Hi, guys. I apologize for being away for so long. The last few months have been rough for me in terms of school and things of that nature. On top of all that, I took a trip, got a killer cold, and lost whatever lick of inspiration I had for this story. I was even considering putting 'Lost Lennon' up for adoption, which is totally out of character for me. It would have been interesting to see how another person would continue this, but I've decided to keep going. Thank you to whoever has stayed with me during this hiatus, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I do suggest you listen to 'Jealous Guy' about halfway through!

Disclaimer: I only own Florence.

Two days after I arrived, John took me to the studio to watch him record. It was around five in the morning when he entered my room and shook me awake.

"Flo, let's go." He stage whispered.

"Where…" I mumbled.

"Recording. Didn't Yoko tell you?"

Yoko told me nothing and I didn't really believe he wanted me to go either. It was nothing he'd said or done, it was just that, back in the Beatle days, no woman was allowed to watch the recording of a new song. It just wasn't done. But then again, that was Beatle John and this John was an entirely different man.

"Why this early? I remember you usually record in the afternoon?"

"I do my best recording early."

And with that, my dad reached under the comforter and pulled me out of bed by my ankles. I sat sprawled out on the floor, dazed and confused. He really did want me to go.

"Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes and then we'll go." And he left.

I got up and pulled on a pair of jeans and put on a huge navy sweatshirt to cover my nightshirt. I stuck my feet into the only pair of Converse sneakers I owned and stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

"Flo! You're so freakin' slow, hurry it up!" John called from the kitchen.

I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not so I ran my toothbrush over my teeth so fast, my gums started bleeding.

I wandered out and John handed me a cup of coffee. "You'll need it. We're going to be in the studio all day."

He then made for the front door and walked out into the dark and quiet hallway, holding the door for me as I came out behind him. He didn't have any car keys in hand, just coffee, and I was certain he didn't call anyone to pick us up, so where was this place? John pushed the 'up' button on the elevator and waited.

"So, you built a home studio?" I asked.

"We built two actually. We have four apartments altogether. Two studios, one apartment for living, and one to store instruments."

Wow.

The elevator came down and my dad and I boarded. The door closed and an awkward silence fell upon us.

"So…" John said, shifting his weight from heel to toe.

I took that as my cue to keep asking questions. John always had an outgoing personality, so I couldn't understand why it was so difficult for him to talk to me.

"How was school last year? I didn't really have a chance to ask you."

"It was okay. I didn't do as good in math as I'd have liked, but everything else went well."

He finished off his coffee and looked at me. "You need to do better in school. A good education will get you places."

His last statement shocked me. Since when did he get all paternal? Maybe it was after the birth of Sean…

"And Julian? Is he doing well, too?"

"Yeah, I guess he is. He's in the school's band and he seems to enjoy that."

The elevator opened to the seventh floor hallway. It was decorated the same way as the fifth floor, only there weren't as many apartments.

"Good for Jules." John said, leading the way to the last door at the end of the hallway.

He pulled a paper clip out of his pocket and straightened it out. He stuck on end in the key hole of the door and began jimmying the lock.

"Forgot my damn keys…"He mumbled.

Pretty soon, the door swung open and revealed the stark white room known as John's studio. It had a hospital-like quality to it, and I was instantly brought back to our kitchen in our home in Liverpool.

"What are you recoding today?" I asked, looking around while John turned things on and pressed buttons.

"Don't know yet. I was hoping you'd help me out with that."

"Help you out with what?" I asked, certain I hadn't heard him right.

"You're going to write a song with me. I'm due for another album and I have at least the 'A' side tracks finished, but the 'B' side ones still need to be written."

I was shaking my head. "I can't write a song, dad."

"Have you ever tried to?"

"No."

John smiled at me over his glasses. "Then how do you know you can't?"

I smiled back. "How do we start?"

John sat on a white leather couch and smacked the cushion next to him, asking me to sit down, too.

"We don't really start. We need inspiration and I don't have that yet. Too early."

"I thought you said you recorded best before the crack of dawn!"

This earned me a laugh. "I record the songs I've written beforehand the best in the morning. I don't write songs all that well at this ungodly hour…"

I was speechless. Were we just going to sit here until noon rolled around?

"Well, let's write a song so you can record it." I said, grabbing the nearest yellow Legal pad I could find, along with a pencil.

"It's not that easy. We need something to write about."

There were lyrics scribbled down and scratched out on the pad, along with some random notes to call Phil Spector and the like. I flipped the one page over and saw a drawing my father had done. It was a copy of the Christmas card he gave my mother back when they were dating.

"I think I found something…"

John took the pad and looked at the drawing, not sure what to say.

"I miss Cyn sometimes." He said, his eyes never leaving the Legal pad.

"Then that's what we write about."

He looked at me. "Really?"

"Yeah. Maybe you could start with a line and I can come up with the second one."

John took the pencil from me and positioned it over the paper. He stared down at the pad for at least a good fifteen minutes and then scrawled down something.

I was dreaming of the past/ and my heart was beating fast/

I looked down at the line. Whatever I put down next was either going to make or break this song.

I began to lose control/

John raised his eyebrows at me.

"Well, you did then, didn't you?"

He laughed and then took the pad and began writing something else.

I began to lose control/ I didn't mean to hurt you/

"Your turn."

I'm sorry that I made you cry/

I slid the paper over to him.

Oh no/ I didn't want to hurt you/

The ball was in my court once again.

I'm just a jealous guy

"A jealous guy? I like that. Where'd that come from?"

I thought for a bit before responding. "You were always jealous when you were with mom, right? And 'guy' rhymed with 'cry', so I figured I'd put it in."

John took the pad again.

I was feeling insecure/

"That was true, too" He said.

I wrote down: You might not love me anymore/

"True for me, too." I said, passing the paper over.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't think you loved me anymore after you left. You were a big problem of mine until I was at least fifteen."

John's face turned pale.

I decided to write the next line: I was shivering inside/

I wrote it down twice due to the fact repetition seemed to be a big part of the song. I guessed John took my silence as a way to change the subject, so he reached over and wrote down half of the lyrics we'd already composed.

I didn't mean to hurt you/ I'm sorry that I made you cry/

I didn't want to hurt you/ I'm just a jealous guy/

I took maybe twenty minutes to think of what I was going to put down next. Truth was, after our discussion of sorts, I lost most of the inspiration I'd had. I was too overcome by sadness and anger. I thought back to all of the nights I spent crying as a child, hoping John would call Jules and I, or hoping he'd remember us. I remembered feeling cast aside and neglected by my father and my feeble attempts of acting out in order to earn his attention. I thought he was ashamed of me. John truly was the reason I'd turned to alcohol. After trying and failing at getting his attention, I drank to numb the growing anger I felt.

I was trying to catch your eyes/ thought that you was trying to hide/

I supposed I was trying to send John a message through lyrics, but I wasn't sure if he would pick up on it. He took the pad next.

I was swallowing my pain/ I was swallowing my pain/

I read that and thought maybe Julian and I had indirectly caused John pain, too. I took the pad again and decided to send John yet another message.

I didn't mean to hurt you/ I'm sorry that I made you cry/

I didn't want to hurt you/ I'm just a jealous guy/

That was it. The song was done and it was eight in the morning. I didn't know we'd taken that long to write a song.

"I just realized," John said, grabbing my hand. "This song isn't about your mother anymore."

I reread everything we'd written and I knew John was right.

"It's about us." I practically whispered.

John hugged me tightly. I got the familiar feeling I used to receive when John hugged me. I felt safe and loved. It was the first time in years I'd felt that with him. A tear or two rolled down my cheek and I quickly wiped them away before John saw.

"I'm so sorry, Florence. Really, I am." He said.

"I know."

So, that is it. I don't know how good it is or if you'll all like it, but hopefully you do. I'm not positive as to when the next chapter will be out. I think I made it clear I couldn't handle that, but hopefully I'll be able to update soon. Please tell me what you think!