Orange Collision
Title: Orange Collision
Pairings: J/P, G/R Equal time for both pairings
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sexual situations, drug and alcohol use, language, distressing situations
Summary: En route to Los Angeles, a storm diverts the Beatles to an uncharted island in the middle of the Pacific. Finding themselves among the few survivors, romantic tension flares up as they try desperately to find a way home. Meanwhile, some peculiar events occur that lead them all to fear for their sanity...
A/N: I really wanted some practice writing situation-based conflict as opposed to character-based conflict (even though the main theme in this story is still going to involve character-based conflict). Also, this story is very Lost-esque, but obviously it has a different plot. There are just some similar themes.
A/N 2: Haha, this update would have been out A LOT sooner if it wasn’t so fucking MASSIVE. Yeah, it’s pretty big. And full of information, which is why I’m splitting it into 2 parts!
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Beatles, nor do I claim to. This is a fictional story and is not written to be libelous.
Previous Chapters
**READ THIS PART LAST.
“People don’t like me, you know,” Nicole said, not turning her gaze away from the ocean. Paul sat next to her, not sure what to say. That wasn’t exactly a conversation starter, was it? Still, he had to say something.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he said, “I like you, for instance.”
Nicole giggled, “What? This is the first time that I’ve talked to you!” she said, her hair was still full of dirt and dust from the crash. It was still on everyone’s skin, really. But, hey, they were alive.
“Intuition, love,” Paul responded and she laughed hysterically, taking a quick moment to examine him.
“Why are you all soggy?” she asked in a cute, endearing way, pulling her hair back.
“Oh, I was out with me mate George-we were trying to catch some fish.”
“How did that go?”
“Dismal. I ended up letting it back in. I couldn’t help it, it was looking at me like this,” Paul said, making his eyes wide and adorable, loving that Nicole seemed to respond better to this tactic than George had.
“Aww, no wonder you put him back in!” she cooed. Paul laughed and watched as she rocked back and forth, batting her eyelashes. As he stared, he realized that she wasn’t batting her eyelashes to be flirtatious, no, she was just actually, truthfully nervous. He was simultaneously disappointed and encouraged.
“So, how are you doing? It must be tough, yeah?” he asked, scratching the side of his nose. Nicole shrugged.
“Well, I mean, I didn’t travel with anyone…so no one I knew died or anything. And I’m sure we’ll be rescued soon. Plus, I love the beach,” she responded. Paul smiled. After hearing almost nonstop about George and John’s negative feelings regarding the state of their rescue, Paul was happy that at least one person was optimistic towards their situation. Even though, currently, there wasn’t necessarily a lot to be optimistic about.
“That’s a nice way to think,” Paul complimented, putting a hand on her back, which appeared to make her face go red. Suddenly, he heard a shriek from the distance and looked up to see that Ringo had caught a fish. Paul laughed.
“Haha, One handed chances,” he muttered. Nicole turned to look at him, her expression suddenly very serious.
“Come talk to me, okay? I mean, you don’t have to all the time…but it’s nice, having someone to talk to. I could use it every once in awhile.”
Paul blinked and stared, taken aback by her honesty. He swallowed and nodded but, really, she didn’t have to convince him much.
“You okay?” Jessica asked. Paul shook his head and looked up from Nicole’s hut, the bright sun stinging his eyes and taking him out of his reverie.
“Yeah. Fine.”
Jessica glanced between him and the hut, wringing her hands and weighing her words, “You know, you shouldn’t blame yourself,” she said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Paul shrugged, face indifferent, “I know,” he said loudly, drawing a semi-shocked expression from Jessica’s face, a feat if there ever was one, “I know it’s not my fault. It’s hers.”
Jessica nodded though she continued to stare at him oddly. Even after he had walked away he could feel her eyes on his back. But that was the expression that everyone had given him when he had said that he didn’t blame himself, when he told them that he knew that it was Nicole’s fault. Because it was, wasn’t it? She had to overreact and get herself lost in the forest, so much so that Frisby couldn’t even find her. And she had been missing for a week, a fucking week, and this was in no way his fault. It was hers. He just wished that people would quit asking him if he felt guilty.
“JUST GET AWAY FROM ME!” a shout. Paul looked up immediately, knowing who it was in a second. George was near the edge of the forest, staring at Ringo with death in his eyes, his fists clenched at his sides. He was red, really fucking red, and Paul could practically feel how much he was seething.
“George, can we just talk about this,” Ringo said, looking around awkwardly. He looked like a rabbit about to be hit by a car.
“Ringo, I just want you to get away from me. I’m serious.” Paul could hear it in George’s voice, was instantly brought back to the times when he would watch George square off with Harry and Peter, turning red the more he tried to hold stuff in. Quickly, Paul walked to where George and Ringo were, stepping between them.
“Come on, George. I’ve got to show you something,” he said, hoping that he would cooperate. To his relief, George nodded and mumbled something under his breath before he followed him. Ringo silently lipped the words ‘thank you’ and Paul winked in recognition.
Once he and George were sat in front of the ocean, the wind whipping their hair back, he turned to him and asked, “So what was that about?”
George snorted and Paul realized that maybe he didn’t want to know what was bothering him. Maybe he was better off not knowing, in fact.
“Nothing,” he responded, staring at a rock beside his feet with a particular fusion of malice. Paul didn’t say anything. Maybe George needed some fresh air to calm down. Silence was almost always the better option when it came to dealing with George, wasn’t it?
“It’s just…” he said suddenly, not looking at him. Paul stared at him in surprise, “have you ever…have you ever felt something…bad? Something…wrong?”
Paul transferred his eyes to the ground, “I…what do you mean by wrong, exactly?” he asked, though the clarification didn’t really matter, because Paul had felt all sorts of wrong things. In every sense of the definition.
“Well…I dunno. Just off. Just something that’s bothering you? Like that?”
Paul didn’t know what he was talking about, but he said ‘yes’ anyway. He saw George nod from his peripheral vision.
“Well…it’s like something…and I’m trying to deal with it, but Ringo keeps bothering me about it, sometimes without realizing what he’s doing. And it’s…it’s fucking annoying.”
Paul stared out into the ocean, understanding all too well the feeling that George was describing.
“I just…I don’t know,” George paused as he struggled for words, “It’s like he expects me to act in a certain way. Immediately too. And I just…can’t. I just can’t do that.”
George stayed silent for awhile and Paul let his ears fill with the crashing tides, let the air cool his heated and spiraling thoughts. But when the silence dragged for far too long and he noticed that George was awkwardly playing with his hands, Paul realized that now would be a good time for him to contribute to the conversation.
“So…this feeling. Is it…bad?” he asked, the only thing he could think of saying, really.
George sighed and rifled through his hair, “I don’t…yeah. I mean no. Wait, I don’t know. It’s just…off. And a bit bad, I guess. And Ringo…all he’s doing is influencing it. He’s not giving me any time to clear me head!”
Paul nodded. Ah, now he understood. He understood exactly what George was talking about.
“I’m sure Ringo doesn’t mean any harm by it,” Paul spoke confidently, “He’s just doing what he thinks is right.”
“Well…good for him but he’s not thinking about my…situation.”
Paul shrugged, “He just doesn’t understand, is all. You know how he is, easygoing and all that. Things don’t bother him to such a great degree.”
George frowned and furrowed his mass of brows, “But…but it should bother him! It bothers me!”
“Why should it bother him?” Paul asked, “It’s something that you’ve got to deal with.”
George shook his head, “What are you…he’s…alright. But he’s not letting me deal with it!”
“Probably because he doesn’t think that there’s anything wrong,” Paul answered simply, “I mean, you’re so good at holding it in most of the time that no one expects when you’re gonna…you know…snap.”
George finally turned to look at him, eyebrows to the sky, “What are you talking about!?”
Paul sighed. He knew he was explaining this poorly, “I’m talking about your…you know…temper,” Paul whispered the last word, noticed how George’s expression got even more dramatic, “It’s just cause you hold everything in, yeah? And it…collects, a bit. So Ringo might’ve done something ages ago but it’s made you mad now because of…everything…and you explode. And Ringo can’t know that, can he?” he explained, breathing a sigh of relief. There. That sounded good.
George blinked and shook his head, chuckling, “Sometimes I don’t know why I even bother talking to you.”
“Don’t get like that,” Paul said, patting him on the shoulder encouragingly, “Everyone’s got their own ways of dealing with what upsets them. You’ve just got to work on it, is all. And tell Ringo about it, cause he doesn’t know what’s going on.”
George continued to laugh, resting his head in his hands. Well, at least their talk was making him feel better. He knew how George got, how he would file away grievances and bring them up whenever something irked him. And he knew that, after minimizing his anger for so long, something inside him would eventually snap and he’d resort to yelling and slamming doors and throwing glasses at reporters. All short episodes, but Paul could see how they were affecting his relationship with Ringo, and he hoped that they could move past this barney.
“You got me,” George said, sneering, “I’m upset because of how…unruly I am.”
Paul laughed, “You’re not that bad. But you do have to talk to Ringo about it…you can’t shut him out. ‘Cause if you do, then it’ll just get worse. And it’ll bother you. And you won’t be able to move past it…you won’t be able to ignore it anymore…” he trailed off, his eyes gleaming, his head spinning. The art of avoidance crippled, crashing down on his head, making him blink away frantic images.
“Maybe…” George said, still laughing at him.
***
To say that he woke up in the middle of the night would be an inaccurate statement because he had always been awake, hadn’t properly fallen asleep. His mind was too busy, didn’t want to shut off. The air was thick and black, permeated with gentle snores. He turned to his side and saw John sleeping, mouth open, with Tidbits curled up against his chest. He smiled at the image, couldn’t decide who was more adorable-John or Tidbits, but then eventually concluded that that was a daft thing to think anyway, because John was not adorable.
With a quiet sigh he sat up and crawled out of the hut, making sure to tightly secure the sheet around the chill night air. His feet brought him to where he wanted to go, already having told them their destination hours ago.
And thus, it was with quick movements that he pulled back the curtain and entered Nicole’s hut-cold, lifeless, and abandoned.
He sat on her blanket and feebly looked around. He took in her pillow with the plane’s logo imprinted on it, looked at the empty pack of matches that rested in the corner, and looked at her blue and black inked pens, the instruments that had drawn a wedge between them.
“Isn’t it beautiful here?” Nicole asked as she hopped around happily. Paul took in the sights. She had brought him to a hill where there stood a lone tree, surrounded by plants. The grass and weeds were tall, coming up to just below his knees, and, far in the distance, he could see a small field.
“Yeah,” he agreed, chuckling weakly as she jumped around and threw grass in his face.
“I come here all the time,” she said wistfully, looking up into the sky, “No one knows about this place except me. And you, of course.”
Paul’s smile was strained, “Well it is nice.”
She frowned and he mentally cursed. She was always so perceptive, “What’s wrong?”
Paul tried to right his smile, make it wider and such, “Nothing.”
She looked at him skeptically before saying, exasperated, “Paul. I can tell when something’s up with you. You act all distant.”
“I’m not acting all distant,” he responded indignantly.
“Yes you are,” she pried, poking him in the chest, “You can tell me what’s wrong. I won’t tell anyone.”
Paul looked at the ground. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered with Nicole; he had already decided that he wasn’t going to pull her because of…him…so why was he hanging around her? Well, he knew this answer already, it was simple. He liked to talk to her. She didn’t treat him like a Beatle, she treated him like a friend, which was rare, to say the least. And he didn’t need to worry about impressing her either, because things were simple.
So maybe he should tell her what the fuck was on his mind.
“It’s John,” he said, biting the nail on his thumb, “He’s…we’ve had a row.”
“Oh,” she frowned, “What about?”
Paul snorted. Yeah, there was no way that he was going to tell her that, “I dunno. We’ve been fighting a lot lately. And it’s because of something that…happened. Something that John didn’t like, apparently.”
Nicole tilted her head to the side, “Well, can’t you two just talk about it?”
Now Paul really laughed, “I tried. Talking doesn’t work with him.”
She blinked and looked at him sympathetically, almost causing him to turn red under her gaze, “He takes advantage of you doesn’t he?”
Paul’s eyes snapped to hers, “What are you talking about?”
She gave him a small smile, “I see how he acts around you. He tests you, I think. He pushes your buttons just to see how far he can push.”
Paul crossed his brows. How did she…?
“How do you know that?” he asked. Sure, he hadn’t quite thought of it that way before, but he supposed she was right. John was testing him, wasn’t he?
“I just know things,” she said coyly, smiling at him in a weird way. But he didn’t think about that, he instead thought about all the little things that John had done over the years, how John had tested him without any bit of regard for how he had felt. Then he started to get angry.
“He’s a bastard,” Paul said, puzzles coming loose in his head and tumbling out of his mouth, “He fucking uses me. For his own amusement. I’m just fun to fuck around with, is what he thinks!”
“No, I don’t think so,” Nicole said thoughtfully, seemingly unaware of his current state of anger, “I don’t know why he does it…but I think it has more to do with him than it does with you.”
Paul was breathing through his nose, thinking of their most recent fight. He had tried to take everything back, had tried to negate everything that had happened between them, the kiss, everything. And what had John replied? “I don’t want to”. And why? Because he was fucking testing him!! Probably trying to see how queer he would go!
“Paul, don’t be angry,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. The contact, surprisingly, calmed him down greatly. “I take back what I said. Maybe he’s not really testing you. I don’t know.”
Paul sighed and licked his lips, “He is. I just don’t know what he wants me to do. He’s never straight with me, not really. And he’s just…he’s just…exhausting.” Paul looked at her, gazed at her youthful face and appreciated how positively not exhausting she was, “It’s just hard keeping up with him sometimes, you know? And I just wish that…I just wish that he didn’t rely on me so much.”
It was instant, like bricks lifting from his spine. Those thoughts had been gnawing on his brain for so long, and he had been dying to get them out. He had been dying to just let his frustrations take air, to have someone listen to them openly. And now that he had done it, he felt better. More level-headed somehow. More secure.
He couldn’t thank Nicole enough, really, for listening to him, for being his outlet. But she seemed happy to do it. She smiled and poked his shoulder, “You only mean that when things are bad. But when they’re good, I think you like the way he relies on you.”
After the words left her mouth she skipped off, picking more grass from the ground and flinging it into the air. Paul stared and stared, her laughter echoing in his ears, her words echoing through his brain.
Paul blinked and twitched, jumping out of her hut. It was too hot in there, too hot. And there were too many memories and too much guilt. Breathing quickly, he ran over to the pile of unclaimed luggage and rifled through it, grabbing a knapsack and a few shirts and pants, stuffing them inside. Next he went over by the food supply, putting a few pieces of fruit and a bottle of water in the bag. His hands were shaking but he had to do this. He had to do this.
“What are you doing?”
Paul froze, blinking repeatedly. Slowly, he turned around and was met with the curious and alert face of Ringo. Very alert, apparently, because judging by the way he was staring at him, Ringo already knew what was going on.
“Paul…” he started, taking in his frantic appearance. He jumped in before he could say another word.
“Before you say anything else,” Paul started, realized that his voice was a bit rough. “I know, okay? I know that it’s mental…I know that I shouldn’t be running off like this in the dead of night. But I have to. I haven’t…I haven’t done anything to try and find her. And I can’t…it’s bothering me. I can’t ignore it anymore, I have to try. Or else I think I’ll go mad. I have to try. Just once.”
Ringo looked at him, really looked at him, before he broke the contact and nodded. Paul nodded as well and turned around, ready to enter the forest.
“I’ll go with you,” he said. Paul stopped.
“What?”
Ringo stepped ahead of him, his face determined, something that couldn’t be reasoned with, “I’m coming with you. You can’t go alone.”
Paul blinked, “But-”
“Come ‘ed. Never gonna find her if we stand around all day.”
It was a compelling argument, he had to admit, “But…Are you sure? You haven’t got any stuff…”
Ringo smiled, “Don’t need it. I can make clothes out of leaves, if I have to.”
Looking at him, Paul could tell that Ringo needed to leave just as desperately as he did.
So they left.
To be continued.