Behind That Locked Door (A Beatles/George Harrison Fanfiction)

Field

Moonbeam doesn't speak much. I feel something awkward growing between us after the visit to the orphanage so I make dinner, thinking people usually discuss feelings at the dinner table.

"So, how've you been?" I ask, feeling stupid and taking a sip of my soup. She's been here for over a week now with no request to go home except to get her things. I feel myself shiver and look over to her, skin covered in goosebumps.

"I'll go get us some blankets." Moonbeam's bare feet skitter across my hardwood floor as she disappears to the back room. I sigh and put my head in my hands. I don't know what I'm gaining here. A shy hippie eating up my food? I guess I didn't ever expect anything from her.

She rushes back in the room and hands me a heavy blue blanket. I thank her quietly, wrapping it around my arms as I prop my fist up to my cheek. Moonbeam sits down in front of me, an arm's distance, and sips her soup quietly. Her hair is messy and free, almost to her stomach. I spend time admiring her features, wondering if her rosy red lips will ever open again.

......................................................

I wake up to a pleasant sigh and arms stretching, nearing so close to my face I inch into my pillow further. I meet Moonbeam's eyes and rack my brain for when she arrived in my room.

"When did you-?" I leave the question in the open air and she nestles in her purple blanket.

"I got cold." She whispers, closing her eyes so softly I almost think she's porcelain. I don't question it, just close my eyes again and drift off.

......................................................

"Moonbeam." I jiggle her shoulder as her eyes open. She moans and wiggles around before getting herself comfy on her other side.

"C'mon, Moonbeam. We're going somewhere." I whisper and poke her. She doesn't bother moving now so I stand and go to the bathroom, shaving myself up and showering. Today marks the last day before we again begin recording our new album. I've got a song, four actually, that I've been working on which I want to put on the album.

After rinsing myself off with a towel I find Moonbeam still in bed. I put on some trousers and a shirt, combing my hair. I'm taking Moonbeam out. I doesn't matter where, I just am. I have to get her to talk.

3 hours later we're in the Mini, bottle of wine and picnic basket in the back seat. The rain teases at the clouds but still I let the windows stay open. She sticks her head out like a puppy and looks out, as though everything she sees is something new and exciting.

"I forgot to ask, where are we going?" Moonbeam says, peeking her head back inside the car, her windblown hair sticking up straight.

"Just-just a field, y'know. With grass." I remark awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. She nods as though that wasn't strange and sticks her head back out.

In the more country-like places of England is where I take her. Secluded and far off where no one can find you. The road turns to dirt as I spot the perfect spot of land. The wine glasses clink quietly as the roads become bumpier and I park next to a tall oak tree, unbuckling myself before grabbing the basket in the back.

"Moonbeam." I nudge her awake. She startles from her sleep, rubbing her eyes from the sudden nap. She grabs the bottle of wine and blanket and we set up on a nice, small piece of green land. I don't hear a car for miles and as I look around at where we're settled, she meets my eyes.

"What is it?" I ask, pouring myself a glass and then taking a bite of my jam buttie. She shakes her head, dismissing her suddenly unimportant remark.

We eat in silence and I grow impatient. I've driven her for hours to this beautiful place, made her lunch and bought her wine and she still has nothing to say?

"Moonbeam." I gruffly say, my voice a bit more startling than I had planned. She seems a bit frightened, suddenly pulling out of her daydream.

"Yes?" Her voice is small and delicate like the tulips not far off on a patch of land.

"I-uh, well," I mumble and then sigh, setting my glass down on the ground, "Why aren't you talking? I mean, it's pleasant having company around my house but you never say a word. I brought you out her to talk to me and the only thing you've said is 'Can I borrow the mustard?'"

Moonbeam suddenly becomes very serious and her brows furrow. Her beautiful blue ocean eyes sadden and I feel a sting in my stomach. She sets down her half-empty glass of wine and plays nervously with her hands.

"Why are you doing this, George?" She asks, her fist on her chin. I sigh and feel like I'm only fighting my own thoughts.

"You didn't seem as though you wanted to go home." I remark, feeling slightly cocky to myself. Moonbeam lowers her head.

"I don't if I'm honest to myself," She sighs and a tear may fall from her face, but her head is too low to tell, "They fired me George. I called in to say I might be a bit late and they said they didn't want me back. And my son? Daniel won't let me have him. I'm too scared to adopt him for my own. I don't know what'd he'd do. Answer your question?"

For a second, I feel my heart stop beating. Daniel? The guy who felt her up? No. This can't be. Why is he living with her? That's not her boyfriend, she wouldn't have been as terrified as she was. I have so many questions I want to ask but I'm unsure where to start.

The wind blows hard now, making her hair messy as the leaves stir. Things feel too serious but I suppose I got what I wanted out of her. An answer.

"I didn't know, Moonbeam." I say, my head hanging low as hers is.

"It's fine." Moonbeam lies, taking a bite of her jam buttie and a sip of her wine. We don't meet each other's eyes until we break the awkward silence sometime later.

"George?" She asks, looking up. I do as well, longing to meet her eyes again.

"Yes?" I whisper shyly, as though we're the only ones on the Earth.

"Can we still do those things you talked about? The good things? The ones worth living for?" Moonbeam looks at me like she's an anxious child. A part of my heart melts for her, another part longs for her to be happy and free.

"Of course." I reply, reaching across the blanket to find her hand. It's as cold as ice and she flinches at my warm touch. I feel like I'm breaking some kind of barrier between us, a wall that the both of us are no longer trapped outside of.

Without warning, she stands up and sits down near me on a patch of damp grass. I wrap my arms comfortably around her shoulders as she softly cries. It rings through my ears like a painful song, one you hate and wish would end.

"George?" Moonbeam asks again from a small voice, hiding behind my arms. I look down at her wrists. The cuts don't seems fresh but I still feel treathened by them, like she could decide to go at it again any time she wanted.

"Yes?" I reply.

"Their are still good things, right? Like the ones from when we were children?" She asks.

"Yes. And they're out there waiting for you." I reply. And for just a moment, I feel as though I am that thing, waiting on her to realize me.