A/N: Thank you all for the reviews I got last chapter. Here's chapter 22! Enjoy my lovelies! Honestly, it kinda sucks but hey, we all fall prey to writer's block at some point, don't we? It's just one of the downsides to writing... Like an artist without inspiration... or something like that.
A/N: Newly UPDATED and a little more to my liking! Again, like the previous chapter, re-read if you should feel the need. :)
"Another twenty minutes?" Eppy had walked off huffing, "It's like we're not supposed to leave this bloody airport!"
"He's right. I'm getting sick of this place." Paul muttered, looking for a moment like he was on the verge of going stir-crazy. Sometimes being in one place for too long buggered the living daylights out of him.
"At least Georgie's gaining some good from it," Ringo responded, gesturing towards the row of seats he and Paul had earlier given up at the beginning sign of John's most recent episode. Exhausted from the ordeal courtesy of Lennon, their lead guitarist had claimed the area for sleep. "Looks angelic, doesn't 'e?" Ringo commented sweetly, "All flushed and innocent-like…"
Paul nodded, a warm smile finding his face at the presenting spectacle. "I hope he'll be all right," he murmured unable to keep the worry from filtering into his voice, "If he were to rapidly decline like Lennon did yesterday, I…" he allowed his voice to trail off, the rest of his words needless to speak.
"We can only hope that he won't…" Ringo softly replied, "All we can do really is keep an eye on 'im until Mal arranges fer this doctor to come 'ave a look-see… Same for John." He shuddered as the most recent episode replayed itself in his mind. How frighteningly out of it, John had seemed beforehand. How unseeing his eyes had been before he'd abruptly dropped to the floor in a heap and began jolting around like the earth at the mercy of a particularly violent quake. The lady behind her booth had come running, shouting incoherently about an ambulance. Mal had sternly advised her not to intervene and she had reluctantly slowed her step just outside the circle the band had tightly formed about John. She'd continued to look on in worry at a safe distance while Mal went to work at comforting their seizing band mate. Minutes seemed to evolve into hours but it was only mere seconds before John had come to. Mere seconds. Ringo specifically remembered dwelling on the revelation in shock. It had only been several seconds, a minute at the most since he'd initially watched his mate drop to the floor, seize, and come to. It was amazing how certain crises had the ability to give the impression of time slowing to a near standstill. It was amazing to the point that it was most unreal… Unreal, like the seizure had been. Things seemed beyond serious now. Seizures didn't often come on without reason in patients who were without a history, did they? Though Ringo was the furthest thing from a doctor, he was certain he was on the right track with his thoughts. Something had to be wrong with their rhythm guitarist. Something more extreme than any flu could yield…
Though fingers had been pointing in the direction for a long time now, they were all certain by now that Lennon didn't have the flu. All symptoms ranging from the unpredictable, fluctuating changes in mood, personality, and overall mentality, to the constant and unbearable headaches, to the erratic fevers, to the reoccurring nausea, even now to the seizures, simply didn't scream 'flu'. They didn't seem to amount to anything remotely sense-worthy, really. All that the Beatles knew for sure was that for some unknown and frightening reason; their mate, their leader, their brother, was deteriorating rapidly before their very eyes. Somehow, becoming undone… and worsening all the time. His mind purely didn't seem to want to function on a normal level, anymore.
Still, they were willing to give this illness the benefit of the doubt. If they continued to keep the 'flu' listed among numerous endless possibilities then it wouldn't seem so bad. It would never seem as bad because the flu would eventually take care of itself without long-term damaging effects… usually. But if they allowed the possibility that he had anything else to rule their minds, things would only fall out of kilter, even more so than they already were. But what difference did that make? Things were already well out of kilter… So off kilter, Ringo felt the entire universe was at a tilt. They'd just sat there and watched John have a seizure for chrissakes! Flu or not… John was… John was potentially very sick… If John didn't begin to improve, John might need to end up back in a hospital for his own good. The same even went for George. Knackered, feverish George who was starting to display a lot of the early symptoms that had been plaguing John all of yesterday. George, who they hoped was only possibly coming down with a minor cold or anything additionally mild…
It was a dangerous game they were playing it seemed; making work their top priority in the face of such a vague and possibly critical situation. But, Eppy… there was no telling Eppy what to do… especially when things were practically set in stone as they were.
Ringo frowned as he landed his gaze on John who hadn't risen from the floor since the unexpected scare he'd inadvertently dished out. He sat, in exactly the same spot he'd fallen, his eyes working overtime at avoiding the gazes of others. Aside from the obvious pallor that still gripped him beneath the feverish flush of his cheeks, he looked dreadfully exhausted. Sickly… "Ye' sure yer all right, Johnny?" the drummer worriedly inquired.
John nodded, though the action lacked the confident conviction it needed.
"Yer being 'onest?"
John nodded again this time with even less purpose placed into the affirmative gesture.
Frowning all the more, Ringo shifted his glance to Paul to gain his perception on the subject matter. The bassist hastily returned it with surefire skepticism. "Me arse he's being honest," he muttered knowingly, "But 'ey. No need fer unnecessary concern 'ere, apparently dishonesty is Lennon's most recently adopted trait!"
John wasn't blind to this exchange nor was he blind to the growing hostility embedded within the sarcasm of Paul's voice. The bassist was possibly upset with him again. John could always tell when Paul was upset. Why? It was one of those strange connections they had. One of those things that would often leave Eppy, Mal, and occasionally even Ringo and George baffled. They just seemed to know things when looking at each other. John could take one look at Paul on any given day and easily conclude in the blink of an eye that something was bothering him. It didn't have to be visible because in the public eye it hardly was. He was smiles all the time in the face of the fans. Constantly grinning and joking when the press was in the vicinity so as not to give off any wrong impressions… But John, he could always read between the lines as the bassist could with him. They just knew things about each other. It was like receiving a telegram through a brainwave with their eyes masquerading as the postman.
But what had Paul up in arms now? Was it something he'd said? John wasn't entirely sure. What had he said? John frowned, finding he couldn't even remember the extent of the most recent conversation he'd had. Most likely, it had something to do with his downward spiraling health. Something he'd probably said or done in relation to that. Either way, he somehow had the feeling all conversation in regards to him was far from over. Paul most likely had more to say on the subject. More questions. There were always questions. Whatever happened to good 'ol fashioned silence? Couldn't they tell he didn't feel like talking? Couldn't they tell he wasn't feeling, in the least bit, well?
At the growing threat of being additionally cross-examined, he rose unsteadily to his feet, struggling against the accompanying uninvited dizziness swirling about his head and made his way towards a conveniently placed remote corner. Paying no heed to the reactions of his band mates or rather not caring what they thought, he roughly dropped himself to the floor at its base and in no time, had his aching head leaned back against one of the supporting walls and his incessantly burning eyes blissfully closed against the extreme irritating bright vigor of a world he suddenly wasn't too keen on facing. He wasn't sure when entirely such a transition had taken place but everything was much too bright and boisterous all of a sudden, almost as though all his senses had been turned up to its full capacity. It was making him feel a bit strange… dizzy… agitated… Maybe it was all in his head… like everything else seemed to be… Confined in isolation to that stupid malfunctioning body part he called his head. Isolation… Maybe he belonged in isolation. Some kind of facility for the mad and barmy. He'd often thought himself to be a mad genius but… the genius aspect hardly seemed to exist anymore. What was happening to him? He could hardly tell reality from unreality anymore. …And now he was going about having seizures? The seizure at this point even felt like a far-away dream… Life itself, felt like a dream… More like a nightmare, really. If it truly was, he'd give anything to wake up from it… Anything at all… Never had he felt so lonely in his endeavors… Never had he felt so removed from life itself.
Within a matter of some unknown extent of time, John felt the sudden presence of additional bodies to either side of him and cracked an eye open just as Ringo and Paul sank to the ground beside him, populating his entitled corner with a strange but much needed warmth of sorts. Though he'd initially chosen the corner to get away from them and their repeated gazes of maddening concern, it was as though they'd sensed his lonesomeness and saw it as grounds enough to defy his wishes. It was a daring action on their behalves that would normally provoke his temper…But strangely enough, this seemed to be what he currently needed. He needed… to forget his fears. He needed not to be alone… He needed to feel better… if any of that made sense… And his mates, they knew… They always knew… Such queers they were, but he loved them just the same… Slightly comforted, John allowed for his weighted eyelids to drop once again, permanently across his burning eyes. Much sought out darkness blanketed his brain.
'You're going to need quite a bit of extra vigor for the long battle ahead…'
John jolted to life and glanced about him as though someone was out to get him, "Did someone say something?" he asked, eyes wide and inexplicably panicked as he turned to face first Paul and then Ringo.
"What? Who?" Paul stuttered out in confusion.
"Anyone!" John quavered, now glancing about the whole vicinity of the room looking feverishly for traces of this unspoken voice, "I heard someone speak as plain as day right in me ear it seemed like!
"Are you all right, love?" Ringo asked, concern sinking in once again. "Perhaps ye' dreamt it. Y'were starting t'fall asleep, y'know…"
John looked unconvinced but relaxed somewhat despite his body's will and procession to take on a slightly unnerving tremble. Emitting a quiet groan, he shifted uncomfortably, leaned his head back once again and closed his eyes as though he hadn't just been on the edge of falling subject to a panic-attack…
"John?" Ringo called.
No answer.
"Bloody 'ell, is he sleeping already?" Paul commented; eyes wide as he turned to glance at Ringo. He frowned in a mix of fear and confusion. His best mate really wasn't acting right. Not that he'd been as of late.
"This is strange, wake 'im up!" Ringo prodded suddenly.
Paul blinked in additional confusion. "What? Why?"
"I don't know… Something doesn't feel right…"
After looking at Ringo with knitted eyebrows; Paul moved finally to obey his wishes. A single shake of the arm was normally all it would take to rouse the naturally light sleeper that was their mate. Lately, it had been taking more and more effort, progressing at times to the point that the Beatles would sometimes feel obligated to dump a bucket of water on his head just to accomplish the task. Waking him on the limo ride over had been the perfect example of that.
"Blimey, he won't fucking budge…" Paul mumbled, shaking him even harder now, "He just fell asleep fer chrissakes! He shouldn't be that deep in already!"
"Easy!" Ringo quickly intervened, "Yer gon' give 'im whiplash!"
"Then you wake 'im!"
Ringo nodded and took the difficult task within his own hands. "Wake up, love-dove!" he loudly called, tapping his face with just enough present force that he'd feel it but not too much force that it would hurt him. Scant attention was paid to neither the escalation of his voice nor to the amount of surveyors beginning to turn in their direction with pronounced wonder.
"Fer chrissakes, we want to wake him, not damage his 'earing!" Paul snapped, sticking a finger in his own throbbing eardrum.
Ringo sat back with a contemplative frown, "I don't understand! That usually works!"
"Move over," Paul ordered, gently pushing the drummer out of the way. He straddled John's legs in a way that if not for the current circumstances would've been deemed inappropriate and proceeded to grip both his shoulders, "Wake up, John!" he strongly coaxed, "Y'need to wake up now!"
John's eyelids sluggishly peeled apart and with great effort, he took in with already present confusion, Paul's positioning on top of him. For a moment it seemed he didn't recognize him and then it all rushed back in a fit of fleeting anger. "What are ye- Get off me, y'bloody queer!" he snapped, shoving at him with arms that seemed incapable of holding true to the strength they would otherwise readily portray.
Paul quickly scrambled off of him, "When did you get to be such a sound sleeper?" he demanded worriedly.
John shivered inadvertently. "Wha… What're ye' on about? I wasn't sleeping!"
"But y'were!" Ringo emphasized, "You were dead asleep, John!"
John shook his head, "No… I…" he blinked blearily, his words trailing off all at once… He shivered again involuntarily. "…'m'rather lightheaded, really…" he admitted faintly, his self-observation proving completely irrelevant to what he'd originally been about to say, "Is that strange…?"
"It would most certainly explain why yer still so bleedin' pale," Ringo frowned, turning to gain a peak at his face. He suddenly looked increasingly worried, his eyes filling with fear. "Yer not going to… y'know…again?" he asked disjointedly.
"What?" John turned woozily to face him with eyes that didn't quite seem all that focused to begin with.
"Y'know…" Ringo persisted tentatively.
"No, I don't know, Macca…" John snapped, his anger surging once again, "Enlighten me fer chrissakes…"
"I'm not Macca!" Ringo quickly asserted.
John grunted in his direction. "Well, what the 'ell yer jumping down me throat for? I know yer not Macca, y'git…"
"Y' just called him… Macca, John…" Paul clarified, his face portraying his own ample confusion and concerns as he came to Ringo's defense.
John froze, momentarily taking in the excess worry in the bassist's eyes before shrugging indifferently and looking away. He fell suddenly silent.
"You… all right?" Paul frowned hesitantly.
John blinked again blearily. "So fucking what, McCartney…" he barked suddenly without turning to look at him, "I'm human, aren't I? Last I checked I'm entitled to minor mistakes…"
Paul's ongoing concern fell into momentary submission as a brand new array of emotions surfaced within him. "Take it easy, would ye?" he muttered, somewhat offended by Lennon's misplaced anger, "I was only telling ye' what happened. 'S'not that big a deal, really!"
"Wouldn't know it by the way yer carrying on. Back off then!"
"John…" Ringo stepped in this time, his voice suddenly rigid with more concern of his own.
"Everyone thinks I'm bloody broken or about to break… I'm not about to 'ave meself a bloody seizure again, y'know… I'm not about to die!"
"Did we say ye' were?" Ringo's asked, turning to face Paul in an act of bemusement.
"I might be a fucking muddled mess but I can still read between the lines," John grumbled, "Y'think I don't know what all ye' sods are saying about me? Y'think I can't tell what yer thinking? I was in a hospital, all right? I heard everything… I heard how… how they don't 'ave a fucking clue what to do about me… Jus' like everyone else… and these are fucking doctors… Doctors…"
The two on-looking Beatle's faces fell at the onslaught of John's outburst. Even various members of the entourage looked equally flabbergasted their ears not failing to pick up on the frustration-driven proclamation courtesy of their very own John Lennon.
"Well, did they tell y'that up front?" Paul asked, daring to venture even further into the void that has Lennon's mind.
"No, I read into each their individual thoughts," John muttered dryly, "I can do that, y'know." He grinned sardonically at the portrayal of his words, but the action was empty. Lacking feeling.
"Well… what did these doctors say exactly?" Ringo asked.
"Not a damn thing, really…" John muttered distantly, turning his attention again to a wall opposite him.
"John…" Paul sternly prodded.
"That's me name, Macca," John quipped, poorly attempting to change his demeanor altogether as he turned to face him with a blatantly artificial and still lacking grin, "Glad you've taken the time to avoid screwing it up! Do ye' or don't y'feel a better sense of accomplishment now?"
"Don't do that… that thing ye' always do, okay?" Paul hastily barked, causing some of their companions to jump in surprise.
"What thing?" John responded, managing to remain unfazed as he turned to him now with casual innocence, "As usual, I 'ave no idea what it is yer on about!"
"Don't try to cover up yer emotions with humor, Lennon!" Ringo sharply emphasized, his blue eyes appearing almost grey as he narrowed them indignantly at his best mate, "We know ye' to the point that it never works! …And never will…" He crossed his arms over his chest for dramatic effect and proceeded to glare at him.
John's depleted eyes fell glumly to his lap.
"Let's 'ear it then, Johnny," Ringo coaxed, his tone softening now to a milder level more characteristic of him, "We won't leave ye' alone… until-"
"You'd be better off," John stated indifferently, his transient gaze reverting back to the blank wall in his line of vision.
"Do ye' really believe that?" Paul hissed, daring to move closer towards the guitarist so that his face was mere inches from his, "Christ, ye' always do this! Y'can't keep pushing me— us away, y'know! It's unhealthy!"
John cocked an eyebrow in his direction in a manner of challenge, "Watch me!" he hastily sneered. He reached out without much conscious thought and without warning shoved the bassist back with such force; he was taken aback by his own actions.
Paul too, couldn't mask his initial surprise. He flopped back against the wall, nonetheless, and proceeded to avoid his gaze. "Yer not yerself, Lennon…" he muttered, his words barely audible.
"I am too, meself…" John argued, taking a moment to gaze at his offending hands.
Flinching heavily at the continuous escalation of noise, George found he was beginning to struggle with the bit of a kip he was trying to catch, "Would ye' guys-" he pleadingly tried to interject.
"Shhh…" Ringo gently shushed him, not wanting the unsuspecting young lead guitarist to become the target of any misdirected anger.
"But…" George whined.
"'S'okay, love…" Ringo cajoled him, rising from his seat to go sit with him.
"Then why won't ye' talk to me?" Paul presently threw back in John's face.
"What do y'want me to say? We've been over this, Paul. I'm fucking sick… What more is there to say?!"
"You can talk about what's been additionally bothering ye' all day, rather than continue to hide it like the stubborn git ye' are!"
"I can do whatever the bloody 'ell I want, McCartney!" John growled back, paling dramatically from the force of his own words, "Stop acting…" he paused momentarily, looking suddenly winded by his emotions, "Stop acting like ye' know what's best fer me… I'm twenty-fucking-four years old. Been me own caretaker fer longer than I care to remember…"
"Easy, John," Ringo put in, perceptively catching the growing pallor in his face.
'Yer not twenty-four, yet," Paul coldly responded. He stopped right then, desperate to get a firm handle on his rapidly escalating emotions. As maddening as Lennon's behavior was and often always was, it would be completely heartless and inconsiderate of him not to put his feelings into consideration. In as many years as he'd known him, Lennon, for the most part, only clammed up when something had managed to get through that seemingly thickly sound skin of his to his vulnerable and unstable center. That something, in turn, would have to be something he'd readily perceive as traumatic… Earth-shattering. He'd have thought that perhaps it was a form of unrealized fear in reaction to his sudden and anticipated seizure but this unusual behavior had been going on long before its occurrence. Since he'd arrived from the hospital, really…
"Congratulations on yer new-found math skills. Are we done 'ere?" John muttered apathetically.
"No, John… we're not done! In fact-"
"We're done!" John forcefully interjected, lifting his gaze to fix him with what he hoped to be a threatening glare. As they often did of late, his eyes proved betraying as un-fallen tears were suddenly present within them. Rather than wipe at them, he collapsed into a contrasting bitter laugh. The laugh seeming to take on a life of its own, he laughed and laughed and laughed… only stopping as a hoarse cough tore into his chest… Then he started to cry… right there in the open… tears, repeatedly streaming down his flushed cheeks.
Eyes widened in mere shock. No one knew what to say…
Paul managed to find his tongue, finally, "What is going on with you, John?" he whispered after a while, hoping that this wasn't the beginning of some form of delirium. This whole display seemed oddly reminiscent to the day before.
"Don't know what's on with me, 'ey, Paulie?" John hoarsely questioned through a mess of throat-clogging tears. He swallowed back a growing lump in his throat, wiped at his eyes, and laughed again; a bitter nervous laugh, "Well, get in line. Spent all bloody night in a bloody, immaculate hospital and they don't have a bloody clue what's wrong with me!" he emphasized with much more force. He laughed shortly again. "'S'fucking mad, isn't it?"
"John-" Ringo started.
"I've gone and caught meself the bloody plague… it seems. I've caught bloody death's grip, really… Well, not really, but ye' wouldn't know a thing judging by the way everyone's got their knickers twisted up their arses. The way they all look at me…"
"John!" Mal hissed, appearing suddenly at their sides after coming to terms with the fact that things were quickly getting out of hand.
"Tell me I'm the one overreacting," John continued, his demeanor unnervingly calmer than it should've been with such wording, "'S'that what you'd rather want… er think, Eppy-" He blinked in a fit of dizziness and confusion, "… Mimi… Mal?"
"John, take it easy, would ye'?" Paul tried to interject, his eyes dark with heavy concern.
"'S'fucking mad… I'm fucking mad… Perhaps, I've lost me 'ead…" the rhythm guitarist went on, looking all the more distraught.
Faces whitened all around him. Even Ringo looked sorry he had provoked such an explosion. "John," he shakily began, "that's-"
"Shurrup!" John murmured, his head pounding piercingly in the aftermath of all the words he'd just spilled forth. He brought his hands to his temples and gripped, willing the pain to just quit… "Just shurrup…"
"No one said any such thing," Mal finally cut in, eager to save what was left of the unraveling situation, "Fer chrissakes, Lennon! I wish you wouldn't drag everyone into that pessimistic mindset of yers!"
"Pessimistic or realistic?" John darkly challenged, turning to face him, eyes wild and unfocused, "Were you there in the hospital in the midst of me endless nightmares? I saw me uncle… I might've even seen me dad… I don't bloody remember… Probably would've blocked it out even if I did… But I…." He blinked, his train of thoughts suddenly expelled from his mind, "I… you weren't there!" he finished lamely, "No one was…"
"I… I was there…" Mal lied, trying to keep a waiting quaver from entering his voice, "J-John- don't think like that okay? You'll be all right! Right as rain in no time!"
"Ye' weren't there!" John accused, eyes narrowing on him in a fiery glare, "I watched ye' leave me… jus' like they all do…"
Mal opened his mouth to respond, but quickly shut it, realizing that there was nothing he could say that would successfully enable him to backtrack on the lie he had wastefully created.
"Really, John… you'll be fine!" Eppy enforced with as much optimism as he could forage for in the gloom that had since settled, "We'll get through this day… The rest of the tour—You'll be in yer element again before y'know it! Okay?"
John managed a tired nod, trying his best to conceal his doubtful and despondent eyes, "Jus' keep me out of the hospital…" he sleepily implored, suddenly worn by the overuse of his emotions and voice, "I don't wan' go back…"
Mal looked suddenly more troubled than he'd ever looked his entire life. Though it wasn't readily obvious, Paul and Ringo caught it in a flash. Both Beatles began to wonder simultaneously just what exactly it was that the road manager wasn't revealing.
"Bloody 'ell, where's the jet?" Eppy grumbled in surfacing frustration.
A/N: That's it for now! Sorry if it kinda sucked. Stay tuned for chapter 23!