Orange Collision
Title: Orange Collision
Pairings: John/Paul, George/Ringo Equal time for both pairings
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sexual situations, drug and alcohol use, language, distressing situations
Summary: En route to Los Angeles, a storm diverts the Beatles to an uncharted island in the middle of the Pacific. Finding themselves among the few survivors, romantic tension flares up as they try desperately to find a way home. Meanwhile, some peculiar events occur that lead them all to fear for their sanity...
A/N: I really wanted some practice writing situation-based conflict as opposed to character-based conflict (even though the main theme in this story is still going to involve character-based conflict). Also, this story is very Lost-esque, but obviously it has a different plot. There are just some similar themes.
A/N 2: Another late update. I promise I’ll get better at this. Eventually. XD Enjoy the Ringo.
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Beatles, nor do I claim to. This is a fictional story and is not written to be libelous.
Previous Chapters
Chapter 32
Ocean water had a nasty taste to it-salty and bitter mixed with small clumps of seaweed-and it took ages for Ringo to cough it all up. Unfortunately, the island didn’t come with a neatly polished bathtub, so he had no other choice but to be tossed to and fro by the tumultuous tides, feel the water burn and spill down his throat. Honestly, he was jerked around so much that he wouldn’t have been surprised if, while taking a refreshing bath in the ocean one day, the waves overtook him and dragged him out to sea; he swore he was going to end up drowning one day.
Yes, he was going to drown one day.
But it wasn’t so bad. The water was refreshing in the scorching heat, cleaner and bluer and clearer than the waters of Liverpool. It was beautiful. There was a bottle of shampoo on the rock to his left, so he squirted a small amount into his palm and worked it through his hair, closing his eyes, letting it run down his body. Some of it got into his mouth but he didn’t care, it almost tasted better than the ocean. When he was properly lathered he dunked his head under the water, held onto the rock to brace himself against the waves, and opened his eyes.
This was what made the whole experience worth it. Everything was clear, everything was blue. The seaweed wasn’t so troubling now that he could see it swaying back and forth-starch green. A small school of fish passed by, silver and orderly, the smaller fish followed the larger ones. Like a family. His heart raced and he swallowed thickly before turning around. In the distance he could see a blue fish, long with a yellow face. He smiled until his eyes stung and his lungs rebelled, broke through the glassy surface and emerged on the other side, wiping his eyes clean and slicking his hair out of his face.
He grabbed his black shorts off the rock and stepped into them quickly. After his nakedness was suitably covered he took the rest of his things and half-swam to shore, grabbing his towel and drying off as the breeze cooled his skin.
He was near Brian’s hut. Brian was sitting in the sand, digging with absentmindedness, and George was sitting beside him with his arms crossed and his eyes on the horizon. Once and awhile they’d say something to each other and nod, but it never ascended into any sort of conversation.
And why was he staring at them again? Clearing his throat, Ringo towel-dried his hair, leaving it a fluffy mess, and walked towards Brian and George.
“Hello,” he smiled.
George responded with an eye-contact fleeting “Hi.”
“How are things Richard?” Brian nodded. Ringo scratched his bare chest and sat down.
“I’m good. What are you digging?”
“Oh! Erm…just distracting myself, I suppose,” he answered as he put his hands on his lap.
“Well you don’t have to stop ‘cause I said something.”
“No no. It was a silly thing to do in the first place,” Brian dismissed, “Anyway, George was just telling me that you don’t eat fish.”
“Oh,” Ringo eye’s flitted over to George, who kept his head turned to the ground, “Yeah…erm. I dunno. It just makes me stomach act up a bit. But I still eat it sometimes.”
“Ah, well I was thinking that we could…look for vegetables some time,” he waved his arm around, “I mean, what are the chances that this island has an abundance of fruit yet no vegetables?”
“Makes sense.”
“Right. And we haven’t even been to the other side of the island, who knows what could be growing there? Well…that is to say that…I haven’t been to the other side of the island.”
Brian ran his hand over his lips nervously and Ringo swallowed. He knew that Brian hadn’t meant to bring that up, knew that he felt just as awkward about it as he did, but that still didn’t prevent his stomach from twirling uncomfortably. They should have told him-he should have told Brian about their previous plans to search for Nicole; it had been wrong of them to leave without saying anything, leave with Brian probably worrying madly about them every hour that they were gone, just as he was doing now that Mal was absent. And, fuck, if he had been in his right state of mind he would have stopped Paul and told him to notify Brian and the others before heading off. But he hadn’t been in his right mind-had barely been able to sleep, thanks to a particularly loud argument with George hours prior…
At least that was all in the past now. Still, he drummed on his thigh and wondered if he should apologize, but, thankfully, George spoke up for him.
“We didn’t see anything. But I doubt we made it to the other side either.”
“Well, we’ll just have to plan on doing that sometime, won’t we?” There was a gleam in Brian’s eye and it made Ringo smile back at him and nod vigorously.
“Definitely. We can all go,” he said.
“And maybe we’ll actually get a chance to pack properly, yeah?” George grinned.
“Alright, we you lot can inform the other two, I’m sure,” Brian said, stretching and standing up.
“Oi! Where are you off to?” George asked.
“I was just going to look at the view over there. It’s beautiful at this time of day,” he responded, pointing a little past Ringo’s bathing spot.
“I’ll come with you,” George stood.
“Richard can come too,” Brian smiled at him in a friendly way. It sounded like a fair idea, he had nothing better to do anyway. So he stood up and wiped the sand off his legs, only briefly freezing once he heard what George had to say.
“No, he has to get dressed first.”
It was true, he supposed. He was only wearing a small pair of shorts, but that hardly mattered since they weren’t going in the forest. And, well, the way George had said it… Ringo sought out his eyes but George kept his gaze resolutely fixed on a point past his shoulder. He had a fleeting thought that maybe John had been telling the truth when he’d said that George was trying to make him jealous of Brian, absurd as it was.
“Um.”
“We can wait for him,” Brian said, swinging his arms back and forth, “Go on, get dressed and meet us back here.”
When Ringo still couldn’t meet George’s eyes, he sighed and understood, “Nah, I think I’m a bit ready for a kip actually.”
“Are you sure?” Brian asked.
“Yeah I’m sure. Tomorrow, then?”
“Alright. Tomorrow.” Ringo waved goodbye, watching as Brian and George were consumed by sunlight.
George was playing the guitar in the corner of the hut and Ringo wondered if he was still pissed. He didn’t know what he was mad about, everything seemed fine between them, so he assumed that some third party must’ve caused George’s agitation. Probably something John related. There was no use in pestering him about it, though, because he knew that that would just increase his edginess. Besides, George could sort out his own problems.
Frowning in thought, Ringo took off each of his rings and examined them closely, admiring their shine and wondering which one he was going to give up.
“Hey George,” he mumbled, still eyeing the rings, “Which one of me rings is your favorite?”
It sounded like George’s arm fell off the guitar, judging by the sudden wonky sound. He looked up and George just stared, meeting his eyes for the first time that day as he slowly put the guitar down.
“What?” he asked, voice a bit raspy.
Ringo gestured for him to come closer, “Which one is your favorite?”
Still staring at him like he had spiders fucking on his head, he moved closer and Ringo could feel George’s breath on his palm as he examined the four rings on display. His breath was cold, it was soothing in the heat. He almost wished that he had more rings just so George could keep his head in place for a little longer.
“Why do you want me to choose?” he asked, lifting his head. Ringo blinked and looked away.
“I dunno.”
“Oh,” George responded as he crossed his knees and furrowed his brows, “But you must know.”
“I don’t,” he lied before he hastily put his rings back on. Not like he didn’t want to tell George but…fuck…he’d think he’d gone mental…
George didn’t say anything. He scratched his face and looked away with his mouth closed tightly. Great, he was probably mad at him now.
“I was just asking your opinion,” he tried to remedy.
“Okay,” George clipped in response.
Whatever bad mood George was in, Ringo was just making it worse. He sighed and brushed the hair out of his face, searching for something safer to say.
“So how was your walk with Brian?”
“Fine.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
He stared-what was going on? What was upsetting him this badly? Couldn’t have been anything that had happened between them, things had been fine between them, they had even started that mutual agreement thing!
“George,” Ringo started, rubbing his legs compulsively, “You can…I dunno. If you’re pissed about something you can tell me.”
“Thought you’d never notice,” he ground out. Ringo raised his brows.
“What? Of course I’d notice! You’ve been off about something all day.”
“All day!? You think it’s only been...” George didn’t finish, just laughed sardonically and shook his head, “Nothing.”
Before he could respond, George had crawled out of the hut hotly, the curtain whipping behind him. He tangled his hand in his hair and shook his head, completely at a loss. What the fucking hell was going on with him? What had happened? It hadn’t been that long since they’d made the mutual agreement-less than two weeks he reckoned, and he thought that…
Clouds moved out of the way and everything clicked into place. Oh. He put his head in his hands and mentally tried to shake off his stupidity.
But there was no point in confronting George about this while he was upset, stubborn he was, so Ringo laid on his back and sighed, staring at the rings that coated his fingers.
He was already spoiling tomorrow’s view by sitting out there, but he didn’t particularly care. He needed a place to think. So there he was, perched on a rock on the far side of the beach, watching as the waves splashed, collapsed and broke on the rocks, the sunset sparkling in the distance. It was going down right in front of him actually-or so it seemed-bright orange sun set against a purplish sky. The bugs were watching the view as well, since they seemed keen on buzzing around by his ears and crashing into his hair, but he had grown accustom to their bothersome ways.
He closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his arms against the wind. Sometimes he wished that he could just uncap his head like a fucking jar and throw all the contents into the ocean. And then he would be empty, free. But he wasn’t stupid and he knew how things like that often worked out, so he had cleverly decided that he would keep his basic functioning abilities and his drumming talent in the jar. Ha.
Jessica was someone who he could talk to about this. Unfortunately, he’d been a little afraid to go to her ever since their last meeting. Not like he blamed her for freaking out, he supposed, and he didn’t think of her as a bad person for not crying over her son’s death. Plus, if he had…he’d be a bit of a hypocrite. He didn’t cry over Neil’s death and he hadn’t even thought about…until now…
“What are you doing here?” George asked suddenly, nearly causing Ringo to tumble off the rock and drown. He turned towards George and shifted a little to the left, just in case he wanted to sit with him.
“Nothing just…looking.”
“You’re spoiling tomorrow’s fun,” he said as he climbed on the rock and sat down. A smile flitted across Ringo’s face.
“Yeah well…I’m hoping that if I can get drunk enough tonight I’ll forget all about this spot and be able to fully enjoy it tomorrow.”
George chuckled, “Corr…haven’t been drunk in ages.”
“Do we still have any left?”
“Well we don’t have any whiskey,” George grinned and RIngo returned the expression, remembering well that it had been George who had depleted their supply of whiskey, “I think we have some scotch left or something.”
“Jessica has loads of alcohol too,” Ringo muttered, playing with his hands, “But she’s been stingy with it ‘cause she needs it for… medical purposes or something.”
“What a waste,” George deadpanned and Ringo laughed, enjoying the way the sound vibrated his throat and descended with the sun. Jesus, it had been awhile since he and George had talked like this. Usually Ringo was off by himself…
The water splashed noisily in his ears and he looked at the rock beneath him, stroking it randomly. He frowned and turned towards George.
“Listen mate, I’m sorry about earlier.”
George’s eyes widened momentarily before he shook his head and waved him off, “No, it’s fine. I’ve been a git, I think.”
“No you haven’t,” Ringo put a hand on his shoulder and George’s eyes followed the movement, “I know that you’ve been upset recently because of Mal. Because he’s missing and all,” George crossed his brows and looked away; Ringo took his hand off his shoulder, “I know that we haven’t done anything to find him and…it’s been hard on all of us. I know Paul doesn’t want to go looking for him because he’s still upset about what happened with Nicole, and John-“
“It’s okay Ringo,” George interrupted, speaking quickly.
“No it’s not okay,” he blurted, “We all care about him. I think we’re just used to him being all tough and… everyone expects him to come back. And I think he will. It’s…you and Brian aren’t the only ones who care about him, yeah?” George’s expression was blank as he glared at the ocean. Ringo looked away and snorted, “I know it might seem like that, though. My mind has been… well…elsewhere…I dunno.”
“Your mind has been where?” George asked quietly, looking over at him. Ringo licked his lips, sighing into the wind, tossing his hair out of his face with a clever head bob.
“I…” well he had wanted to talk about it, hadn’t he? He pushed back the odd swelling in his chest and swallowed audibly, “Remember when I asked you about me rings earlier?”
George blinked, “Yeah.”
“Well…I’ve been. I asked you which one you liked because I wanted to give it away.”
He heard George’s breath hitch from beside him, “To who?”
“To…” Ringo breathed deeply and looked out at the ocean, imagined Britain to be just beyond the horizon, “to my kid.”
George didn’t say anything for a few seconds and Ringo didn’t really want to see the look on his face. After a minute, he finally responded with, “Oh. You wanted to give it away to...”
“Mo was due,” he explained quietly, “she was supposed to give birth either during the tour or right after. So…I dunno. I don’t even know if it’s a girl or a boy. Fuck, but it’s already been born. Without me.”
Memories, as they had been doing for the past few days, touched his skull. Mo telling him that she was pregnant, them deciding to get married, their horribly short honeymoon, tours tours and tours. It had been typical in a very atypical way. As soon as he’d found out that Mo was pregnant he vowed that he would be a great father, a better father than his dad had been. But even that hadn’t stopped him from getting distracted-he’d barely thought about his future with his kid because he’d been so consumed with filming and touring and recording, so his child had just naturally been relegated to the back of mind where he kept all his facts. Mo’s pregnancy was just a fact. And even after crashing on the island he hadn’t thought about her giving birth, he’d been distracted by George and Nicole and everything else that had happened. His conversation with Jessica helped him realize that he was terrible. Awful.
And now his kid was going to grow up without a father.
“We’re not going to stay here forever,” George said, knocking him out of his thoughts, “I mean, we can’t. Even if they’ve stopped looking for us we’ll find a way off here somehow. And then you can give him his ring and teach him the drums.”
Ringo actually laughed. Loudly, “You sure it’s a lad?”
George smiled and shrugged, “I dunno. Just didn’t want to refer to little Ringo as an ‘it’”
“True. But if it’s a bloke he’s not going to be a drummer. He’ll be a lawyer instead. Or a doctor.”
“How boring,” George grinned, “I think he’d make a great bomb tester.”
“You’re hilarious,” Ringo chuckled, poking him in the side, “Still, I wonder what he’s like. If he’s lucky he’ll look nothing like me.”
“You wish. He’s probably crawling around bumping his nose into everything.”
They succumbed to laughter and Ringo felt his body lighten considerably. He’d felt guilty and horrible for the past few days, but in the end George was right-they’d get off the island eventually-he’d make sure of it. Then he’d see his son or daughter. And Mo.
“I like this one.”
His voice came out of nowhere. When Ringo turned to him he saw that George was pointing at his ring finger on his right hand, the one where the plain silver ring hugged his skin. He took it off and held it up to the sky, capitalizing on the last shining rays from the sun before they went away.
“This one?”
“Yeah,” George responded, plucking the ring out of his hand, “It’s nice. Not too much going on. Simple.”
He looked at it, George’s words jumping out at him, and nodded, “Yeah.”
Grabbing the ring, he stuffed it in his pocket and mentally reminded himself to put it somewhere safe. Maybe a sock at the bottom of his suitcase. He leaned back on his hands and felt George’s knee bump into his own. Even though it had just been an accident, he decided to smile and press his knee against George’s. George pressed back.
They stared at each other and laughed, faces moving closer in the shrouding darkness.
“So what are you going to name your kid?” George asked.
“I suspect Mo has already sorted that,” Ringo responded, moving closer, their sides pressing together.
“Yeah but you need something to call him while we’re out here. Like Roger.”
“That’s a daft name-I don’t even know if it’s gonna be a bloke! ‘Sides, once I get back I’ll be so used to calling it Roger that I’ll botch up its actual name every chance I get.”
“Then call him something weird. Gender neutral. Something that could be used as a nickname. Like rock or banana.”
Ringo laughed, “You’re mental,” he said. He kept his eyes on George’s lips. It had been ages since they’d kissed and he really couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do, especially because George was breathing a bit dramatically and the heat from George’s body was making his heart thump loudly. He licked his lips and was about to move forward and connect them with George’s, but he realized with a frown that George was no longer looking at him.
He moved away a bit, throwing up a questioning eyebrow. George’s mouth had slacked open, focusing entirely on a point behind him.
Ringo turned around and, though he couldn’t immediately see what he was staring at due to the darkness, his eyes did eventually catch up and his stomach climbed into his throat only to fall back down again.
Mal was back.
To be continued…