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The house was all but silent, except for the soft crackling of the dying fire. Paul sat alone on the grand couch as he desperately racked his brain for song lyrics. The band was to record the album in the next few days and John and he were still three songs short. And the fact that they were returning to America for a second tour added on to all of the bassist’s stress.
Paul reread the lyrics he’d most recently written down and snarled in frustration. He tore the paper to pieces and tossed it into the fire. He was never able to write with a clouded mind and right now there was a tornado ripping his brain to pieces.
Paul knew he was going to feel bad but he didn’t realize he’d be completely drowning in guilt. It had gotten out of hand so quickly he didn’t even know what was happening. It all got so wild in seconds. He lost his temper to fast. John was really just overworked and tired. It was nothing more than a temper tantrum in reality. But tantrum or not, he managed to hurt John’s feelings. He made John Lennon, Mr. Tough Beatle, cry. ‘There must be a special place for people like me in Hell,’ Paul laughed bitterly to himself.
Technically it was John’s fault. He was the one who sparked the argument. And Paul wasn’t really even exaggerating when he started his verbal assault. Lennon had been out of control lately. And if somebody didn’t tell him to watch his act, the press would catch on. Paul’s rant had a purpose. He was watching out for John. He didn’t want the press to turn on them when their careers were still so young. They’d all worked too hard for a bitchy Lennon to ruin it all. Paul did them all a favor and in the long run he knew that John would be fine.
But still… there was this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that kept bugging him. Maybe he went too far. Maybe John just couldn’t deal with all the stress being a Beatle came with. Maybe he was having problems with Cyn and just taking it out on them…Or maybe Paul was just being a big arsehole.
OoO
They had just finished going through the seventh song of the day. Both John’s and his own voice were starting to fade. The normally perfectly pitched Lennon and McCartney were butchering even the simplest of melodies. Of course, no one- Brian especially- was happy with this. Paul could see George Martin racking his fingers through his hair in unspoken frustration caused partially by the boys but more or less because of Brian’s nagging.
“The album must be completed lads!” The manager ranted on “The due date is upon us and God forbid the album isn’t ready-
“We get it Ep!” Harrison snapped, causing a much needed silence. Paul took a deep breath and counted to ten in his head. He didn’t even know the time but it must’ve been some ungodly hour if George was shouting at Brian. Normally George kept his cool- or kept it under control at least.
Paul looked behind him to see their drummer enjoying his smoke. ‘Leave it to Ringo to always have a smiling face even in the most Hellish moments,’ Paul was mindlessly plucking at his bass as they waited for Lennon to return from the restroom.
“Is he bloody showerin’ in there?” Harrison was becoming very impatient.
“Easy Georgie” Ringo warned in a knowing tone.
“Brian what time is it?” Paul questioned. The man leaned forwarded and pressed a button before speaking.
“Half past eleven”
“Fuckin hell!” George growled. “How much longer do ye plan on keepin us here?”
“Come on Ep!” Ringo piped up from the back “It’s past me bedtime!” That earned a slight laugh from Paul.
“Boys I understand you’re frustrated but the album must be-
“Completed! We get it! But Paul can’t even bloody sing and Lennon’s nowhere to be found. What’s the fuckin point?” The manager and guitarist went back and forth, George becoming increasingly loud and Brian keeping the same professional tone. In the midst of the argument, Paul snuck out of the recording studio and managed to sneak by unnoticed by an exhausted George Martin.
Paul wasted no time as he quickly made his way towards the men’s room. They needed to finish the song. One more song and Eppy would be satisfied. Then they’d all be set free. Paul swung the door open and nearly coughed up a lung when a cloud of smoke engulfed him.
“Bloody hell Johnny” Paul tried to sound light hearted in between his coughs.
“Fuck off Macca” John was sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the stall and a cigarette in between his lips.
“John we gotta just finish this one song” Paul walked over to the rhythm guitarist and sat beside him. “Geo’s about to strangle Brian”
“Let ‘im” John was short and sharp, not a trace of humor in his voice.
“Come on mate” Paul nudged his shoulder “We’re all tired. We all wanna hit the sack”
“Well ye gonna ‘ave to finish it without me then cause I’m not singing one bloody note” Lennon tapped the ashes from his smoke on the stall. Paul sighed and watched the embers float to the tiled floor.
“Johnny please!” Paul whined like a child, hoping John would at least smile.
“No Paul”
“Come onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!”
“Shaddap will ye” John shoved him away a bit too hard for Paul’s likings.
“John just fucking play the song. Even if we massacre it”
“We will” John cut in.
“Well at least Brian will let us go” Paul was biting at his fingers now. They were so sore from playing all day long. They’d started around ten o’clock in the morning and here they are more than twelve hours later, still in the bloody studio.
“He acts like he fuckin owns us” John snarled.
“John come on. You can curse ‘im off after we play the song”
“I told ye McCartney. I’m not going” John’s tone was harsh and Paul had to stop himself from actually flinching.
“John just fucking play it!”
“No”
“John come on”
“No”
“Please?”
“No Paul”
“Why fucking not?” Paul’s attitude switched in an instant. He was so fucking done with everyone’s bullshit. He was tired. He was sore. His voice hurt like hell. Paul McCartney wanted to go home and the only way that was going to happen was if they played the song. So help him, Paul would drag Lennon into the bloody studio by his ankles need be.
“I’m not playing the song and that’s the end of it” Lennon was calm. Angry but calm about it. And suddenly that became very, very irritating to Paul.
“Can you just stop being such a stubborn arse for just one day? Could ye?” Paul stood up. “One bleedin day without you acting all high and mighty. Just swallow your damn pride and play the bloody song!”
“Watch yourself Macca. You don’t want to get on me nerves, do ye?” Lennon’s mocking tone made Paul’s blood boil. Paul reverted back to taking a deep breath and counting to ten.
“What’s wrong Paulie?” Lennon stood up then. “Ye getting mad? Why? Cause I won’t pway the wittle swong?” John could really be an annoying prick when he wanted to be. Paul knew why John was doing this all. He wanted to show that he had the reigns. That it was his band. He knew that it was just another stupid pride thing that Lennon had but he was being just so fucking annoying about it.
“Huh Macca?” John laughed “Ye mad?”
“Yeah” Paul gritted between his teeth. “Happy? Now play the fucking song Lennon”
“Over me dead body” Lennon growled.
“John play the song”
“No”
“John” Paul was losing it. “I’m warning you. Play. The. Song.”
John was right up in Paul’s face. They were nearly the same height but of course the massive ego in the brunette made him seem even bigger. That smug look on his face. Those daring eyes. Paul could feel his breath on his face.
“One more time” Paul tried to keep calm. “John you got to play the song”
John’s little grin dropped to a deadly glare.
“Make me”
And then Paul snapped entirely. He hated how Lennon could mess with his head so easily. He hated it. Paul knew it was going to happen and he tried to avoid it. He tried really hard to keep his cool. But Lennon pushed all the right buttons in his partner and now the pair was rolling around on the cold bathroom floor.
John pinned Paul to the ground and there was a mad look in his eyes. One that didn’t belong to Paul’s best friend.
Booze.
‘Well damn’ Paul thought to himself. A sober Lennon was hard enough to fight off but a drunken one? Paul might as well surrender now. John must’ve read his mind because he let out a bitter laugh.
“Give up already?” And again with Lennon getting into Paul’s mind. Completely consumed with rage, Paul brought his head up and slammed it into John’s forehead, sending the guitarist flying back.
“Fuckin hell” Paul stood up and rubbed his now throbbing head. “Are we done ye-
John launched at Paul’s legs and the two landed on the floor again with a hard thump. Paul somehow managed to get a mean swing into Lennon’s stomach and for a moment, he had the upper hand. In one swift movement Paul pinned John to the floor, his knees pressing in on John’s ribs. Paul’s hands were in a death grip on John’s wrist. John was still dazed from his new position on the ground and just glared up at Paul.
“Fuck you McCartney” Lennon spat.
“Oh grow up John.” John tried to wiggle free of Paul’s grip but he just drove his knees into John’s ribs causing him to gasp. Sure it was a little much, but Lennon was insane!
“Go” Gasp. “To” Gasp. “Hell”
“Make me” Paul mocked. Lennon actually spit in return which caused Paul to release his grip and once again they were rolling on the floor. Both were shouting and cursing and punching and kicking and just tearing each other apart. Paul didn’t even know what was happening as a set of strong hands pulled him off the ground. The punching stopped and the room fell into a silence. The only noise was the heavy breathing of the two composers.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” Ringo yelled out of the blue. Mal was holding John away from Paul and it dawned on him that George was holding him back.
“Well?” Ringo snapped. All eyes fell on Paul which pissed him off to no return.
“You wanna know what’s going on?” Paul was livid “Lennon’s out of his mind. He thinks he’s so fucking great. Better than us all. He does what he wants when he wants and has no disregard for anyone!”
Lennon scoffed. Paul launched to rip at his throat but-unfortunately- George wasn’t going to be letting him go any time soon.
“You fucking prick” Paul growled to John.
“You flatter me” John rolled his eyes and Paul spat across the room.
“Paul!” Ringo or was it Mal (he couldn’t tell at this point) yelled.
“Oh shut up!” Paul snapped at whoever it was that was nagging him. “It’s not like it fucking matters”
“You’re spitting like some scum at your best friend!” Ringo piped up. So it was Mal to begin with…
“I’m the scum?” Paul laughed like a maniac “If I’m scum what does that make him?”
“Leader of the fucking band!” John yelled back.
“Oh get over it John!” Paul returned “We’re not teenagers anymore! This isn’t a fight for power! GROW UP” Paul screamed.
“Will you two stop it!” George Martin-when did he get in here?- bellowed “You’re acting like children”
“What?” John asked “Want us to kiss and make up?”
“Kiss my arse Lennon” Paul muttered.
“For Christ’s sake Mac” George (Harrison) muttered under his breath.
“Can everyone stop acting like everything’s my fault?” Paul screamed “Let’s not forget who’s been holding everyone up for a bleedin hour!”
“My band.” You could almost hear Mal roll his eyes at John’s comment.
“You’re bloody band would still be back in Liverpool without me!” Paul hissed. Suddenly, an idea clicked in his mind. If John wanted to be childish and play the “my band!” game, well Paul would play too.
“That’s it!” Paul shook free of George’s hold. “I can’t fucking deal with this maniac anymore. I QUIT!” Paul stomped out, pushing a whining Ringo out of his way.
“Paul what’s going on in there?” Brian, who had been absent the whole time, questioned innocently.
“Find a new fucking bass player cause Brian, I quit” Brian gasped.
“And why’s that?” Brian paled.
“Because I’m not dealing with that fat beast any longer!” It was a low comment but hey, Paul was pissed.
“Surely you and John will resolve whatever issue is at hand” Brian assured.
“No Brian we won’t. I’m not giving into him this time.” Paul stomped into the studio to gather his things, Brian hot on his tale.
“But you two are mates. Best friends!”
“Not anymore.” Paul unplugged his bass with a harsh tug.
“Don’t be ridiculous” Brian cried. “What about the band?”
“Too hell with the band!” Paul yelled.
“I understand you’re angry with him Paul but don’t you think you two can work it out. Whether you want to admit it or not you and Lennon are closer than any pair I’ve seen in my life.” Brian drew closer to Paul and lowered his voice to a whisper. “And don’t you realize how much you leaving will hurt him?” It seemed everyone loved to dance around Lennon and his emotions. Everyone was just so bloody worried about “setting him off”. And to be honest, Paul really didn’t give a damn about John right now.
“Let him drink himself to death! Let him overdose! Let him ruin himself like he always tries to do! I’m done with picking up the pieces when he wrecks himself!” Paul yelled so loud that he’d bet the cops would be called shortly.
“Paul!” Brian shrieked. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t care if he died?”
“NO!” Paul shoved Brian out of his way. Paul was lying through his teeth and anyone with a brain could tell that. He was just angry and blowing off steam by yelling. Anyone with a brain would know that. But when Paul turned for the door, the look on John’s face-When did he get there?!- proved that John Winston Lennon was an idiot.
“Wouldn’t care if I died huh?” Lennon wasn’t glaring. Wasn’t growling. He didn’t even seem angry anymore.
“John I…” Paul was amazed by how soft his voice had become. Paul was too far away to see for sure but he swore he could see tears in John’s eyes. Damn. Okay maybe Paul did care about John.
“So you’re leaving then?” Paul’s eyes widened like a deer’s in headlights. No no no no no no no no no no. How could he be so stupid? How many times did he give John the “I love you and I’ll never leave you” speech? How many hugs had to be given to get it through John’s thick skull that Paul wasn’t going anywhere? And here he was with his bass in hand heading for the door.
“John…” Paul placed his instrument on the floor as he slowly walked towards his currently emotionally unstable bandmate.
“I knew it” John whispered to himself. “They all leave”
“John, look I didn’t mean it like that” John’s eyes shot up and he quickly away and bolted down the hallway towards the exit.
“John wait!” Thankfully, John was slightly drunk and a slow runner. Paul managed to catch up to John before he could make it out the door. He snatched John’s arm and turned him around, only to be horrified as he saw tears streaming down John’s face.
John looked utterly broken. The sight of him like that made Paul want to burn down an entire village. Seeing John like that made Paul want to rip whoever hurt John-his John- apart limb by limb.
And the thought that Paul put that look there. That Paul caused John to cry like that. Well Paul didn’t even know what to do. He was numb. And when John pulled away and quickly left the studios, Paul didn’t chase after him. He just walked back into the recording booth to get his coat.
“You alright Macca?” Geo asked hesitantly.
“No.” Dramatic as always, Paul whisked around on his heel and left the studio and got in his car and drove to his suddenly very empty home in London.
OoO
Paul threw yet another song sheet into the crackling fire. He huffed loudly and dropped his head into his hands. He all but lost it but then a slight nudging to his foot caught his attention. He lifted his face and locked eyes with Martha, his sheepdog puppy. She was getting pretty big already and whined when Paul sadly shooed her away. She jumped up on the couch and sat in his lap.
“I messed up big time Martha ole girl” The dog liked his cheek which earned an honest to God laugh from the bassist.
“What am I gonna do?” Paul dug his face into the fluffy abyss of fur. Martha barked.
“What?” Paul asked quizzically. The dog barked again. “I can’t just go over to his house at four in the morning!”
Martha jumped onto the floor and started barking loudly at Paul.
“Okay! Okay!” Paul stood up and grabbed his coat. Martha practically shoved him out the door. “I’m going! Jeez pushy much” Paul got in his car and put it into reverse, slamming into the garbage bins. He did have a lot to drink in the past few hours…
“Maybe I should get a cab…” Paul thought aloud and Martha howled from inside the house.
OoO
It took almost two and a half hours but eventually, Paul was standing on the steps of John’s estate. The sun was starting to rise. Paul swallowed before raising his finger to the doorbell. Before he even pushed the bell, the door swung open revealing a disheveled Cynthia-sleeping baby in hand.
“He’s in the back” Her tone was short and deadly.
“Cyn look…” Paul scratched at his neck as he trailed behind her to the back door.
“I don’t care what you did but fix him” She pointed to the glass sliding door and vanished into another room without a word.
Paul was nearly hyperventilating but he gently slid open the back door. He looked around the deck. He was almost sure it was abandoned but then his eyes fell upon a curled up John on the lawn chair to side. He slowly walked over to the chair and saw that John was fast asleep. Paul took this as a miracle and gently sat down beside the sleeping man.
In the pinkish light of the coming sun, Paul could see the dried tears lining his face and Paul felt sick to his stomach. Without even realizing it, Paul began to run his fingers through John’s messy moptop. He was thinking of how he could even begin to apologize. He could get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He could cry. He could hug it out. Or he could do all three.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice John wake. And when he did eventually realize the guitarist had woken, he didn’t stop running his fingers through his hair. They sat in a comfortable silence which was a bit odd for two friends who clawing at each other’s throats-literally- just hours ago. But it didn’t matter. John wasn’t pushing Paul away and that was miracle if Paul had ever known one.
The sun was high in the sky by the time Paul cleared his throat. John’s eyes slowly traveled up to meet with Paul’s.
“Yes?” His voice was small and fragile. Paul frowned at that but cleared his throat again to speak. He decided to take a different route than crying or begging.
“Look I know you might not believe it, but I love you John” Strong start. “And I hate fighting with you. It literally wrecks me. John you’re the most important person in my life. You’re my best friend. My partner. You’re my brother” Maybe the crying route was best…
Paul choked back a sob to continue his little speech. “John I was just mad back at the studios. I didn’t mean a single word of it. I swear to God”
“You still said it” John’s voice was shaking too. Good so at least Paul wasn’t alone.
“I didn’t know you were in the room!” Paul sighed “I wish I could take it back, take it all back. And I know I can’t erase what’s been said. I’m so sorry John. So fucking sorry.” Paul paused to catch his breath; he didn’t even try to cover up the tears.
“You quit” John whispered.
“I take it back. The Beatles are my life. And you know that” Paul poked at John’s stomach and he laughed lightly.
“So you’re not leaving me-“ John stuttered and (fake) coughed and sat up in his seat. “I mean the band. You’re not leaving the band?”
Paul smiled and wrapped his arms around John in a bone crushing bear hug. John was all but clinging to him.
“I’ll never leave you Johnny” John buried his face into Paul’s shoulder and started to shake. And when John started to sob, Paul just held him there and rubbed circles on his back. Whispering the whole time a mantra of “I love you. I’m not leaving. I’ll never leave. I’m so sorry for hurting you” over and over and over again until John drifted off into a peaceful sleep in the safety of his best mate’s arms.
Even though that night, Paul denied it, he knew deep down and sides that as much as Lennon was a pain in the ass, he’d always be there to put him back together again when he fell apart.
OoO
Back at Paul’s mansion, a young sheepdog puppy howled a victorious howl as she ran happily around the yard. Things were alright again and her master wouldn’t be sad anymore.
And that’s all that really matter to he- IS THAT A SQUIRREL?
The End.