A/N: WELLLLLlllllpppp here's chapter 5 a bit sooner than expected! ...Enjoy?
The gentle, yet unexpected touch to the side of his face pulled him into an altered state of awareness; and John forced his eyes open, his unfocused gaze falling on a blurred figure of some sort positioned by his bedside. A woman…at least what he thought was a woman, peered back at him harboring a faint shadow of a smile just visible through the hazy fog that continued to pollute his mind. Instinctively, John fought back an urge to return the smile as there was something oddly familiar enough about it to provoke a sense of wonder, awe almost. The same, however, could not be said about the rest of her…what he could make out of her, anyway. Was it Cyn? He glanced to the woman's shadowed face, realizing he couldn't tell. Other than that smile, he couldn't really make heads or tails of his intruder. It didn't really look like Cyn, anyway and surely it wasn't Mimi. Who was it then? A devious fan? A deranged lover? Nothing rang a bell. As far as he was concerned, it was a stranger that stood before him in his very room. A stranger…with unknown motives…
Reality dawned on him in the form of a sudden chill and wonderment shifted to something of near fear in realization that whoever this woman was, she was intruding. Trespassing through his room as if she believed she'd had every right to be there. Or was he the one trespassing? John frowned as the conclusion that he truly had no idea what the impending situation was, asserted itself. He felt weirdly out of it. More so than he remembered…and he was bloody freezing. Where the fuck was he, anyhow? This wasn't the same place he had settled for a kip…was it?
Keeping the woman within visual range, John shifted his annoyingly tired gaze about, coming to terms that not only did he not know what his current situation was, but he had no bloody clue where he was either. The room, like the strange woman's smile, held something of familiarity to him, but…it wasn't enough to trigger an actually memory. Fuck, was this the result of one of his drunken adventures? The nag of a headache that gripped his entire head seemed to tell him it was but he couldn't quite remember having been drunk in the first place…or even having a drink recently for that matter. Was he drugged? Had he been drugged? Was that why he felt so bloody well out of it? What the fuck was happening?
The woman drew closer as if sensing his discomfort and proceeded to stroke the top of his head, pushing his strangely wet hair from his burning eyes. John bristled involuntarily and pulled away, shooting her a glare despite the heavy ache the action brought to his face. The constant ache that claimed his body …the unruly dizziness …the inability to properly gain his bearings… It was all such a rude awakening. John found himself closing his eyes against it, momentarily shutting it all out before abruptly forcing himself to deal with it. "Who are ye' and where the 'ell am I?" he demanded with a cold bluntness, he'd almost forgotten himself to be capable of.
The strange bird drew back as if from surprise and shook her head slowly, the smile still annoyingly planted on her face. 'What is it about that smile?' John wondered vaguely, though the answer never really came to him. Time to ponder the situation was limited as the subject of his muse approached him once again and suddenly without warning, took a seat beside him on his bed, her frame barely indenting the mattress. "Look into my eyes, Johnny," she whispered, "Really look into them."
John rolled his eyes. Great. Whoever this person was, she knew his name…not that it wasn't obvious he was John Lennon…one of the Beatles. As the blurred brown orbs shifted closer, John found he could hardly glance away as if he were merely under hypnosis. All at once, a brief wind strong enough to whip his hair about washed over him and he found himself sinking into darkness; all the while, wondering vaguely what was happening. Breathe…a distant voice commanded. Somehow John felt obligated to obey it.
Taking in a deep breath, he was plunged suddenly into and engulfed within an array of early childhood memories. He became vaguely aware of a variety of mixed emotions as his childhood seemed to pan out, unfolding before his very eyes. There were mixed feelings as fleeting images of his mother hugging him, holding him, loving him flowed endlessly like a never ending train through his exhausted mind. The way she laughed, the way she talked, the way she'd smile when he… Smile…Wait a bloody tick. The images came to a fading halt as a growing realization dawned on him. This woman standing before him was his mum…his dead beloved mother; the one Julia Lennon that had given birth to him twenty-three years ago.
Blinking back emotion-induced tears, he gazed at her finally. She sat there patiently, smiling softly, expectantly, and looking younger than he had ever remembered her looking. "Mum?" he croaked, his voice quavering ever so slightly. He grimaced painfully, realizing he sounded a bit like a little boy; unsure of himself in a way he wasn't sure he had ever sounded.
"I knew you could figure it out, Johnny-darling," his mother responded, smiling warmly, her eyes full of love, "You were always a smart lad, witty in every way and just a bit quicker on the uptake than both your sisters combined. Oh, I've missed you so much…all of you!"
Completely lost for words, John just stared at her, his eyes wide. He could feel a small tear careening in a slight zigzag motion down his cheek but he refused to acknowledge it. None of this made sense. His mother had died when he was seventeen…and that was years after she had first abandoned him when he was a mere tot to start another family of her own. He had just allowed himself to finally get close to her again; just begun to make up for the lost years…when she'd been brutally murdered at the hands of a stupid, idiotic drunken sod of a policeman who had struck her with his car. How was she sitting here before him so nonchalantly as though no such thing had ever taken place…? How could she…? John frowned unable to get his dizzy mind to coherently grasp the unfolding situation.
"Please tell me my dear big sister has been taking care of you!" his mother gushed suddenly, bringing him out from his dark thoughts, "She 'as, 'asnt she?"
Wouldn't ye' like to know? John fought back the sudden urge to fire those very words in her direction.
"She's a bit of a prude though if I do recall so correctly," his mother went on in the absence of his response, "Always 'as been, y'know," She broke suddenly into a reminiscent smile and her brown eyes took on a far-off look, "I remember when we were mere children. She once-"
John shook his head impatiently, in no mood for his mother's lighthearted chatter, though in truth, it was all he'd craved in years past. He felt like absolute crap and he was a bit pissed for reasons he couldn't quite come to terms with. "All of a sudden, y'care about me well-being?" he interrupted bitterness permeating his voice, "Y'didn't seem to care when y'left me with me aunt so you could get on with yer life and start a whole 'nother family…" John was aware that whatever had happened between he and his mother had long since been resolved on a physical level but he just couldn't get over the emotional aspect or the unfairness of it all. Too many years had gone by without the loving touch he had yearned for from her. The minute he gets her back in his life, she goes and dies. 'When's my happy ending?' he had wondered selfishly for years in the aftermath. John knew it was an irrationally cold, self-centered spin to put on such an impromptu occurrence but he was bloody miserable…and truth be told, he missed his mum something terrible. And his uncle, and Stu, and anyone else who had ever dared to leave him. Bloody hell, he even found himself missing his evasive father on occasion during those days when he was feeling particularly vulnerable. Christ. Didn't people ever stop to think of how their loved ones would take it before they spontaneously disappeared or allowed themselves into death's capricious grip? Surely they didn't…
"I've always cared, love," his mother told him bringing his gaze to her once again. She eyed him suddenly frowning in immediate concern, "What's the matter with ye'? Ye' look flushed…a bit ill, really…Aren't ye' feeling well?"
"Go away…Please…" John muttered petulantly, "Y'will, anyway. Ye' always do…"
She reached out, touching his cheek ever so slightly, "You 'ave a fever, darling," she informed him, "You should really be taking better care of yourself!"
"GO AWAY!" John shouted, all his frustrations breaking forth in the simple expression. 'No wait… don't go… Don't ever leave me… not again… not a third time! I couldn't take it…' His heart failed to verbalize all of this in time. Just as suddenly as the preceding words had violently escaped him, his surroundings melted away to reveal that of a hotel bedroom environment. "Mum…wait!" he panted into the empty room. Gasping and wheezing, he forcefully eased himself up into the sitting position, grimacing all the while as dark spots clouded his vision while his head pounded fiercely. A dream…his mind told him painfully…It was all a dream. Yer mum wasn't here…she was never here…
As painful as the realization was, John found that was the least of his worries as the fact he couldn't breathe reared its ugly head. Struggling to tear his blankets away; he glanced frantically about the room, repetitive wheezes forcing their way out of his constricting, aching chest. Spotting his suitcase in a near corner, he stumbled out of bed and staggered towards it, pausing to close his eyes as his head swam along with the forced action.
Listing slightly on his feet, he dropped down beside the square frame of luggage and managed to tear into it with strangely stiff fingers that seemed almost incompetent in working right. The inhaler was tucked away inside a pocket beneath the canvas flap that made up the suitcase cover, courtesy of his aunt, in case of emergency. Before leaving on tour, she had insisted he leave it there despite his original protests that he hadn't had an asthma attack in years. He had seen it as a bit of a hindrance, a drag really, to have to carry the infernal thing about at all times and had even thought of his aunt as being unbearably overprotective in regards to it. But now as he numbly positioned the strangely shaped object into his mouth, he found his gratefulness ruled out everything and anything.
The first spray loosened up his throat only slightly, while the second spray helped speed up the process; releasing the suffocating vice that had gripped his lungs and chest area. After a third spray, the ache lifted entirely from his chest and he collapsed wearily against the nearest wall, eternal exhaustion brutally taking over where his asthma attack had roughly left him. 'Yer mum wasn't here…she was never here…' his mind whispered as if to set his pounding heart at ease. It didn't help…he was near tears. He was sweating right fierce too; his damp hair clinging thickly to his forehead, some of it, falling into his eyes like sharp spears. His head, to his increasing annoyance, continued to throb unremittingly and on top of that, he was almost sure that his throat was beginning to ache or maybe it was the lump of sorrow that had eased its way into it. Attempting weakly to swallow it back; he shuddered involuntarily as a resulting shaky gasp escaped him. He held his breath immediately in growing fear the action would repeat itself and he'd simply breakdown into a fit of heaving tears. Right certain, Paul would find him then… He always did…and truthfully, that was the last thing he wanted or even needed.
A chill passed through him and he frowned, realizing he still couldn't seem to get warm despite the fact that he was sweating and worked up into a tizzy. Grimacing weakly at the state he was in, he placed a hand beneath his bangs and irritably pushed his hair out of his face, shivering all the while at another chill that seemed to nip simultaneously at his spine. He felt lightheaded…nauseous even like he'd spent hours on one of those circus rides as he'd used to do as a little boy. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that maybe was suffering the grips of a particularly bad hangover, only…he hadn't touched a single drink last night. He hoped with a passion that neither Paul nor anyone else would dare walk in on him now. Not when he looked every bit like the crap he felt like. He wanted to sleep more than ever and maybe take another aspirin to boot. Needless to say, he didn't feel well and to say that he felt like shit would be putting it mildly.
Closing his eyes, John allowed himself to slip into temporary bliss before the concept of time suddenly dawned on him, bringing with it, an unwanted reality check and a realization that he was running on borrowed time. Forcing his aching eyes to reopen again, he shifted them anxiously towards the bedside clock, the numbers all but easing his exhaustion-ravaged mind. He needed to get his lazy arse in the shower now or both Eppy and Mal would have his head! More importantly, he needed to get his betraying body under control. The chills; still mercifully mild in nature, were starting to come on a bit persistently now, and that coupled with the giant allover ache that plagued him was starting to bring to his attention that he may actually be coming down with a fever of some sort. Great. Of all the times for such bloody inconvenience. Whatever he was catching, he needed to slow the infective process down somehow…just enough to get through the next couple of days at least…
A/N: Hope you guys liked it! I can't express in enough words how much I appreciate all the positive feedback I'm getting on this story! Again, thank you allll! :)