A/N: Here's chapter 3 of Life is What Happens!
Paul's POV
John took a step toward George, and then he crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap. I picked my way across the crowded studio as fast as I could to reach him. He had hit his head on his chair on the way down and there was a small cut above his left eyebrow. Brian and George Martin came running in.
"What happened to him?" Brian demanded as we all knelt around John.
"When George knocked his guitar against his mic, John got really ticked off, but then he passed out," I said, struggling not to show that I was nearly going out of my head with worry.
"I saw that, do you know why he fainted?" Mr. Martin (it was too confusing to call him George as well) said.
"He didn't eat any breakfast this morning," said Ringo quietly. The rest of us nodded in affirmation.
"And he looked like he felt like shite when he woke up," I added. Brian stood up and made his way out of the studio.
"I'm going to call the hospital, he hit his head pretty hard," Brian called over his shoulder, going into the booth. I swallowed down a rush of hysteria. Just because he goes to the hospital doesn't mean he's going to die, I told myself over and over again. It wasn't helping any, I still felt like I was going to jump right out of my skin with nerves.
"Help me move him," I motioned to George. He silently nodded and got a hold on John's feet. I lifted him at his armpits and even though he was unconscious, I still got a wave of goosebumps over my skin where our skin touched. We gently moved him over so he lay flat on the floor. There was nothing else we could do now but wait.
Please, John, just be okay, I thought over and over. I sat down in my usual seat and drummed my fingers on the wall. I didn't even notice that I was doing it until Ringo came over and pulled my hand off the wall and folded it in my lap.
"Mate, you're making the rest of us even more nervous," he said, running a hand through his hair. I nodded silently and he rested a hand on my shoulder before moving away. Ringo, ever the bringer of calm to the group. If Ringo wasn't there, sometimes I think we would tear each other's throats out in our rare arguments.
Brian got off the phone and came back into the room. "They're sending someone out to come look at him," he said, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. I knew for a fact that the four of us were going to make Brian go gray before his time, but I also was sure that he cared a lot about all of us. It was silent in the room until the paramedic arrived.
Mr. Martin got up to let her in. She looked a bit ruffled. "I nearly got mauled by a bunch of girls out there," she informed us as we gave her room next to John. I made an apologetic face at her. She put her hand on John's forehead. "He's burning up," she said, getting out her stethoscope and listening to him breathe for a moment. I so desperately wished I was that stethoscope right then. She opened one of his eyes with her finger and examined his pupil.
"I'm going to try to bring him around. It looks like he may have a slight concussion, but I can't know for sure unless he's conscious," she said, holding a cotton ball soaked with rubbing alcohol under his nose.
John's nose twitched and he woke up immediately. "God, what the hell is that?" he yelped, trying to scoot backwards and failing. George caught him and made him lay still.
"You passed out, John," George told him. John made a weak attempt at his signature sarcastic look.
"Kinda got that one figured, Harrison," he said. George rolled his eyes, but looked somewhat relieved. At least John was well enough to be sarcastic. That had to be a good thing.
The nurse aimed a tiny flashlight at John's eyes, making him squirm away. "What are you doing, woman? Trying to blind me?" She sighed impatiently and grabbed his chin so she could get a better look. "You're not a bad looking bird," he said weakly. I felt an irrational surge of jealousy. The paramedic rolled her eyes and looked up at the rest of us.
"Well he does have a slight concussion, but judging by his levels of sarcasm, I think he's going to be okay. However," she added. "I do think that he should come to the hospital for overnight observation. You told me he was sick, correct?" We nodded silently.
The paramedic went to the door and called out for two other paramedics to come in. They came in with a stretcher. John eyed it warily, but allowed himself to be lifted onto it. He was too weak to protest.
"Can I go with?" I asked. The paramedic beckoned to me, and I took it as a yes. I followed them out to the ambulance and climbed in. John had closed his eyes again.
"Make sure he doesn't fall asleep again," the paramedics instructed me. I didn't ask why. I knew that he might not wake up if he went back to sleep, small concussion or not. I went over to John and shook his arm.
"What, Macca?" he asked, looking quite sleepy.
"You can't go to sleep yet, John." I said, peering anxiously at him.
"Why not?" John questioned irately, sounding like an obstinate child.
"Because you have a concussion and, well," I didn't want to say it out loud. He seemed to catch onto what I was saying, because he made a concentrated effort not to let his eyelids droop even a little bit.
When we arrived at the hospital, I was left behind as they brought John in with the instructions to go to the waiting room, which they had cleared of people to avoid a stampede. I wandered in and sat down in a chair and pulled out the pocket-sized notebook that I always carried around. And of course, I also had a pencil in my pocket. I never went anywhere without them, just in case an idea for a song sprung into my mind. This time, though, there was no song in my head. Just some rather pressing thoughts that I needed to unload. I flipped to a clean page and began to write.
This is going to sound so weird, and I don't even know why I'm writing it in a journal, but here I go. I think I'm in love with John. No, that's a lie. I know I'm in love with John. Yeah, he's my best friend, and yeah, he's a guy. I know that.
I thought we were just really good friends for the longest time. Half the time, we don't even have to say a word, we know what the other is thinking. When we're writing a song, it's really helpful, but when one of us has a thought we'd rather keep private it's downright irritating.
But then, I started noticing little things about him. Like the way his soft, reddish-brown hair fell in his eyes or the little flicking motion he'd do with his head to move said hair. I'd notice his sparkling, light brown eyes that were almost always guarded and shut off, unless he was playing the guitar. Then, they held every single secret he'd ever had inside his mind. Most people don't know that there's a softer side of John Lennon. They see the tough guy who'll say anything to anyone and not give it a fuck about it. They see the Teddy Boy who'll punch your lights out if you look at him the wrong way. They see a funny guy who loves to make a joke, even if it's at the expense of someone else. I see all of that too, but I see so much more.
I'll tell you what I see. I see a man who won't show the world his true colors because he's so afraid that they'll laugh and turn away. A man who won't let hardly anybody into his heart because he's terrified that they'll hurt him by up and leaving without a goodbye. I see a man who's lost a lot of people he was close to. I see a man who is desperate for love, but is scared to death of looking too hard, worried about what he might find.
I'm just so confused though. What if he doesn't feel the same way? I don't want to deal with being rejected by my best friend. It would kill the band. And what if he does feel the same way? Would he—
A nurse came into the waiting room, and following behind her were George, Ringo, and Brian. I paused in my writing and tucked the notebook back in my pocket.
"The nurse says we can see John, now," Ringo said. "She says he's fine, but he's got the flu pretty bad. The concussion isn't leaving any lasting damage, just a killer headache." My heart just about exploded out of relief. I got up and followed them and the nurse to John's room.
The nurse showed inside and left. John was sleeping peacefully, a strand of hair swooping gracefully across his forehead. We sat down for awhile, not saying anything. Then Ringo spoke up.
"I'm right starving. Does anyone else wanna come get some food with me?" None of us wanted to leave John's side, but we didn't want Ringo to go alone and risk a mobbing either. As we left, Brian scribbled a note on a small piece of paper explaining to John where we'd gone should he wake up, and we left the room. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I didn't notice something of great importance fall out of my pocket and land on the chair next to John's bed.
John's POV
Slowly, I came to. My head ached like mad and I still felt terrible. It took me a minute to realize where I was, the hospital. Fuzzy recollections reminded me that I'd passed out during our recording session and hit my head. I think I heard one of the nurses say something about a bad case of the flu. Just wonderful.
I flopped my head back on the pillows, but something in the chair next to me caught my eye. It was Paul's little notebook that he carried everywhere, George swore he even brought it to bed with him. He never let anyone else read it, and was fiercely protective of the little thing. My inner mischief-maker decided to take a peek at it, maybe get an idea of the kind of songs Paul was writing so I could one-up him.
I sat up and leaned over to grab it. I allowed it to fall open to a random page in the middle and started reading. It wasn't song lyrics that greeted me, though. It was a diary entry of sorts. One particular sentence made me stop dead. "I know I'm in love with John." It shocked me to my very core. Paul was in love with me? This bombshell fueled my curiosity and I kept reading. I was shocked; Paul saw all of that in me? The most disconcerting thing about it was it was probably true. The comment about my eyes was at least mildly flattering.
So it wasn't a one-sided thing. I opened and closed my mouth several times like a fish. Paul chose this moment to come back into the room.
"Hi, John," he said, swallowing a bite of a sandwich. "Sorry we cut out on you like that, but Ringo's stomach wasn't in the mood for waiting about. Suddenly, he seemed to notice that something was missing from his back pocket. He patted it and looked around the room wildly.
"You haven't seen a little notebook about this big, have you?" he asked, making a hand gesture.
"Does it look anything like this?" I held the object up. He blanched and snatched it out of my hand.
"You didn't read any of it, did you?" he asked quickly, flipping through it as though he could detect signs of intrusion. I gestured for him to come closer. I sat up and did something that I would never have dreamed of doing: I kissed him square on the lips. He stiffened in surprise a little and I started to pull away, thinking it had all been a huge mistake. But then, I felt his lips back on mine again, kissing me tenderly.
After a moment, we pulled away. "Does that answer your question?" I asked, a hint of a smile on my lips.
A/N: Review? :)