Tell Me Why (new fic by me!)
Ok, I'm having a pretty weird day. Too many highs and really low lows. So I'm just gonna post the damn fic because I'm sick of waiting and editing and such. :P Hope you like! Hope you read!! :D
Title: Tell Me Why
Author: Cutothechase (me :D)
Genre: Comfort / friendship
Pairing: none really, Paul / George friendship
Rating: PG-13 for some naughty words and a seemingly-sexual situation
Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Beatles. If I did, d’ya think I’d be sitting here writing these fan FICTIONS?
Plot: Takes place in Hamburg 1960. George doesn't think he belongs in the band and Paul tries to convince him otherwise.
It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in Hamburg and the Beatles had just woken up from nice long 6-hour sleep after a relentless 8 hours on stage that night.
Paul entered the room to find the top bunk bed shaking slightly. Honestly? I leave the room to take a piss and a shave, and he's already gotten a bird? Damn you, Lennon!
Paul rummaged through the mess of clothes in the dresser they all shared, trying to find a clean shirt of his own. He slammed the drawers closed as he went, almost in hopes of disturbing John, but the top bunk continued to tremble, so it didn’t help his mood much.
Stupid John and his stupid… Paul suddenly froze, his eyes widening, hands still stuck in the pile of clothes. Hang on a second!
His memory of last night came flooding back and he realized that John had followed Stu and Pete to a party and were going to crash at Astrid's house. George claimed he wasn't feeling so well, and besides, he wasn't legally supposed to be hanging around night clubs, so Paul decided to stay and keep him company.
Damnit. That meant John wasn't up there, shagging a bird. Yet the bed was still shaking. But it was because of something else...Yes, it was different sort of bounce…and George couldn’t get a bird anyways… so maybe George… Maybe he was just… wait...
Unless George...No he can’t be…
...Shit.
The bed emitted a loud sob, confirming Paul's fears as if on cue.
"W-Why am I h-here, Paul?" George hiccupped to him, sitting up with his face, hands and knees all connected.
Paul's still appeared frozen but his voice remained calm, casual and almost playful, as if he hadn't noticed that George was crying.
"What'd'ya mean, Georgie?" Paul replied, his back still turned, his hands still shoved deep inside the dresser.
George didn't answer, he simply continued to hiccup and shudder into his hands in an almost fetal position.
Yeesh. C’mon, God. Don't do this to me. But he couldn’t just ignore George, especially since no one else was around…
Paul sighed deeply. "C'mere son," he said and climbed up the ladder to the second bunk where George lay.
George didn't seem to take much notice as Paul settled down in front of him, so Paul decided not to look at George too much either, though he couldn't help but glance when he let out a sob.
"What's wrong, my man?" Paul asked after a few seconds, in the same playful tone.
George hiccupped in reply.
"C’mon! The sun is up, the sky is blue, it's beautiful." No reply. "Not like in Livahpewl. C’mon, we should be having fun! It’s gonna be a great day!”
"M-maybe f-f-for you," George choked out.
Paul frowned. "So, you don't like it here then? Is that why you’re-"
“No.”
"Look, George," Paul said soothingly, "why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"
"B-but--"
"John and them are all out for the day, so no one's gonna burst in and be an arse. And I won't go running off telling them ‘bout this. Ya think I'm that daft? We're best mates."
Okay, well, the last part was a partial lie, but everyone knows you can't be diplomatic and honest. Well, he couldn't be, anyways.
"So just tell me what's wrong, Geo. I'm not gonna laugh, if that’s what you’re on about.”
If George was still not going to come out with it after that rather amazing attempt at negotiation, if Paul could say so himself, then Paul didn't know what else he could do for the poor kid.
"Y-you s-s-said you w-wanted to ki-kick me out of the b-band," George sobbed, his face still buried in his palms.
Paul's mouth dropped slightly. He was stunned, but not stupid; he knew exactly what George was talking about, though he didn't want to let it show.
But it was too late.
George's head detached from his hands, and two brilliantly dark eyes rimmed with red stared at Paul, as tears continued to well up inside.
Paul stared sympathetically and somewhat uncomfortably back at him before he set his head back down on his forearms.
“Georgie, look, I didn’t think-”
“You didn’t think I’d hear you?” George asked darkly. “So what else have you said about me lately, Sir Two-Faced Paul McCartney?”
“George, it’s not like that. You know it isn’t.”
“Then what is it like, Macca? Tell me, ’cuz I don’t think I know anymore.” He was glaring up at Paul again, but this time, what with the angry look and the red around his eyes, Paul felt it hard to feel sympathy for George.
In fact, George was downright scaring Paul now. But Paul was never gonna let that show, of course.
“Well maybe you would know if you actually talked to your friends instead of crying like a-”
“What friends are these that you insist I talk to? Cuz if you mean you-” George started.
“’Course I bloody mean me! I mean us! All of us. What other bloody friends do you have, George?” Paul asked, looking wildly around the room for the invisible friends. But as soon as Paul finished, he knew he’d gone too far.
George was staring down at his tear-streaked hands and Paul couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.
“Ok, I’m sorry-” Paul began softly.
But George interrupted him with a dark chuckle. “No you’re not. And you don’t have to be. That’s not what I’m asking for.”
“Then what the hell are you asking for, man?” Paul was done, this was it, he’d had it. All George was doing was making him frustrated and Paul couldn’t see that this was getting anywhere.
George breathed calmly. “I just want to know what I heard last night,” he told Paul very coolly. “I just want to know…” He gave an odd look, inhaled deeply and continued, “…when I should start packing…”
“Oh, George. Don’t be stupid.” George opened his mouth for another comeback and Paul thickened his accent a bit. “And don’t ya take that tone with me, young man!”
They both couldn’t help but smile slightly.
Paul decided it was high time to clean up this mess. “Look, last night, John was pissed out of his mind. Nothing unusual, ’o course. But he was just saying how… Wait, how much did you hear Georgie boy?”
George shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Go on…”
Damn you, George. “Ok, so John was saying that he knew this guy who was…well, a really good lead guitarist. Even has his own semi-hollow Rickenbacker. Imagine runnin’ round with one ‘o them… Wow, what a beauty she’d be…”
“Yeah,” George breathed, as both boys slipped into a guitar reverie. “…The point being?”
Paul came crashing down to earth. “…Oh, right. The point being that umm…well, this guy… he obviously has, well, more experience, and… The fact is, George, that he’s, well, better than you are. And John talked to him and, well… He said he’d join the band as lead guitar for the same price we paid you.”
George’s face was blank, but it looked as though he shrunk a foot in a matter of seconds. “Oh,” he said softly.
“Mind you, both were roaring drunk, I think,” Paul added with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
Trying, but failing. George looked as if he was going to cry again. His jaw seemed to be clenched to keep it from quivering.
“But, but then!” Paul continued on with the story quickly, “John asked me why you were in the band in the first place. And I said, ‘’Cause you wanted him to be, remember? It was your choice in the first place.’ And he said, ‘Oh yeah. And, uhh...Why did I want him to be in?’ Because he’s a damned good guitarist, the best we ever did see! ‘Right--’”
George didn’t look convinced.
Paul stopped and looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m not lying to you. I promise you. If there’s one true thing I’ve ever told you, it’s this story now, I swear.” George seemed to believe him and nodded for him to go on. “So yeah, John went, ‘Right… But if this guy is even better…Then why is it that I’d feel like crap if we replaced Geo with this bloke?’”
George looked up at Paul in wonder. “He said that?!”
Paul nodded. “And I said, ‘Because George is a damned good guitarist, the best we ever will see. And because George is one of the best friends we’ve ever had.’”
At this point, George seemed to glow with pride and embarrassment.
“And John said, ‘Hmm… Well, that’s the truth if I ever heard it, Paul.’”
“Did he really say that, Paul?” George asked in amazement.
“Every word of it, Geo.” Paul smiled slightly. “And then he proceeded to throw up his last five beers about five seconds later,” Paul recalled, wincing.
George laughed for a bit then started sniff again. “I’ve just been waiting for you to sack me…c-cuz I’m not…g-good enough…” He broke into sobs again and Paul moved over to sit by his side.
He wrapped an arm around the younger boy’s shaking shoulders. “Shh…It’s okay, George. We’re not gonna make you leave. Never was gonna, never will, I promise you, Geo. Because not only are you good enough, but you’re better than me and John combined.”
Paul closed his eyes as George continued to sniffle and sob. We gonna go there? Paul asked himself. Yep, yes we are gonna go there.
He then pulled George into a hug. “And we love you, George. We wouldn’t be a band without you.”
After getting over the initial shock, Paul felt George’s arms latch onto him too, his head buried into Paul’s shoulder. “I really dunno what I’d do without you, Paul. The others just wouldn’t understand…”
All of a sudden, John burst through the door with loud crashing steps and spotted them hugging before they could separate.
“Bloody hell, what on earth’re you two queers doing?!” John asked amusedly as they pulled apart casually.
“I see what you mean,” Paul muttered to George.
“So much for ‘no one’s gonna burst in and be an arse,’” George replied in agreement, and they both laughed it off, never mentioning it again.
This was based on the true story (that I read SOMEWHERE, but can’t find it for my life) that John wanted to replace George with a more professional guitarist. But Paul brought him back to his senses simply by stating that George was their friend.
If you can find this story for me, I’d love ya forever! But then again, I’d love you forever anyways… J
Title: Tell Me Why
Author: Cutothechase (me :D)
Genre: Comfort / friendship
Pairing: none really, Paul / George friendship
Rating: PG-13 for some naughty words and a seemingly-sexual situation
Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Beatles. If I did, d’ya think I’d be sitting here writing these fan FICTIONS?
Plot: Takes place in Hamburg 1960. George doesn't think he belongs in the band and Paul tries to convince him otherwise.
It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in Hamburg and the Beatles had just woken up from nice long 6-hour sleep after a relentless 8 hours on stage that night.
Paul entered the room to find the top bunk bed shaking slightly. Honestly? I leave the room to take a piss and a shave, and he's already gotten a bird? Damn you, Lennon!
Paul rummaged through the mess of clothes in the dresser they all shared, trying to find a clean shirt of his own. He slammed the drawers closed as he went, almost in hopes of disturbing John, but the top bunk continued to tremble, so it didn’t help his mood much.
Stupid John and his stupid… Paul suddenly froze, his eyes widening, hands still stuck in the pile of clothes. Hang on a second!
His memory of last night came flooding back and he realized that John had followed Stu and Pete to a party and were going to crash at Astrid's house. George claimed he wasn't feeling so well, and besides, he wasn't legally supposed to be hanging around night clubs, so Paul decided to stay and keep him company.
Damnit. That meant John wasn't up there, shagging a bird. Yet the bed was still shaking. But it was because of something else...Yes, it was different sort of bounce…and George couldn’t get a bird anyways… so maybe George… Maybe he was just… wait...
Unless George...No he can’t be…
...Shit.
The bed emitted a loud sob, confirming Paul's fears as if on cue.
"W-Why am I h-here, Paul?" George hiccupped to him, sitting up with his face, hands and knees all connected.
Paul's still appeared frozen but his voice remained calm, casual and almost playful, as if he hadn't noticed that George was crying.
"What'd'ya mean, Georgie?" Paul replied, his back still turned, his hands still shoved deep inside the dresser.
George didn't answer, he simply continued to hiccup and shudder into his hands in an almost fetal position.
Yeesh. C’mon, God. Don't do this to me. But he couldn’t just ignore George, especially since no one else was around…
Paul sighed deeply. "C'mere son," he said and climbed up the ladder to the second bunk where George lay.
George didn't seem to take much notice as Paul settled down in front of him, so Paul decided not to look at George too much either, though he couldn't help but glance when he let out a sob.
"What's wrong, my man?" Paul asked after a few seconds, in the same playful tone.
George hiccupped in reply.
"C’mon! The sun is up, the sky is blue, it's beautiful." No reply. "Not like in Livahpewl. C’mon, we should be having fun! It’s gonna be a great day!”
"M-maybe f-f-for you," George choked out.
Paul frowned. "So, you don't like it here then? Is that why you’re-"
“No.”
"Look, George," Paul said soothingly, "why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"
"B-but--"
"John and them are all out for the day, so no one's gonna burst in and be an arse. And I won't go running off telling them ‘bout this. Ya think I'm that daft? We're best mates."
Okay, well, the last part was a partial lie, but everyone knows you can't be diplomatic and honest. Well, he couldn't be, anyways.
"So just tell me what's wrong, Geo. I'm not gonna laugh, if that’s what you’re on about.”
If George was still not going to come out with it after that rather amazing attempt at negotiation, if Paul could say so himself, then Paul didn't know what else he could do for the poor kid.
"Y-you s-s-said you w-wanted to ki-kick me out of the b-band," George sobbed, his face still buried in his palms.
Paul's mouth dropped slightly. He was stunned, but not stupid; he knew exactly what George was talking about, though he didn't want to let it show.
But it was too late.
George's head detached from his hands, and two brilliantly dark eyes rimmed with red stared at Paul, as tears continued to well up inside.
Paul stared sympathetically and somewhat uncomfortably back at him before he set his head back down on his forearms.
“Georgie, look, I didn’t think-”
“You didn’t think I’d hear you?” George asked darkly. “So what else have you said about me lately, Sir Two-Faced Paul McCartney?”
“George, it’s not like that. You know it isn’t.”
“Then what is it like, Macca? Tell me, ’cuz I don’t think I know anymore.” He was glaring up at Paul again, but this time, what with the angry look and the red around his eyes, Paul felt it hard to feel sympathy for George.
In fact, George was downright scaring Paul now. But Paul was never gonna let that show, of course.
“Well maybe you would know if you actually talked to your friends instead of crying like a-”
“What friends are these that you insist I talk to? Cuz if you mean you-” George started.
“’Course I bloody mean me! I mean us! All of us. What other bloody friends do you have, George?” Paul asked, looking wildly around the room for the invisible friends. But as soon as Paul finished, he knew he’d gone too far.
George was staring down at his tear-streaked hands and Paul couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.
“Ok, I’m sorry-” Paul began softly.
But George interrupted him with a dark chuckle. “No you’re not. And you don’t have to be. That’s not what I’m asking for.”
“Then what the hell are you asking for, man?” Paul was done, this was it, he’d had it. All George was doing was making him frustrated and Paul couldn’t see that this was getting anywhere.
George breathed calmly. “I just want to know what I heard last night,” he told Paul very coolly. “I just want to know…” He gave an odd look, inhaled deeply and continued, “…when I should start packing…”
“Oh, George. Don’t be stupid.” George opened his mouth for another comeback and Paul thickened his accent a bit. “And don’t ya take that tone with me, young man!”
They both couldn’t help but smile slightly.
Paul decided it was high time to clean up this mess. “Look, last night, John was pissed out of his mind. Nothing unusual, ’o course. But he was just saying how… Wait, how much did you hear Georgie boy?”
George shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Go on…”
Damn you, George. “Ok, so John was saying that he knew this guy who was…well, a really good lead guitarist. Even has his own semi-hollow Rickenbacker. Imagine runnin’ round with one ‘o them… Wow, what a beauty she’d be…”
“Yeah,” George breathed, as both boys slipped into a guitar reverie. “…The point being?”
Paul came crashing down to earth. “…Oh, right. The point being that umm…well, this guy… he obviously has, well, more experience, and… The fact is, George, that he’s, well, better than you are. And John talked to him and, well… He said he’d join the band as lead guitar for the same price we paid you.”
George’s face was blank, but it looked as though he shrunk a foot in a matter of seconds. “Oh,” he said softly.
“Mind you, both were roaring drunk, I think,” Paul added with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
Trying, but failing. George looked as if he was going to cry again. His jaw seemed to be clenched to keep it from quivering.
“But, but then!” Paul continued on with the story quickly, “John asked me why you were in the band in the first place. And I said, ‘’Cause you wanted him to be, remember? It was your choice in the first place.’ And he said, ‘Oh yeah. And, uhh...Why did I want him to be in?’ Because he’s a damned good guitarist, the best we ever did see! ‘Right--’”
George didn’t look convinced.
Paul stopped and looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m not lying to you. I promise you. If there’s one true thing I’ve ever told you, it’s this story now, I swear.” George seemed to believe him and nodded for him to go on. “So yeah, John went, ‘Right… But if this guy is even better…Then why is it that I’d feel like crap if we replaced Geo with this bloke?’”
George looked up at Paul in wonder. “He said that?!”
Paul nodded. “And I said, ‘Because George is a damned good guitarist, the best we ever will see. And because George is one of the best friends we’ve ever had.’”
At this point, George seemed to glow with pride and embarrassment.
“And John said, ‘Hmm… Well, that’s the truth if I ever heard it, Paul.’”
“Did he really say that, Paul?” George asked in amazement.
“Every word of it, Geo.” Paul smiled slightly. “And then he proceeded to throw up his last five beers about five seconds later,” Paul recalled, wincing.
George laughed for a bit then started sniff again. “I’ve just been waiting for you to sack me…c-cuz I’m not…g-good enough…” He broke into sobs again and Paul moved over to sit by his side.
He wrapped an arm around the younger boy’s shaking shoulders. “Shh…It’s okay, George. We’re not gonna make you leave. Never was gonna, never will, I promise you, Geo. Because not only are you good enough, but you’re better than me and John combined.”
Paul closed his eyes as George continued to sniffle and sob. We gonna go there? Paul asked himself. Yep, yes we are gonna go there.
He then pulled George into a hug. “And we love you, George. We wouldn’t be a band without you.”
After getting over the initial shock, Paul felt George’s arms latch onto him too, his head buried into Paul’s shoulder. “I really dunno what I’d do without you, Paul. The others just wouldn’t understand…”
All of a sudden, John burst through the door with loud crashing steps and spotted them hugging before they could separate.
“Bloody hell, what on earth’re you two queers doing?!” John asked amusedly as they pulled apart casually.
“I see what you mean,” Paul muttered to George.
“So much for ‘no one’s gonna burst in and be an arse,’” George replied in agreement, and they both laughed it off, never mentioning it again.
This was based on the true story (that I read SOMEWHERE, but can’t find it for my life) that John wanted to replace George with a more professional guitarist. But Paul brought him back to his senses simply by stating that George was their friend.
If you can find this story for me, I’d love ya forever! But then again, I’d love you forever anyways… J