YES IT IS: What If Stories, Just Like Starting Over, Part I
Authors: Jenny Wren & Lovely Rita
Starring: The Beatles and Maggie Sue
Rating: M for language, implied sex (though none of it is explicit) & implied drug use. Characters used in this story are either our creation, or are historically-based (ie, The Beatles).
Disclaimer: We don't own any of the Beatles, this obviously never happened, and is a complete work of Historical Fiction.
A/N: Hello readers! Happy Holidays! We just passed the 30th anniversary of John's death. To commemorate it, we have written something new.
If you've read our first story, Yes It Is, you will know that our heroine time traveled to 1964, hung out with the Beatles, went back home to 2006, only to find that despite warning John, she hadn't saved him. She goes back, and..well, we don't want to spoil too much more for you. If you haven't read it, you should, because there's obviously more to it than what I just summarized for you! ;-)
This new ficlet was born when Lovely Rita texted Jenny Wren and said "What if Maggie hadn't been able to get back the 2nd time? And what if John missed her so much he found a way to time travel to the future for her?"
Well, the idea took hold, and after a few phone calls between Rita & Jenny, a plot was born for a one shot Alternate Universe (AU) to the already existing AU. Then our writers realized that there was no way this could be told in just one short story... so here we give you Part I. Parts II and II should arrive in the next few weeks or so.
Don't worry, we're still working on Real Love - but sometimes another story grabs you and you've got to write it!
If you want to refresh yourself on Yes It Is before reading this, you'd only have to read up through the first part of Chapter 6, because that's where this story veers us off into another "What If?".
Just Like Starting Over, Part I
December 8, 1980
John let out a breath and watched as it condensed into fog in the chilly winter air. He'd had a wonderful evening recording with Yoko, and finally felt like he was starting to get a handle on his life. He was clean, he had Sean, he was making music again, and Julian didn't hate him.
All good things.
Still, he felt a melancholy song wrap around his heart. An older tune of his, one he hadn't thought of in a long time. One he tried desperately to forget.
It hurt too much to remember all the might-have-beens. The potential future he'd lost.
He looked over at his wife as they walked from the car to the entryway to the Dakota. He took in her exotic profile and the secretive smile she saved just for him. Usually that smile captured him, but tonight his eyes lingered on her hair, her long dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in waves, so much like another's, and yet so very different.
John squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was happy with Yoko by his side. He was happy. Maybe if he said it enough it would be true.
If I could forget her.
She was just a fantasy. That's what Yoko had said. A drug-induced fantasy. His Beatle days had been wild, and there was a lot he didn't remember. Or rather, tried to forget. What he wouldn't give to live out from under that cloud. Always having his music compared to what he used to do with Paul. The constant pressure to get the band back together. No one would let him just be.
Besides, she'd been wrong – they were nearly through the open gates and nothing had happened yet. He hadn't even seen anyone waiting for him like there'd been when he'd left for the studio. John had signed a bunch of autographs and studied each face as he did so, but they all just looked like fans to him. Still, he'd done as she'd said and called the police to report a stalker with a gun, as Yoko had looked on disapprovingly. The police hadn't believed him, and the officer he'd spoken to had been more a fan of Nixon than the Beatles. That left the bulletproof vest he'd never been able to bring himself to buy. He'd toyed with the idea over the years, but Yoko had always talked him out of it. Maybe she was right anyway. Maybe he really was delusional.
The brightly lit, glass-windowed room with the concierge desk wasn't far now. He was nearly home free. John was just about to pick up his pace, when he heard someone call his name. He started to turn, heard one crack, and then several more. Pain seared the left side of his back, almost before he had a chance to react to the sound. Shit! Maybe he wasn't hurt too badly? He was still standing, wasn't he? But then he saw that there was blood. His blood. Lots of it. Blindly, he resisted the instinctual urge to get inside to safety. She'd want him to fight. Fight for his life. With the last of his rapidly ebbing strength, he staggered a few paces and then flung himself in the direction of the shadowed figure that still stood behind him. Maybe his weight would jar the shooter enough to knock the gun away. There was still Yoko's safety to think about, though from what she'd said John didn't think Yoko was in any danger. John felt his body contact something solid, which went down beneath him. Where the gun was now, he didn't know. But he wasn't sure it really mattered anymore.
Yoko was screaming. At least he thought she was – he couldn't be sure since things seemed too fuzzy now. His vision narrowed, and then tunneled, as he felt hands lifting his body away from his assailant's.
He could hear Yoko still shrieking for him, but in his mind she was the one calling his name. He heard her voice over and over again. John John John…
It became his mantra, his lifeline. He saw her clearly in his mind, smiling up at him in that simple red dress - the red dress that he still had hidden in a guitar case. Try as he might to forget, she would always be real. As real as their stolen kiss on the balcony that promised so much more.
He smiled at the memory of that kiss, and replayed it over and over, until he no longer could.
And then, John died.
December 8, 2010
Maggie Sue stood apart from the crowds at the Imagine memorial in Central Park. There were so many people around it she couldn't even see it from her vantage point. Her diminutive height didn't help any. Still, it didn't matter; she liked seeing the people, everyone here to remember John. It was fitting; it was right.
If only they knew she'd had the power to save him… and had failed completely.
Why didn't he wear that bulletproof vest? Why! She squeezed her eyes shut and turned to walk toward the Dakota. She didn't know why she bothered visiting the building every year on this date for the past four years. Perhaps to look at that woman – the other woman who'd contributed to John's death - in the eye? But Yoko had never come out. Which was probably just as well. Maggie wasn't sure what she would have done if she'd seen her.
Probably get arrested for clawing her eyes out.
Yoko would have deserved it.
Maggie knew John had been dead for thirty years now, but to her it still felt like yesterday. It had been George to help her get through it initially. He'd remembered his guitar buddy, and had known that she would try to get back to 1964 when she'd learned that she hadn't saved John. When she'd tried and failed to time travel, she'd sat in front of John's photo, crying, and he'd materialized from around a corner to hold her.
"Why, George? Why couldn't I save him?"
"Hush, luv. You saved me. You're a hero. You're my hero."
She'd only cried harder – feeling guilty for wishing for more, because though she loved George, saving him had not being enough for her. She didn't want to be a hero. She just wanted him.
Why hadn't John listened to her? Why hadn't the other Beatles been able to make him listen?
She stood in front of the Dakota, and looked up the steep walls to the top of the building. Somewhere up there Yoko reigned. Maggie's nose flared and she jerked her gaze back down to her shoes. She shouldn't blame Yoko for John's death. Really, was it fair? It sounded crazy – a girl from 2006 coming back in time to warn John Lennon about his impending murder? She hardly believed it herself, and she'd been there!
She let out a deep breath and burrowed deeper into her red and gold striped scarf to shelter her face from the biting wind. She needed to stop doing this to herself, beating herself up for John's death. She'd cried enough over it. More than enough. Besides, it had just been one short visit to the past, a mere 24 hours.
He probably forgot all about me.
But there would never be any forgetting John.
I should go home. This obsession is unhealthy.
She turned around to leave and walked straight into a man's chest. Stumbling back, Maggie felt herself begin to fall as her already weak knees gave out from under her. She threw out her arms for balance, not wanting to go crashing to the cold ground. Callused fingers wrapped around her wrist and forearm and held her upright, steadying her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry..." Her voice stuck in her throat and her world tilted on its axis when she saw his face.
John! But no, it couldn't be him. It was probably one of those Lennon look-alikes that frequented John's memorial. Sometimes it felt like they were everywhere, taunting her with John's face. A face she knew she'd never see again in this lifetime.
The man's arms were around her in an instant, pulling her into a tight hug, and she was rendered speechless. Taking a moment to calm herself, she stood and let him, whoever he was, hug her. Then her mind caught up to what was going on and she jerked away from him, needing space, and fought the urge to smack him for the cruel joke he was playing.
Her downcast eyes connected with the black cowboy boots placed firmly on the ground next to her sneakers and her stomach clenched with a feeling of deja vu. She trailed her eyes upward taking in each detail from the faded hem of his blue jeans to the fur collar of the black leather aviator's jacket he wore over a matching sweater, a red t-shirt peeking out from the neckline. Maggie had seen that photo of John signing an autograph for his killer, and she knew what she would see next - a pair of simple plastic framed glasses, sideburns and auburn hair, unruly like it used to be in his skiffle days. You'd have to be pretty sick to dress up like John Lennon on the last day of his life on the anniversary of his death.
Finally, she met the imposter's eyes. Swirls of brown stared back at her, confusion coloring them. She couldn't help noticing the shocked expression across his features as well.
Then, she slapped him. Hard.
"Who put you up to this? Whose idea of a joke was this? Because I can tell you right now, it's not funny!" Her hand stung, but she didn't care. She'd do it again. He deserved to be more than being smacked for this.
"Well, hello to you too, Miss Margaret." The man worked his jaw around slowly, clearly feeling the effects of her slap. "D'ya always greet old friends like this?" Then he looked around and wrinkled his nose. "Funny, I wasn't sure if heaven even existed, and this certainly isn't what I imagined it would look like if it did. But still, you're here, so that's a good start."
Maggie's mouth fell open slightly as she heard the voice. His accent. His facial expressions. His perfect capture of everything that was John when he spoke. "I'm dreaming," she muttered. "That's the only possible explanation." But she knew that wasn't true. Despite all her science and logic, she had traveled back to 1964 three years ago. Could it actually be John?
"Oh, luv, how could you be dreaming when I'm dead. Or dreaming. Or both." Then he cocked an eyebrow. "Wait a tick, maybe we're dreaming together? Preferably naked." He waggled his eyebrows and leered at her. Just like John.
But not like an imitator, exactly like John. Her John. The one she had all to herself for a blissful day or two in 1964.
"John?" she asked, barely daring to hope.
"Do you finally believe me then?" He leaned toward her. "Can I hug you again, or will I be getting slapped for my efforts? Though maybe it's still worth it." He peered at her over his glasses and winked at her. "It's only me, luv."
She wanted to smile at that, but… "That depends."
"On what?"
"How did you convince me that you were real the first time we met?"
His mouth spread into a grin, and he stepped in close to her. "Oh, Miss Margaret, that's easy." His hand came up to brush a fly away hair out of her face and then trailed down the sleeve of her jacket.
She looked up at him, and breathed him in, feeling a shiver that was not from the cold. Please don't be a cruel joke.
Maggie suddenly yelped in pain. John had pinched her bum…
John had pinched her bum! Just like he had done when they first met - when she'd been the one who thought she was dreaming. Or dead.
"Oh, John!" She threw her arms up around his neck and clung to him, tears welling in her eyes. "You're alive, you're alive, you're alive!"
He chuckled and returned the hug, patting her on the back. "Well, that's where you're wrong, luv. I'm dead. I was shot. I remember." He pulled away to look down at his chest. "Odd, I'm not bleeding anymore. But I'm definitely dead. I remember dying." At that, she pulled him back into a hug. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard him whisper, "And I remembered you," into her hair.
But never mind that. She was causing a mild scene. In front of the Dakota. On the thirtieth anniversary of John's death. Not good. Maggie wiped her tears, and got her sniffling under control. "John, this isn't heaven. This is 2010. Thirty years, to the day, after you were shot."
His eyes clouded in confusion, and she could see him struggling to make sense of it.
"You mean… I've traveled to the future? I'm not dead?"
She nodded, and then watched as his face turned green. She barely got out of the way in time to avoid her shoes getting splattered. So much for not making a scene.
Maggie dug a tissue out of her purse, handed it to him, and patted him on the back sympathetically. "Come on, there's a Starbucks around the corner. A strong cup of tea is what we both need right now. And keep the tissue." She couldn't help grinning at him.
John smiled back at her weakly, and took her proffered hand. "Thanks."
"Any time. We time travelers have got to stick together."
John watched as Maggie settled into the chair opposite him and handed him a paper cup with a cardboard thingie around it. Probably only the first of the new things I'll encounter. "So, Future Girl, you lied about me having twelve more babies, all of them girls."
Maggie quirked her mouth up in a smile, clearly pleased that he'd remembered her saying that, even after the sixteen years it'd been since he'd last seen her. She didn't know that John remembered every detail of her visit - every precious minute of those twenty-four hours.
"Actually, it's Present Girl. And you're Past Man. Not to be confused with George's Taxman." She winked at him and took a sip of her tea.
John furrowed his brows together. This was confusing. No wonder she'd had such a hard time sorting it all out on her trip to the past. He followed her example and took a sip of his tea, and instantly regretted it.
"Ugh, how can you call this swill tea?"
Maggie's face fell. "You don't like it? I love Starbucks…"
John pushed the cup far away from him, nearly sending it tumbling off the edge of the table. "Don't worry, luv. I doubt it's this place's fault – it's nearly impossible to find a good cuppa in New York City." He raked his ringers through his hair. "Clearly that has not changed in thirty years."
Thirty years? The thought hit John hard, like a freight train. Thirty years was a long time. That means Sean is 35and Julian is...Christ. Julian is 47. John started to feel sick both at the thought of missing thirty years of his sons' lives, and having a son that was in fact older than he was, so he quickly changed the subject.
"So then, Miss Margaret, since you gave up on time traveling, what have you been doing all this time?" He had only meant it as a jest, but Maggie was staring resolutely into her tea, refusing to meet his eyes.
"I'm sorry." Her voice came out in a whisper. "I failed you. I tried, I swear I tried." She finally looked up, and was clearly fighting back tears. "As soon as I learned that I didn't save you... but no matter how much I tried, I could never get back to you!"
John reached over and took her small hand in his, and squeezed it. "Luv, stop blaming yourself. You warned me. I was the daft idiot that didn't listen." He shrugged. "I dunno – maybe a part of me was done with that life. Or wanted to thumb my nose at you for leaving me and never coming back."
Maggie sniffled, and wiped her nose with her free hand. "Why would you be upset with me for not coming back?" She honestly looked confused, which shocked John. Perhaps their day together hadn't had as big of an impact on her as it had on him?
He suddenly felt shy and foolish all at once. "Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about it. Just the ramblings of a crazy old man."
She laughed at that, and the sound was lovely to John's ears. "Old man? You're what, just turned forty?" She realized how specific that sounded and blushed.
"You would know. You're the stalker who's read all my bios." He winked at her, and she laughed again. "But really, tell me what you've been up to all these years. And how many years exactly has it been for you since... since our time together?"
"Four years…" She trailed off a bit, and looking away, said, so softly he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly, "Four years, two months, and nine days. " She looked back at him. When she saw his eyes widen, she looked down and then took a quick sip of tea to cover her obvious discomfort. "I'm thirty now," she said at a more normal volume. "Meaning I'm no longer the old lady." She gave him a grin, and he chuckled, remembering how, at twenty-six on her last visit, she'd been a good two years older than him, and that he'd teased her about it.
"Now that's where you're wrong. You'll always be my old lady." Again, he'd meant it as a jest, but her face sobered for a moment, and he was afraid he'd scared her by coming on too strong.
Giving him a weak smile, she continued, "I'm still a scientist for NASA. An astronomer if you want to get into specifics. I live down in DC, and I'm just up in New York for the day, for, well, you know…" Her voice drifted off and she stared down at her tea, blushing.
John was touched – she came all the way to New York just to honor his memory? Perhaps he had made an impression on her after all. As himself, that is, as John. But then he remembered that he had always been her favorite Beatle, and thought glumly that perhaps that's all it was.
"Is there a Mr. Sue in DC?" John asked, trying to sound like he was teasing.
Maggie blushed again and shook her head.
Good, John thought, and then immediately berated himself for thinking it. "I find the fact that you haven't been snapped up yet even more amazing than the fact that they let birds be scientists in this day and age. Bet you drive too." He gave her quick smile, afraid she'd think the slight grimace that had crossed his face was aimed at her.
"Oh, John," she laughed, remembering that first conversation they'd had on the rooftop of EMI. "We are very modern now, yes. No hover cars, however. But I think we can get you that industrial sized bag of cornflakes if you're still interested."
They both laughed at that, and he was about to deliver a witty retort when she beeped. Or rather the pocket in her wool peacoat beeped. She pulled out a rectangular object slightly larger than a deck of cards and started tapping on its surface with her thumbs.
"Miss Margaret?"
"Yes?" She didn't look up from her tapping.
"What are you doing?"
"Answering George's text."
"George's what?"
Maggie glanced up with a chagrined look. "Sorry, I forgot. I told you things have changed a lot in the last thirty years. George, as in your old friend, just sent me a text message on my cell phone." She showed him the surface of it, and he saw a miniscule keyboard and messages between George and Maggie.
"That bloody thing is a phone?"
"Yes, a mobile phone. Everyone has them now." She indicated the rest of the patrons in the coffee shop, and with a start, John realized she was correct. Every last one of them had some sort of version of mobile device that they were tapping on or talking into. Some of them were massive, though, and couldn't possibly be phones.
"What are the bigger ones?"
"Oh, those are laptop computers." She looked back down and finished typing whatever it was she had been saying to George. John knew he should ask about George and the fact that he was clearly still alive, but his mind was whirling. Mobile phones? Personal computers? What was next, transporter technology?
"Are you sure there are no hover cars?" It really was 2010. John felt the bile in his stomach start to rise.
"Quite." She narrowed her eyes in concern. "You're looking green again. Let's head over my hotel room. Maybe some rest, or a nap would do you good."
"Only if you promise to join me."
Maggie smirked at him, before gathering her things. "Clearly you're not adjusting that badly – you're still a dirty, leering, old man."
"Who are you calling old?" He winked at her again, and felt the sick feeling suddenly pass.
She just laughed, and held out a gloved hand to him, and he took it. It felt perfect, just the right size, and he never wanted to let it go. Despite the fact that he'd been shot, somehow catapulted thirty years into a future he couldn't begin to understand, where his children and his friends had grown up without him, John was calm, and happy, and completely at ease. All that, just from holding her hand.
Maggie tossed her bag onto the desk when they entered her hotel room. It was a basic room at the Holiday Inn Express – certainly not the level accommodations John Lennon was sure to be accustomed to. Still, she'd bet any amount of money that none of his previous rooms had a WiFi connection.
"Sorry about the one bed." She indicated the king in the center of the room. "I wasn't really expecting company."
John promptly threw himself onto it, back first. "I always expect to have company. And I still only get one bed."
"That's because you're a sex maniac." She blushed as soon as she said it. As if they hadn't already had enough awkward innuendo and talk like that between them!
"I've been called worse." He turned onto his side and propped himself onto one elbow. "Tell me everything."
Maggie knew what he meant, and she also knew that there was no way she could tell him everything, but she did her best. She told him about Linda surviving her bout with cancer; about George being a healthy non-smoker, who'd avoided being knifed by a fan, thanks to George's second wife Olivia; about how she and George (and Olivia and their son Dhani) were all good friends. Maggie and Linda had a fairly decent relationship, especially once Paul revealed Maggie's identity to her. Paul didn't even hate Maggie like she thought he might for failing to save John - he was just grateful to still have Linda beside him. Also, it seemed that forty plus years mellowed just about anyone out.
She told John about the last time she'd seen them all together, at Ringo's seventieth birthday. He'd been performing at Radio City Music Hall in New York, and Paul and George had surprised him by coming on stage at the end and playing Richie a rocking version of "Birthday." The three of them had hugged and kissed afterwards, and Maggie had watched with a lump in her throat, because she knew they were wishing that John could have been there with them too.
She talked until her voice was hoarse. The pizza delivery guy had come and gone, and the sun had sunk low in the sky, but still John's curiosity wasn't satiated. He always wanted to know more.
"So a crazy blonde bird attacked Macca with her prosthetic leg, saying that she was his true wife and that Linda was just an imposter?"
Maggie nodded her head. "Yeah, it was really nuts. The police had to haul her away in a straight jacket." Maggie might be the only person alive who remembered the past as it had been before she'd intervened. Well, besides that nutty woman who had somehow known that she really had been Paul's wife in another time.
"I thought I had problems! And what about..."
Maggie cut him off with a laugh. "Oh, John, really, you can look all of this up on the internet." She saw his confusion and added, "I'll explain what that is later. What we need to do now is figure out a plan."
"What do we need a plan for?" John was propped up against the headboard and picking out a soft tune on Maggie's little travel guitar.
"Well, you're dead. Have been for thirty years. You can't exactly show up on Yoko's door step and announce to the world 'I'm back'!" She shrugged. "Besides, don't you want to go back to your own time?" Too late, she realized what going back to 1980 would mean for John.
"What, go back to die? No thanks!" He shuddered. "And I don't know how I would go back even if I wanted to, because if it takes almost dying for me to time travel, I'm not doing that a second time."
"But what about Sean? Julian? Yoko?" It was beyond difficult for Maggie to say these things to him, because now that she had him back, she couldn't bear the thought of letting him go again.
John sighed. "Yeah, I've actually thought of that – but if I go back just to die anyway, I'd miss out on my sons' lives regardless. If I stay, at least I get to see a bit of their lives, right? As for Yoko… I don't even know. I haven't known for a while now, not since my time with May in LA, when I saw how good it could be with someone who has my best interests at heart." He let out another sigh, and closed his eyes tightly. "But you're right, I need a plan; I can't just be John Lennon again, can I? I'm not even sure how I feel about that. I always used to say that I loved New York because I was stopped often enough for autographs to feed my ego, but not so much that I couldn't get around. I won't have that anymore." He sighed. "But a fresh start... I've always wondered what it would be like, what my music could be like..." His fingers paused on the strings of the guitar. And a brief smile crossed his face. "This is it, isn't it? My chance? I'm dead. That means I can be whoever I want to be."
"Yes…"
"That means I'm not John Lennon any more."
"Well, you're still John Len…"
"No, no, no. That's not what I mean." He set the guitar aside and leaned forward. "Don't you see Miss Margaret? I'm still me, but I'm not Beatle John. Icon John. Famous John. I'm just John!" He was holding both her hands tightly in his at this point, and practically quivering as the excitement started to build in him. "The shadow of my Beatle days won't affect everything I do anymore!"
And then he leaned forward and kissed her.
It was just a quick kiss, one born of excitement and enthusiasm – a kiss like you'd give a best friend when you'd reached the top of Mount Everest, or won the World Cup. It was nothing romantic, still it shocked Maggie, taking her both by surprise in its suddenness, and its resurrection of the emotions she'd felt when they'd had that stolen kiss on a balcony in 1964. Only that kiss had been anything but casual.
She dropped his hands and leaned back into her chair, away from John, not wanting him to suspect anything about the true nature of her feelings for him. She needed to be his friend right now, especially while he was trying to sort his new life out.
John's hands fell limply to his sides, and he quickly picked up her guitar and started strumming again, using music to cover up the awkward silence that ensued.
"I guess I just need to figure out who the new me is going to be. Because you're right, I can't go around calling myself John Lennon."
"I know several Beatle impersonation acts that would love you. I bet you could get hired as their Paul if you learned how to play bass lefty," she teased him.
John threw a pillow at her, and Maggie laughed, relieved that the awkwardness had passed.
"I'm kidding!" She put the pillow behind her to support her back against the chair better. "But seriously, you need to pick a new name, and then we need to get you a new background, meaning birth certificates, all that stuff, and that won't be cheap." She furrowed her brows, worried. She had no idea where to even begin with any of that.
"Hmm, my name should be pretty simple. I mean John is quite common right? We can say I'm Jonathon, but I go by Jon without an 'h'. As for my surname, I can just use yours. Er, what is it?" It had obviously only just occurred to him now that he didn't know her full name.
"Mae," Maggie deadpanned. Of course it wasn't, but she thought he'd enjoy the joke.
"Oh, dirty Maggie Mae," he sang. "Jonathon Mae… Jon Mae. I like it!"
"But I was just joking! My last name is actually..."
"Don't worry about it, luv. I like Mae. It's my favorite month."
Maggie raised an eyebrow. "You have a favorite month?"
"Sure! Don't you?"
"Yes, Halloween."
"Halloween is not a month."
"It is to me." Maggie threw the pillow back at him, and he narrowly avoided it. "And Mr. Jon Mae, that doesn't solve the problem of how we're going to pay for your new identity. NASA scientists aren't exactly rich..."
"Yeah, but I am. Or rather, John Lennon's estate is."
"Yeah, but..."
"Don't worry about it, luv. After what you told me about what Yoko did with my name, pretty much selling it any way she could think of for a quid...well, I guess I've a right to some of that money, haven't I? I'll just be paying her a visit tomorrow."
"But how will you...?"
"I've got it all planned out. Just leave it to me."
Maggie bit her lower lip. She had no idea what he had planned, but she hoped it would work and didn't get him arrested.
"We also have to decide who gets to know the truth about you."
John nodded his head. "Yeah, I've already thought of that. The lads of course, and their wives. Yoko, Cyn, Julian, Sean. I can't really think of anyone else who needs to. Or should. Can you?"
"What about some of the studio guys? George Martin? Geoff? Paul still works with him sometimes, so he might recognize you. Neil? Mal?" Mal. At the last minute, in 1964, she'd babbled everything she could think of to John: precautions for all of them: Mo's leukemia, Mal's shooting, Brian's overdose. Mo and Mal had lived. Brian...Brian hadn't. Maggie shook her head, and then yawned, suddenly exhausted.
John set the guitar aside and then slid over to the other side of the bed. "Come on, luv. You look exhausted." Then he yawned. "That makes two of us."
Maggie eyed the bed warily. Was John expecting…
"Come on," he gestured at her. "A good night of sleep will do us both a lot of good."
She gave in, and slid under the covers, fully clothed of course. She wasn't undressing in front of John! At least, not in this situation. Just friends, she reminded herself. Then she yawned again. "If you think I'll be able to sleep a wink while sharing a bed with John Lennon, you're crazier than I thought."
"Well, it's a good thing you're sharing a bed with Jonathon Mae then, isn't it?"
She smiled at him, and knew, even though she couldn't see him in the dark, that he was smiling back.
"I'm glad you're not dead, John."
"Me too, Maggie Sue. This is just like starting over."
The End of Part I.
A/N: We know the beginning was sad, but we hope you like the idea that maybe John didn't really die.
Part II coming up!