Beatles fic- Getting Better
Title: Getting Better
Author: Me!
Pairing: John/Ringo
Rating: G, as far as I can tell.
Warnings: Nothing, really. One little kiss, and it's not even on the lips. Oh, and hospitals, I guess. And sad little kids.
Timeframe: December 1947, a couple of weeks before Christmas. John and Ritchie are both 7.
Word count: 1,332
Summary: Ritchie's been in the hospital since July, and he's anxious to go home. One night, though, he makes a friend.
Author Notes: This is my first real person fic ever, so I hope it's okay. Beatle fans may know that Ringo was, in fact, in the hospital from July to December, and then he relapsed and stayed for six more months.
Disclaimer: I absolutely do not own the Beatles, and this is nothing but fiction. No harm is intended. I also don't own Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and the Carpenter.
Getting Better
The first time Ritchie was admitted to the hospital was also the worst. He was used to it by the next time, but at seven years old, all he wanted was to go home and sleep in his own bed, away from sickness and sadness and the fake politeness of the doctors and nurses. He’d even gladly go back to school if it meant getting out of here.
nbsp; It was almost Christmas, and Ritchie was hopeful the doctors would let him spend it at home. It wouldn’t be fair if he had to spend his birthday and Christmas here! He smiled as he watched soft, white snowflakes falling gently from the sky through the fogged window. He clutched a warm brown teddy bear to his chest- an early Christmas present- and dreamed of the tree and brightly wrapped boxes and Christmas dinner.
nbsp; Out in the hallway, a much less cheerful John Lennon followed after his mother, arms folded across his chest. He’d come in for tests the day before, and the results were in. He grumbled quietly to himself as he made his way through the hospital- why did he have to come back? Did they really need him there just to talk about some papers?
nbsp; Finally his mother stopped walking, and they were in the doctor’s office. The doctor was there, discussing results and using many words John didn’t understand. The boy’s mind began to wander, and he started blankly at a wall, thinking of shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings, and why the sea was boiling hot, and whether pigs had wings.
nbsp; Finally, the boredom was crippling, and he mumbled a quick, “’m goin’ explorin’,” as he made his way from the room.
nbsp; John stuffed his hands in his pockets as he made his way through the sterile hallways, ignoring nurses, doctors, patients and family members he passed. He was quite content keeping to himself, observing the people around him. Purely by chance, though, he happened to glance into a room as he passed it.
nbsp; John stopped and observed the boy, who sat cross-legged on the bed, a stuffed bear cuddled in his arms. He was staring wistfully out the window at the falling snowflakes, a small smile on his face. Before he could stop himself, John was making his way into the room and pulling a chair up beside the tiny boy’s bed.
nbsp; The boy turned to him, looking slightly surprised but happy to see him as he said, “Hello!”
nbsp; Suddenly nervous, though he didn’t know why, John mumbled, “Hi.”
nbsp; “I’m Ritchie!” the boy said cheerfully. Now that the initial shock was gone, the smile stretched until it nearly took over his face.
nbsp; “’m John.” He looked closer at the boy, noticing for the first time his bright blue eyes, sparkling in delight at this new friend. He was quite tiny, though, and if John were to guess, he’d assume he was at least a few years older than him.
nbsp; “What are you doin’ in here, John?” Ritchie asked, his head tilting in curiosity.
nbsp; John felt his face heat up. Why was he in here? He shrugged. “I dunno.” Ritchie nodded knowingly, and John inquired, “Why are you here?”
nbsp; “I got sick,” Ritchie told him, and for an instant his face fell. “I’ve been here since before my birthday.” John blinked, though, and the smile was back. “But I think they’re gonna let me go home for Christmas!”
nbsp; “When was your birthday?” John asked cautiously, fearing the answer. He couldn’t figure out why, but he hoped this boy hadn’t been here long.
nbsp; “July the seventh,” Ritchie replied somewhat sadly. “I turned seven.”
nbsp; The little math John could do informed him that this boy- who looked to be half his size- was three months older than him. Then his brain caught up, and he said, “You’ve been in here that long?”
nbsp; Ritchie nodded, holding his bear a little closer. “Yeah. But I’m getting better, I think. I’ll probably be home for Christmas.”
nbsp; John nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. This kid had been in the hospital for six months? “What, um... What’s... wrong with you?” he asked carefully, unable to phrase it any other way. It was odd, he thought, that he was being so polite to this boy. He usually blurted the first thing he thought. But something about this boy was... different.
nbsp; Ritchie shrugged. “My tummy was hurtin’ and I had to come in here. They did a... operation and I almost got better. But then I fell asleep and I didn’t wake up for a few days.”
nbsp; John’s eyes widened. “You were... dead?”
nbsp; Ritchie shook his head. “Not dead. Jus’ sleepin’. But when I woke up, I couldn’t go home. So...” He gave a sheepish shrug and grinned. “Here I am.”
nbsp; John’s head spun and his heart felt heavy with sympathy for the boy. “I’m... sorry,” he muttered. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
nbsp; “S’okay,” Ritchie told him, beaming. “I missed my birthday, but I won’t miss Christmas. They’ll let me go home any day now!” Ritchie’s cheer was contagious, and soon, a smile was spread across John’s face.
nbsp; “John?” The boy turned at the sound of his name. There, at the door, was his mother. Her face was flushed with relief. “Come on, John. It’s time to go. Say goodbye to your friend.” She took a step to the right to give them a moment and was hidden by the wall.
nbsp; Ritchie’s face fell. “Aw, you gotta go?”
nbsp; John averted his eyes. “Yeah.”
nbsp; Ritchie shifted on the bed, reaching toward the little table beside him. He picked a piece of paper from a pile and held it out to John. “Here. To remember me.” The tiny boy gave a shy smile, and John hesitantly took the paper.
nbsp; On the white sheet was a bright crayon drawing, though what it was of, John couldn’t tell. There was a large purple blob with what appeared to be a smiling face. Protruding from the blob were noodle-like squiggles. The background was scribbled in blue with tan brown along the bottom. Despite being clueless as to the subject of the drawing, John felt himself smile.
nbsp; “What is it?” he asked quietly.
nbsp; Glancing away from the paper, he saw Ritchie was snuggling into his bed, yawning widely and cuddling the bear. “It’s an octopus.” His bright blue eyes, brighter than the blue crayon on the paper- which John now assumed was an ocean- began to slowly slide closed.
nbsp; John stared at the drawing for another moment. He wanted to give Ritchie something back, but he didn’t have anything, and there wasn’t enough time to draw a picture for him...
nbsp; Then he got an idea, and his face flushed. Thankful Ritchie’s eyes were closed and he couldn’t see the red across his cheeks, he leaned forward and placed a tiny kiss to Ritchie’s temple. Then he hopped off his chair and mumbled, “Bye, Ritchie. Merry Christmas.”
nbsp; “Bye, John,” Ritchie said with a smile from his cocoon on the bed. “Merry Christmas.” His eyes opened briefly, and he looked at John thoughtfully. “Y’know, I think we’re gonna see each other again someday.”
nbsp; John nodded, though Ritchie’s eyes had closed again and he couldn’t see. Making his way from the room, he called back quietly, “Bye, Ritchie. Hope you get better so you can go home for Christmas.” And with a final glance back at the sleeping boy, John was gone.
nbsp; Ritchie never did get to go home for Christmas- not long before he was set to leave, he relapsed and was confined to the hospital for another six months. But each day he’d wake up and stare out the window, watching kids his age go by with their parents and fathers going off to work. And each day he thought of his mysterious visitor, just waiting for the day he’d see him again. Something told him that whenever that day came, his life would be changed forever.
Author: Me!
Pairing: John/Ringo
Rating: G, as far as I can tell.
Warnings: Nothing, really. One little kiss, and it's not even on the lips. Oh, and hospitals, I guess. And sad little kids.
Timeframe: December 1947, a couple of weeks before Christmas. John and Ritchie are both 7.
Word count: 1,332
Summary: Ritchie's been in the hospital since July, and he's anxious to go home. One night, though, he makes a friend.
Author Notes: This is my first real person fic ever, so I hope it's okay. Beatle fans may know that Ringo was, in fact, in the hospital from July to December, and then he relapsed and stayed for six more months.
Disclaimer: I absolutely do not own the Beatles, and this is nothing but fiction. No harm is intended. I also don't own Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and the Carpenter.
Getting Better
The first time Ritchie was admitted to the hospital was also the worst. He was used to it by the next time, but at seven years old, all he wanted was to go home and sleep in his own bed, away from sickness and sadness and the fake politeness of the doctors and nurses. He’d even gladly go back to school if it meant getting out of here.
nbsp; It was almost Christmas, and Ritchie was hopeful the doctors would let him spend it at home. It wouldn’t be fair if he had to spend his birthday and Christmas here! He smiled as he watched soft, white snowflakes falling gently from the sky through the fogged window. He clutched a warm brown teddy bear to his chest- an early Christmas present- and dreamed of the tree and brightly wrapped boxes and Christmas dinner.
nbsp; Out in the hallway, a much less cheerful John Lennon followed after his mother, arms folded across his chest. He’d come in for tests the day before, and the results were in. He grumbled quietly to himself as he made his way through the hospital- why did he have to come back? Did they really need him there just to talk about some papers?
nbsp; Finally his mother stopped walking, and they were in the doctor’s office. The doctor was there, discussing results and using many words John didn’t understand. The boy’s mind began to wander, and he started blankly at a wall, thinking of shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings, and why the sea was boiling hot, and whether pigs had wings.
nbsp; Finally, the boredom was crippling, and he mumbled a quick, “’m goin’ explorin’,” as he made his way from the room.
nbsp; John stuffed his hands in his pockets as he made his way through the sterile hallways, ignoring nurses, doctors, patients and family members he passed. He was quite content keeping to himself, observing the people around him. Purely by chance, though, he happened to glance into a room as he passed it.
nbsp; John stopped and observed the boy, who sat cross-legged on the bed, a stuffed bear cuddled in his arms. He was staring wistfully out the window at the falling snowflakes, a small smile on his face. Before he could stop himself, John was making his way into the room and pulling a chair up beside the tiny boy’s bed.
nbsp; The boy turned to him, looking slightly surprised but happy to see him as he said, “Hello!”
nbsp; Suddenly nervous, though he didn’t know why, John mumbled, “Hi.”
nbsp; “I’m Ritchie!” the boy said cheerfully. Now that the initial shock was gone, the smile stretched until it nearly took over his face.
nbsp; “’m John.” He looked closer at the boy, noticing for the first time his bright blue eyes, sparkling in delight at this new friend. He was quite tiny, though, and if John were to guess, he’d assume he was at least a few years older than him.
nbsp; “What are you doin’ in here, John?” Ritchie asked, his head tilting in curiosity.
nbsp; John felt his face heat up. Why was he in here? He shrugged. “I dunno.” Ritchie nodded knowingly, and John inquired, “Why are you here?”
nbsp; “I got sick,” Ritchie told him, and for an instant his face fell. “I’ve been here since before my birthday.” John blinked, though, and the smile was back. “But I think they’re gonna let me go home for Christmas!”
nbsp; “When was your birthday?” John asked cautiously, fearing the answer. He couldn’t figure out why, but he hoped this boy hadn’t been here long.
nbsp; “July the seventh,” Ritchie replied somewhat sadly. “I turned seven.”
nbsp; The little math John could do informed him that this boy- who looked to be half his size- was three months older than him. Then his brain caught up, and he said, “You’ve been in here that long?”
nbsp; Ritchie nodded, holding his bear a little closer. “Yeah. But I’m getting better, I think. I’ll probably be home for Christmas.”
nbsp; John nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. This kid had been in the hospital for six months? “What, um... What’s... wrong with you?” he asked carefully, unable to phrase it any other way. It was odd, he thought, that he was being so polite to this boy. He usually blurted the first thing he thought. But something about this boy was... different.
nbsp; Ritchie shrugged. “My tummy was hurtin’ and I had to come in here. They did a... operation and I almost got better. But then I fell asleep and I didn’t wake up for a few days.”
nbsp; John’s eyes widened. “You were... dead?”
nbsp; Ritchie shook his head. “Not dead. Jus’ sleepin’. But when I woke up, I couldn’t go home. So...” He gave a sheepish shrug and grinned. “Here I am.”
nbsp; John’s head spun and his heart felt heavy with sympathy for the boy. “I’m... sorry,” he muttered. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
nbsp; “S’okay,” Ritchie told him, beaming. “I missed my birthday, but I won’t miss Christmas. They’ll let me go home any day now!” Ritchie’s cheer was contagious, and soon, a smile was spread across John’s face.
nbsp; “John?” The boy turned at the sound of his name. There, at the door, was his mother. Her face was flushed with relief. “Come on, John. It’s time to go. Say goodbye to your friend.” She took a step to the right to give them a moment and was hidden by the wall.
nbsp; Ritchie’s face fell. “Aw, you gotta go?”
nbsp; John averted his eyes. “Yeah.”
nbsp; Ritchie shifted on the bed, reaching toward the little table beside him. He picked a piece of paper from a pile and held it out to John. “Here. To remember me.” The tiny boy gave a shy smile, and John hesitantly took the paper.
nbsp; On the white sheet was a bright crayon drawing, though what it was of, John couldn’t tell. There was a large purple blob with what appeared to be a smiling face. Protruding from the blob were noodle-like squiggles. The background was scribbled in blue with tan brown along the bottom. Despite being clueless as to the subject of the drawing, John felt himself smile.
nbsp; “What is it?” he asked quietly.
nbsp; Glancing away from the paper, he saw Ritchie was snuggling into his bed, yawning widely and cuddling the bear. “It’s an octopus.” His bright blue eyes, brighter than the blue crayon on the paper- which John now assumed was an ocean- began to slowly slide closed.
nbsp; John stared at the drawing for another moment. He wanted to give Ritchie something back, but he didn’t have anything, and there wasn’t enough time to draw a picture for him...
nbsp; Then he got an idea, and his face flushed. Thankful Ritchie’s eyes were closed and he couldn’t see the red across his cheeks, he leaned forward and placed a tiny kiss to Ritchie’s temple. Then he hopped off his chair and mumbled, “Bye, Ritchie. Merry Christmas.”
nbsp; “Bye, John,” Ritchie said with a smile from his cocoon on the bed. “Merry Christmas.” His eyes opened briefly, and he looked at John thoughtfully. “Y’know, I think we’re gonna see each other again someday.”
nbsp; John nodded, though Ritchie’s eyes had closed again and he couldn’t see. Making his way from the room, he called back quietly, “Bye, Ritchie. Hope you get better so you can go home for Christmas.” And with a final glance back at the sleeping boy, John was gone.
nbsp; Ritchie never did get to go home for Christmas- not long before he was set to leave, he relapsed and was confined to the hospital for another six months. But each day he’d wake up and stare out the window, watching kids his age go by with their parents and fathers going off to work. And each day he thought of his mysterious visitor, just waiting for the day he’d see him again. Something told him that whenever that day came, his life would be changed forever.