A/N:Well my friends, it's been FARRR too long and I apologize for the super long wait! Never fear, however, chapter 21 is finally here ...AND waiting to be read... :)). Can't believe I'm this far along already! Anyway, hope ya enjoy AND of course, one giant THANKS for all the continued love and support towards this tangled mess of words!
A/N: 2/22/13 CHAPTER UDPATE! Well, frankly, I hated this chapter with a passion so I've updated it to better suit my eyes. Feel free to re-read if you wish! It's possible I'm way too critical of myself but... as they say: Que sera sera... What will be will be. It is what it is :).
"They'll be fine, Macca…" Ringo tried to assure him as the two of them watched half their band walk off in the opposite direction at Mal's beckoning, "… They'll be all right once Mal takes care of business."
Paul hadn't even blinked to show that he'd acknowledge the drummer's words.
So Ringo tried again. "Believe it or not, we haven't quite struck disaster," he followed up, trying especially hard to make the words click in the bassist's brain and in return, instigate a response of any kind.
He regretted the sentence the instant it left his tongue; even more so when Paul still didn't respond. Now it just seemed like he was desperately foraging for any convenient way to cover up what seemed to be looming on the an 'Eppy' and refusing to completely come to terms with what was unraveling right before them for the sake of the band. Couldn't he come up with anything less cliché and more along the lines of helpful or uplifting? Was that even possible?
Ringo sighed. Such a bloody hypocrite he was for revealing forth such insincere information when he knew darn well what his own views were on the subject of the matter. It was beyond obvious that John didn't seem to be all that fine as he had freely put it. Had he been fine, chances were, his temperature wouldn't be vengefully on the rise once again; solely indicating that whatever he'd been admitted with to the hospital yesterday was still attacking him. He wouldn't be falling into sleep's grip at every blink of an eye, becoming increasingly impossible to rouse every time. His headache would've subsided by now, along with all accompanying symptoms, as the hospital would've been able to help matters. No one had dared to address it, but they'd released him without a diagnosis. They'd released him without knowing what was wrong with him. Had he had the flu, while they wouldn't have been able to rid him of it, they would've been able to confirm it and then give him the proper meds capable of taking the edge off. And as a result, he wouldn't be so goddamned out of it today and so equally un-Lennon-like… It was maddening. All of it.
And now George looked no better than Lennon had yesterday when he'd first let on that he wasn't feeling well. It was much too easy to want to jump to conclusion and assume that he was coming down with John's volatile illness. Something was losing itself in translation… And this something was riding on the back of the most ominous of feelings.
"Come 'ead, boys!" Eppy called to them in full out business-mode, tearing abruptly into their thoughts. Having been walking off in the opposite direction all the while, he'd come to a halt with the sudden realization that the remaining pair Mal had left behind weren't any longer in tow. He cast a pensive glance in their direction, "We must see about our flight arrangements immediately! There's no need to dwell on much else. The others will be fine."
Paul flat-out scoffed, his eyes narrowing on the manager in the blink of an eye, "You haven't been able to rightfully come to terms with things since yesterday, really," he defiantly threw back, "I don't think it's really yer place to make such assumptions."
Ringo's eyes widened, portraying forth his immediate surprise at the inexplicable, unanticipated sharpness of Paul's tongue.
"What was that, Paul?" Eppy asked; turning to him with such a glare it made Ringo's skin crawl.
"Nothing." Paul muttered, his heated gaze dropping to the floor.
"That's what I thought. Now pick up the pace, both of you." Eppy impatiently responded through gritted teeth. He turned away and started off again.
"What was that, Macca?" Ringo asked, turning to face him, eyes still wide in fresh shock.
"Sick of the rubbish…" Paul mumbled without looking at him. He suddenly looked embarrassed by his actions, "Sorry ye' had to see that…" he added.
"Sorry fer what? Sorry yer human?" Ringo incredulously demanded, "Bullshit, Paul. There's nothing to be sorry about. Lennon and Harrison would be proud of ye' fer attempting to speak yer mind and frankly, I am too. Shows yer not as perfect as y'let on."
"I've been letting on to such revelations a lot lately," Paul mumbled, "You'd think I was losing touch with me own self…"
"Well, yer stressed. We all are…" Ringo gently explained, "There's only so much of it y'can keep to yerself."
Paul contemplated Ringo's words for a moment before allowing his face to break out into a smirk, "Ever think about therapy, Ritch?" he asked.
Ringo recoiled slightly unsure of whether or not he should be offended by such a question, "Y'think I need therapy?" he practically gasped.
Paul rolled his eyes at the drummer's lack of understanding to what he was simply trying to say, "Don't be daft!" he asserted, a small smile of amusement finding his face, "I meant you'd be good at it. Yer rather insightful when it counts."
Ringo laughed, "Well, it's a nice revelation but…I think I'd rather keep being a Beatle."
"Move it!" Eppy irritably barked, his remaining patience continually wearing thin. At some point, their entourage had caught up with them and each member looked vaguely uncomfortable in the amount of tension that had befallen the band.
"Y'sure about that, Ritch?" Paul asked, gesturing subtly in the direction of their aggravated manager. "I'm beginning to rethink things meself…" He'd meant the latter as a joke, but Ringo didn't quite read it that way.
"When things get tough, ye' stick it out," the drummer stated, allowing for another flash of wisdom to take hold. "Otherwise, what else are we good fer?"
Paul briefly smiled. "Not a hell of a lot else, I suppose…"
"Right." Ringo grinned finally, "Well, we'd better go before Eppy decides we're no longer good enough fer our own band," he insisted, more than half serious, "Ye' really might 'ave pissed 'im off, y'know… with that comment of yers."
"He'll live." Paul simply responded.
Ringo nodded in agreement, "That 'e will." Paying eventual heed to Eppy's words, he started off decisively in his direction. Taking a moment to gather his wits, Paul finally moved forward as well, nearly losing himself in their accompanying entourage…
"…Some meds and some sleep and all will be right as rain… as it should be…" Eppy was aimlessly rattling on, speaking to no one in particular… It seemed he was unsuccessfully trying to convince himself more than ever, at this point. Looking at him now, seeing the undeniable anxiety in his eyes, Ringo wondered vaguely if he'd really managed to let Paul's biting words get to him. Perhaps, ignorance had been bliss for him. Perhaps, that had been his way of dealing with things. Perhaps, there had been a method to his madness after all. A sanity-inducing method that kept him from spiraling out of control…
As the healthy half of the Beatles and their staff were ushered into a room of the airport intended for flight departure, Ringo somehow found himself unwittingly shuffled towards the tail end of their assemblage, his mind despite everything he'd told Paul, continuing to draw away from any mainstream sense of urgency. Despite his strong desires to remain on the upside of things, as he often preferred and tried to portray, such dark feelings were growing harder to contain as seconds evolved into minutes and so on… Commanding thoughts, they were, too. Thoughts repeatedly specifying that something was bound to go horribly wrong. While he didn't know entirely when such irrationalities would come true or if they even would; with the progressing of every second of every minute, so increased the vague sensations taking up residence within the back of his mind like a parasite of sorts. A soul-sucking parasite that fed solely off his fears while in turn, indicating the seemingly inevitable…
Weirdly enough, he almost felt obligated to blame Paul for the pestering thoughts tearing at the inner walls of his brain. After all, it was Paul who had initially let him in on dark feelings of his own just following Lennon's admission to the hospital the night before. Feelings that Ringo, himself, had known a thing or two about beforehand but had refused to see eye-to-eye with. Blaming the bassist, however, would be most unreasonable and below his nature. Not to mention, it wouldn't solve a bloody thing. It wasn't Paul's fault. None of this was Paul's fault. He was as much a victim to this rubbish as Ringo was, regardless of whether or not he wanted to be…
"All right, Ringo?"
Ringo jumped from his reverie, his eyes rising several feet to meet Paul's once more. Almost immediately, he found himself floundering to master some kind of demeanor-changing smile, "Why, I'm fine, gov'nor," he found himself lamely quipping, "Thanks fer asking!"
Paul drew back slightly, looking momentarily lost for words and equally confused, "Just so long as yer fine, Ritch," he responded hesitantly after a while, a small smile gradually finding his face, "But, while I've got yer attention," he quickly added, his eyes taking on a humor-filled light, "if you'll allow yerself to turn slightly to yer right, you'll gladly take notice of the direction everyone else seems to be 'eaded in." Paul paused, gesturing in an entirely different direction from which the drummer was currently facing, "You'll then conclude that it's not entirely where y'seem keen on 'eading yerself. Follow?"
Ringo hesitated a moment out of pure confusion before it all suddenly dawned on him. He chuckled sheepishly, "Must've gotten a bit off track, then…" Well on his way to Mexico, it seemed… Which probably would've been a literal occurrence had he happened to board the wrong plane in the thick array of thoughts he'd been lost in.
Paul's eyes narrowed in a mixture of suspicion and concern, "Y'sure yer all right?" he asked skeptically.
"Y-yeah… of course!" Ringo reassured his younger mate, an uncontrollable quaver working its way into his voice, "S'ppose I was only lost in thought."
Paul nodded, not letting on to whether he understood or not. Ringo had the feeling that he understood just fine. "Come 'ead, then," the bassist gently prodded, guiding forth the oldest member of the Beatles through an entryway in pursuit of Eppy and their accompanying entourage. They'd only been in the same room as the others for a mere amount of seconds before they were abruptly introduced to Eppy's startlingly apprehensive voice as it rose above all side conversation, reigning as a result, instant silence down on everyone.
"How can this be?!" he was saying incredulously, "We're— the Beatles are due in New Jersey in less than two hours!"
Lovely, Ringo found himself musing to himself. What new misfortunes could possibly be awaiting them, now?
Quickening his pace, Paul pushed Ringo on and on until they broke through the entourage, coming up to what appeared to be the flight information booth. Situated behind it for the sole purpose of announcing and providing information for all flights that were scheduled to depart from the portion of the airport, was a small brunette woman. Situated in front of it, was Eppy; leaning slightly forward over the desk, his palms pressed flat against its surface, supporting his entire upper body. By his stance alone, it was clear he'd been subject to news he hadn't been in favor of hearing.
"What's going on? What's happened?" Paul demanded once he was in immediate auditory range.
Eppy didn't budge as he intently took in the explanatory words provided by the lady working the booth.
"Well?" Paul questioned, directing his gaze to anyone now, not supportive of being ignored.
"Some kind of a fifteen minute delay," a member from their entourage revealed.
"Well, that's not so bad," Ringo started to say, "In fact-"
"Aren't there any other options?" Eppy stated, unsuspectingly drowning out the remainder of Ringo's words, "Can't ye' send fer another jet?"
The woman shook her head, "I'm afraid not, Mr. Epstein," she revealed remorsefully, "The room is, however, filled with seats that could make your wait much easier."
"But what of fans? The crazed ones in particular!" Eppy persisted, anxiety ceasing to abandon him, "I'm right certain my boys aren't up to any hounding or anything of the like!" He turned to glance at Paul right then who shook his head, confirming his beliefs.
"I can assure you all that this particular portion of the airport has been secured and sectioned off in anticipation of your arrival. Traffic will continue to be diverted until your flight departure."
"Well, how can you be sure?"
"She's sure, Eppy," Paul sighed, beginning to get annoyed with the continuous exchange of futile words, "It's her job to be sure."
Eppy sighed in reluctance, relenting finally and unwillingly, "Right… I suppose everyone should just go 'ave a seat then and begin the wait… We can't very well leave without the others, at any rate…"
The band's staff dispersed first and eventually the two Beatles followed suit, walking without purpose towards the two seats that weren't occupied by people or equipment vital to the band.
"Bloody 'ell… what a day this is turning out to be…" Paul sighed wearily as he eased himself into one of the seats, Ringo doing the same beside him, "I hope John and George are doing all right."
"They're with Mal. I don't think they have a choice but to be all right," Ringo found the energy to quip, "He most certainly won't want to deal with any bullshit courtesy of Lennon especially!"
Paul chuckled halfheartedly and neither spoke for a while, both proceeding to get lost in their own ominous thoughts.
Thinking of John, Ringo found himself falling subject to yesterday's sequence of events as it had panned out… From their departure from Ohio, to their initial arrival in the great state of New York, to their arrival at the hotel they'd stayed at. How quickly things had gone downhill from then.
"Are you sure you feel all right?" he vividly remembered Paul asking of John, following to an extent a small amount of much-needed relaxation that had taken place once they'd settled in somewhat into the comfort of their suite. Ringo had watched with unexplained tension as the bassist had settled his hand against John's forehead for what seemed like seconds before he was hastily pushed away.
"Leave me alone, I'm fine…" John had irritably grumbled, glaring up at him with those increasing tired eyes of his.
"He got a fever?" Ringo solely remember asking from his perch against the counter of the kitchen area, "Should I get Eppy to send fer a doctor?"
"I don't have a bloody fever, y'git!" John had turned to growl at him, a fiery glare claiming him. He had turned said glare on Paul to further instill those stubborn words of his, "I don't have a fever!"
How quickly the tables had turned… and how Ringo loathed what had immediately seemed to follow suit from then on.
"103.9…" the doctor had apathetically revealed, lifting the thermometer into the light.
"Bloody 'ell…" Ringo vividly remembered exclaiming in utmost fear, "Shouldn't he be in a hospital?!"
"Not a cold…" the doctor had blatantly ignored him. Ringo remembered fuming as he watched the pompous arse reach into that bag of his for some kind of syringe. And with no bedside manners whatsoever, not that John would've been aware enough to acknowledge them, proceeded to inject… more like stab him with it.
"What's that?" Mal had demanded, his peaked concern as plain as day.
"Let him sleep a few hours and he should regain coherence as his fever drops," the doctor had coldly responded rather than answer him as he should have.
"What?" both George and Paul had simultaneously questioned.
Ringo had reached the end of his rope by that point. "No…" he remembered stubbornly proclaiming, "I've spent enough time in a hospital as a child to know that John needs to be in one!"
The doctor had scoffed at him. Blatantly turned to him with those icy eyes of his and scoffed, "Have you now, Mr. Starr…is it? And I'm sure there are thousands out there like you who have done exactly the same. Grown up in hospitals, so to speak. Doesn't make them all doctors now, however, does it?"
Again, had it been in his nature, Ringo would've tackled and beat the bloody quack to a pulp. Curse his polite nature sometimes. Too many times it served to be a hindrance in the way of well-deserved justice. As far as he could see, the doctor held some responsibility for what was currently on with John and no one could tell him otherwise. Had he had the necessary set of skills to begin with, chances were, the Beatles would've been spared every traumatic event that had since followed. And now George… He...
The sound of unanticipated footsteps manifested suddenly in front of them and both Beatles looked up in surprise, staring into the faces of both their rhythm and lead guitarist. Their presences were so sudden and unexpected neither the bassist nor the drummer could conceal their resulting gasps.
"Johnny! Geo!" Ringo exclaimed, his voice nearly escalating with surprise to the point of no return, "Yer back!"
George tiredly smirked, the display on his face appearing halfhearted at best, an undeniable contrast to Ringo's current animated mode of being, "Ye' act like ye' 'aven't seen us in years, Rings!"
"It sure feels that way!" Ringo responded, wiping away mock-tears from both his cheeks. He glanced briefly at his watch, "…Twenty minutes is a long time, y'know!"
"S'that how long it's been since they first took off with Mal?" Paul asked in full-out shock, glancing at his watch for verification.
"Time flies when yer… when yer…" Ringo faltered, his gaze shifting towards Paul, "Blimey! What were we doing all that time?" Surely, they hadn't been lost in thought for so impossibly long…
Paul frowned, displaying his own bemusement on the subject. "M'not rightly certain… Must've been time-consuming enough whatever it was…" Dismissing the matter altogether in exchange for a more important one, he turned back to his mates, "How're ye' feeling?" he asked.
George managed a small smile, regarding him with sleepy eyes. "A bit knackered, really…" he sluggishly revealed, his demeanor emphasizing his words to the fullest, "Me 'ead hurts a bit but I've felt worse… Really, I'm not too bad off."
Paul's gaze remained skeptical but he said nothing to give off the effect that he wasn't overly happy with the revelation as nonthreatening as it seemed. "That's great, Geo… Maybe a small kip on the plane will take care of the rest."
He hoped so, anyway. George really looked a lot like John had yesterday early on before his illness had decided to take on that wild and frightening spin that had eventually led to hospitalization. It was a bit uncanny. Of course, as he much too often did, he was probably jumping to conclusions. Most illnesses started off the same way before they developed characteristics that would sooner or later gain them identities of their own. He'd best find a way to keep up his positive image if even only on the outside… He could collapse into a distressed heap all he wanted on the inside, just so long as he remained in tact to the naked eye. It was never this hard, separating his inner feeling from his outer. He'd always had the gift of keeping the negative out of reach and away from troubling his face and mannerisms. Why was it so hard now? 'Because everything's so wrong…' his mind asserted. He wasn't sure why but it was all wrong… He shook the thought away and brought his eyes back to his mates.
George was looking at him hard, "All right, Paul?" he demanded in some kind of unexplained surprise. Even in his slightly ailing state, perception didn't cease to escape him.
Paul pasted on a smile, "Yeah, Geo. I'm fine," he rose from his seat and pointed to it, "Why don't ye' sit before ye' drop off standing up?"
George looked grateful as he practically leaped at the opportunity, "Ta, Paulie!"
Paul allowed his smile to taper off as he turned to face his other mate, left still standing and unaccounted for. Johnny. He'd been so quiet; he'd nearly forgotten he'd returned. Standing directly in front of him now, Paul was able to see just how terribly unwell and all-out pale and washed out he appeared. He hadn't even been so pale when he'd first set eyes on him. Paul felt a resulting twinge of apprehension in his gut as he made a move to address him. "Are ye' all right, Johnny?" he worriedly asked, "Y'look terrible!"
"Hm?" John turned to him with such surprise; Paul had to wonder what had been plaguing his thoughts all throughout his time of unnerving silence. The rhythm guitarist hadn't uttered even one word since his and George's arrival and the bassist couldn't help dwelling on how much that bothered him.
"Blimey!" Ringo proclaimed, turning immediately to take in Paul's concerns, "What's the matter with Johnny?"
John blinked, blatantly trying to make sense of all of this. "Whadaye' mean?" he feebly croaked, allowing his voice to be heard for the first time.
The weakness in his voice didn't do the situation justice. "Are ye' all right, Johnny?" Ringo asked, beginning to rise from his seat, "Do y'need to sit?" He gestured frantically to his seat, "Please sit, love… Paul's right… y'do look awful…"
John blinked a few times and shook his head slightly in a manner that proved dismissive. "I…I don't know what yer on about…" he murmured shakily, "I'm fine…"
Paul frowned, his eyes holding steady on Lennon's face which seemed to be paling considerably all the time. "Really, I think ye' should sit," he urged anxiously as though his life would depend on such actions. Looking at Lennon, it would seem that it did.
John grimaced backing away slightly. They were so loud. Everything was so loud… His mates… Their voices echoed terribly as they resounded off his eardrums and wrapped themselves around his suffocating brain. John paled even more at the assertion of the additional noise as it met up continuously with his excruciatingly throbbing skull, "Too loud…" he found himself grumbling. He could hardly hear himself though. Had he even spoken? He felt like he was in a cave… A dark… dark… empty but oddly crowded cave… He couldn't… he couldn't… Had he gone numb? Was he shaking? Why on earth would he do such a thing?
"John!" Paul suddenly barked, his voice sounding way too overly panicked.
It was so like him to overreact. Way too over-panicky, that one… You'd think the end of the world was approaching with the way he was carrying on. Perhaps it was though. It would explain the shaking of the earth below him. Or was that him shaking himself…? He tried to relay forth a question of supportable nature but was disappointed with the outcome as something unrelated and pathetic tumbled out… "…Feelsrraaange…" he murmured, his words sounding terribly slurred and distorted in his head. And it hadn't even come out right… Srange? Hadn't he meant strange? He tried to elaborate but something was going horribly wrong with his tongue… not to mention his vision…
He blinked blearily into the newly darkening world as everything about him began to take on an odd tilt. Had he not been about to fall over, he might've laughed. Particularly at how silly everything looked from such an angle…
Paul's eyes were wide with impossible concern as he rushed towards him, "Fer chrissakes, someone get Mal!" he ordered.
Mal? Why? John didn't get to hear such explanatory reasoning. Darkness settled in much too suddenly and all was lost.
The first thing, John realized when he awoke was how overly bright everything was. The second thing was how much every muscle…every joint… every bone resolutely ached and throbbed as though he'd been severely beaten… or thrown from a cliff… Maybe he'd been hit by a bloody bus… or train… or plane…
"He's awake!" someone breathed. "Finally!" Was that George?
"You've got to stop doing this, Johnny!"
Hazily, John turned his aching head towards the voice's source, wincing at the severe amount of pain in his neck, "Doing what?" he murmured, realizing it was Mal who had spoken.
"Scaring us to death!" Ringo shakily inserted, jumping into his line of vision, "Cor blimey!"
John struggled to sit up, "Y'look like you've wet yerself, Rings…" he commented, taking in the paleness that currently held the drummer's face captive. He tried to grin mockingly but for the life of him, couldn't get his face to comply.
"Wouldn't surprise me if I did!" Ringo responded softly, purposely looking past his joke.
"They have uh…" John frowned, finding that certain words weren't coming to him with the grace he was used to, "They 'ave… diapers fer that, y'know."
Ringo broke out into a small grin right then, "They sure do, Johnny… They sure do!"
John blinked in confusion. Ringo's reaction hadn't been anywhere near the reaction he'd been hoping for… What was going on?
Brian came up behind Ringo, his mannerisms as he did so emanating pure apprehension. "Are you all right?" he asked, those eyes of his frantically looking him over. His face was frighteningly pale as though he'd just been through something impossibly traumatizing. "Jesus Christ, Lennon!"
John found himself smirking in spite of the unnerving graveness of the current situation beginning to manifest before his very eyes. Unable to fully process what was happening and unsure of what else to do with the unspecified circumstances, his gaze locked on Eppy with this smirk, almost unnaturally derisive in nature. "What's the matter?" he asked, his words taking on a condescending spin that somehow seemed impossible to conceal, "Yer… yer…" His brain didn't seem to be working all that well… "Yer… lover call it quits?" he scoffed, a smug grin finding his face.
"Well, he's cracking jokes, he can't be all that bad," Eppy muttered, turning to face Mal. He looked oddly relieved by this, despite the blatant unnatural twist to Lennon's standard antics.
Mal remained unconvinced for all the right reasons, "That may be the case, Brian, but… I don't feel taking chances would be the wise thing to do! Look at what's just happened!"
"What?" John's grin faded, "What's 'appened?"
"John, y'fell…" George affirmed, fretfully crossing in front of him, "Y'fell and ye' began to shake… like mad…and…" He choked on the remainder of his unformed words and began to cough.
"Easy, Geo," Ringo cajoled, glancing to him with a bit of concern as his minor fit came to an end.
"What?" John croaked, his voice proving just as hoarse as George's coughing, "I was shaking? Why?"
"Mal thinks ye' 'ad a seizure…" Paul stepped in to elaborate, taking in a deep, somewhat calming breath beforehand.
"But-" John found there was no amount of sharp-witted words that could take the edge from such a sobering revelation. "Well… I'm fine now, aren't I?" he asked hesitantly.
"Do ye' feel fine?" Mal demanded, his face stoic with solemnity as he peered into Lennon's eyes, "Please be honest with me. I could 'ave the paramedics here in a flash. Would've been here already, had you not decided to come to."
"Paramedics?" John echoed; chills that could be attributed to both the use of the word and illness, dancing down his spine, "But that would mean…"
Mal nodded sympathetically. "You'd most likely end up back under observation…"
"And New Jersey?"
"Would be postponed." Mal concluded.
Eppy was practically vibrating with anxiety as he turned to look at him, "What's it going to be, Johnny?" he asked.
John's face fell. Choices… He was never good at these. Why did it always come down to decisions? Why, when presented with two things, couldn't it always be both? Just do it, Johnny… There's no wrong choice here… is there? Of course there was… There was always a wrong choice… Always one wrong choice that would send someone away unhappy… That someone disappearing forever… John frowned. Who would that someone be in this particular scenario? Eppy or… Wait… what was he deciding again? He looked up in confusion.
Mal shook his head, "He doesn't seem very lucid… I'm calling the-"
"Let him decide, Mal, before we call in the bloody reserves!" Eppy interrupted.
Decide… right… Decide what? Paramedics… Hospital… of course. Did he need a hospital? No that was utter overkill… Sure he didn't feel great but… he'd thrive wouldn't he? If he could get through yesterday, he could get through today… couldn't he? He'd been through so much unnecessary crap already… There was no way he could throw a hospital back into the mix. What good would it do? They'd only look at him and come to the useless conclusion that something was wrong but they didn't have a bloody clue what it was. All they would know was that this something could potentially be life-threatening. And he'd be left subject to his own destructive fears. He couldn't go through that again… He just couldn't… Hospitals were so grim and filled with death… He needed an environment like that like he needed a bloody hole in the head… And Eppy… Letting him down would be a right mad stunt to pull. It would ruin everything and possibly cause his manager to be the one to walk out on him never to be seen again. And then everyone else would eventually follow and he'd… He'd be all alone like he'd been last night… in that hospital from hell. There. That settled it. "I… I'm all right…" he murmured, raising his eyes to meet Mal's. "I'll be all right…"
Eppy looked relieved…
"Are y'sure?" Paul worriedly stepped in, "Y'just… I don't like what I saw out of ye' just now."
John swallowed hard, "…I'm John Lennon, aren't I? I'm a tough breed if ye' didn't already know."
"Well, tough or not, you'll most definitely be meeting with a doctor after the conference if I can help it," Mal sternly inserted, "Both you and Geo… And I'm not doing a thing to keep this most recent of yer proceedings under cloak-and-dagger just so ye' know."
John nodded, failing to take in the road manager's words entirely. Somehow, he felt overly satisfied with his choice. He hadn't destroyed someone's life with his terrible decision-making skills after all…
A/N: Stay tuned! And don't forget to drop a review! I'll try not to keep you all waiting on the next chapter!