Beatles Fic: Broken Glass
Title: Broken Glass
Fandom: Beatles RPF
Warnings: None
Summary: In a hotel room in America in 1964, Paul McCartney has a dream.
Disclaimer: I know nothing about Paul’s dreams (except that one of them gave him Yesterday - but that wasn’t this one)
In a hotel room in America in 1964, Paul McCartney has a dream.
The glass slips from the table and falls to the ground, shattering into pieces and sending golden wine spilling onto the floor. He kneels beside the mess and tries to put the pieces back together, but they won't fit. They've changed sizes with the crash, and no matter how hard he tries to make them go back in one piece, they keep sliding apart. He cuts his hand on a piece of glass, and flinches, putting it up to his mouth to suck away the blood.
He looks up, and sees John standing over him, watching. John has his glasses on, and they make him forbidding. There is no sympathy on his face. "You realize this is your fault, don't you?" John asks.
Paul sighs. "I don't see you trying to fix it," he snaps.
John shrugs. "I have other things now." He looks away, toward his right.
Paul follows his gaze to a room with chair and a window, all in white. There's something odd about the room. The perspective is off. Looking at it makes Paul feel queasy.
Paul turns back to the glass. The wine has turned to water, and the pieces of glass are floating in it. He picks out two pieces and tries to put them together, but they don't fit. He supposes they probably came from different parts of the glass. Some of Paul’s blood has dropped into the water, and it is starting to turn red.
He looks back at John. John is still staring at the strange room.
"Help me," Paul says.
John turns back slowly, as if takes an effort. "Help you?" he asks, with mock surprise. "You need my help? I thought you could handle things on your own. Thought you were the best at everything, Paul." He smiles, and waits for Paul's response.
Paul looks down at the mess in his hands. "Maybe I am," he says quietly. Then in one swift motion, he puts the glass together. The pieces that seemed almost to repel each other before now come together easily. The glass is cracked, but half complete.
He takes the glass in his hand, stands, and looks at John, who is watching him curiously, a bit apprehensively. Without taking his eyes off of John, he hurls the glass across the room. It hits the far wall and shatters into a million tiny pieces. Little specs of glass fall lifeless to the floor.
John slowly looks at the wall where the glass hit. A few drops of wine/water/blood slide down the wall. John looks back at Paul.
"Maybe I have other things now, too," Paul says, evenly.
"I never liked you," John replies.
Paul isn't aware of leaving, nor of John walking away, but John is in the strange white room and Paul is somewhere else, outside.
Fandom: Beatles RPF
Warnings: None
Summary: In a hotel room in America in 1964, Paul McCartney has a dream.
Disclaimer: I know nothing about Paul’s dreams (except that one of them gave him Yesterday - but that wasn’t this one)
In a hotel room in America in 1964, Paul McCartney has a dream.
The glass slips from the table and falls to the ground, shattering into pieces and sending golden wine spilling onto the floor. He kneels beside the mess and tries to put the pieces back together, but they won't fit. They've changed sizes with the crash, and no matter how hard he tries to make them go back in one piece, they keep sliding apart. He cuts his hand on a piece of glass, and flinches, putting it up to his mouth to suck away the blood.
He looks up, and sees John standing over him, watching. John has his glasses on, and they make him forbidding. There is no sympathy on his face. "You realize this is your fault, don't you?" John asks.
Paul sighs. "I don't see you trying to fix it," he snaps.
John shrugs. "I have other things now." He looks away, toward his right.
Paul follows his gaze to a room with chair and a window, all in white. There's something odd about the room. The perspective is off. Looking at it makes Paul feel queasy.
Paul turns back to the glass. The wine has turned to water, and the pieces of glass are floating in it. He picks out two pieces and tries to put them together, but they don't fit. He supposes they probably came from different parts of the glass. Some of Paul’s blood has dropped into the water, and it is starting to turn red.
He looks back at John. John is still staring at the strange room.
"Help me," Paul says.
John turns back slowly, as if takes an effort. "Help you?" he asks, with mock surprise. "You need my help? I thought you could handle things on your own. Thought you were the best at everything, Paul." He smiles, and waits for Paul's response.
Paul looks down at the mess in his hands. "Maybe I am," he says quietly. Then in one swift motion, he puts the glass together. The pieces that seemed almost to repel each other before now come together easily. The glass is cracked, but half complete.
He takes the glass in his hand, stands, and looks at John, who is watching him curiously, a bit apprehensively. Without taking his eyes off of John, he hurls the glass across the room. It hits the far wall and shatters into a million tiny pieces. Little specs of glass fall lifeless to the floor.
John slowly looks at the wall where the glass hit. A few drops of wine/water/blood slide down the wall. John looks back at Paul.
"Maybe I have other things now, too," Paul says, evenly.
"I never liked you," John replies.
Paul isn't aware of leaving, nor of John walking away, but John is in the strange white room and Paul is somewhere else, outside.