"Well," John said, pouring himself a cup of green tea and then looking up to see whether Yoko wanted one as well. She nodded and he complied, before setting the heavy Japanese teapot down. "That was fun." She had a quiet giggle and took a sip from her cup, cautiously. "You have... interesting friends." John watched her with an eyebrow raised but she didn't seem offended, merely smiling to him. "I like to have a lot of different people around me. You die otherwise, you know? If they're all the same."
John stayed quiet for a few seconds, assessing the idea. As far as he was concerned Yoko would have been better off with no friends at all, no-one to divert her attention from John himself, to steal her time away from him. "I suppose." He scrunched his nose up a little. "But still." She laughed then, almond eyes narrowing in amusement, her head ducked between her thin shoulders, black hair framing her face. "He is quite something, isn't he?" John made a face. "Rather."
He stretched a little into the comfortable sofa, smiling when Yoko put her head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around her small frame. His eyes wandered between the blank wall in front of them and the scarce furniture in the room, rather deprived of a homey feeling since they'd only just moved there.
They'd been doing a lot of this, moving around, since John had stopped living with Cynthia, staying a few weeks at Paul's or Ringo's, renting flats and small houses for a while before they decided it didn't suit them, moving again. John knew they needed to settle down, as a proper couple would. He'd always dreamt of owning a mansion with a large garden and ideally, a lake. John would love to own a lake, even an artificial one.
"You weren't very nice to him." Yoko's soft voice took him out of his musings and he sipped from his tea, buying himself a bit of time. "Wasn't I?" He looked into her black eyes, their noses almost touching, stretching like a cat under a stroke when she reached to pat his beard down and smooth his hair back in place. "A bit harsh." John looked away, shifting a little. "You were uncomfortable." It wasn't a question but he looked back to Yoko for confirmation nonetheless, still having trouble adapting to her uncanny ability to read and understand his moods.
"I don't have anything against gay people," John stated quietly, raising his eyebrows for emphasis.
"I know."
Of course she knew. John settled down, resting his cheek on top of Yoko's head, her hair soft and fragrant. She was quiet then, not in a pushy way but leaving the matter open, not asking, giving John the choice to elaborate or change the subject. "Brian Epstein used to have a thing for me, you know," he said after a while, putting this out there with no real intent, feeling Yoko nod. "I heard about that." John leaned in, sliding down to press his face against the crook of her shoulder, sighing when he felt her embrace him. "What did you hear?" Yoko kissed his forehead. "You went on a holiday with him, at some point?"
John chuckled, nuzzling her warm neck. "I did. It was a strange thing to do, wasn't it?" Yoko didn't say anything and John remembered she didn't believe in 'strange'. "Nothing happened. I liked him, I did. He was a good bloke. But I didn't, you know. Fancy him." He closed his eyes as Yoko started petting him gently. She kept quiet, giving him the time to get it all out. "I did tease him about it, though. Especially in the early days. I didn't know what to make of him being queer."
There was another pause and then Yoko asked, "was there someone else?" John sat up, eyes guarded all of a sudden, looking fretful and somewhat bothered by the question. "Why are you asking me that?" Yoko's face was unreadable, yet not unkind. "I don't go 'round asking you whether you got it on with girls now, do I?" She smiled, looking amused. "You could."
John licked on his lower lip, curious now. "Did you?" She shook her head. "Not really. Back when I was at Sarah Lawrence there was a thing with girls kissing each other. I kissed a few friends, mostly for the thrill, you know? Because it was forbidden." She watched him with playful eyes. "It wasn't bad, but it wasn't really my thing, either."
She retrieved her cup, looking up when John opened his mouth, although nothing came out of it for a few long seconds. "There was someone else," he said at length, his voice a little tight.
"Another man," Yoko stated, as if she'd known all along, and John closed his eyes. Yoko took his hand, kissing it. "It's not like that, John." He looked at her, slightly taken aback by how unruffled she seemed to be about the whole thing. "Did you think I would be shocked?" She smiled suddenly, wide and unguarded, as she sometimes did when it was just the two of them. "I did a whole movie featuring only bottoms," she reminded, and John couldn't help but laugh along. "You're unshockable?" She chuckled. "Maybe."
He patted her leg, raising his eyebrows. "What gave me away?" Yoko's eyebrows furrowed a little. "I think it's the way you always compare me to a bloke, you know? You said I was like one of your mates, except one you could shag?" John snorted, rubbing his face. "Not my best shot at a compliment, I must say." Yoko shrugged. "I thought it was good. You said I was like a bloke in drag, for you, too. And that you found that appealing, the fact that I reminded you of a man a little. So I figured perhaps, I also reminded you of another relationship you'd had, with a man."
John stayed silent for a little while. "You're very clever, for a bird." Yoko nudged him in the ribs. "Don't be sexist." He grinned to her and she rolled her eyes, forgiving him as he leaned in for a kiss, cuddling back against her. She was silent for a while and then squeezed John's shoulder gently.
"Did he hurt you?"
He swallowed dryly, but shook his head. "I think I hurt him." Yoko hummed and stroked his back, but didn't ask for a name, and John felt grateful for it. "I really loved him." She kissed him again, softly. "Perhaps you can still be friends." John smiled but his eyes were sad, suddenly wondering whether she thought he was talking about Paul, chuckling at the idea. "Perhaps."
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George blew into his hands and quickly rubbed them together, hoping to create a bit of warmth in the draughty studio. It was far too cold and early in the morning to have a productive recording session, but Paul had had his mind set on filming the making of a Beatles album. George hadn't been too convinced with the idea from the start, thinking it would impair the band's fragile harmony and creativity, but now, he was beginning to doubt that anything would even get done under these conditions.
The space was filled with tension and they were getting on each other's nerves, the appalling setting of Twickenham only making matters worse. George was seriously considering walking out of the band after he and Paul had had a sort of row. Well, as much as you could have a row with someone like Paul while he was being filmed. Paul didn't like his guitar playing anymore apparently, and wanted him to play things otherwise, more like he himself would have. George had tried to keep the peace between the two of them, offering to play it anyway Paul wanted, but that hadn't solved anything.
And then there was John, who seemed far too engrossed in Yoko to involve himself with anything else. It bothered George a great deal. They were supposed to be a band of mates and he was feeling more and more disconnected from the others with each passing day. Yoko's presence was not helping, honestly. To George, she was the main cause of acrimony, things irreversibly looking down once she'd become part of the studio sessions. She was no shrinking violet either, and gave her opinion on things, often prompted by John, regardless of whether or not the others appreciated it.
George looked over at the two of them, sitting closely together and speaking in hushed tones, as if the rest of them didn't exist. It wasn't even about being jealous anymore. It was about John letting a woman come between him and the band, that was what bothered him. John looked up at that very moment, meeting George's glare and raising an unimpressed eyebrow at his mate, promptly ducking his head back to listen to what Yoko was saying.
He played with his shoelaces (they were too long, for some reason), nodding slowly and tilting his head to the side, completely absorbed in what she was teaching him, smiling from time to time, making a little joke just for the sake of hearing her chuckle softly. "Why don't you play it on the piano?" John proposed and she nodded, getting up and padding towards the imposing instrument, beginning to softly compose a melody. John sat close to her on the bench, his back to George, making him frown and slip the strap of his guitar off of his back, placing the instrument onto a nearby stand.
He mumbled something about excusing himself to have a cigarette but no one seemed to notice except Ringo. The usually good-natured drummer himself was beginning to feel the strains of trying to work with the others. He looked dead tired but managed something close to a playful look as he saluted George with his drumstick. George smiled half-heartedly in return, stepping out and pulling a pack of ciggies and a lighter from his coat pocket.
He wandered down a long hallway, slipping the fag before his lips and lighting it up. The further away from the others he walked, the more relaxed he felt, though the feeling stayed pretty superficial. It was a vast improvement over the negative energy he'd experienced in the studio, still.
John listened Yoko's playing, not paying attention to what George was saying, beginning to play with her after a while, slowly building a melody. "That was nice," he stated, his fingers lingering on the keys. He leaned back on the bench, humming. "I could go for a cup of tea." Yoko smiled and nodded, starting to play again.
"Could you bring me one?" John paused, looking at her hesitantly. "You're not coming with me?" Yoko shook her head. "I want to work on this some more." Her eyes softened. "I'll be here when you come back, John. I won't even move. It's only five minutes, okay?" John nodded cautiously, sighing a little as he got up. Paul wasn't around for the moment and Ringo looked far too busy nursing his hangover to be any problem to Yoko, either being mean to her or by trying to flirt with her, which John would have considered worse.
He slowly walked out of the room, resisting the jealous urge to glance over his shoulder and striding towards the kitchen. After a long smoke, George still hadn't felt ready to return to the studio. He decided to have a cuppa, buying himself a few more minutes of quiet, stopping in his tracks when he spotted John already making tea. John quickly filled a kettle with tap-water, determined to make this as quick as possible and unaware of George standing in the doorway, watching him.
George knew this was a rare opportunity to see John without Yoko by his side, perhaps the only one he'd ever get. He looked over his shoulder into the hallway, making sure that it was just the two of them. There were thankfully far enough from the studio for him to feel comfortable talking with John without worrying about anyone overhearing them.
"You didn't leave her alone with Paul, did you?" George's question clearly implied that John had made a mistake leaving Yoko unattended with the bassist. He knew it wasn't like that with Paul and Yoko, but he also knew how John's mind worked, and George was feeling petty and mean spirited. John jumped a little, glancing back to George with raised eyebrows, shaking his head.
"Don't be soft," he snapped, trying to look unaffected by the attack although his hands shook a little as he scooped a few spoons of tea leaves into the pot. Did George know something? Had he seen something, Yoko with Paul, something John himself had missed? He closed his eyes for a second. No. This was ridiculous. "Paul's not back, yet. Too busy rehearsing playing yer part on the song." He turned around more fully, squaring his shoulders. "Says it's the only way it'll get done properly, apparently," he sneered, biting back because George's comment had stung.
A flash of hurt appeared on George's face and he became more determined than ever to hurt his former lover. "How would you know? You're far too wrapped up in her to see what's going on. I told you what Dylan's friends back in New York said about her. She brings bad vibes with her wherever she goes, but you're far too obsessed to see it and that's ruining the band."
John rolled his eyes, letting out an unimpressed snort. "Yeah, 'cause dear Robert is always so fucking reliable..." he drawled, shrugging and turning around, surveying the water, watching tiny bubbles form on the edges of the saucepan. "She's not ruining anything. There's nothing left to ruin."
George frowned but he knew his mate was right. The band was just a shell of its former self, and long gone where the four lads from Liverpool hungry to make it big. They'd reached the toppermost of the poppermost and from there, there was nowhere else to go. John threw George a look from above his shoulder, shaking his head. "I need her. She's the only thing that's keeping me going, these days."
"That, and heroin," George shot back judgementally, but John merely shrugged. "You don't get it." He didn't try to deny it. He took heroin with Yoko rather often, although she'd been reluctant to go back to it at first. It was the only way they'd found to stay focused and sharp, always creative, the only way to stand tall and proud in front of the others, alone together to face the whole world.
Everyone knew John had gotten himself involved with the heavy drug, but they also thought he was a big boy, capable of making his own decisions. They would've been a bunch of hypocrites to wag their fingers at him in disappointment, and yet it scared George to see his friend go from a healthy weight to this unnaturally slender frame, his skin an unhealthy ashen white colour. John looked sick and George blamed it all on Yoko, though it mostly made him angry at his mate for allowing her to do this to him. "When did you become so dependent on a woman?" he sneered. "It's pathetic."
John turned back fully this time, glaring at George, his eyes narrowing behind his round-rimmed glasses. "You couldn't possibly understand," he spat, stepping closer confrontationally. John was touchy about the subject of Yoko, touchy about this love he'd thrown himself into, pulling out all the stops. "Your point of view on things is about so wide, isn't it?" He held his thumb and index, barely apart, in front of George's face. "Enlightened, my arse," he snorted.
George nodded; his face unreadable, not allowing John to see the pain his words had caused him. "You're right, mate. I wouldn't know." He shrugged, his words nonchalant, as if talking about someone else. John pushed further, determined to crack through his mate's shell. "You can't even imagine what it feels like, George. A love like that." He smirked, knowing he was getting personal and meaner than he should have been. "I've never had such a love. With anyone," he said coldly. Not even you.
That cut deeper than George had expected it to and he couldn't help but wonder whether the years he and John had loved one another had all been a lie. No, it couldn't have been. He refused to believe it but he had a nagging feeling that John had managed to persuade himself that it was true. "I had it once, it started with a bloke back in Hamburg. We had to hide it, but I loved him and he loved me." George retorted, making John snort. "Yeah, right."
George bit on his lower lip and looked up, feeling so shattered he just had to hurt John in return. "Not you. I told you I'd only been with Ringo once, but since we're being honest with each other, it never stopped," he lied easily, eyes dark. John nearly dropped the lid of the teapot in surprise, struggling to keep his face impassive but knowing it was too late, knowing George had seen through the cracks of his composure.
"Well, to each his own, I suppose," he barked in return, having an odd smile, watching George through his lashes. "Ya know I saw Clapton, the other day. Nice bloke. Good guitar playing." He raised an eyebrow decided to fight George a tooth for a tooth, an eye for an eye. "Paul an' I are seriously considerin' hiring him 'stead of you. Since yer pretty disposable anyway..."
The dig stung George's pride but at this point he had resigned himself to the fact that he would never be more than the "economy-class" Beatle, tired of pushing for an upgrade within the band. George had realised a long time ago that, as long as he would be part of the group, he'd stay in Lennon and McCartney's shadow. He shrugged, looking genuinely contemplative. "I can't be a Beatle forever".
John watched him with harsh eyes but conceded a nod, that much was true. None of them would be Beatles forever, hopefully. As a matter of fact, as far as John was concerned, the sooner he wouldn't be one anymore, the better. The argument reminded him of something though, something that had happened a long time ago with unexpected consequences. You're out of the band. He remembered standing in the doorframe of their shitty room back in Hamburg, the crestfallen expression on George's face as he chased him down the stairs.
His mate didn't seem so emotional about it anymore, giving John a rare insight on just how much they'd changed, both as a band and as individuals. He was about to share it with George, wondering what he would think of that, when his friend walked to him angrily, giving his shoulder a rough pat. "You should have Yoko take my place instead. Since you've allowed her to ruin the band, might as well let her finish the job once and for all."
John hissed, not backing away from his former lover. "She didn't ruin anything George, and you know it." The kettle was whistling and John fiddled with the cooker behind him to turn the fire down, his eyes set on George. "She did replace you, though." He had a slow, malevolent grin. "In more ways than one." He reached to grab George's chin, bringing him closer, looking right into his dark eyes. "And you know what?" His voice was a soft, caressing whisper. "She's doing everything so much better than you ever did..."
The soft words hit George like a punch, hurting more than any other insult John had flung at him over the years. He looked visibly shaken and, staring into his friend's eyes, found that there wasn't any love in them anyone, only nastiness staring back at him. George jerked his chin out of John's grasp as this overwhelming desire to hurt the other man took over. He was far too upset to respond with an equally cutting remark but before he could truly register what he was doing he had his arms around John's waist, slamming him against the counter, narrowly avoiding the gas cooker.
John gasped and struggled, trying to shove George away none-too-gently but his mate was quicker, lifting his arm and drawing it back, hitting John squarely in the jaw. Pain exploded in John's face, his head snapping to the side, making him stumble sideways until his shoulder hit the wall, leaning against it. He blinked, glasses askew, pain taking over any rational thought and making him single-minded with revenge, pouncing back on George, crashing against him and nearly head-butting him.
George felt a dull thud of pain where John's forehead briefly bumped against his own. He hadn't anticipated that his former mate would react so quickly to being hit and there was a tumble, full of rage but awkward, John's pushing George back roughly, sending a chair crashing against the wall, his knuckles connecting violently with George's cheek, brow bone aching where it'd painfully pressed against his face.
George staggered backwards, hitting the wall behind him with a loud thud. "This isn't Liverpool! I'm not a fuckin' kid, you can't push me around anymore," he spat out, his face a mask of resentment, old hurts that should have been long forgotten bubbling to the surface. "Well obviously I can!" John shot back, eyebrows raising as George charged him, slamming him against the wall. He tensed up for another blow but George didn't hit him, merely wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face against his stomach, shamefully hiding his eyes, knowing that he'd fall apart if he stayed there a moment longer.
John didn't move, looking down to the top of George's head, his hair ruffled and dull, feeling his friend's body tremble ever-so-slightly against his. He had a sudden impulse to wrap his arms around George's shoulders and cradle him against his chest, hold him close and rock him gently, telling him everything would be okay. He shifted hesitantly, his hands reaching for George's shoulders but his mate was already letting go of him, looking away. George cautiously avoided eye contact as he turned around, walking out before John could say anything. Left in the kitchen alone he blinked, leaning heavily against the wall, his throat tight and his face tingling with pain, bruises slowly swelling.
George strode into the studio, ignoring the looks cast his way. They'd all heard indistinct but violent noises coming from the hallway, things crashing and men yelling, but no one dared to question him about it. His eyes were dark and he kept them on the ground, discouraging anyone from asking. He grabbed his guitar, carelessly placing it into its case, slamming it shut and fastening the locks.
George was through with all of it.
He left the studio without so much as a backward glance, although he couldn't help but wonder how they had allowed things to get so bad. Not just him and John, but the band as well. George longed for comfort but the only person he needed was the one who'd hurt him most. He wasn't ready to go home and face the fans or Pattie so he decided to visit parents' home in Speke, hoping the simple comforts and his mum's cooking would give him some sense of security.
As he got into his car John finally found the strength to push himself away from the wall he'd been slouching against, painfully walking back to the studio. Yoko and Paul were instantly next to him, Yoko's eyes -much wider than the usual- soft and concerned, Paul merely looking annoyed at the setback. "What happened?" he asked, authoritative and disapproving. John shrugged and Yoko stroked his arm. "George walked out," Paul insisted, frowning.
"I don't think he'll be coming back," John stated, patting his pockets for his pack of Gitane cigarettes, looking up to her when Yoko slipped one in his hand. Paul swore, running his fingers through his messy hair. "For Christ's sakes, John! We have a record to make!" John lit his cigarette slowly. "I don't think it's such a big deal. I spoke to Clapton the other day, he says he wouldn't mind stepping in. I like him, he's got a good sound."
Paul didn't say anything but John could already see the business, PR wheels whirling in his head as he processed the idea and weighed the pros and cons. Yoko didn't say anything either, just squeezed his arm gently. John smiled to her, bravely. "It's all right, love." She looked at him, and shook her head.