Until Tomorrow

"Micky?"

Micky was lying on his back on the couch. He didn't open his eyes when he murmured, "Yeah?" in response.

"Do you miss him?"

"Every day."

Mike was sitting on the floor, polishing his guitar.

"It's just not the same without him, is it?" he asked quietly, looking over at his friend, who was lying with his eyes closed.

"No it's not," Micky replied sadly. "Do you miss him?"

Mike sighed and bit down on his bottom lip. "So much."

"I still can't believe he's gone," Micky said, opening his eyes and pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"I know," Mike agreed.

"Mike?" Micky pulled his knees up to his chest and looped his arms around them. "Do you think you'll ever forgive him?"

"Forgive Davy?"

Micky nodded. "Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive him for what he did?"

Mike shook his head. "I can't, Mick. I know that he was our friend for a long time and we were like brothers, but how are we supposed to forgive him for this?"

"I don't think I'll ever forgive him either," Micky said quietly. "I hate him."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Micky sitting, gently rocking back and forth. Mike, half heartedly polishing his once treasured guitar. There didn't seem much point doing it, since they didn't play anymore.

"Mike?"

"Mmmm?"

"Why do you think he did it?" Micky's voice was small and laced with sadness.

Mike put the guitar aside and walked over to the couch, where he sat down next to Micky and put a comforting arm around his friend's shoulders.

"I don't know, man. I don't think we'll ever know."

Micky sniffed quietly, trying to hold back the tears that were collecting at the back of his throat.

"Why did Peter have to die, Mike?"

Mike was fighting tears himself. "I don't know," he replied, his voice a whisper.

Micky closed his eyes as a lone tear began to trace its way slowly down his cheek. Mike pulled him into a hug and they sat like that, very still, for a long time. Mike didn't know what to do except hold Micky and let him cry it all out. He didn't have any answers ? not this time. He couldn't tell Micky why Davy had killed Peter. He couldn't tell Micky that everything was going to be all right. He couldn't tell Micky that the pain was going to go away. He felt trapped and helpless...and more than anything he felt alone. Peter was gone, and there was nothing he could do that would ever bring him back.

Finally, Micky shifted to lay back down, his head rested in Mike's lap. Neither of them spoke. Micky closed his eyes and let the tears begin to fall freely. Mike sighed and ran his hands softly through Micky's hair.

Rain had begun to beat against the windows of the Pad, and the fading light of day was disappearing, leaving the room cloaked in a darkness, which matched the moods of the two inhabitants.

"Mike?" Micky said, in a voice that was hardly there. "What are we going to do?"

Mike knew that Micky wanted to be told that everything would be okay...wanted Mike to play the father, as he had done so many times before. But this time was different. Mike couldn't do it.

With a deep breath and a heavy heart, Mike said, "I honestly don't know, Mick. I guess we're just going to try and get through every day without him. And we're just going to have to hope that it will get easier. It has to get easier..." Mike paused. "Eventually."

Micky sniffed and wiped his hand across his nose.

"And what if it doesn't?"

Mike closed his eyes. "If it doesn't...well...then, I don't know. We just have to believe that it will. We have to hold on to what we've got."

Micky felt another large wave of sadness start to rise inside him. "But what have we got, Mike?"

"We've got each other," Mike replied with a small smile. "We'll always have each other."

Micky managed a weak smile. "Always," he repeated under his breath. But that word didn't have the same meaning as it used to. He'd thought that they'd always be together ? the four of them: Mike, Micky, Davy and Peter. He'd thought that they'd always be there for one another. And look how wrong he'd been about that.

"Go to sleep," Mike said tenderly, curling Micky's soft hair around his fingers. "Go to sleep and forget. Until tomorrow."

Micky breathed in deeply. "Until tomorrow," he sighed and closed his eyes.

And he dreamed of beautiful, sun filled days. He dreamed of laughter and of friendship. He dreamed of Peter. He dreamed of a world where there was no pain or death or darkness. And when he awoke in the morning, Mike was still there, holding him.

They'd be alright. It would take a long time, but together they'd be alright. They would always have each other.

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