Life is What Happens Chapter 5, an across the universe fanfic

A/N: I give you... chapter 5! If memory serves me correctly, this is the last chapter that I posted on FF before I took the story down... I think. So from now on (if I'm right) the chapters will be entirely new to those of you who did not follow the story on TheCrazyViolist's forum.

John's POV

After a night of somewhat deep sleep, or as deep a sleep you can get in an uncomfortable hospital bed, I woke up. My guess was that the flu I had was of the 24-hour persuasion, because I felt a lot better. I stretched as best I could in the little bed and sat up. As if right on cue, a nurse hurried in, stethoscope hanging from her neck.

"Good morning, Mr. Lennon. How are we feeling?" she asked, pressing the icy instrument to my chest and making me gasp in surprise. Ordinarily, I would start flirting mercilessly with this pretty young nurse. But today, I didn't.

"I'm feeling alright," I said, still blinking the sleep out of my eyes. "And how are you feeling?" I asked. She looked a bit thrown off by the question.

"I'm just fine," she replied. "Looks like your bug was only the 24-hour kind, and the doctor has okayed your head, so you're free to go once I get you signed out." I sighed with relief. Not only did hospitals somewhat freak me out, they were really boring.

She pulled the IV out of my arm, making me flinch and turn my head, and pulled off all the tape holding the tubes in place. The tape took off a lot of arm hair, which was not altogether a pleasant sensation. Once she finished, she made a grand gesture with her hand as though to say, you're free to go.

I snapped a clean salute. "Thank you, ma'am!" She raised her eyebrows, but refrained from comment and left the room hiding a smile.

Even though there was a curtain shielding me from the doorway, something just didn't feel right about changing in the middle of the room where someone could accidentally walk in on me. So, I took my clothes with me into the bathroom. That way I could both freshen up and put my clothes on without fear of an unwelcome intrusion. I was still a bit weak from my head injury and lack of food due to illness, and I was a bit slower than I would like. It was frustrating to have a bottle of shampoo be heavy in my hands. Eventually, though, I got myself presentable and left my hospital room of doom to go check out. Needless to say, I got stared at. A lot. Thankfully, people had enough respect for the hospital and the sick patrons not to go stampeding down the hallways after me screaming hysterically. Thank God for small miracles.

"Good to see you feeling better, Mr. Lennon," the desk clerk said in a chipper voice after signing me out. I merely wiggled my fingers in a halfhearted wave and walked out the door. Being a Beatle meant never having to hail a cab if you were walking; any available ones immediately pulled up next to you in a long line so that you could have your pick of anywhere from a half-dozen to a dozen little yellow cars that all looked the same. I slid into the nearest available one and gave them the order to take me to the studio where I supposed that the rest of the group was.

But when I got there, the windows were dark, there were no throngs of girls swarming the place, and the doors were locked. A note on the door caught my attention:

John: Paul's sick today and we figured you wouldn't be up to a recording session either.

~Brian

I groaned guiltily. Less than 24 hours after confessing some long-hidden emotions for my—well, at that moment I didn't know exactly what to call him—I'd gotten him sick. Oh God, Paul. I'm sorry. So sorry. Thankfully, the cab driver decided to wait for me as he watched me examine the door and I ran back down and threw myself into the backseat.

"Where to, Mr. Lennon?" he asked, seemingly unable to believe his good fortune. He, an ordinary cab driver, got to drive the John Lennon around twice.

I gave him instructions to drop me off about a block from where we lived, no sense in allowing any more people to know where we lived. When he pulled up, I got out, waited for him to pull away, and went as fast as my legs would carry me in the direction of my shared home. My heart was nearly beating right out of my chest as though it was desperate to make it back to the house before I did. I arrived at the door somewhat out of breath, and when Ringo answered the door he looked somewhat surprised.

"Hey, John! Welcome back... trouble with the fans again?" That was apparently the conclusion he took from my breathless state.

"Uh-huh, sure," I said absentmindedly, my thoughts in another room of the house entirely. "Listen, I went to the studio before I came here and I saw Brian's note. How's Paul doing?"

Ringo winced in sympathy. "Sorry about that, mate. The hospital's phone line was busy whenever we tried to put a call through to you. I think he's asleep right now. You can go check on him if you'd like, though." I was already heading up the stairs before the last word had cleared Ringo's lips.

The door to Paul's room was shut and when I opened it, the curtains were drawn. Paul was sprawled across the bed, his hair matted against his forehead in sticky clumps, the blankets tangled up around his legs, and his pajamas rumpled and wrinkled. I crossed the room to his side, but I tripped over his guitar case and it made a loud thunking noise. I cringed as Paul immediately began to stir. He opened his eyes blearily.

"Johnny?" he croaked and my heart fluttered in my chest at the use of my nickname. "That you?" I knelt next to his bed.

"It's me, Paulie," I whispered, stroking his sweaty hair out of his eyes. A tiny smile touched his lips and he reached up to take my hand in his.

"If you're worrying about getting me sick, and knowing you, you are, it's okay," he assured me. "I don't mind." I rubbed the back of his hand in slow circles with my thumb. I leaned down to softly kiss his lips, but his hand came up to stop me. "D'you want to get sick again?" he asked. I settled for kissing his forehead instead. He was burning up.

"Your forehead is really hot," I told him. "D'you want me to go get you a glass of water or something?" He nodded and my stomach clenched as I saw how weak he was.

I went downstairs to hunt down a glass of water and a cool ice pack. George was flopped on the couch with his guitar in his hands. "Hey, John. Good to see you feeling better again," he said, laying down the guitar and coming over to me. "I see you're taking care of Paul?" he asked. I nodded, filling up the glass. "Just don't get sick again, yeah?" He patted my shoulder and sauntered away.

Paul was attempting to sit up when I reentered his room. "Hey, hey!" I said, setting down the ice pack and water. "Don't do that, you're gonna make yourself sicker!" He looked at me with glazed eyes that made my heart take a sad drop.

"But I'm so bored, John," he whispered. "I'm gonna go mad if I don't do something!" I handed him the water and once he finished I set it on the night table and gently pressed him back down on the bed, applying the cool ice. He accepted it without much complaint, he was tired and sore.

"I can sing, if you want me to," I offered, noting that my guitar still sat in the corner of his room. He nodded his head, succumbing to his exhaustion at last. I retrieved my guitar and sat on the end of his bed.

Oh yeah, I'll tell you something

I think you'll understand

When I say that something

I wanna hold your hand

Paul had already started to drift off to the land of dreams by the time I had finished the first verse. I couldn't say I blamed him. Being sick took an awful toll on a person.

Oh, please, say to me

You'll let me be your man

and please, say to me

You'll let me hold your hand

Now let me hold your hand

I wanna hold your hand

And when I touch you I feel happy, inside

It's such a feeling

That my love

I can't hide

Yeah you, got that something

I think you'll understand

When I say that something

I wanna hold your hand

And when I touch you I feel happy, inside

It's such a feeling

That my love

I can't hide

Yeah you, got that something

I think you'll understand

When I say that something

I wanna hold your hand

I wanna hold your ha-a-a-a-a-a-and

Paul's hazel eyes were shut now and he was sleeping soundly. I couldn't believe it. I was crazy about the man who was also my best friend and he was crazy about me. You just couldn't get much luckier than that.

A/N: Fin! This was actually one of my favorite chapters to write. Did you like it? I hope so!