#feeling abnormal about mick these days someone send help

[woodsywarbler]

Mick (circa 1972)

[aswegcalong]

I Know What I Know (Jork)

Title: I Know What I Know Pairing: Jork Rating: R for language, G for content Warnings: emotional as all fuck Summary: while on a break from recording Good Times, Peter thinks back on all the good times he shared with Davy Jones and all the memories he holds close to his heart. Word Count: 1.9K  Author’s Note: I cried all over my keyboard while writing this, it’s so emotional but so good. The pain none of us asked for. 

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Everything was going swimmingly for the boys as they recorded Good Times. They’d all put in so much time and effort to make sure this album was everything they wanted it to be and more, they couldn’t let anyone down, not after fifty years of having been a band of long-haired weirdos.

“Hey, I’m gonna record this track real quick, you guys can listen but the backing tracks are already laid down for it,” Mike told Micky and Peter as they set down their instruments, gathering their music and things as they prepared for what was next.

“Sounds good,” Micky replied for the both of them as they stood up from their seats, both men making their way out of the vocal studio and to the listening room as Mike gathered his things for this next track.

Micky and Peter each grabbed a set of headphones to listen as Mike settled down for the track and once their producer gave the nod, they were ready to go. Mike laid down a beautiful track, having told them before that the title was I Know What I Know but not having told them much about it. There was emotion, there was power, it was so raw - unlike some of Mike’s previous songs he’d written for the boys.

Within minutes, the track was done. In a usual Nesmith fashion, Mike nailed it one take and had requested no layering on the vocals, it was meant to be gentle, soft, raw, full of emotion - it meant something to him.

“Sounded spot on, Nez, nailed it. How about we all take a long lunch and we’ll return later to finish today’s tracks?” The producer offered the boys, all three of them nodding in agreement at his offer.

“That was a trip Michael,” Micky said softly as they all gathered in the tight hallway, “I loved it. I felt every moment of it.”

“Good, that’s what I was going for. See yous all later,” The tall Texan said as he turned on his heels and left for his car.

“I’ll catch you later, Mick,” Peter said softly before turning and heading in the opposite direction, looking for an empty studio to gather his thoughts in.

Something about I Know What I Know stirred something deep within him, something he hadn’t let himself feel in years. Longing, emptiness, loneliness, loss, everything he felt at the funeral of his longtime friend David Jones.

Peter sat down in the booth once he’d found an empty one, enjoying the quiet and stillness of the room as the lyrics he’d just heard rang through his mind.

I know what I know And what I know Is I know nothing Without you

“I know nothing without you here, David,” Peter mumbled softly as he let his head hang in his hands.

Sure, they’d fought a few times. Nothing was easy on the set of The Monkees, but despite their age gap, they’d bonded quickly. Peter took Davy under his wing to teach him things Davy had no concept of knowing as a 19-year-old boy fresh to “The Colonies.”

I know what I see And what I see Is I see nothing Without you

“I miss you every fucking day,” Peter mumbled into his hands, hyperaware all of the sudden that the “first official” anniversary of Davy’s death was coming up soon. The leap year date make things wonky, leaving Peter to not really dwell on it for too long when it late February/early March came around every year, but this year, February 2016, gave him more than enough time to think about it, even forgetting his own 75th birthday to help plan a remembrance party for his favourite Manchester Cowboy.

Alone I am With waiting heart Alone I am A world apart

Peter wasn’t quite ready for his own death, his youngest child being 19 herself and he wanted to see as much of her life as he could, yet the thought of going on without Davy - especially when they were recording a track of his today - was more than enough to make him consider that 75 was long enough to have lived. He no longer had his friend, his companion, his lover.

I know what I have And what I have Is I have nothing Without you

It was their little secret, their little moment between them. Their moments of experimenting with one another in ways forbidden by those around them. Sure, Peter’d been with more than enough girls in his lifetime to satisfy any carnal hunger deep within, but he and Davy did more than just fuck, somehow, for two friends experimenting with each other during their times with drugs and their times between shows, they’d loved. Peter really did feel like he had nothing without Davy in his life, he couldn’t just call him up and chat for hours like they’d enjoyed doing, he couldn’t just hop on a plane and go visit his longtime friend, he could only hear what was left of his voice when he’d take a trip down memory lane and listen to one of the old albums, Pool It! being one of his favourites to look back on for Davy’s voice, he had his body in old music videos, romps and photos, but he couldn’t hug his friend again. He had nothing.

I know what I feel And what I feel Is I feel nothing Without you

“I feel nothing, I see nothing, I’ve grown numb to all of this bullshit,” Peter mumbled to himself as he let the tears flow freely down his cheeks. He didn’t bother trying to hide it anymore - he knew he was alone in here and he knew he had plenty of time before anyone would come looking for him - he let himself hurt. With a wet face, tears falling into his grey/white stubble, he thought back on their first and only physical fight.

He rubbed the tips of his fingers over his left cheekbone, feeling the ghost of the bruise Davy had landed there with his “nutter.” He laughed softly, trying to hold himself together as he remembered the next day, the way Davy kissed his cheek softly and whispered sweet apologies when Peter was the one that had done the most damage. He thought about how Davy had promised to make it up to him and he declined, knowing nothing would ease the guilt he carried for sending his near-on best friend and lover to the “A&E knock off bullshit” for stitches.

Alone I am Unspoken words Alone I am Unseen, unheard

He was in a soundproof room, he could cry as hard as he wanted to as he remembered David Thomas Jones, remembering all the good times he’d shared with the younger lad.

He let himself truly go, letting out full sobs as he longed for Davy back in his life. He longed to hear Davy’s inarticulate Manchester accent tell him all about the horse show he’d just been to that past weekend, he’d longed to hear about how he’d celebrated his 70th birthday back home with all his family in England, he longed to hear “Pe-tah!” shouted one more time across a room as Peter did something off or goofy.

My heart is my heart And it is my heart That is hopeless Without you

He thought about the first time Davy had come to him, the first time Davy had really come on to him. He hadn’t believed it at the time - it took him days to wrap his head around it - Davy Jones, the teen heartthrob, wanted him, dummy Peter Tork.

Every touch, every caress, every gentle movement between them, it was cherished, it was full of love, it was everything Peter had looked for in a wife but he had never truly found again as much as he did love his wives and lovers when they were in his life.

He’d never tell anyone, the boys, his children, his wives, or future lovers about the times they shared, and he was hopeless, hopelessly in love with a man who was taken from the joy of life far too soon for anyone’s liking.

I love what I love And what I love Is I love all things About you

Everything about Davy had been wonderful. He was too kind for his own good. They said that Peter was kind to a fault, but those people had never spent enough time with Davy.

“I wish I’d told you, one last time,” Peter mumbled, his voice broken and thick as he spoke through the sobs, “I love you, David, I always have loved you.”

Davy was the kind heart that helped him realise his drinking had gone too far, the kind heart that helped him see that the amount of grass he’d smoke wasn’t good for him and that a rail of white was nothing but an addiction fuelled by loneliness and money. Davy would call him up, would check up on him, would encourage him to find healthier habits, help him remember all the good times they’d shared without copious amounts of drugs in their systems, and when Davy’s wife wasn’t around they’d mumble about their moments alone.

Someone alone Always dreams of The perfect one Someone in love

“Someone in love, I’m just a lovesick fool,” Peter near on whimpered as he let the sobs rack through his body.

Davy was the perfect one, the perfect man. His wives hadn’t seen it until it was too late, and he’d failed to notice it soon enough in life to stick around longer around the scene. Their own demons had torn them apart for years, causing band fueds and unnecessary hate and anger to pull them even farther apart.

“The perfect one, the perfect one,” Peter mumbled over and over to himself as he thought about Davy.

I know what I know I see what I see I love what I love It’s you that I love

“It is you, it is you that I love,” Peter mumbled, throwing his head back towards the sky as if Davy’s spirit could hear him.

It was rare for Peter to show this much emotion, he was good at masking tragedy behind warm eyes and a tight embrace, but this time he was alone, he was on his own, he couldn’t tell the boys where he’d gone off to this lunch break. How do you explain yeah, sorry, I just went off to have a good cry over our old pal Davy Jones, nothing abnormal, just a normal Thursday no need to worry about me guys.

With nothing but good memories and regret coursing through his body, Peter let it out. He let himself feel, he let himself miss his favourite Manchester Cowboy, his favourite Capricorn, his favourite friend, his world, his everything. He pulled out his necklace, wrapping it tightly around his fingers as he held on to the one physical piece of Davy he had with him - a set of love beads Davy had gifted him Christmas of 1969.

They’d shown up in the mail, nothing extravagant, but something just the same and they meant the world to Peter. He’d worn them almost every day since 1971 under every shirt he’d ever worn to remember the memories he shared with his former bandmate.

“It’s you that I love, I know nothing without you. I miss you every fucking day. Hope you’re thriving out there in the beyond, spending time with your Dad and prancing to Daydream Believer like it’s 1967 again and we don’t have a care in the world. I love you Mr Manchester Marauder,” Peter whispered to the ceiling as if Davy was right there next to him to hear it.

And what I love, is I love all things about you...