Work Text:
Paul turned his TV on, the screen flickering and going to the recent news channel.
John Lennon was shot on December 8, 1980, at 10:50 p.m. outside his apartment building, The Dakota, in New York City. He was 40 years old.
"..Linda. Linda he's dead. John is dead!! On the news Linda!!.." Paul put his hands over his eyes.
"I know Paul.. I know." Linda said quietly.
"I never got to say goodbye, Linda." Paul sobbed
"Did you ever tell him?" Linda said softly, soothing Paul.
"I never did.. no. I couldn't. He was happy with Yoko. He had two sons. He couldn't have liked men at all. Never. You know I love you Linda.. but. I loved John too." Paul said, trying to hold onto what he had left.
"I liked Yoko, at a point in time, Paul.. if that makes you feel better." Linda said, holding Paul's hand.
"It feels like I could just.. write to him. Send him mail. Stay on the phone with him while he sobbed, over and over. I remember in the studio when he would break down, I would hold him. He would be shaking against me, holding me like I was the only thing left in the world.. And I just held him, listened to him, what he was saying. And I won't have the chance to do that anymore. I'll never get to hold John again. I won't.. feel him against my chest, soothing him until he fell asleep." Paul said, everything he was holding in just poured out.
"When I held him.. the last time I ever did. He said he always felt safe with me.
Linda had left the house for a week, to go comfort Yoko.
"I'll be back, Paul.. soon." Linda said, kissing him on the cheek.
"I love you Linda. I'll be.. here when you get back." Paul said softly.
Paul sat up late at night, remembering how he had stolen a Double Fantasy album from John last..
"I never got to properly listen to this." He said quietly.
He listened to it through, until he got to track 7.
Beautiful Boy started playing, and Paul just froze. He was already feeling horrible hearing the person he cared about most.. on a record he called horrible.
"..You were such a baby, John. Most gentle person I knew. And your voice showed.."
Paul sat there and just cried, not the sad crying, happy crying, he was smiling.
"You would have.. picked on me for crying to a record. It's funny John. I think you would always bring that up in interviews. About how Paul cried to your record."
He let the song play.
Close your eyes.. have no fear. The monsters gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here..
Beautiful beautiful beautiful.. beautiful boy.
Beautiful beautiful beautiful... beautiful boy.
"You sound so pretty, John."
"You really poured your heart and soul into this album, didn't you..? I can tell. It's beautiful.. and sweet."
Paul just cried, holding the sleeve of the record close to him, looking at John's face.
"You were.. amazing, John. The greatest person I knew."
Paul couldn't even find words for it.
"I miss you, John. So much. I started drinking after you died, you would probably say "Save me some, Paul!" But now.. I can't save you any. I couldn't even save you."
Paul decided he needed to write, needed to say something.
Dear, John.
John, there is so many things that I never got to say to you, things I never got to tell you because I was too scared to say it. There is over a hundred things that I would like to say to you, but now I can't. I can't tell you anything, John. As I'm writing this letter, tears are rolling down my cheeks, smudging the ink, but I continue to write, for you John. I'll write and write until my pen dries out. This will be a long letter. You won't be able to read this, at all. I'm so sorry, John. I'm so sorry I never told you how I felt, and I had every chance to tell you, every single day I could have written to you, called you, visited you. But I can't do that, no. I wish I was the one who took that bullet that day. I wish I took the bullet for you, to save you. I would have rather had you living then dead. I think about you a lot, John. I listened to your record. You sung so beautifully, it brought me to tears. You were the softest person I knew, so gentle. So kind. And when I would hold you in my arms, cradling you as you sobbed into my chest. I realized in those moments, I was really falling for you. Falling fast for you. Not because you were crying, but because you trusted me enough to hold you, let you cry. I think I should've told you, when I had the chance to. I love you, John. I love you so much it hurts sometimes. I hope that all the weight that was on your shoulders is gone. I love you so much, John.
From, Paul.
He just looked at the letter for a moment, reading it again. The tears smudged the paper, but you can read it still.
"I wish I could have told you, John."
Linda never came back home, and Paul started drinking more.
His mental health was deteriorating. Slowly, but not little enough for him not to notice himself.
Paul had bought a gun, a few years back. Just in case he ever had to use it.
"What is the fucking code for this.. "
He opened the safe, and he grabbed the gun, holding it in his trembling hands.
"I'll get to see you soon, John. Just wait, okay? I'll be there soon."
Paul pointed the gun at his head.
He put his finger on the trigger.
"Goodnight, Everyone."
Paul's body was found, the next month. He got his wish, to be with John.
"Paul? Paul why are you here?" Said John.
"I came to see you, John."
" . . . "
"Don't be mad at me John. Please.. don't be mad."
"Why Paul. Why.."
John grabbed Paul's hand.
"Come, Paul. It'll be okay."
"I trust you, John."