He's Leaving Home

Chapter 10: Part 2

John called Paul on his bullshit. "About what?"

"That I have to look at your face every morning."

John blinked a few times, mouth in a straight line. "Go to sleep, Paul."

Paul snuggled back into John's chest, sighing. Just when John thought he'd gone to sleep, Paul spoke again.

"Johnny?"

"What?"

"Happy Birthday."

John let out a light chuckle, placing a kiss to Paul's hair and wrapping his arms around the slim figure. "It's hard to be mad at you when you act all cute and innocent..."

It was Paul's turn to laugh as they pulled closer and tighter.

~~~~

John's birthday fell on a Thursday, so Paul had to work. Still, though, they had a nice dinner planned and an even better night.

Paul's mind wasn't connected right and his students noticed. They were supposed to have a test over Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. He forgot to make the test and forgot there even was a test. Normally, they wouldn't have said anything, but Paul started to yell at them for not bringing their class materials.

"Mr. McCartney?" one brave girl, arguably Paul's favorite student, addressed after the twenty-minute lecture on preparedness and participation.

"What, Samantha?"

"We were supposed to have an exam today. It's on the syllabus."

Paul shuffled his papers around to find his copy. "I...am...so sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. I don't have an exam written. This is my fault completely. We'll just have a class discussion, then. Socratic seminar."

The kids understood, quickly arranging their desks in a circle.

"Starting question. What was Vonnegut's purpose in-."

A knock interrupted him and he put his head down on the desk, causing light laughter.

Paul picked his head back up, smiling. "I just can't win, can I?" A couple of the girls giggled in response. As a teacher Paul was a goofball, but stern when he needed to be. Sometimes, the girls he had never did well on tests or quizzes and he just didn't want to admit to himself why. Most of the teenage girls in the school found English teacher, Paul McCartney, sexy.

Near dragging his feet to the door, he opened it to reveal an angry Dwight Wilson. "Dot's been in labor for over two hours and they just called me. The school is making us wait until the substitutes get here."

"Which could take at least another two hours." Paul responded, "Do you have a class right now?"

"Yes, I left them for a few mintues."

"Bring them in here. I'll watch them, you go to the hospital."

"No. You go, I'll stay."

Paul stared, confused. "I think she'd rather have you..."

"McCartney, go."

With a quick announcement to his class that he'd give them all full credit for the exam, Paul ran out of the building. He was sure Dot would be well into active labor by now.

~~~~

John was pissed. No one mentioned to him that the baby, his and Paul's baby, was being born. The receptionist had been informed but didn't tell John until after his class...which lasted three hours. On the way there, John knew the baby had to have been born and that he would have to do some serious groveling for Paul to forgive him.

Being employed downtown meant quick access to the university hospital where the baby would be born. It was as he feared when he got to the hospital, because he found Paul sitting in the waiting room, tie loosened, shirt partly undone, sleeves rolled up, and hair sticking up in places it usually didn't.

"Paulie, I'm sorry I'm late. They didn't give me- Paul?"

Paul's eyes drifted upward to John, the lost, dazed look in them caught John's attention and it scared him.

"Paulie?" He said again, watching the recognition appear.

"Johnny..." Paul's voice matched his face, solemn and quiet. "The baby."

"The baby," John repeated, "Paul, is everything okay?"

"She..."

John smiled, excited. "The baby's a she?"

"Was."

Just as quick as it came, the smile dropped from John's face. "W-was?"

"She was stillborn, John." And Paul broke. "She was so beautiful. Why can't I have anything go right? Why does this happen to us? What have we done to deserve it?" The tears fell hard and plentiful from his face as John pulled him in. John felt them drop on his neck and slide down his chest. His own tears threatened, but for Paul's sake, he blinked them away. Words formed in his mind, but none of them adequate enough to soothe someone who already had so much heartache, so much pain, so much responsibility on their shoulders.

So John just held him, 'shh-ing' every now and then. Eventually, Paul's hard sobs turned into hiccups and then to deep breathing, all the while not moving from his spot nestled in John's neck.

"Paulie?" John dared to ask.

He got a grunt in return.

"Paul, look at me."

He did and they looked at each other.

John broke the silence. "You have quite the ugly crying face."

Paul scoffed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Come on...let's see those pearly Paulie whites, eh?"

He smiled at John, laughing a little at the face John made, tongue pushed into his lower lip, eyes wide and crossed.

"There you are...I know you loved that little girl, but maybe we're meant for someone else a little later. What I'm saying is, maybe it's not our time because you and I have a lot of living left to do." John believed to, too. Sure, he liked the idea of having a little Lennon-McCartney family, but this isn't the only chance they'll ever have.

"John?" Paul finally found his voice.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." Paul wiped a stray tear from his face. "And it's still your birthday."

"It is, but I think I just want some fish and chips and a little bit of Paul for dessert." John winked.

"You're disgusting..."

~~~~

They fell asleep after a night neither of them would forget. John did his best to help Paul forget the events of the day and he thought it worked.

An urge to use the restroom woke John from peaceful sleep. He relieved himself, still very tired, uncaring that the clock read three in the morning.

Back in bed, John rolled over to get comfortable on top of Paul. Instead, he fell on a cold, empty spot. Paul had gotten up.

~~xx~~

THE STARKEY RESIDENCE

Ringo Starr tried to get comfortable on the couch, seeing as it was his fault that Maureen got angry with him. She'd grown accustomed to a lifestyle she wasn't ready to give up and Ringo thought about changing it all. He looked at the clock, seeing 3:30am in flashing red lights. Getting any sleep would be a miracle for him. When Ringo finally did find a comfortable spot, an annoying, continuous knock rapped at the door. He looked at the clock again: 3:45am.

"Who the hell is at the bloody door at this time of night?" Ringo said to himself, slipping on his robe and slippers. He looked through the peephole. "Bloody hell, are you serious?" The door's latches clicked as Ringo unlocked them and opened the door. "Lennon, do you have any idea what time it is?"

John had trouble forming words in an apparent state of panic.

"Spit it out, John, lad."

"Ringo, I can't find Paul."