Exploring George---Chapter Thirty-Seven
Title: Exploring George---Chapter Thirty-Seven
Location/Time: Times Square/1960s-1970s
Rating: PG13?
Pairing: John/George; mention of past Paul/George
Genre: Confrontations
Author: larainefan/Alicia Mills
Warnings: language, anger, mention of sexual situations
Disclaimer: Not the real Beatles, characters portrayed are only loosely inspired by them
Ritchie cautiously moved to sit with George on the sofa, and had the polite tact and good grace to pretend he didn't know what was going on here. There were no platitudes available for this type of situation, and George would openly mock any display of pity or sympathy.
So Ritchie was content to stay by George, communing in silent understanding. But being this close to his friend was electrifying; and, following some magnetic impulse, he let himself sidle closer to the boy, being pulled almost against his will. "George---" Ritchie finally began, concerned.
"I guess you want your Tupperware back!" George stood up, easing away from Ritchie, into the kitchen. "I've got it all washed for you."
"Fuck!" mouthed Ritchie to himself. He smoothed down the faint trace of close-cropped beard on his lower face. He didn't give a shit about the goddamned Tupperware! He also didn't want George moving around any more than he had to. But George was already bagging everything up, all the containers that Ritchie had previously sent over with the food. And now he was back, standing in front of Ritchie, thrusting the bags at him.
"Oh, uhm...Thanks." Awkwardly, Ritchie positioned the bags of Tupperware at his feet. "Sit down, George."
They lapsed into silence again.
Ritchie wished he could invite George to come stay with him for awhile, but didn't see how he was going to manage to get him out from under John's tight possessive grip. He couldn't even begin to imagine bringing the subject up with John.
And, even if that could be arranged, could he be sure George would even want to? He wished George would talk to him, instead of cowering in the corner of the couch, biting his thumb.
"Uh...George..."
"Yeah?"
It was as if their former ease with one another had all but disappeared, had never been. Such a dichotomy George was! He could be so sweet, open and friendly, or he could close himself off and turn cold, aloof, distant. Ritchie had seen him do it with others; how it was hard to tell when it was a good time to approach George or not. But Ritchie had never known George to be that way toward him. Of course, Ritchie concurred, George hadn't planned on his little set-up here with John being discovered like this so abruptly, with no warning.
Ritchie sensed that maybe George was so wrapped up in John, that he really didn't need anyone else. And he wished John would leave George be, before he took everything from him. He wished John would leave George something of himself.
For a malaise had settled over George. Usually he had a spark of light in his eyes, he was so kind and gentle, a very loving person.
But now George was fading, and Ritchie knew it had to do with John's manipulations. George looked drawn and weary and emaciated, and so unhinged he could fly away. All the spirit had gone out of him.
"We can take you out of here, you know," Ritchie said softly. "You don't have to stay." Slowly, he was becoming more and more distressed by George's alienation.
Because George didn't appear to welcome the interference.
George, on his side of the couch, considered. John had said he wanted George to rest for two weeks. Of course, 'rest' had come to be a euphemism for other things. George had no idea what would happen between them beyond the two weeks, but for right now he had a few days left and he wanted to see it through. How could he ever hope to work with John in the band if he left right now?
If he left now, how would he ever understand and come to terms with the darkness inside?
And then he grew disgusted at the masochism within himself. Ritchie was offering him a chance to get away, and George was going to refuse. He must be sick in the head after all. He was damaged goods. He did not deserve a nice, normal, considerate friend like Ritchie. He didn't deserve Ritchie, or the friendship he held out.
"George, do you understand?" Ritchie tried to shake him out of his stupor. "We can take you out of here today. Right now."
"I think I'd better stay on here just a little while longer, Ritchie. But thanks."
Ritchie sighed, defeated. "Don't mention it." He was annoyed at himself for his presumption. George was magnificent, he could have anyone he wanted for a friend. What had Ritchie thought George could ever want with him? "Just trying to be helpful."
George nodded, then they let the quietness descend like a veil upon them again.
*********
John and Paul had headed outdoors for their own private chat. "Yeah?" John indolently asked. He quirked an eyebrow and posed, hands in pockets, as if daring Paul to say anything.
"Look," Paul began. "I don't know what it is you think you're doing, but it's not healthy. I mean, I don't care what you two get up to, but you're going to have to lay off him. Poor kid can barely walk. It doesn't look like he's getting any rest. Why don't you back off and give him some space?" Paul paced a step or two, hands jammed in his own jacket pockets against the cold, before continuing. "And another thing. He needs his friends. You're going to have to let him come down to the pub and hang around all of us more often. No good keeping him away like this."
"Come on, Paulie, you know what it's like when you're first in love, can't keep your hands off one another? Well, it's like that. And I can hardly put my hands all over him in public, now can I? People might not understand. Not everyone would be so accepting."
Frustrated, Paul confronted, "What gives, John? You do realize George isn't really a girl, don't you? I mean, he's a guy..."
"I just couldn't help myself! If only he weren't so erotic..."
Paul laughed, anxiously but amused. "George? Erotic?" But he stopped laughing when John landed his steely-eyed gaze upon him. John was serious.
"He is so erotic! He's very sensual!" John insisted, sighing at some kind of lovelorn memory.
"George?" asked Paul, trying to comprehend, trying to reconcile this image with the George he knew. Sure, George had his good traits, but sensual? George was sexy?
"Yes," proclaimed John, the final word of authority on the matter. "George."
"You've no fucking right! How could you mess with our little Georgie like that! I mean, I can understand a little playing around, but he's still just a kid, for God's sake. And a bit of an innocent, you know."
"Paul," warned John. "This is between George and me. It doesn't concern you or anyone you bring over with you."
Snidely, Paul informed, "Good thing I at least opened him up for you a little, huh? Tell me, did he yell and put up as much of a fuss this time around?"
As Paul's words sunk in, and the knowledge dawned on an increasingly incensed John, his ire arose; he saw red.
He came tearing suddenly back into the room, banging the door into the wall, causing George to jump up at the noise and commotion. A startled Paul followed behind.
"This bastard's claiming he had you first!" screamed John, charging at George, who put his arms up defensively. John grabbed him at the elbow, flinging him towards the wall, right on top of him, hounding him.
Ritchie was confused, didn't know completely what the fight was about, but he called with alacrity, alarmed, "Hey, come on, now!" as he attempted to wedge himself between John and George. It made no matter who was right or wrong, his first instinct was to protect George from harm.
Paul, behind John, trying to drag him away, was thinking maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut. But who would have believed John could be so jealous over...over George, of all people. Because it wasn't like George was a girl or anything, Paul told himself again. Experimenting with George was alright, all in the spirit of a bit of fun, but it didn't do to get possessive over him or anything.
This was insane. George was straight, he was, he knew he was, and these two supposedly straight men were bickering over whom had gone first with him. Things were closing in, he felt everything caving in and crashing down all around him. He knew how rabidly jealous John could be.
"You never asked!" George justified. "You never asked me if you were the first!" he defended himself, "...you just assumed...And you were so happy...so yeah I...I...and it seemed so important to you...I thought you wanted to be, so I let...I let you go on believing it!" Over Ritchie's shoulder, George stammered, "I didn't lie to you! You just never asked!"
"Everybody calm down. Just calm down," said Ritchie the peacemaker. What was it about this heaving boy in front of him? Ritchie had to fight hard the urge to step closer to George himself, had to resist putting a restraining hand on his waist.
John was floored. Whatever twisted logic and convoluted reasoning the kid had used to come up with that, he was right. John had just assumed. And what John might perceive as evasive behaviour, a lie of omission, if not technically dishonest, George would view and envision as being pleasing, sparing John's feelings, becoming whatever John needed for him to be.
But did it have to be Paul? wailed John on the inside, heartbroken. Why couldn't it have been some nameless, faceless boy from George's hometown, not someone John had to look at everyday.
"You can still come with us!" Ritchie was urging desperately. "Are you scared of him? We'll protect you, we'll take good care of you!"
John was drained; his hands had fallen weakly to his sides.
"It's okay. I'm not mad. I mean, I would have liked to have had you before Paul got to you, but..." At John's words, Ritchie's head swivelled in surprise over to Paul, because he still could not quite believe this. John continued, to George, "You're not still seeing him, are you?"
"No!" George wanted to say he didn't think he was exactly seeing John, either, meaning, Well, this wasn't the beginning of some life-long relationship between them, was it? Sometimes he wondered about John. Surely they would both go on to get married...to women...to have kids, families.
"George..." Ritchie was pleading, as George dropped into a nearby chair. Ritchie stared at him with vivid blue eyes, nodded once, trying to will him away from John, to infuse him with strength.
"He's safe here," John muttered. "I'm not angry. He's right, I never thought about asking if I was first, just didn't seem necessary. But it's alright," he stated, crumpling into a chair also. "I'm not going to hurt him or anything."
"Just get your things together, George," Ritchie whispered to him.
Once again, George had that underlying overriding desire which needed to be explored, explained and vindicated, that darkness that made him so unfit for a wholesome, good-natured pal like Ritchie. "I think I'd better stay on here a few days yet," he asserted quietly.
"George, are you sure? Are you just saying that because he's here?" pressed Ritchie.
"I'm sure."
Since George looked at the floor as he spoke, he missed how hurt Ritchie was by his refusal. Ritchie tried to hide it, but it was pretty evident. However, George would not be moved, so Ritchie cleared his throat, and reached over, awkwardly patting his knee. "Well, we'll see you, then."
"Bye, George," called Paul, but George just glared at him. Paul and his big mouth were always getting George into trouble. How dare he finally come here---after all this time---and reveal a hidden secret like that? To John, Paul tossed, aside, "See that he comes down to the clubs to visit once in awhile."