Bet I Can! - Chapter 3/5 (February Imagination Challenge Response)
Title: Bet I Can! - Chapter Three
Author: Jo cozyjo
Rating: PG
Timeframe: 1965
Pairing: John/Paul
Summary: Cyn bets John he can’t survive 24 hours while she takes the housekeeper and the other Beatle girls out for a day of shopping and then an overnight stay at a London hotel. Never one to back down from a challenge, John accepts, enlisting the aid of his fellow Beatle mates in caring for Jules and performing various cooking, cleaning and household duties.
A/N: In response to February's Imagination Challenge in the In Your Own Write Community.
Disclaimer: I only own them in my head.
Chapter Two
The boys, satiated by their meal, engaged in idle chit-chat as John suddenly excused himself; reappearing with an ominous list.
"Alright, then", John began firmly. "Cyn's left this list of things to do 'round here, so let's get on with it," he announced with purpose. "George, you and Ringo will be in charge of laundry and the toilets. Paul and I'll take care of Jules, the dusting, the floors and the kitchen. We’ll worry about cookin' duties later. Any questions?" John prompted, looking up from his paper.
"I've got one'," George reflexively raised his hand as if he were in school.
"You want we should scrub the toilets, then?" the guitarist wrinkled his nose in disgust and disbelief.
John shot the young man a hard look before Paul intervened.
"Uh...maybe we should just skip the toilets for now, eh?" he gently encouraged, causing John to regard him in surprise before finally relenting.
"Consider it skipped," the singer agreed, pulling out his pen to dutifully cross off the offensive task. He looked up cautiously then, gauging the faces that stared back at him, especially that of George's. Satisfied that he had appeased his younger bandmate, John continued to address his friends with an air of confident authority.
"Alright, then. Everyone good?"
"Not exactly," George piped up, causing Paul to cast him a sour look.
"When do we get to go home?"
*****
Over an hour later, the boys were well into their appointed tasks; George and Ringo having just started their third round of laundry.
"It's pretty easy, this," George stated in self-satisfaction, arms crossed as he leaned confidently against the thrumming washing machine. "Don't know why all the birds complain about it," he grinned.
"Yeah," Ringo agreed, looking around at the cozy laundry room.
Suddenly, his eyes fell upon a sheet of paper peeking out from underneath the washer. He bent down in curiosity to pick it up.
"What's that?" George questioned, lifting the washer lid as their next load finished.
"Don't know. Just something I found ‘neath the washer."
He began to silently mouth the hand-scribbled words that lay before him when his sad-eyed face fell in dismay.
"What?" George prompted, his attention now fully upon his mate.
Ringo swallowed uncomfortably.
"Says here we're supposed to separate the clothes first ."
"Whoops."
*****
"You know I love you dearly, Reginald..don't you? You shan't leave me to wallow in this macabre excuse for a residence while you run off with every two-shilling tart that happens to catch your fancy."
"I'm sorry, my dear..but I'm booooooooooored. You really don't expect me to stick around do you? I have NEEDS, you know."
Paul watched in amusement as his best mate gazed at the television, completely enraptured in spite of himself.
"Rubbish," John muttered, absently gripping the vacuum cleaner that stood patiently waiting to continue its task.
Paul shook his head, sighing affectionately before advancing towards the older musician.
"John," he began, gently tapping his friend upon the shoulder.
John startled, turning to look at the young bassist.
"What?" he snapped defensively, his embarrassment feeding his reaction.
Paul pointed to the waiting vacuum cleaner.
"We really need to get to our chores. Besides, I didn't think you liked that sort of stuff, anyway," he reminded, gesturing towards the tv.
"I don’t," John's defenses were up.
"Then why were you....?"
"Cyn likes this rubbish,'" John interrupted. "I just saw it on and...."
"What's the tv doing on if you're running the vacuum?" it was Paul's turn to interject.
John's face conceded defeat. He knew Paul was right, but his pride wouldn't have it. Before he could offer up a feeble counter-argument, Paul silently pointed to the vacuum cleaner, again, a no-nonsense look etched across his face.
"Get to it, Lennon!" he sharply ordered before walking over and turning off the television.
Like a little boy that had been scolded, John dropped his head, turning on the vacuum; his movements disinterested strokes across the plush livingroom carpet. He managed a few more half-hearted passes before his face broke into a burst of realization. Immediately turning off the machine, he called out toward the retreating back of his younger bandmate.
"Aye!" John bellowed, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Paul turned to regard his fiery-eyed friend.
"Yes, John?"
John's brows furrowed in anger.
"What of you, then? Spying on me?"
Paul winced as if slapped, completely unprepared for this accusation. His hurtful eyes gazed into his best mate's.
"I wasn't spying on you, John," he gently corrected . "I was done dusting the living area and dining room, and thought I'd check and see how you were getting on, is all."
"'Oh."
"...good thing, I did, though, or you'd still be watching that girly program on the telly."
John bristled in defense.
"Would not. I was just about to turn it off when you caught me."
Paul regarded his best friend, incredulously.
"Were you, really?"
"Yeah, well...." John lamely countered; lowering his eyes as a sheepish grin made its way to his handsome face. No matter how hard he tried, he could never fool his astute bassist.
Paul giggled, then; a reaction that caused his older friend to follow suit amidst warm clasps and pats of affection. Tensions eased, both men set about to continuing their rounds: John, the vacuuming; Paul, to see to the kitchen.
And then the 2 'o clock alarm rang.
"Right," John muttered, turning off the vacuum that had barely resumed. He strode over to his animated son who had been quietly playing with his blocks just mere feet away. Scooping the boy up with a flourish, John headed to the stairs with purpose.
"Off to give Jules his nap. See you in 'bout an hour."
Paul, who had been halfway to the kitchen, stopped mid-stride when he heard John's words. Swiftly doing an about-face, he marched heatedly to the livingroom where John was already climbing the stairs that led to the bedrooms.
"Hold it, Lennon!" Paul ordered, his hands upon his hips.
John, his hand on the banister, slowly turned around.
"What?" he questioned with clueless indifference.
Paul sighed in frustration.
"What do you mean 'See you in an hour'?" he demanded.
John looked genuinely confused.
"I'm off to give the baby a kip, Paul," he impatiently explained. "I usually take one, meself, when Cyn's here," he finished, turning to resume ascending the stairs.
"But Cyn's not here, is she?" Paul smartly countered; his tone determined and unwavering. “And we’ve a job to do and we’re gonna do it!” he hissed angrily. “..and that includes you. You’re the one’s got us into this mess, John!”
John's shoulders slumped in defeat. No Cyn wasn't there, that‘s for sure. Had she been, things certainly would have been different.
At that moment, any thoughts John may have had of being able to get away with anything quickly evaporated under the watchful gaze and attentive ear of one James Paul McCartney.
It was John’s own Hell in the making.
"Give him, then," Paul gestured, advancing up the steps as John resignedly handed his son over to the no-nonsense Beatle.
"Be back in a few. And John...I wanna hear that vacuum going from upstairs!"
"Aye, Aye, Captain!" John teasingly clicked his heels and saluted, before bounding down the stairs in mock jubilation.
Paul shook his head, turning to the youngest Lennon.
"What're we gonna do about Daddy?"
*****
John, now back at his vacuum, let his devil-may-care facade drop; sighing in resignation as he leaned his chin against the vacuum handle.
It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Four
Author: Jo cozyjo
Rating: PG
Timeframe: 1965
Pairing: John/Paul
Summary: Cyn bets John he can’t survive 24 hours while she takes the housekeeper and the other Beatle girls out for a day of shopping and then an overnight stay at a London hotel. Never one to back down from a challenge, John accepts, enlisting the aid of his fellow Beatle mates in caring for Jules and performing various cooking, cleaning and household duties.
A/N: In response to February's Imagination Challenge in the In Your Own Write Community.
Disclaimer: I only own them in my head.
Chapter Two
The boys, satiated by their meal, engaged in idle chit-chat as John suddenly excused himself; reappearing with an ominous list.
"Alright, then", John began firmly. "Cyn's left this list of things to do 'round here, so let's get on with it," he announced with purpose. "George, you and Ringo will be in charge of laundry and the toilets. Paul and I'll take care of Jules, the dusting, the floors and the kitchen. We’ll worry about cookin' duties later. Any questions?" John prompted, looking up from his paper.
"I've got one'," George reflexively raised his hand as if he were in school.
"You want we should scrub the toilets, then?" the guitarist wrinkled his nose in disgust and disbelief.
John shot the young man a hard look before Paul intervened.
"Uh...maybe we should just skip the toilets for now, eh?" he gently encouraged, causing John to regard him in surprise before finally relenting.
"Consider it skipped," the singer agreed, pulling out his pen to dutifully cross off the offensive task. He looked up cautiously then, gauging the faces that stared back at him, especially that of George's. Satisfied that he had appeased his younger bandmate, John continued to address his friends with an air of confident authority.
"Alright, then. Everyone good?"
"Not exactly," George piped up, causing Paul to cast him a sour look.
"When do we get to go home?"
*****
Over an hour later, the boys were well into their appointed tasks; George and Ringo having just started their third round of laundry.
"It's pretty easy, this," George stated in self-satisfaction, arms crossed as he leaned confidently against the thrumming washing machine. "Don't know why all the birds complain about it," he grinned.
"Yeah," Ringo agreed, looking around at the cozy laundry room.
Suddenly, his eyes fell upon a sheet of paper peeking out from underneath the washer. He bent down in curiosity to pick it up.
"What's that?" George questioned, lifting the washer lid as their next load finished.
"Don't know. Just something I found ‘neath the washer."
He began to silently mouth the hand-scribbled words that lay before him when his sad-eyed face fell in dismay.
"What?" George prompted, his attention now fully upon his mate.
Ringo swallowed uncomfortably.
"Says here we're supposed to separate the clothes first ."
"Whoops."
*****
"You know I love you dearly, Reginald..don't you? You shan't leave me to wallow in this macabre excuse for a residence while you run off with every two-shilling tart that happens to catch your fancy."
"I'm sorry, my dear..but I'm booooooooooored. You really don't expect me to stick around do you? I have NEEDS, you know."
Paul watched in amusement as his best mate gazed at the television, completely enraptured in spite of himself.
"Rubbish," John muttered, absently gripping the vacuum cleaner that stood patiently waiting to continue its task.
Paul shook his head, sighing affectionately before advancing towards the older musician.
"John," he began, gently tapping his friend upon the shoulder.
John startled, turning to look at the young bassist.
"What?" he snapped defensively, his embarrassment feeding his reaction.
Paul pointed to the waiting vacuum cleaner.
"We really need to get to our chores. Besides, I didn't think you liked that sort of stuff, anyway," he reminded, gesturing towards the tv.
"I don’t," John's defenses were up.
"Then why were you....?"
"Cyn likes this rubbish,'" John interrupted. "I just saw it on and...."
"What's the tv doing on if you're running the vacuum?" it was Paul's turn to interject.
John's face conceded defeat. He knew Paul was right, but his pride wouldn't have it. Before he could offer up a feeble counter-argument, Paul silently pointed to the vacuum cleaner, again, a no-nonsense look etched across his face.
"Get to it, Lennon!" he sharply ordered before walking over and turning off the television.
Like a little boy that had been scolded, John dropped his head, turning on the vacuum; his movements disinterested strokes across the plush livingroom carpet. He managed a few more half-hearted passes before his face broke into a burst of realization. Immediately turning off the machine, he called out toward the retreating back of his younger bandmate.
"Aye!" John bellowed, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Paul turned to regard his fiery-eyed friend.
"Yes, John?"
John's brows furrowed in anger.
"What of you, then? Spying on me?"
Paul winced as if slapped, completely unprepared for this accusation. His hurtful eyes gazed into his best mate's.
"I wasn't spying on you, John," he gently corrected . "I was done dusting the living area and dining room, and thought I'd check and see how you were getting on, is all."
"'Oh."
"...good thing, I did, though, or you'd still be watching that girly program on the telly."
John bristled in defense.
"Would not. I was just about to turn it off when you caught me."
Paul regarded his best friend, incredulously.
"Were you, really?"
"Yeah, well...." John lamely countered; lowering his eyes as a sheepish grin made its way to his handsome face. No matter how hard he tried, he could never fool his astute bassist.
Paul giggled, then; a reaction that caused his older friend to follow suit amidst warm clasps and pats of affection. Tensions eased, both men set about to continuing their rounds: John, the vacuuming; Paul, to see to the kitchen.
And then the 2 'o clock alarm rang.
"Right," John muttered, turning off the vacuum that had barely resumed. He strode over to his animated son who had been quietly playing with his blocks just mere feet away. Scooping the boy up with a flourish, John headed to the stairs with purpose.
"Off to give Jules his nap. See you in 'bout an hour."
Paul, who had been halfway to the kitchen, stopped mid-stride when he heard John's words. Swiftly doing an about-face, he marched heatedly to the livingroom where John was already climbing the stairs that led to the bedrooms.
"Hold it, Lennon!" Paul ordered, his hands upon his hips.
John, his hand on the banister, slowly turned around.
"What?" he questioned with clueless indifference.
Paul sighed in frustration.
"What do you mean 'See you in an hour'?" he demanded.
John looked genuinely confused.
"I'm off to give the baby a kip, Paul," he impatiently explained. "I usually take one, meself, when Cyn's here," he finished, turning to resume ascending the stairs.
"But Cyn's not here, is she?" Paul smartly countered; his tone determined and unwavering. “And we’ve a job to do and we’re gonna do it!” he hissed angrily. “..and that includes you. You’re the one’s got us into this mess, John!”
John's shoulders slumped in defeat. No Cyn wasn't there, that‘s for sure. Had she been, things certainly would have been different.
At that moment, any thoughts John may have had of being able to get away with anything quickly evaporated under the watchful gaze and attentive ear of one James Paul McCartney.
It was John’s own Hell in the making.
"Give him, then," Paul gestured, advancing up the steps as John resignedly handed his son over to the no-nonsense Beatle.
"Be back in a few. And John...I wanna hear that vacuum going from upstairs!"
"Aye, Aye, Captain!" John teasingly clicked his heels and saluted, before bounding down the stairs in mock jubilation.
Paul shook his head, turning to the youngest Lennon.
"What're we gonna do about Daddy?"
*****
John, now back at his vacuum, let his devil-may-care facade drop; sighing in resignation as he leaned his chin against the vacuum handle.
It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Four