George chewed his thumbnail, looking at the revised lyrics he'd written on a piece of paper. He'd shelved this song two years earlier in favour of some more fleshed out material, but had never given up on the idea of finishing it. It was in the same vein than 'Taxman', a social commentary about financial greed and class differences, rather marked by John's influence. He'd had a bit of trouble with the middle eight until his mum Louise had contributed a line during a visit home to Speke. He felt the song was missing something still and sighed, leaning back in his chair at the small table.

He looked up and his features softened as Ringo walked into the Abbey Road kitchen. He smiled to the drummer in a friendly way, greeting him fondly. The last thing George wanted was a repeat of his mate quitting the band. They'd managed without him but it hadn't felt right, and George had been glad when the drummer had consented to come back, covering his drum kit with flowers as a token of affection.

"Do you want to go up to the roof for a smoke?" Ringo poured himself a cup of tea, adding a splash of cream and a spoonful of sugar. George shook his head. "I've got to do a bit more editing on my song before we start recording." Ringo made a face, not liking the taste of cold tea, but he couldn't be bothered to reheat it. "I'll let you get back to it, then." He raised his cup to George in a show of camaraderie, walking out.

George nodded and stared at the open doorway long after Ringo had disappeared out of sight, pensive. He'd thought that his mate's return to the fold would restore some of the balance they'd lost, but things still felt off. It was something that had been brewing for a long time, but George felt John had exacerbated matters by bringing her into the studio.

In a few months, she'd gone from being that funky Japanese bird John would casually mention from time to time to being his girlfriend, the one he spent most of his days with. It wasn't unlike John to take a shine on people for a while, showering them with constant attention before seemingly forgetting about them, but George knew this one was serious. John wasn't hiding her away like some bird on the side, he'd come clean about it to Cynthia, and was filing papers for divorce.

He didn't want to have to choose sides between Cynthia and John, but the latter was his mate and they were in a band together. The friendship he'd had with Cyn, regardless of how superficial or not it had been, was over. John had made it very clear when she'd asked for divorce, ominously demanding of his bandmates not to have any contact with her anymore. He couldn't help but feel a bit sympathetic, though. They were in the same boat after all, the both of them had loved John, and now he'd fallen for someone else.

George had never seen John this enamoured with a woman and it hurt to see his lover look at someone else with such love in his eyes. He had nothing special against Yoko but he'd come to to resent her for coming to the recording sessions, dutifully sitting by John's side at all times, even going with him to the loo. He felt that she was a distraction from their process as a band, and brought bad vibes into the studio. He stopped with that line of thinking, knowing it was negative and unproductive, trying to focus back on putting the finishing touches to his song instead, almost immediately disturbed again by John walking in.

"Lo, George," John greeted, sounding somewhat cheerful and patting his mate's shoulder with distracted affection, checking the heat of the teapot and setting it back on the gas cooker when he found it cold.

George didn't reply, only nodding and going back to lyrics. John hummed to himself, glancing by the window to see if he could spot Yoko's taxi. She'd said (promised) she'd swing by in the early afternoon, just after she finished organising everything for her next exhibition. John was only to take a discreet part in it, not wanting to overshadow her art and bring her more trouble.

He'd gotten used to bringing her into the studio although he knew his mates didn't like it very much, unable as he was to be apart from her. Paul often complained about it being counterproductive but John thought it was rather the contrary. Having Yoko there, he could focus on his music and not torture himself endlessly with the thought of her, and what she was doing, possibly with other men. Besides, she had interesting insights on their music, though she didn't usually say much, pop music not being too interesting to her as such.

He leaned closer to the windowpane as a taxi passed by but it didn't stop, making him sigh. He could have gone out on the pavement and waited there -and he would have- but he knew it'd only serve to attract the fans' attention, and even create a small crowd at the relatively quiet back entry of the studios, and John didn't want that. George thought John looked like a pet waiting for his owner to return. He found it to be a bit pathetic, but he kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to add to the general disharmony in band, especially when one of his songs was to be recorded.

John sighed again and poured himself a cup of tea. The fans had been execrable to Yoko, as soon as he'd publicly confessed his love for her, and even more so after the staged drugs bust at the flat they rented. Even the press never lost an opportunity to diss her and her work, going as far as calling her names bordering on racist. John didn't get it. What did they care? Couldn't they see how in love they were? John wanted to spend all of his time with Yoko, and luckily for him she seemed to agree, but why did it seem to bother everyone so much?

"You want a cuppa?" he asked George, turning around and only then noticing that his mate seemed to be working on a song. "Composing again, me lad?" he asked in a slight granny voice. "You know there's no money in that, don't you?" George only hummed in response, finding himself more and more annoyed with John these days, and less inclined to engage in conversation. He didn't feel his mate valued his opinion anymore, if he'd ever done so. He snorted inwardly, bitterness making his memories of John and him composing take a distorted turn.

John sat down, too high on his own happiness to notice that George looked rather moody, thinking he was only focusing on this song of his. He leaned in, sipping from his tea and having a look at what his mate was working on, eyes narrowing in focus. "I remember that one," he said, companionably. "That's an old one, right? You told me about this idea of yers before." He took another sip from his tea, snorting at the lyrics and then looking at George, grinning. "Not bad."

George rubbed his nose, not bothering to look at John. "That's high praise coming from you," he remarked, coolly, hoping John would take the hint and go away but his mate only chuckled, taking the comment playfully and leaning down more attentively, skimming the lyrics.

For the first time since John had started bringing Yoko into the studio, George wished she was there so he wouldn't have to deal with him, and the realization made him sad. What had happened to his desire to be with his lover constantly? Where had all of the passion and intensity gone? He looked over at John, staring into his mate's eyes. "I was writing 'Taxman' around the same time as this one." He glanced back to the lyrics. "I thought I'd dust it off and have another go at it."

"Yeah," John said quietly, letting out a content sigh and sipping from his tea again. He looked up to the window as a car was heard but it didn't stop. "What's the matter with it, then?" he asked, tapping his fingers against the table and humming George's lyrics to a random tune, easily guessing that his mate wouldn't be sitting there on his own if the song had been going well.

It pained George to admit that he could have used some help with this tune, but he did, and sighed, running a finger over his moustache. "Well, I was having trouble with the middle eight but me mum helped with that." A smile briefly graced his features at the thought of his mum contributing to a Beatles track, John chuckling as well. "Home-made record, it'll be," he teased, no real mockery lacing the words.

"What they need is a good damn whacking," George read, looking over at his mate. John laughed. "Is that what your mum wrote?" He snorted, shaking his head, watching George playfully. "Well Louise, tell us what you really think..." George grinned a little. "It's a good line but the song is still lacking something." He pointed to the piece of paper, momentarily putting aside his resolution to stay cold towards John.

John smoothed his beard down, focusing on the lyrics. "I'll probably leave some of it out?" George asked, requesting his help without having to say it. "Don't know, mate. Could work like this, I think. That verse's a bit short, perhaps. What do you want to take out?" George pointed to the lyrics in question, his fingers briefly brushing against John's, who hummed, tilting his head to the side. "How does it go?"

"Everywhere there's lots of piggies, playing piggy pranks. You can see them on their trotters, down at the piggy banks. Paying piggy thanks to the pig brother," George sang softly, shrugging. "I don't think I need that verse, but I do need one clever (John made a posh face) little line to end the tune." He rested his chin on his palm. "It has to be about pigs, of course." He grinned, briefly looking over at his mate. "'m good with pigs," John joked, nudging George in the ribs, knowing that there was more to the song than that.. "Let's see... Well, they're out for dinner, right? With the wife..." He looked by the window again, before turning back to George, who ignored the fact that John was obviously preoccupied with thoughts of Yoko's arrival. They were having a good moment and he didn't want to ruin it.

"What do they eat, eh? Other pigs?" He scrunched his nose up, snorting. "Pork chops?" George nodded, digging the lyrical imagery. "Pork chops or bacon, both could work," he pointed out. "Little piggies eating pork chops?" he sang softly, looking over at his mate, seeking approval or an alternative line. "Bit short, innit?" John hummed the tune under his breath. "Needs something to rhyme with wives, first." He hummed some more.

"Clutching... forks and knives? To eat their pork chops?" he sang, looking back to George interogatively, who turned the proposed lyrics over in his mind. "Clutching forks and knives... to eat their pork chops..." He nodded to himself. "That works," he wrote the lyrics down and crossed out a verse, feeling better about this song now that it was ready to go into the studio and be recorded. John smiled, taking another sip from his tea, looking quite relaxed. "Glad I could help." He leaned back in his chair, watching George fondly.

"Thanks." George smiled, forgetting about the trouble between the two of them for the time being, as John smiled back to him, before looking out of the window again. George realised that the last time they'd been alone had been in India, the somber awareness hitting him hard. So much had changed between the two of them, and yet it still felt good to just sit and talk with John.

He wanted to propose getting together more often, but thought better of it. John didn't seem to have time for anything that didn't include Yoko, these days. And, as if to prove him right, his mate suddenly bolted up, striding to the window. "About time!" he muttered, spotting Yoko getting out of her cab. "I'll be right back," he stated, patting his friend's shoulder as he passed him by, rushing to the back exit.

——————————————————————————————————

However simplistic that was, people always thought of The Beatles as an entity, not as four individuals with contrasting personalities. When one of them did something, it reflected on the other three, and that was the reason why Paul, George, and Ringo had wanted to talk to John about his latest artistic effort with Yoko. They knew the fans would assume all four Beatles had been involved in it, and they sure as hell didn't want anything to do with the picture of John and Yoko completely nude on that album cover.

George had only listened to bits and pieces of 'Two Virgins', not being that much into experimental music. It was obvious to him that this record had been made by John and Yoko for themselves though, with little to no thought about who might actually buy it. Always the PR man, Paul had led the charge, asking John not to put it out, only to be met by firm refusal, John simply rejecting the idea of his album being shelved. They had argued about it for a good hour, pointlessly, John refusing to change his mind about the matter.

George had been the last one to leave the board room, lingering behind and taking his time, hoping he'd get to speak with John alone but knowing that he'd probably have to settle for Yoko's presence.

Two bleedin' Virgins.

Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he stepped out into the hallway, immediately noticing John standing alone next to the woman's loo door. He thought that maybe, just maybe, John might tell him why he longed to release an album that could adversely affect the band. He just wanted to talk with his mate, figure out whether he was still really there. John seemed so unapproachable these days that George was beginning to wonder whether talking to him, with or without Yoko at his side, was a good idea.

John merely glanced up as George stepped towards him, pushing his glasses back up his pointy nose, leaning a little more firmly against the wall, shoulders tensing, ready for another attack against his record. He wished Yoko would hurry up so they could leave at last, and go back to their own world in which there was no grumpy band mates with scruffy beards and wary eyes, soft voices and harsh words.

They didn't understand each other anymore. It was a sad conclusion, but it was what had happened. John did not understand Paul, George or Ringo anymore, and most importantly, they didn't understand him at all. John had been surprised, honestly surprised, to be summoned to "headquarters", as he called it, and even more taken aback at the subject of the meeting his bandmates had wanted to hold, the 'Two Virgins' cover.

So what if they were nude on the cover? Was it shocking? Well, that was the whole point of it! It shouldn't have been shocking. In an 'open-minded' society like the one they lived in, where violence was broadcasted on TV every day, why would a simple, non-erotic picture of two people naked be considered shocking? Surely everyone stumbling upon this cover would have already seen a man and a woman naked in their lives, right? So why hide it? It just didn't make sense, and John had wholeheartedly agreed with Yoko's idea of shaking that silly puritan value a bit.

There was the matter of the "ecce homo" too, as Nietzsche would have put it. John was fed up with being considered as a sort of divinity, a Beatle God of music. He was just a man, after all. Showing his cock to the world was a way to prove it. Naked, he looked just like anybody else. Of course, he'd known, even if he'd been willing to ignore it, that this would bother the others, and that had been part of the appeal. Sure, he'd argued, this wasn't a Beatles project, so he could hardly see what the matter was, but in a way, he did see it. This was bad for the band's image, and John did not fucking care.

He gave George a quick glare, as if daring him to say anything, silence stretching between them, tense and uncomfortable, until George gave up. John mate was making it perfectly clear that he didn't want to speak with him, no words even needed. He walked by John, patting down his coat pockets for his lighter and pack of cigarettes, trying to appear aloof and unconcerned by the invisible line John had drawn around him, for George not to cross.

John watched him, watched his dark eyes stay downcast to hide his feelings, knowing that he should say something, anything, and try to somehow make it better. What could he say? George and he had been close, once, really close, but they had each followed their own paths, that led to separate lives. He reached out, grabbing George's sleeve to hold him back, fingers gently slipping to wrap around his wrist. His eyes found George's easily, blinking and leaning forward a little, intent on expressing something he could not manage to voice.

Knowing that he might not get this close to John again soon, George didn't pull away, able to tell that his former lover had something to say. He remained expressionless though, intent on making this difficult for a man he'd once shared everything with, far too guarded to allow him to read his mind. John sighed, looking almost pleading, eyebrows furrowing and mouth thinning underneath his beard. He gave George's wrist a squeeze, bold enough to stroke the soft skin with the pad of his thumb in a move that was more destined to be comforting than arousing. It's all right, George. Except that it wasn't. They both knew this. It wasn't all right and it couldn't be, as long as they were stuck in this situation.

George slipped his wrist out of John's grasp. What was there left to say? John had moved on and George needed to do so as well. How long could it have really lasted anyway? He looked away from his mate, wishing he'd kept on acting cold towards him. He could deal with that all right, but seeing his former lover regretful wasn't something he was ready to cope with.

"George," John started, softly, almost in a whisper, leaning back sharply as the door of the loo opened, Yoko stepping out, her almond eyes widening a bit in surprise. "Is everything all right?" she asked, looking concerned. John nodded and gave her a smile, looking away from his mate. "See you," he muttered, slipping his hand in Yoko's and tugging her away. "Take care, George," she said in her quiet voice, smiling and following John out.

George watched them walk away, finding himself hoping that things between the two of them would work out. He believed his former lover needed something that he couldn't give him, and thought Yoko would be able to fulfil this need that had always seemed to drive a hole in John's chest.