over the gently vibrating strings of Mike's borrowed guitar. He closed his eyes and hummed along with the music, relishing the feel of the guitar as it sang beneath his skilled fingers.

As the song ended, he sat up and turned his face out to the beach, catching sight of Micky and Davy, seated side-by-side just out of reach of the waves. He smiled a bit sadly--it wasn't like Micky just to sit, but after Mike and Susan had gone upstairs, he'd been awfully quiet. It had been Davy who'd suggested going back outside, and even then it seemed to Peter that Micky had gone rather reluctantly.

Obviously, they were all somewhat shaken by what Mike had said. Peter himself wasn't sure what to think. Mike had always seemed so strong, and it was disconcerting to see him vulnerable. There had been something odd about his eyes as he spoke. The intelligent gleam had all but vanished, replaced by a glazed, dead stare. But behind that cloudy stare had been real, naked pain, and it looked very out of place on Mike's usually stoic face.

Peter sighed and bent back over the guitar, once again turning his back to the window. Mike would be alright, especially since Susan was with him. She seemed to have a calming effect on him, so maybe she could help him get rid of the pain too. Micky and Davy just needed time, he decided, to digest what they'd been told. Soon, Micky would be back to his usual bouncy self.

As for himself....

Peter shook his head and bit his lower lip, feeling a familiar pang in his chest. He knew he wouldn't be alright until Mike was alright. But Mike would be alright, it would just take time... he hoped.

He started the song over again, this time taking note of the chord progressions in his head so he could write them down later. Mike had been wanting a new song for a while, maybe if he got one, that would cheer him up. He was almost to the bridge when there was a knock on the front door.

Peter stood and stretched out semi-cramped limbs, then headed for the door and opened the peephole. "Who is it?"

"Milkman," answered the burly man outside.

Peter wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Where's your milk," he asked curiously, opening the door a bit. "Is it in the tru-?"

And the man slammed his way into the pad and wrapped a beefy hand around his neck. "The name's Charlie," he growled, smiling thinly, "And I ain't here to bring you milk, blondie."

Peter gasped, clawing at his throat and trying to pull away. Charlie did let go of his neck, but instead grabbed both arms and wrenched them behind his back. Peter let out a yelp of pain as Charlie pulled him backward and hissed into his ear. "Where is she?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Peter managed. His mind whirled, trying in vain to think of a way out of this. Charlie's hold on his arms was too tight, he couldn't move them without sending a burning pain shooting up into his shoulders.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Charlie growled, yanking on Peter's arms and causing him to cry out in pain. "My slut wife is here with the freak in the hat, and I want you to tell me where they are."

"They're not here," Peter lied frantically, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if he might will the threat away. Why had he opened the door? Now Susan and Mike were in danger-

All thought fled as Charlie took hold of his right arm and pulled back, twisting roughly at the same time. Peter heard it before he felt it--a dry cracking sound and then the wet rip of the splintered bones bursting through the skin--but then the pain did come and his eyes filled with tears, his head filling with static. It felt as though his arm had been ripped clean off, and he could feel himself growing light-headed.

"Where is she," Charlie screamed into his ear, and through a growing haze of pain and confusion, Peter saw Susan and Mike appear at the top of the steps, still rumpled from sleep.

"Charlie, no," Susan screamed, and Mike's already pale face seemed to lose all color.

Seeing them, Charlie finally released him, throwing him aside as though he weighed less than nothing. Peter fell bonelessly, his head impacting the side of the table as he went down. His last thought as darkness exploded around him was one of regret... that he hadn't protected them better.

~*~

Susan watched in horror as Peter's body fell to the floor and lay still. Behind her, Mike let out a strangled gasp, and he shoved past her, flying down the steps and around Charlie, falling to his knees by Peter's side.

"My God...." Mike looked up at Charlie, his face white and his eyes haunted. "What have you done?"

Charlie didn't answer. He sneered up at Susan, who still stood frozen at the top of the stairs. "Was Blondie your lover too?"

"No," Susan answered, her voice hoarse with tears. "He was my friend."

Charlie shrugged. "Too bad for him."

Mike stood then, his fists clenching at his sides, "You bastard...."

And Charlie whirled on him. He brought his fist back, only to slam it into Mike's midsection. As the taller boy doubled over in pain, he attempted to strike at Charlie. However, Charlie was quicker, and he brought his knee into Mike's chest, knocking the wind out of him. As Mike began to crumple to the ground in a painful heap, Charlie grabbed him by the shoulders and hoisted him up.

Susan was only dimly aware that she was screaming. Her throat hurt and it was hard to breathe. "Charlie, please!"

He just laughed, both hands now locked around Mike's throat... squeezing.

Susan ran down the steps and slammed into him, jarring Mike from his grasp. Screaming like a banshee, she tried to find any purchase point on Charlie's body that she could, desperate to cause him pain. Mike fell, half on top of Peter, and lay unmoving, his face puffy and bleeding, his neck covered with purple splotches of all-too familiar shapes.

She was beating on Charlie, sobbing, screaming, kicking... Her hands were balled up into painful, tight fists, colliding repeatedly with Charlie's squirming body. Still, he laughed. And he grabbed her wrists....

"'Ey! Let 'er go!"

Davy appeared out of nowhere, and Susan would later say that he looked like an angel as he leapt upon Charlie's back and locked him in a bear-hug, pinning his arms to his sides. And then Micky was there, unleashing a primal battle-cry and ramming his head into Charlie's stomach, forcing the air from his lungs with an audible "whoop."

Susan stumbled backward, wild-eyed, as the two boys fought a rapidly losing battle. They were quick and scrappy, able to hang on to him, but Charlie fought with an animal rage and a seemingly inhuman strength. It took up most of their effort just to stay even with him, let alone fight him. Charlie threw his arms up with a roar and sent Davy flying off his back to crash into the couch and tumble head-over heels to the floor. He lay there, stunned, shaking his head to clear it. Micky backed away, grabbing Susan and pulling her behind his back for what little protection he could offer. Charlie just grinned, the blood from his own broken nose coating his teeth and giving him a gruesome, vampiric appearance. "You stay away," Micky warned, his voice trembling slightly.

"You can't protect her," Charlie taunted, stepping ever closer. "Long haired freak."

"You want her, you go through me."

Charlie didn't even bother to respond. He lunged, his shoulders lowered to the ground. Micky let out a pained cry as Charlie grabbed him around the midsection and literally threw him across the pad. He hit the wall and landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

It was over. Susan drew in hitching, sobbing breaths, still backing away, not quite ready to submit even as Death grinned at her through her husband's battered face.

"Come here, Suzie," Death leered, reaching out to her. "I want to talk to you."

Something snapped. With a high-pitched, gurgling cry, Susan grabbed the first thing her hands came into contact with--and struck. Charlie flinched, his hands flying to his head, his eyes widening with shock as his fingers came away wet with blood.

The shock turned to rage. "You slut bitch!"

She hit him again. And again.

"Bitch.... Slut.... Shoulda killed you...."

With each word he said, she struck. Now he was the one backing away, and she was the one roaring in primal rage.

I am woman. Hear me....

Screaming. Crying. Lashing out.

"Susan, stop!" Micky's voice broke through. "Stop it!"

A hand grabbed her wrist, arms wrapped around her from behind, and the wooden maraca she had clutched in white-knuckled fingers fell harmlessly to the floor, rolling to rest beside Charlie's motionless body.

"Susan...."

The policeman relinquished her into Micky's shaky embrace.

"It's over."

~*~

"Susan Duffer?"

Susan looked up with teary eyes and let out a sharp gasp when she saw a young policeman standing above her with a no-nonsense expression in his eyes. She stood shakily, and looked gratefully at Micky as he rose with her and put an arm around her waist to support her. "Yes sir?"

"I'd like to speak with you alone," the young man said quietly, his light blue eyes sympathetic, "If I may."

"Actually," she managed, "I'd like it if Micky and Davy could stay with me." Davy's arm slid around her from the other side, and she relished the feel of their warmth and support.

The policeman nodded and shrugged slightly. "Alright." He motioned for them to return to their seats, and then took a seat directly in front of Susan. "Mrs. Duffer, my name is Sergeant James Bailey, I was one of the men at the scene of your... incident."

"Yes," she nodded faintly. "I remember you. You grabbed my wrist."

"Yes ma'am. Have the doctors spoken to you yet regarding your husband's condition?"

"No, I haven't heard anything. And please call me Susan."

"Well... Susan... I'm afraid I'm the bearer of some upsetting news. Mr. Charles Duffer was pronounced dead about twenty minutes ago."

Susan blinked. She sat there waiting to feel something--anything--but nothing came. Davy gripped her hand a little tighter.

"Have you come to arrest me?" she asked calmly.

The young officer shook his head. "No ma'am. The official report will read that Mr. Duffer was killed in an act of self-defense."

"Self-defense," she repeated slowly, letting the words roll around on her tongue.

"We'll need you to sign a statement, Mrs... er, Susan... if that's alright."

"Self-defense?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I don't understand."

Officer Bailey glanced around subtly and then leaned forward, resting a reassuring hand on Susan's knee. The formal air disappeared and he let his accent--a southern drawl painfully similar to Mike's--come through. "Miss, there ain't a man or woman alive who'd blame you for what you did. We saw what he did to your friends, he gave you no choice. The report says self-defense, and you'll do a lot better if you remember it that way too." He smiled slightly, a sad smile. "If you have to remember it at all."

Susan smiled back, and squeezed the officer's hand. "Thank you, Officer Bailey. Thanks to all of you."

"We just do our job ma'am," he replied, impeccable manners and indistinguishable accent back in place. Then he stood, and, with a nod and a tip of his hat, walked away.

"Well," Susan breathed after a long moment of silence. "Self-defense...."

"That's good, Susan," Micky reminded her, and Davy nodded his agreement. "That means you can go on with your life!"

"Go on with my life?!" Susan laughed bitterly. "I've just killed my husband!"

"You heard what the officer said, Susan, you couldn't help it!"

"I could have helped it," she shuddered, once again seeing Charlie's bloodied face in her mind's eye. "I could have stopped."

"Excuse me?" Officer Bailey cleared his throat as he stood before them once again. "I've just been told that your friend Michael Nesmith has come to and is being allowed visitors, if you'd like to come with me."

"He's awake?" Micky's face lit up and he grinned widely, Susan's comment all-but-forgotten. "Really?"

"Can Susan come too," Davy asked hopefully.

"I'd suppose so," the officer answered. "If she'd like."

Susan nodded. "Yes, I'll come."

They followed Officer Bailey back through the swinging doors marked EMERGENCY and down a long hallway, stopping in front of room 145. "In here," the officer told them, motioning to the closed door. "As I understand it, he'll be released later today, so if you wanted to bring him some clean clothes...."

"Okay, thank you," Davy nodded. "We'll do that."

Officer Bailey tipped his hat again and walked off. Susan took a deep breath and turned to Davy and Micky. "Maybe I should go in alone first."

"What? Why?"

"Someone's got to tell him about Peter."

"You don't have to tell 'im," Davy began, but Susan shook her head.

"No, Davy. He'll be wondering if I'm alright... and besides, he'll take it better from me, I think. I'll tell him."

"Are you sure?" Micky looked at her with sad, haunted eyes. "It won't be pretty."

"I know...." Susan felt the tears rising anew. "I wouldn't expect it to be. I'll be alright."

Micky and Davy looked at one another, then nodded in silent agreement. "Alright," Micky said aloud. "If you're really sure."

"I'm sure." Susan smiled thinly and without humour. "Wish me luck."

And she pushed open the door and walked in.

Micky leaned back against the wall of the corridor, crossing his arms on his chest, which Davy slid down to the floor and sat Indian-style, resting his head against the wall. They could hear the muffled voices coming from inside the room, and each wondered to himself what was being said.

Then a loud, anguished wail ripped forth from Mike's throat and they knew they didn't have to wonder anymore.

~*~

"Michael?"

Mike looked around slightly as the evening nurse tiptoed into the room and quickly gave her patient the once-over.

"You know visiting hours are over...."

He nodded, but refused to leave his perch. Instead, he simply turned his gaze back to the bed where Peter lay, his face pale and slack.

The nurse stepped up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "The swelling in his brain has gone down, but he won't wake up tonight," she told him gently, "Why don't you go home... get some rest?"

He shook his head 'no' and shrugged her hand away, sitting forward in his chair and reaching out to brush a lock of hair from Peter's forehead.

"He won't go, so why don't you let me stay with him," came Susan's voice from the doorway.

Mike turned his face to her, but quickly dropped his gaze as Susan's eyes met his own. The nurse frowned a bit. "I'm not supposed to-"

"The doctor told us that Peter needed people around him," Susan argued logically, "That should hold true even after visiting hours."

"I guess...."

"Please?"

The nurse sighed and gave Susan a tired smile. "Okay, okay, you can stay. Just be sure to keep quiet-"

"We will," Susan assured her. "I'm naturally quiet, and Mike- well, normally I'd worry, but he's mute for the time being, so...."

The nurse giggled slightly at the joke, but Mike didn't react at all. Susan sighed and regarded him worriedly. "Thanks," she said distractedly as the nurse exited the room. Then she pulled up another chair and sat down next to Mike, draping her arm around his shoulders. "How're you feeling?"

No response. He didn't move, didn't blink. His eyes stayed riveted on Peter's stoic face, as if he were willing him to open his eyes.

She squeezed him gently, pulling him a little closer to her. "It wasn't your fault," she told him for the third time, "despite what you think. Charlie was.... He was insane, he didn't care who he hurt."

Mike shook his head and reached out to take Peter's limp hand in his own. He squeezed the thin fingers gently and she saw the tears beginning to roll down his cheeks.

"Oh Mike...." Susan brought her chair ever closer and rested her head on his shoulder, her arm still wrapped around him. "Don't do this to yourself.... Please...."

~*~

It seemed to Mike as though he was in some sort of tunnel. Everything felt hollow and intangible--even Susan's warm body beside him felt wrong somehow. His throat burned every time he swallowed--a painful reminder of Charlie's fingers digging into his windpipe, and the result of his own anguished scream tearing through what was left of his fragile vocal cords. But that pain was nothing compared to the raging emptiness he felt deep inside.

Susan was talking to him, but the words didn't make sense. They just blurred together and flew over his head like all other noises except the mechanical beating of Peter's heart.

Then, as Susan pulled him close and rested her head on his shoulder, a voice broke through the void. Low, grating laughter. And he turned pale and looked up--into the cold dark eyes of his father.

~*~

"Micky, Davy...!"

They were approaching Peter's hospital room when Susan jogged up to them, her face drawn with worry.

"What is it," Micky asked fearfully, clutching the duffle bag full of clothing he held to his chest. "It's Peter isn't it? He's gotten worse, or... or-"

"Oh God, no! No, he's fine, there's... there's no change."

Micky and Davy both let out sighs of relief, but Susan wrung her hands and glanced nervously back at the open doorway. "It's Mike.... Something's wrong, he's acting strangely."

"'Ow d'you mean?" Davy asked warily, stepping toward the room slowly.

"He's gone all pale and shaky.... He's staring at the wall... no, through it, really. I think he's... I think he's seeing things."

"Seeing things? Oh man...."

Micky hurried into the room and to Mike's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Mike? Hey Mike, what're ya doin'?"

Mike didn't answer. He was just as Susan described him, staring at nothingness with abject terror, his lips moving silently as he shook his head slowly.... "No," he seemed to be saying, "No, please...."

"Mike?" Davy repeated, moving to his other side and waving a hand in front of his face. "Mike, snap out of it!"

"Davy," Susan whispered, her eyes wide and tear-filled, "I think something's really wrong with him."

"I'll snap him out of it," Micky said decisively, with a bravado he didn't quite feel. He knelt down in front of Mike and placed both hands on his shoulders, staring into his eyes. "HEY MIKE!"

Mike jumped slightly, and his eyes finally focused on Micky.

"Told ya," Micky said, smiling slightly at Susan, then he turned his attention back to Mike. "You okay Mike? What's the matter?"

Mike hesitated, his eyes flickering from Peter to Davy to Micky and to Susan, then back to the empty space that had held him captivated. He swallowed hard, then grimaced in pain as the action sent pain shooting down his throat. After a moment, he shook his head and waved his hand as if to dismiss their questions.

"Mike...?" Susan approached him as Micky stepped away, and she slowly pulled him into a hug. "God, you scared me...."

He returned the hug hesitantly, his eyes still flickering back to that spot on the other side of the room.

"How I wish you could talk," she murmured into his chest. "I wish you could tell me everything that's bothering you."

"We know what's bothering him," Micky said quietly. "You feel guilty about Peter, don't you?"

"Yeah," Davy agreed grimly. "We know you too well, Mike, you've got to be blaming yourself."

"So stop it right now," Micky ordered, his voice unusually serious. "It wasn't your fault, man! So you wanted to help Susan, we all did! How could you have known Charlie would come to the Pad? You thought she'd be safe there, but so did we! Man, if we had a problem with it, we'd've said so. And besides.... Peter'll be okay, and Susan's safe now.... Didn't you say if you knew she was safe you'd feel better?"

"No," Susan answered for him. "He said if he knew he'd helped me to be safe...." She pulled away slightly and looked tearfully up at Mike. "You did help me Mike. I know you feel badly about how things happened, but.... If it hadn't been for you, Charlie would have gotten to me that night at the Vincent Van. You took me in without a second thought, and I'll never forget that. You reminded me what it was like... not to have to be afraid all the time. Don't you think that's worth something?"

He was still unfocused, face drawn and grim. Then, finally, he nodded slightly and managed a smile. Micky and Davy exchanged grins and Susan hugged him tightly, murmuring in his ear. "Please don't blame yourself. If anyone is to blame, it's me. Maybe we can get through this together."

And he nodded for her sake, but the spectre of his father still loomed.

~*~

And then Micky and Davy were there by Peter's side, shaking their heads disapprovingly. "We all trusted you," Micky sneered, and Davy affixed him with such a hate-filled gaze that he was forced to look away.

~*~

"No!"

He woke with a start, hands outstretched to ward off an unseen threat, his scream no more than a dry whisper.

"Goodness!" someone yelped, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Musta been some dream!"

He blinked to clear his vision. He could still see his father standing above him--the image wouldn't fade, but the laughter slowly receded into nothingness.

The morning nurse was regarding him curiously, her hand still resting on his shoulder. He forced his eyes away from his father's laughing face and nodded slightly, stretching out his legs and shaking the cramps from them.

The nurse, a plump woman with a pleasant, freckled face, patted his shoulder gently, then turned back to her duties, bending over Peter's bed and checking his vital signs. She fluffed the pillow beneath his head and spoke conversationally. "We were wondering if you'd stay here all night. Flora and I had a bet on."

He didn't bother to acknowledge her. Instead, he moved his chair back to allow her better access to Peter's bed. "He's doing better," she told him as she adjusted Peter's sheets and retaped his I.V. "Now all we have to do is fix you up."

She turned to him and knelt before him, placing warm fingers on either side of his neck. "Do we have a voice this morning?"

He shrugged.

"It'd help if you tried speaking," she suggested patiently. "Say, 'Hello Gloria.'"

"Hello Gloria," he managed, his voice no more than a faint croak.

"Well, there you go!" She grinned at him as she stood. "Your voice is coming back just fine! Does your throat hurt?"

He shrugged again, noncommittally, and Gloria gave a stern but friendly glare. "Does your throat hurt," she repeated, her tone and expression daring him not to respond in some form.

"You deserve to hurt," his father whispered, crossing his arms and glaring at him as he leaned back against the wall. "You deserve a lot worse than a sore throat."

Mike gulped, his eyes flickering over to his father's lanky form, but he forced his eyes back to Gloria and shook his head 'no,' even as his throat exploded in new pain.

"Some friend you are," his father jeered. "You almost got him killed, and over some girl. All of this is your fault."

"Alright," Gloria said doubtfully as she turned to go. "I'll be back in a few hours to check on your friend, but if you need anything, you can push the call button, okay?"

He nodded distractedly, eyes focused on his father's lanky form as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned casually against the wall, smiling thinly. "Well? What have you got to say for yourself?"

Mike opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out but a pitiful squeak. His father laughed outright.

"I thought not. Little mouse."

_I can't talk, you know that," Mike thought indignantly, and was shocked when his father seemed to hear.

"Can't talk," the man snorted cruelly, "What difference does it make? You got nothin' worthwhile to say."

_I got things to say...._

"No one wants to heat it, Bobby. You ain't nothin' but a failure. Your mother called herself raisin' a man.... You ain't a man, you're just a little mouse. Squeak squeak!"

Mike just stared, his fists clenched at his sides, his face slowly heating up with anger and embarrassment. Then, finally, something inside him snapped.

_I ain't a mouse._ He stood up to his full height, facing the ghost of his father with his head held high, determination and confidence flashing in his eyes. _I am a man. I started bein' a man the day you left._

"You think so, do you?"

_I know so. You messed up, Dad._ He said the title mockingly and was rewarded by the look of anger that crossed his father's face. _You reminded me of somethin' I guess my guilt and my fear made me forget. My mother raised me, and she raised me right. She taught me how to be a man, not you._

"No woman can teach a boy how to be a man, you learned from me."

_Yes, I learned from you,_ he nodded slowly, not even flinching as the oily grin returned to his father's face. _I learned how to be mean, cruel, and spiteful, and I learned how to be afraid. But I also learned that I don't want to be like you.... And I'm strong enough that I don't have to be._

His father pushed himself away from the wall and snarled at him, baring yellowed teeth. "We'll see," he said, his voice low.

"Yes, we will." Mike's own voice, strong and sure even in its hoarseness, echoed off the white-washed walls, and the spectre faded away, leaving him standing alone in Peter's hospital room, glaring with defiance at nothingness.

~*~

Susan shifted slightly in her chair and sighed, stretching her legs out in an attempt to get the feeling back in her toes. Her lower back ached terribly and her backside was numb from sitting in the same position for so long, but she didn't want to leave. The doctors had said Peter could come to any time now.

Someone knocked on the frame of the open door and she looked around, face lighting up as she saw the visitor. "Mike! Hi!"

He smiled and strolled over, raising a questioning eyebrow at Peter.

"No, he's still unconscious," she responded. "But the doctors think he'll wake up sometime today."

Mike nodded and squeezed her shoulder gently before pulling up another chair and taking his seat. Susan felt her stomach lurch as she caught sight of the yellow-greenish marks on his throat--all that was left of the fading bruises from Charlie's brutal attack. "How's your voice," she asked softly, and he shrugged flippantly, his mouth quirking into a tiny smile. "Haven't you tried it yet today?"

He shook his head 'no' as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles and making himself comfortable.

"Why not?"

Another negligent shrug, accompanied by a mock-annoyed glare.

"Give it a try, at least," she begged, and he rolled his eyes again and sighed exaggeratedly before clearing his throat and opening his mouth to speak.

"Good morning Susan," he croaked. His voice, though it was an octave too low and a bit gravelly, was almost at normal volume.

A grin lit up her face. "You're healing! You'll be back to normal in no time!"

He nodded with a satisfied smile, then chuckled slightly as his stomach growled loudly. He stood and motioned to the door, a question in his eyes.

"What?" she asked, knowing full well what he meant but determined to make him speak it aloud.

He sighed and rolled his eyes again. "Breakfast?"

She smiled at him but shook her head. "No thanks. But bring me back something small?"

He nodded and waved slightly as he left. Susan turned back to Peter and leaned forward, stroking his cheek with the back of her hand. "I probably should have waited for him this morning," she said conversationally, "but I woke up so early.... I just decided to take the bus over first thing.

"I'll be so glad when you're finally okay, Peter. It's been so long, we were afraid.... Well, it's over now, but there was a time when we thought we'd lose both you and Mike. He was acting so strangely... talking to walls and empty air. He felt so guilty over what had happened... he really does feel responsible for all of you.

"Micky called him 'Papa Nez' the other day, and you should have seen the way his face lit up, even as he tried to hide it." She smiled a bit at the memory. Mike had managed to keep his face neutral, but his eyes had widened ever-so-slightly and begun to shine with a joy and radiance that nearly left her breathless. Micky had caught it too--he'd taken to calling Mike 'Papa Nez' more often than not.

"I think he's been spending all this time trying to make up for what his father did," she mused aloud, the thoughts just beginning to form in her head. "Maybe he feels that by being like a father to his friends, he's slowly erasing his own father's sins. Of course, in his own mind, he's just doing the right thing."

She paused with a sigh and shrugged a bit. "I know I haven't known him very long," she added, almost by way of apology, "But that's just how he strikes me."

She stopped and thought quietly about that, letting her mind wander through everything that had happened while she was staying with them. "I've done a lot of thinking lately, about why things happen, and why people react to things the way they do. It all goes back to your question, Peter. Why did Charlie do the things he did? Why did I let him hurt me for so long? And why... why, when all was said and done... did I become as much of a monster as Charlie was?"

"You're not a monster."

Susan's hand flew to her mouth and she gave a sharp gasp as Peter's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Peter! You're awake!" She grabbed his hand, a grin springing to her face as his eyes slowly fluttered open.

"You're not a monster," he repeated weakly, his eyes focusing with some difficulty upon her face. "Why... why do you think...."

"Peter, don't strain yourself," she scolded hurriedly, "You need to rest!"

"Where...." His eyes flickered around the room, and he smiled a bit as he saw all the cards, balloons, and stuffed animals that surrounded him.

"You're in the hospital, Peter. You've been here for days. All of your friends have come by...." She gave him a mischievous grin. "I even met the famous Miss Buntwell."

"Miss... Buntwell... was here?" He was still weak, and it seemed to take an infinite amount of his strength just to say each word.

"Yes, she was," she nodded the answer. "She sat here with you for a good two hours, I think, and brought you a stuffed animal." She stood and crossed to the window, where she picked up a small stuffed tiger with a heart on its belly. "Here it is. It even has a little card attached to it. It reads, 'Get well soon, Tiger. Love, Miss Buntwell.'"

Peter gave a tired grin. "Rrrr," he growled, and Susan giggled at the sound as she handed him to animal. He hugged it close and closed his eyes, sighing a bit.

"You're tired, aren't you? You should go back to sleep, Peter, the guys should be here when you wake up."

He nodded just slightly without opening his eyes, and curled up slightly, drawing his knees up closer to his chest. "Susan...."

"Mmm-hmmm?"

"Is everyone okay?"

"Oh yes, Peter, everyone's fine.... Charlie... won't be bothering us anymore."

"Did they arrest him?" he asked, yawning slightly.

"No.... He's dead."

"Dead?" Peter's eyes flew open and he tried to sit up, but winced in pain as the movement sent agony lacing through his skull.

"Peter, lie down!" Susan yelped, jumping to her feet and physically pressing him back down on the pillow.

"Dead," he repeated, softer this time, but now wide awake. "How... how did he die?"

She suddenly found herself unable to look him in the eyes. "I... I killed him, Peter. I killed my husband."

He was silent, but she could feel his eyes upon her, could visualize the shocked and horrified look on his face.

"I didn't mean to," she continued, her eyes still downcast, "I only wanted him to stop...." She was begging now, begging him to understand what she had done. "He'd hurt you, Peter, we thought you were dead. And Mike too.... And then he hurt Davy and Micky too, and I thought he was going to kill me.... I didn't mean to, Peter, you have to believe me...."

"I believe you."

Startled, she looked up, not into a glare of accusation but into eyes shimmering with sympathy and compassion. "What...?"

"I believe you, Susan," he said again, reaching his hand out for hers. "I know you'd never want to hurt anyone."

Once again, she was unable to look him in the eyes. "But I wanted to hurt him, Peter. I wanted to hurt him the way he hurt you, and Mike-"

"And you. He hurt you, too, Susan."

"Yes," she agreed softly, tears rising to her eyes. "He hurt me too. But... I didn't have to do what I did...."

"Yes you did."

"You wouldn't have-"

"I might."

She gasped and lifted her head, staring at him with unabashed shock. "You...?"

"I wanted to protect you," he told her solemnly. "If I had been able... I would have done whatever I had to... to keep you safe."

"You did your best-" she began, but he interrupted.

"You did what you had to, to protect yourself. I know you didn't mean to kill him. I know you only wanted things to be okay. You're not a monster, Susan, he was."

With an inarticulate wail, she threw herself upon him, finally weeping out all of her guilt and anger, her face buried in his sheets, her hands clutching his as tightly as they could. He let her cry, letting his hand caress her back, murmuring into her ear.

Finally, her tears slowed, and she pulled away from him, scrubbing embarrassedly at her eyes. "Oh... I was... supposed to be... supporting you!" she managed, her breath hitching in her throat and making it hard to speak.

He shook his head, weary once again. "No... friends support each other."

"Go to sleep, Peter," was all she said, as she gently tucked him in. "You need your rest."

His eyes were already closing, but he fought it, gazing deep into her eyes, his fingers tangled with hers. "You're not a monster," he said again, unwilling to sleep until he knew she was alright.

"I know," she said. And she did.

Susan smiled a bit. The nursing would be Mike's thing--he wouldn't let anyone do what he considered his duty. Even she had been hustled out of the bedroom as Mike tucked Peter into bed and made sure he was comfortable. He'd come in and out of the room several times now. First for a glass of water, then for a magazine, from which she assumed he was reading aloud, and finally for his guitar. She could hear the faint chords of a lullaby from inside the room, and Mike's newly husky voice softly singing the soothing words.

Finally, all was quiet and Mike exited the room, guitar in hand. He closed the door gently as he left and tiptoed to the bandstand, where he put the guitar away before joining Susan on the couch.

"Hi," she greeted him, smiling as he sat close beside her and rested his head on the back of the couch. "He's asleep?"

"Finally," came the weary answer. "He's in so much pain, Susan, and I can't give him any aspirin because of that damn head injury!"

She nodded grimly. "I know. Is it bad?"

"He was crying from the pain... he couldn't concentrate on what I was saying to him...."

"You're doing everything you can," she interrupted, placing a hand over his. "I don't want you getting weird on me again...."

That made him smile slightly. "Don't worry. That's over with."

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then she turned to him and asked, "Will you tell me about it? What you were thinking?"

He sighed slightly and pulled his hand away, only to grab hold of her more firmly, his thumb lightly stroking the back of her hand. "I felt guilty," he answered softly. "All I could think was that I'd let the guys down... especially Peter. I... I saw my father."

He paused, eyes growing dark and troubled. She gave his hand a squeeze and smiled reassuringly at him, but he barely seemed to notice.

"He was just as I remember him," he continued, shuddering a bit. "Cruel and heartless.... He told me I was worthless, that everything that happened to Peter was my fault. It wasn't until he mentioned my mother that I finally realized.... All this time I've been afraid of what I might become.... Afraid of what he taught me. But he didn't raise me, my mother did. And I learned a lot more from her than I did from him. I told him as much... and he went away."

Susan was quiet. It seemed there was much more to it than what he was saying, but perhaps it was to personal for him to share, even with her. "I'm glad you realized that," she finally said, impulsively hugging him around the waist. "I was afraid we were going to lose you...."

"No. Not to him."

"Do you... do you think it was really him? A ghost? Or just... just in your head?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "And I don't guess it really matters anymore."

The subject was closed. They sat there together, her arms still around his waist, his chin resting on the top of her head. Then he spoke again, startling her.

"So, are you okay?"

"What... what do you mean?"

"I mean, you took Charlie's death pretty hard, and are you okay with what happened?"

She was stunned, silent. "I... I wasn't aware it was...."

"Obvious?" He laughed without humour, and pulled back slightly to look her in the eyes. "No, it wasn't obvious, but I knew. I knew you were bothered."

"Oh.... I was upset, yes.... But I'm alright now. I didn't mean for him to die, but he did, and.... And that's that."

"That's that," he repeated, nodding slowly. "I suppose it is."

"I just want to move on," she clarified, resting her head on his chest with a sigh.

"You want any company?"

And she looked up into those deep brown eyes, and the world seemed to stop turning as their lips met in a simple, loving kiss.

~*~

Outside, at the bay windows, Micky smiled and stopped with his hand halfway to the doorknob. "It's about time," he uttered softly, and he turned and stepped back out into the sun.