Maria's Gift: Davy 4/8
Davy's altered eyes blinked as he tried to process what Micky had just told him. "....you're kidding."
Micky shook his head. "Nope. I'm dead serious."
"An accident?" He gestured at his featureless face. "This -- my face and my voice -- was an accident?"
Micky sat down beside him. "That's what Peter said when he called -- he told me the whole story. He wasn't pleased to hear you'd not said one word since they left." Davy tried to glare at him, and the effect was so horrific that Micky barely repressed the shudder. "Anyway, the spell was supposed to make you more American -- to fit in with us like she thought you wanted."
Slowly, Davy nodded his understanding. "Didn't turn out that way."
"No, it didn't. The spell was unfinished. One of the guards saw the envelope -- with the paper holding that glitter-like stuff -- assumed it was ready, and mailed it off." He squeezed Davy's arm. "Her and Maria both are really, really sorry."
Davy sighed. "Sorry won't give me back my face or my voice."
"No," Micky agreed. "But the guys are talking to the warden. They're going to try to bring Maria home with them, to try to fix this."
"What if she can't?" Davy half-whimpered.
Micky squeezed his arm again. "You've gotta think positive, Davy."
Davy sighed, shaking his head. "That's easy for you to say. You still look human."
With that, Davy got up and headed to his bedroom, leaving the echo of his pain behind.
"Aw, Davy," Micky sighed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Several hours passed before the Monkeemobile pulled up. Mike and Peter got out, then Peter reached his hand back in and helped Maria out.
They entered the Pad, and Maria frowned. "What is that?" she asked, tapping her foot against the vibrations.
Mike frowned in confusion, then he chuckled. "Our washing machine and dryer. Micky must be washin' the powder off my clothes."
"Nope," Micky said as he emerged from the doorway to the basement, wiping his hands dry. "They're in the dryer. Your bedding's all in the washer now."
Peter's eyes widened. "You didn't touch --"
"No, I didn't." Micky grinned at him. "But you owe me a pair of drumsticks. I used them to manhandle everything into the washer and they've got it all over them. Had to put them in the incinerator out back. Hello, Maria," he greeted belatedly.
She smiled. "We meet again, my funny grub-chick. I only wish it could have been under better circumstances."
"Me, too," he said as he hugged her quickly. "Hey, Maria -- why do you call us grub-chicks?"
Her head fell back as her rich laughter rang out. "It is an affectionate term for dearly-beloved children. Young ones who eat much."
And all three Monkees laughed with her. She finished kindly, "The moment I lay eyes on you four, I knew things would never be the same. At the time, I thought it meant success with the Vulture, but there was much love there." She petted Peter's cheek. "Much love. And with my boys all dead -- you now are the only sons I have."
They froze. "Dead?" Peter whispered. "But--"
But Maria was no longer listening. Her attention had been captured by the small figure trying to be invisible in the shadows of a doorway.
She took a step forward, a hand reaching for him. "David. Come out to the light, my small one. Let me see you."