Continuing
By Ellen Barnhart
So here's the deal- I felt like writing on a trip home but I didn't have my usual fanfic notebooks with me so I wrote this fairly self contained story.  It could go with the Sage Elliot story, which I swear I'm working on in between assignments but I don't get enough to put it up.  Response from my SYMK compatriots has been encouraging, so I probably will get enough written to post soon.  So... This could be Sage, or Roe, or even Maggie St. Matthew but I don't want to commit this to any one girl, so she remains nameless.  I'm babbling, but this is my site so I get to do that.
Oh, and Continuing is a song off Mike's Pretty Much Your Standard Ranch Stash album.  It's the only name I could think of, and I stole it from a half written story from a few months ago.
    Touring was a grueling experience - an endless tunnel of planes, limos, and anonymous hotel rooms punctuated by crowds, screams, flashbulbs, and adrenaline.
    Mike Nesmith settled back into his seat on the airplane. An' to top it all off, he thought, scowling out the window, those wise guys are probably up to somethin'.
    The wise guys in question were Mike's bandmates, Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones, and Peter Tork.  Collectively, the four of them were The Monkees.  The three that Mike watched warily had spent nearly the entire flight grinning and nudging one another.  Even worse, the more sullen Mike seemed to get, the more amused they, particularly Micky, seemed to get.  Oh, yes, something was up.
    Mike closed his eyes and gave a quiet sigh.  Another tour date meant he was one step closer to home, one step closer to her.  There was an almost imperceptible change in Mike's expression.  He went from the suggestion of a scowl to a faint smile, eyes still closed.  A seemingly random memory of her sprung to mind...
    She stood in front of the french doors in her apartment where she usually set up her things to paint.  Her hair was down and a few tendrils hung across her face.  Laughing, she was trying to keep him from seeing the painting she was working on by physically blocking his path.
    "No!"  She was almost overcome with giggles, but she managed to put her hands on his chest and try to push him away from the easel.  It was facing the windows and he couldn't see it from his angle.  "I'm not done with it yet!"  He looked down and noticed that she had a few flecks and smudges of paint across her nose and cheeks.
    He bent down to kiss her and slowly backed her toward the windows.  His attempt to distract her had worked.  He pulled back and grinned like a Cheshire cat, quickly spinning around to look at the painting.  He gaped at it for a moment.  "Ow!"
    She had punched him in the shoulder.  "Rat!"  She smiled playfully at him.  "You ruined the surprise."
    He rubbed his arm and looked at her with mingled admiration and tenderness.  "Honey..."
    She looked away and blushed, then glanced back at him shyly with a little sideways smile.  The canvas on the easel showed a half finished painting of Mike sitting on the window seat of the beach house the Monkees shared, intent on his guitar.  It was done in her distinctive style but apparently based off the snapshot she had taped to the easel.
    "It's not done yet," she said with a hint of petulance.
    Mike was jolted out of his reverie by Micky elbowing him sharply.  He shot a questioning look at Micky.
    "We're landing, man," the drummer said, buckling his seatbelt.
    Another airport, another limo, another hotel.  Lingering snatches of the memory danced in the back of his mind, but they only served to make him more homesick and lonesome for the girl who had fallen in love with him before there was ever fame, tours, albums, interviews, and all the other annoying burdens of celebrity.
    He opened the door to his hotel room and wearily dropped his duffel bag on the floor.  He gave it a halfhearted kick born of frustration and fatigue.
    "Hard day?"  The soft, familiar voice that drifted across the room made him snap his head up in surprise.  He looked with wide eyes at the figure that leaned against a door frame on the opposite side of the room.  She laughed at the blatant shock on his face.  "I couldn't wait until the tour brought you back to town.  I missed you."  She looked down shyly, then flicked her eyes back up and smiled.  "I love you, you know."
    A grin blossomed on his face.  He crossed the space between them.  "I know."  He stopped suddenly, and narrowed his eyes at her.  "How?"  He raised an eyebrow.  "Those smartasses had somethin' to do with this, didn't they?  I knew they were up to somethin'!"
    She slipped an arm around his waist.  "I had to have somebody on the inside to help me.  They don't let strange girls into other peoples hotel rooms."  She looked at him with an expression of absolute wickedness.  "I mean, if they did, Davy would never see the inside of an empty hotel room."
    He laughed.  "I suppose I can forgive them, then."  He held her and she held him.  No other words were needed.

 
 

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