Holding Onto the Things that Slip Through Your Fingers (7B- 56)
WARNING. Cuteness ahead!
7B
Previous chapters are HERE
Phase 7b, in which Paul makes some pancakes
Much love to mollybeakers and beagle_agent as always!.
*
Paul had only a few seconds to relish the dulcet tones of his lady before they turned stern and unexpectedly hard.
“Why did I hear that half the girls in London were chasing Paul McCartney?” Her tone was no longer sweet.
“Er, where did you hear that from?” He asked, putting off answering. His eyes wandered to John who was watching him with an amused look on his face. As Jane rambled off a long list of names he never heard before and wouldn’t remember he made a sound of understanding. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of a headful of blond hair before it ducked around the corner.
“No luv, that wasn’t me. But liste-“
There was a pause.
“Yes really, now I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk about this later. Lots of love, bye.” Without a second thought, he closed the receiver on her and her rising protests, silencing them firmly. He rose as quick as his stiff body would let him and he quietly approached the white wall where he’d seen the head, very aware John was watching him.
He peeked around the corner and was greeted by bubbling laughter.
“Foun’ me. Un’ca Pauw.”
Despite the protests of his back he scooped up the child and raised him high above his head. His efforts were rewarded by an extreme squeal of delight. The position was impossible to maintain for longer than a few moments and he swung the lad down and into his arm and placed him on one hip.
“Oh Jules, I missed you,” He cooed at the boy, who squirmed but smiled.
“Paauw!” Julian crowed happily, and Paul let himself sink into a deep moment of happiness.
Paul had watched Julian from the very beginning. Year by year he watched him grow from a small child into a fine man, someone Paul regarded as a friend. He was proud of the boy, and yet, despite this fact, he knew that Julian had also been troubled throughout his years. The boy carried the weight of his concerns and rejections and pressures from the time he was but a child.
Throughout his life, Paul had tried to be a constant presence, there whenever Julian needed support. He had done his best in the other timeline, trying to be a figure in the younger boy’s life that was reliable. There was comfort in that he had done his best given the circumstances. Now though, now Paul knew things. He knew exactly how deeply the sense of abandonment and inadequacy would be, how far down the roots would grow if not managed. And hell if Paul wasn’t going to do everything in his power to manage it better this time. There was time for change, time for him to try and salvage Julian’s heart and self-confidence.
The first and most key thing would be to get John more involved with his son’s life and wellbeing. That might be the most difficult of them all though. Paul would try though. Before, he had tried to gently shepherd his friend to care a bit more about his son, but he had not pushed John. In the past, he had actually empathized with John. They were so young when Julian was born. Just on the cusp of their new start and the unexpected gift could not have arrived at a worse time. Paul remembered thinking how lucky he was it hadn’t happened to him. John’s reaction was understandable in a way. It came back down the them being to too young. John was an almost untamable force, and then in a blink of an eye, he was married and tethered to a place he didn’t want to be by a kid. Then to see the thing that bound you, running around-
Paul supposed he could understand a bit of John’s thinking. Still, it was not Julian’s fault, and Paul would do all he could to make sure Julian wasn’t the one paying the price this time around.
Of course, Paul still felt a little sympathetic for John and the undesirable situation, but what happened had already happened. There was no undoing it, -unless John also managed to pull a time traveling trick somehow- but the point was, that in this timeline this was the way things were, but Paul could make sure they would not stay this way.
Julian deserved more. No matter the situation, the children always come first. It was something ingrained into his heart with firm lettering. And it was a truth that Paul would try to impress upon his friend.
And if he couldn’t get the message to stick, then he guessed he would take over the position.
It was unfair to John for Paul to deny him the chance to have that spot in his son’s life, but it was also unfair to Julian to be on the edges, waiting to see if his father would take it. So unlike before where’d been an uncle, he would take the position of father-figure.
Paul steeled himself towards that end, but he dearly hoped it wouldn’t come to it.
The two-year old in his arms pounded his fists softly against Paul’s chest trying to earn back his attention which had been wandering for some time. Paul graced the boy with a very fond smile as he kissed the boy’s sun-colored hair. In any way things panned out, he always wanted to have a strong part in the boy’s life, no matter which role that would be.
There was time yet for change.
“Hello Jules, are you ready to play today?” He asked excitedly. Julian smiled into his hand and ducked his head over Paul’s shoulder.
“What kind of answer is that? Hm?” Paul ran fingers up and down the boys sides making him scream with laughter.
“I asked you a question, right?” The babbling answer Julian managed to reply with as he breathlessly smiled was amenable to Paul.
“Keep it down, Cyn’s still asleep you know,” John commented from the side of the room. Paul shot him a mild look but set the boy down gently. Spying the set of blocks in the corner he led Julian there.
“Play quietly for a few moments, okay Julian?” Paul asked ever so gently. When he noticed the sad expression start to fall over the young boy’s face he immediately reached out to comfort him. He ignored the sharp pain in his thighs as he knelt down and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I promise we’ll play later. It will just be a few moments,” He assured him.
“Pwomise?” The actual doubt and concern in Julian’s eyes almost broke Paul’s heart. Things would definitely be different.
“I swear,” he said with absolute solemnity, trying to convince Julian to trust him. The boy did, and a smile spread and he nodded before sitting down clumsily and taking the blocks in his chubby hands.
Paul stood up slowly, but even though he did it delicately it didn’t stop the soreness and he let out a groan.
“You sure you’re okay?” John asked skeptically.
“Yeah, the burn feels kind of good,” Paul said, knowing it meant he had definitely gotten some serious exercise done today.
John cracked a grin. “Kinky.”
“John!” Paul cast a meaningful look towards Julian.
“He can’t understand a bloody thing anyone says anyways,” John dismissed.
Paul had his work cut out for him, that much was clear.
But as he realized before, there was still time, so he wouldn’t push John quite yet. Though he wondered if that would actually do any good, because it was a one of Newton’s laws that the more a force pushes on John Lennon, the more John Lennon will resist all movement.
So for now at least, he settled on trying to subtly encourage John to take part in Julian’s life. How could he do that though . . .
“I’m going to go wake Cynthia, I’m starved,” John announced, getting bored of watching Paul stare into space for the umpteenth time since he arrived.
“Don’t wake her just cause you’re hungry, you lazy sod,” Paul grinned.
“I need to eat Macca, Julian too, unless you want us to starve and wither away,” John spoke dramatically and Paul gave a small smile at his friend.
“Fine then,” Paul started. John nodded and started heading to the door again before he was cut off by Paul.
“I’ll cook then,” the bassist said as he rolled up his sleeves. John failed to stop the guffaw that escaped his mouth at that announcement.
“Paul, the last time you tried to make breakfast you almost poisoned your brother,” John began with a grin. It took Paul a few moments to recall that memory, and he flushed at the recollection.
“It wasn’t that bad,” He mumbled.
“Really? It was so toxic that they could have used it in the next world war,” John surmised.
“Fine, it was bad.” He admitted the fact, “But I’ve gotten better. Besides, that was years ago!”
“You’d best stick to butties, mate,” John grinned. “There’s a reason Mike was always in charge of breakfast and you were always on Lunch duty.”
“Did you want to eat?” Paul challenged with a raised brow.
“Nothing you’re cooking,” John informed him
The bassist shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then he made his way to the kitchen. Paul took a moment to take in the old style of the fridge before he opened it and scanned the contents. There was milk, eggs, some sausages, a couple of green apples that looked as though they’d been there too long, and a bit of butter. It was clear that Cynthia had yet to go shopping to replenish the fridge.
“What did you want to eat?” Paul asked. John grunted, before he seemed to accept the situation.
“Sausage and eggs,” John replied from the sitting room.
“What part of the word ‘vegetarian’ are you having difficult with?” Paul asked with a grin.
“What part of ‘I eat meat’ do you not understand?” The older of the two shot back.
“Too bad, I’m not cooking some poor creature for you to eat.”
“Fine, you choose what we eat,” John huffed, feeling hungry and irritable.
Paul spied a sack of flour and a sugar pot and inspiration hit.
“Oh, let’s make pancakes!”
John snorted. Paul didn’t pull back his words or say they were a joke and John watched as Paul searched for the bowls.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” John asked doubtfully as Paul started to pull the necessary ingredients out from the fridge. “I thought you couldn’t cook.”
“You learn new things every day,” Paul replied with a nonanswer.
“Julian, did you want to help?” The boy nodded, eyes shining as he tottered over. Paul led Jules to the sink so they could wash their hands. While they did that, Paul wondered to himself. Maybe he could try and bring John into cooking with them. It was a great activity to do with kids. He recalled many instances when he cooked with his children. Hell he still did- had. He shook the thoughts away and helped Julian dry his tiny hands.
“Let’s measure the flour, okay Jules? Hold the cup steady now,” Paul directed and Julian seemed very excited as Paul spooned some flour into the cup, some missed and a little cloud gathered above the bowl.
Julian suddenly sneezed and the cup of flour in his hands went soaring. A graceful arc of white powder followed it before it landed firmly atop John’s head.
Julian’s face suddenly went pale and he looked stunned. Unlike him, Paul was laughing at his co-writer very loudly. John exhaled and coughed, a white cloud forming as he did. He had to take off his glasses and wipe them to clear the lenses firmly before placing them back atop his head. He then shook his hair like a dog before he looked at Julian and Paul.
“Think it’s funny, do you?” John asked, a slightly manic grin spreading and Paul calmed down and put his hands up, knowing what was coming.
“Now, let’s all keep calm-“ He was cut off by a fistful of flour and he spluttered as the white substance went down his throat. Julian couldn’t help the delighted giggle that escaped his lips. John turned to him, but there wasn’t any ire or displeasure at having been spilt on, in fact, John looked pleased at Julian’s reaction to what he’d done to Paul.
Wanting to join in, Julian gathered a handful of flour from the sack and sprinkled it over his own head so he could be dusty like them.
“No, no, you’re doing it wrong, more like this,” John began before he scooped the boy up and placed him on top of his shoulders. Julian gave a surprised squeal if delight at the action.
“Hold still aviator, or we’re going to have a very short flight to the ground.” John tried to steady the kid so he didn’t fall off. “Now then, like this,” John put the bag up to Julian so he could grab a handful before grabbing some himself.
“Steady, steady,” John said as he neared Paul, who hadn’t been watching what had happened, being more occupied with getting the flour out of his throat. Paul had just gotten a few sips of water to ease his wheezing when a shadow covered him.
“Now Julian!” A double barrage of flour followed and Paul’s vision filled with white. He turned around at them. A shot of warmth filled him as he looked at the two of them. John was grinning and Julian had a smile hidden behind his hand, and being so close, Paul could see the similarity of the two. John usually didn’t hold Julian very often of his own accord, but now he had him perched on his shoulders and he seemed comfortable with it. This was more than Paul expected to accomplish in his first attempt, but he was so glad.
He kept the soft joy from his face though, not wanting John to realize anything and get awkward. In its place, he let a devious expression fill the space as he quickly pulled the flour sack to him and away from John’s grasp.
“Oh no! The enemy has found the ammunition! Retreat!” Hastily, John dashed to escape the kitchen, Julian giggling as they fled. They didn’t make it far into the living room before Paul caught up to them and powdered them with the flour.
“No, no mayday! Man down!” John tumbled back dramatically as he pulled Julian off of his head and into his arms so he could fall dramatically on the couch.
Seeming to barely muster the strength, John pulled his head up and spoke to Julian as though it was very difficult.
“Tell meinem Führer. . . I loved him . . . GUH!” John made a silly face as he pretended to be dead. Julian was laughing freely before he poked John’s face, trying to illicit a response.
In this moment, Paul felt such joy. John was performing not for him, but for Julian. He was seeing the benefit of what it did. John always loved having a little audience, and maybe now he would realize that Julian was a willing one. Then a relationship could grow.
“That isn’t how you treat a dead body Jules,” John finally said after a few moments of poking. “You have to get a stick to prod it. You don’t want to catch any grotty, dead-people germs,” He informed his son, as though it was an imperative life-lesson. John suddenly seemed to sense Paul’s eyes and he stood suddenly, pulling Julian up with him before he set the boy on the floor.
“So, are we still making pancakes then?” John asked nonchalantly.
“Oh, you’re going to help? Are you sure you don’t want to roll around in the butter, or whatever the next ingredient is?” Paul asked falsely innocent.
“Cheeky,” John grinned, and then he noticed the concerned expression on Paul’s face.
“What?”
“Well, we sort of just ruined the furniture-“ Paul started slowly, looking sheepish, because by ‘them,’ he meant himself, because he had dragged the fight into the sitting room.
“It’s Ringo’s no worries. Besides, we’ll just buy him some more if he wants.” Money was their smallest worry.
“Fair point, but, uh, do we have any more flour.” Now Paul flat out blushed. A lot of it had gone over John’s head. At John’s vacant expression, Paul realized how silly it was of him to ask John. It wasn’t like he would know.
“It’s in da boddum,” Julian put forth.
“It’s a little sad when your kid knows more about the things in your house than you.” Paul didn’t try to hide a smile.
“It’s Ringo’s house,” John muttered.
“Right! Let’s make some pancakes!”
“Take two!” John declared, making snapping sounds, as though he was shutting a scene taker.
“Hopefully the last scene, since this is the last bag of flour.” Paul quipped.
“No promises mate,” John grinned with a wink.
“Git,” Paul declared before he turned to Julian with a sweet voice, “Shall we?”
*
Cynthia was startled awake by the sudden crashing sound of something heavy, like a pot or a vase. Her immediate though was that there was a burglar in her home. That or a crazy fan. If it was a fan that determined was to break into their house, Cynthia wasn’t sure whether she would actually prefer the burglar over that. She moved to pull on her dressing gown, when her hand met air and she realized it wasn’t there. She frowned and sighed. There probably wasn’t anyone breaking into their house, John was just awake.
Deciding it would just be better to get dressed, she took the time to pick out some high-cut pants and a blouse before she got her face ready. Prepped enough for the day, she moved to go downstairs. As the descended she began to notice something. She sniffed curiously.
There was a pervasive scent in the air, the warm and unexpected smell of pancakes. John had cooked. The thought left her dumbfounded. Was it possible? Pressing on the door she was met with an unusual sight to say the least.
Paul John and Julian all stood in their little kitchenette, absolutely covered in flour from head to toe. The raven headed, (or at least it used to be raven, now it was more of a powdery grey,) of the three was whistling a happy little tune as he deftly flipped another pancake before placing it atop of a tall stack.
“Cynthia!” Paul greeted the flabbergasted woman.
She was so young that it caught Paul by surprise for a few moments. There were so few less lines of worry on her face, though the feeling was still noticeable in her eyes. Well, currently, that was overtaken by surprise.
“Oh, have a seat, would you like some pancakes?” Without waiting for a reply, he was already pulling a plate out of the cupboard and placing a few steaming pancakes on her place along with a small pat of butter. She dumbly sat down at the table as she watched John help Paul with the sugar, and some syrup she’d bough on one of her trips to America . Slowly, she registered the fact that John was in fact, wearing her robe, though it was firmly covered with flour by now. It was lucky he had the decency to wear some sleeping pants. Her husband cussed as he missed though Paul grinned. He continued to prep the plates, and John was even helping, which Cynthia found touching. Paul even went so far to pour her a glass of milk, taking each aspect of the morning ritual into his hands, leaving her with nothing to do but watch with muted amazement.
“Take this to your mummy Julian.” He delegated the task to a very excited looking Julian, who accepted the glass with determination. He tottered over to her, both hands wrapped around the glass with carefulness uncharacteristic for a boy his age. The sight of him trying so hard made her smile; he was such a darling boy. Of course a fair amount of liquid managed to fall out anyways and by the time he finally arrived at the table it was only half full. The proud expression on his face though was worth more than every spilt drop. Paul quickly swept in, following Julian, though he was careful to avoid the milk on the floor.
“Here you are dear.” He placed the plate in front of her, along with a small boat of syrup and suger before he turned to Julian.
“Excellent job Jules! Now go help your daddy pick out the best pancakes to eat,” Paul sent the boy scampering back to the kitchen. The bassist then leaned over with a small grunt and began to wipe the floor clean with a rag.
“Domestic isn’t he? Trained him meself,” John commented with a waggle of his flour-covered eyebrows.
Paul ignored his cowriter and stood, stretching as he did.
Cynthia couldn’t speak. Her words had been stolen and she couldn’t help but watch what happened as though it were a dream. It only struck her as they had joined her at the table, all smiles and messy, that this was the happiest breakfast she’d had in a very, very long time. It was odd watching Paul help Julian, who was quickly turning into a syrupy-floury mess, with his food. Paul was so good with Julian, even moreso than usual. John was watching them with amusement as Julian put a very sticky hand in Paul’s hair. She was struck by the odd sense of domesticity, like John had said before, but it wasn’t just Paul who was taking part in it, she could feel some of it in her husband. There was a hint of something, a glimpse of a paternalistic presence peeking through his brown eyes, the likes of which Cynthia rarely saw. Watching the three of them, she felt like she was watching a true family.
John sensed her gaze and turned to her, almost questioningly. It was then she realized she hadn’t even taken a bite yet. They gave her far too many, but the six pancakes were a golden brown, and delightfully warm. She cut a tiny triangle and ate it. They were as delicious as they looked.
Suddenly her gaze was interrupted by blurriness. It took her a few moments to realize it was tears, and she barely choked a sob.
“Oh shit- I mean, uh crap.” Paul stuttered for a few moments before he quickly came over with a napkin for her tears. “We’ll clean the kitchen, I promise. We didn’t ruin anything, really. I know that those skillets were a wedding-gift from your mother, but they’re fine and-“ Paul was babbling concernedly. On the other side of the spectrum, John just tilted his head.
“It’s your bad cooking Macca, it’s so horrible she’s been pushed to tears. But what do you expect, this pancakes are thicker than the walls!” John exclaimed.
“This is how they make them in America John, they’re fine,” Paul returned exasperatedly.
“Too bad we aren’t in America then, or else this would be great.”
The comment spurred a teary laugh from Cynthia and she started to try and wipe her face.
“ What huwt Mummy?” Julian asked, looking fairly upset.
“Nothing, sweetie. They just taste so good.” A fresh wave of tears began, but they were happy ones. She ignored them and cut herself another bite, the saltiness mixing with the fluffy food.
“This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” She managed eventually, more water falling from her eyes.
“Oh Cyn . . .” Paul trailed, sympathy in his tone.
John on the other hand was silent. He seemed to be pondering what she said very deeply.
Once it was assured she was really alright, Paul went back to a sticky Julian.
Cynthia nearly jumped in surprise when she felt John’s hand on her arm. She turned towards him with surprise, and his palm lingered there for a few moments before he withdrew. It was more than enough for her.
Now a very free smile broke through her face and she allowed herself to simply bask in the glow of this beautiful morning, punctuated with the gleeful sounds of her son, grins from her husband and the steadying presence of Paul.
And she finished every last bite of her sweet pancakes.
*
AN Yay. I love a sweet ending. I have always pitied Cynthia a bit. Either way, the idea of John playing with Julian is soooo cute! Anyroad! Leavve me a note so I knwo you're there.
Next chapters are HERE
BTW Shit happens next chapter. Kind of.
7B
Previous chapters are HERE
Phase 7b, in which Paul makes some pancakes
Much love to mollybeakers and beagle_agent as always!.
*
Paul had only a few seconds to relish the dulcet tones of his lady before they turned stern and unexpectedly hard.
“Why did I hear that half the girls in London were chasing Paul McCartney?” Her tone was no longer sweet.
“Er, where did you hear that from?” He asked, putting off answering. His eyes wandered to John who was watching him with an amused look on his face. As Jane rambled off a long list of names he never heard before and wouldn’t remember he made a sound of understanding. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of a headful of blond hair before it ducked around the corner.
“No luv, that wasn’t me. But liste-“
There was a pause.
“Yes really, now I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk about this later. Lots of love, bye.” Without a second thought, he closed the receiver on her and her rising protests, silencing them firmly. He rose as quick as his stiff body would let him and he quietly approached the white wall where he’d seen the head, very aware John was watching him.
He peeked around the corner and was greeted by bubbling laughter.
“Foun’ me. Un’ca Pauw.”
Despite the protests of his back he scooped up the child and raised him high above his head. His efforts were rewarded by an extreme squeal of delight. The position was impossible to maintain for longer than a few moments and he swung the lad down and into his arm and placed him on one hip.
“Oh Jules, I missed you,” He cooed at the boy, who squirmed but smiled.
“Paauw!” Julian crowed happily, and Paul let himself sink into a deep moment of happiness.
Paul had watched Julian from the very beginning. Year by year he watched him grow from a small child into a fine man, someone Paul regarded as a friend. He was proud of the boy, and yet, despite this fact, he knew that Julian had also been troubled throughout his years. The boy carried the weight of his concerns and rejections and pressures from the time he was but a child.
Throughout his life, Paul had tried to be a constant presence, there whenever Julian needed support. He had done his best in the other timeline, trying to be a figure in the younger boy’s life that was reliable. There was comfort in that he had done his best given the circumstances. Now though, now Paul knew things. He knew exactly how deeply the sense of abandonment and inadequacy would be, how far down the roots would grow if not managed. And hell if Paul wasn’t going to do everything in his power to manage it better this time. There was time for change, time for him to try and salvage Julian’s heart and self-confidence.
The first and most key thing would be to get John more involved with his son’s life and wellbeing. That might be the most difficult of them all though. Paul would try though. Before, he had tried to gently shepherd his friend to care a bit more about his son, but he had not pushed John. In the past, he had actually empathized with John. They were so young when Julian was born. Just on the cusp of their new start and the unexpected gift could not have arrived at a worse time. Paul remembered thinking how lucky he was it hadn’t happened to him. John’s reaction was understandable in a way. It came back down the them being to too young. John was an almost untamable force, and then in a blink of an eye, he was married and tethered to a place he didn’t want to be by a kid. Then to see the thing that bound you, running around-
Paul supposed he could understand a bit of John’s thinking. Still, it was not Julian’s fault, and Paul would do all he could to make sure Julian wasn’t the one paying the price this time around.
Of course, Paul still felt a little sympathetic for John and the undesirable situation, but what happened had already happened. There was no undoing it, -unless John also managed to pull a time traveling trick somehow- but the point was, that in this timeline this was the way things were, but Paul could make sure they would not stay this way.
Julian deserved more. No matter the situation, the children always come first. It was something ingrained into his heart with firm lettering. And it was a truth that Paul would try to impress upon his friend.
And if he couldn’t get the message to stick, then he guessed he would take over the position.
It was unfair to John for Paul to deny him the chance to have that spot in his son’s life, but it was also unfair to Julian to be on the edges, waiting to see if his father would take it. So unlike before where’d been an uncle, he would take the position of father-figure.
Paul steeled himself towards that end, but he dearly hoped it wouldn’t come to it.
The two-year old in his arms pounded his fists softly against Paul’s chest trying to earn back his attention which had been wandering for some time. Paul graced the boy with a very fond smile as he kissed the boy’s sun-colored hair. In any way things panned out, he always wanted to have a strong part in the boy’s life, no matter which role that would be.
There was time yet for change.
“Hello Jules, are you ready to play today?” He asked excitedly. Julian smiled into his hand and ducked his head over Paul’s shoulder.
“What kind of answer is that? Hm?” Paul ran fingers up and down the boys sides making him scream with laughter.
“I asked you a question, right?” The babbling answer Julian managed to reply with as he breathlessly smiled was amenable to Paul.
“Keep it down, Cyn’s still asleep you know,” John commented from the side of the room. Paul shot him a mild look but set the boy down gently. Spying the set of blocks in the corner he led Julian there.
“Play quietly for a few moments, okay Julian?” Paul asked ever so gently. When he noticed the sad expression start to fall over the young boy’s face he immediately reached out to comfort him. He ignored the sharp pain in his thighs as he knelt down and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I promise we’ll play later. It will just be a few moments,” He assured him.
“Pwomise?” The actual doubt and concern in Julian’s eyes almost broke Paul’s heart. Things would definitely be different.
“I swear,” he said with absolute solemnity, trying to convince Julian to trust him. The boy did, and a smile spread and he nodded before sitting down clumsily and taking the blocks in his chubby hands.
Paul stood up slowly, but even though he did it delicately it didn’t stop the soreness and he let out a groan.
“You sure you’re okay?” John asked skeptically.
“Yeah, the burn feels kind of good,” Paul said, knowing it meant he had definitely gotten some serious exercise done today.
John cracked a grin. “Kinky.”
“John!” Paul cast a meaningful look towards Julian.
“He can’t understand a bloody thing anyone says anyways,” John dismissed.
Paul had his work cut out for him, that much was clear.
But as he realized before, there was still time, so he wouldn’t push John quite yet. Though he wondered if that would actually do any good, because it was a one of Newton’s laws that the more a force pushes on John Lennon, the more John Lennon will resist all movement.
So for now at least, he settled on trying to subtly encourage John to take part in Julian’s life. How could he do that though . . .
“I’m going to go wake Cynthia, I’m starved,” John announced, getting bored of watching Paul stare into space for the umpteenth time since he arrived.
“Don’t wake her just cause you’re hungry, you lazy sod,” Paul grinned.
“I need to eat Macca, Julian too, unless you want us to starve and wither away,” John spoke dramatically and Paul gave a small smile at his friend.
“Fine then,” Paul started. John nodded and started heading to the door again before he was cut off by Paul.
“I’ll cook then,” the bassist said as he rolled up his sleeves. John failed to stop the guffaw that escaped his mouth at that announcement.
“Paul, the last time you tried to make breakfast you almost poisoned your brother,” John began with a grin. It took Paul a few moments to recall that memory, and he flushed at the recollection.
“It wasn’t that bad,” He mumbled.
“Really? It was so toxic that they could have used it in the next world war,” John surmised.
“Fine, it was bad.” He admitted the fact, “But I’ve gotten better. Besides, that was years ago!”
“You’d best stick to butties, mate,” John grinned. “There’s a reason Mike was always in charge of breakfast and you were always on Lunch duty.”
“Did you want to eat?” Paul challenged with a raised brow.
“Nothing you’re cooking,” John informed him
The bassist shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then he made his way to the kitchen. Paul took a moment to take in the old style of the fridge before he opened it and scanned the contents. There was milk, eggs, some sausages, a couple of green apples that looked as though they’d been there too long, and a bit of butter. It was clear that Cynthia had yet to go shopping to replenish the fridge.
“What did you want to eat?” Paul asked. John grunted, before he seemed to accept the situation.
“Sausage and eggs,” John replied from the sitting room.
“What part of the word ‘vegetarian’ are you having difficult with?” Paul asked with a grin.
“What part of ‘I eat meat’ do you not understand?” The older of the two shot back.
“Too bad, I’m not cooking some poor creature for you to eat.”
“Fine, you choose what we eat,” John huffed, feeling hungry and irritable.
Paul spied a sack of flour and a sugar pot and inspiration hit.
“Oh, let’s make pancakes!”
John snorted. Paul didn’t pull back his words or say they were a joke and John watched as Paul searched for the bowls.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” John asked doubtfully as Paul started to pull the necessary ingredients out from the fridge. “I thought you couldn’t cook.”
“You learn new things every day,” Paul replied with a nonanswer.
“Julian, did you want to help?” The boy nodded, eyes shining as he tottered over. Paul led Jules to the sink so they could wash their hands. While they did that, Paul wondered to himself. Maybe he could try and bring John into cooking with them. It was a great activity to do with kids. He recalled many instances when he cooked with his children. Hell he still did- had. He shook the thoughts away and helped Julian dry his tiny hands.
“Let’s measure the flour, okay Jules? Hold the cup steady now,” Paul directed and Julian seemed very excited as Paul spooned some flour into the cup, some missed and a little cloud gathered above the bowl.
Julian suddenly sneezed and the cup of flour in his hands went soaring. A graceful arc of white powder followed it before it landed firmly atop John’s head.
Julian’s face suddenly went pale and he looked stunned. Unlike him, Paul was laughing at his co-writer very loudly. John exhaled and coughed, a white cloud forming as he did. He had to take off his glasses and wipe them to clear the lenses firmly before placing them back atop his head. He then shook his hair like a dog before he looked at Julian and Paul.
“Think it’s funny, do you?” John asked, a slightly manic grin spreading and Paul calmed down and put his hands up, knowing what was coming.
“Now, let’s all keep calm-“ He was cut off by a fistful of flour and he spluttered as the white substance went down his throat. Julian couldn’t help the delighted giggle that escaped his lips. John turned to him, but there wasn’t any ire or displeasure at having been spilt on, in fact, John looked pleased at Julian’s reaction to what he’d done to Paul.
Wanting to join in, Julian gathered a handful of flour from the sack and sprinkled it over his own head so he could be dusty like them.
“No, no, you’re doing it wrong, more like this,” John began before he scooped the boy up and placed him on top of his shoulders. Julian gave a surprised squeal if delight at the action.
“Hold still aviator, or we’re going to have a very short flight to the ground.” John tried to steady the kid so he didn’t fall off. “Now then, like this,” John put the bag up to Julian so he could grab a handful before grabbing some himself.
“Steady, steady,” John said as he neared Paul, who hadn’t been watching what had happened, being more occupied with getting the flour out of his throat. Paul had just gotten a few sips of water to ease his wheezing when a shadow covered him.
“Now Julian!” A double barrage of flour followed and Paul’s vision filled with white. He turned around at them. A shot of warmth filled him as he looked at the two of them. John was grinning and Julian had a smile hidden behind his hand, and being so close, Paul could see the similarity of the two. John usually didn’t hold Julian very often of his own accord, but now he had him perched on his shoulders and he seemed comfortable with it. This was more than Paul expected to accomplish in his first attempt, but he was so glad.
He kept the soft joy from his face though, not wanting John to realize anything and get awkward. In its place, he let a devious expression fill the space as he quickly pulled the flour sack to him and away from John’s grasp.
“Oh no! The enemy has found the ammunition! Retreat!” Hastily, John dashed to escape the kitchen, Julian giggling as they fled. They didn’t make it far into the living room before Paul caught up to them and powdered them with the flour.
“No, no mayday! Man down!” John tumbled back dramatically as he pulled Julian off of his head and into his arms so he could fall dramatically on the couch.
Seeming to barely muster the strength, John pulled his head up and spoke to Julian as though it was very difficult.
“Tell meinem Führer. . . I loved him . . . GUH!” John made a silly face as he pretended to be dead. Julian was laughing freely before he poked John’s face, trying to illicit a response.
In this moment, Paul felt such joy. John was performing not for him, but for Julian. He was seeing the benefit of what it did. John always loved having a little audience, and maybe now he would realize that Julian was a willing one. Then a relationship could grow.
“That isn’t how you treat a dead body Jules,” John finally said after a few moments of poking. “You have to get a stick to prod it. You don’t want to catch any grotty, dead-people germs,” He informed his son, as though it was an imperative life-lesson. John suddenly seemed to sense Paul’s eyes and he stood suddenly, pulling Julian up with him before he set the boy on the floor.
“So, are we still making pancakes then?” John asked nonchalantly.
“Oh, you’re going to help? Are you sure you don’t want to roll around in the butter, or whatever the next ingredient is?” Paul asked falsely innocent.
“Cheeky,” John grinned, and then he noticed the concerned expression on Paul’s face.
“What?”
“Well, we sort of just ruined the furniture-“ Paul started slowly, looking sheepish, because by ‘them,’ he meant himself, because he had dragged the fight into the sitting room.
“It’s Ringo’s no worries. Besides, we’ll just buy him some more if he wants.” Money was their smallest worry.
“Fair point, but, uh, do we have any more flour.” Now Paul flat out blushed. A lot of it had gone over John’s head. At John’s vacant expression, Paul realized how silly it was of him to ask John. It wasn’t like he would know.
“It’s in da boddum,” Julian put forth.
“It’s a little sad when your kid knows more about the things in your house than you.” Paul didn’t try to hide a smile.
“It’s Ringo’s house,” John muttered.
“Right! Let’s make some pancakes!”
“Take two!” John declared, making snapping sounds, as though he was shutting a scene taker.
“Hopefully the last scene, since this is the last bag of flour.” Paul quipped.
“No promises mate,” John grinned with a wink.
“Git,” Paul declared before he turned to Julian with a sweet voice, “Shall we?”
*
Cynthia was startled awake by the sudden crashing sound of something heavy, like a pot or a vase. Her immediate though was that there was a burglar in her home. That or a crazy fan. If it was a fan that determined was to break into their house, Cynthia wasn’t sure whether she would actually prefer the burglar over that. She moved to pull on her dressing gown, when her hand met air and she realized it wasn’t there. She frowned and sighed. There probably wasn’t anyone breaking into their house, John was just awake.
Deciding it would just be better to get dressed, she took the time to pick out some high-cut pants and a blouse before she got her face ready. Prepped enough for the day, she moved to go downstairs. As the descended she began to notice something. She sniffed curiously.
There was a pervasive scent in the air, the warm and unexpected smell of pancakes. John had cooked. The thought left her dumbfounded. Was it possible? Pressing on the door she was met with an unusual sight to say the least.
Paul John and Julian all stood in their little kitchenette, absolutely covered in flour from head to toe. The raven headed, (or at least it used to be raven, now it was more of a powdery grey,) of the three was whistling a happy little tune as he deftly flipped another pancake before placing it atop of a tall stack.
“Cynthia!” Paul greeted the flabbergasted woman.
She was so young that it caught Paul by surprise for a few moments. There were so few less lines of worry on her face, though the feeling was still noticeable in her eyes. Well, currently, that was overtaken by surprise.
“Oh, have a seat, would you like some pancakes?” Without waiting for a reply, he was already pulling a plate out of the cupboard and placing a few steaming pancakes on her place along with a small pat of butter. She dumbly sat down at the table as she watched John help Paul with the sugar, and some syrup she’d bough on one of her trips to America . Slowly, she registered the fact that John was in fact, wearing her robe, though it was firmly covered with flour by now. It was lucky he had the decency to wear some sleeping pants. Her husband cussed as he missed though Paul grinned. He continued to prep the plates, and John was even helping, which Cynthia found touching. Paul even went so far to pour her a glass of milk, taking each aspect of the morning ritual into his hands, leaving her with nothing to do but watch with muted amazement.
“Take this to your mummy Julian.” He delegated the task to a very excited looking Julian, who accepted the glass with determination. He tottered over to her, both hands wrapped around the glass with carefulness uncharacteristic for a boy his age. The sight of him trying so hard made her smile; he was such a darling boy. Of course a fair amount of liquid managed to fall out anyways and by the time he finally arrived at the table it was only half full. The proud expression on his face though was worth more than every spilt drop. Paul quickly swept in, following Julian, though he was careful to avoid the milk on the floor.
“Here you are dear.” He placed the plate in front of her, along with a small boat of syrup and suger before he turned to Julian.
“Excellent job Jules! Now go help your daddy pick out the best pancakes to eat,” Paul sent the boy scampering back to the kitchen. The bassist then leaned over with a small grunt and began to wipe the floor clean with a rag.
“Domestic isn’t he? Trained him meself,” John commented with a waggle of his flour-covered eyebrows.
Paul ignored his cowriter and stood, stretching as he did.
Cynthia couldn’t speak. Her words had been stolen and she couldn’t help but watch what happened as though it were a dream. It only struck her as they had joined her at the table, all smiles and messy, that this was the happiest breakfast she’d had in a very, very long time. It was odd watching Paul help Julian, who was quickly turning into a syrupy-floury mess, with his food. Paul was so good with Julian, even moreso than usual. John was watching them with amusement as Julian put a very sticky hand in Paul’s hair. She was struck by the odd sense of domesticity, like John had said before, but it wasn’t just Paul who was taking part in it, she could feel some of it in her husband. There was a hint of something, a glimpse of a paternalistic presence peeking through his brown eyes, the likes of which Cynthia rarely saw. Watching the three of them, she felt like she was watching a true family.
John sensed her gaze and turned to her, almost questioningly. It was then she realized she hadn’t even taken a bite yet. They gave her far too many, but the six pancakes were a golden brown, and delightfully warm. She cut a tiny triangle and ate it. They were as delicious as they looked.
Suddenly her gaze was interrupted by blurriness. It took her a few moments to realize it was tears, and she barely choked a sob.
“Oh shit- I mean, uh crap.” Paul stuttered for a few moments before he quickly came over with a napkin for her tears. “We’ll clean the kitchen, I promise. We didn’t ruin anything, really. I know that those skillets were a wedding-gift from your mother, but they’re fine and-“ Paul was babbling concernedly. On the other side of the spectrum, John just tilted his head.
“It’s your bad cooking Macca, it’s so horrible she’s been pushed to tears. But what do you expect, this pancakes are thicker than the walls!” John exclaimed.
“This is how they make them in America John, they’re fine,” Paul returned exasperatedly.
“Too bad we aren’t in America then, or else this would be great.”
The comment spurred a teary laugh from Cynthia and she started to try and wipe her face.
“ What huwt Mummy?” Julian asked, looking fairly upset.
“Nothing, sweetie. They just taste so good.” A fresh wave of tears began, but they were happy ones. She ignored them and cut herself another bite, the saltiness mixing with the fluffy food.
“This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” She managed eventually, more water falling from her eyes.
“Oh Cyn . . .” Paul trailed, sympathy in his tone.
John on the other hand was silent. He seemed to be pondering what she said very deeply.
Once it was assured she was really alright, Paul went back to a sticky Julian.
Cynthia nearly jumped in surprise when she felt John’s hand on her arm. She turned towards him with surprise, and his palm lingered there for a few moments before he withdrew. It was more than enough for her.
Now a very free smile broke through her face and she allowed herself to simply bask in the glow of this beautiful morning, punctuated with the gleeful sounds of her son, grins from her husband and the steadying presence of Paul.
And she finished every last bite of her sweet pancakes.
*
AN Yay. I love a sweet ending. I have always pitied Cynthia a bit. Either way, the idea of John playing with Julian is soooo cute! Anyroad! Leavve me a note so I knwo you're there.
Next chapters are HERE
BTW Shit happens next chapter. Kind of.