John sprawled in the back-seat of the cab, stifling a yawn and pushing his glasses back up his nose, ignoring the interested look the cab driver was giving him. The man had obviously recognised him the second he'd hopped into the car, a few blocks down the street, but he'd been polite (or shy) enough not to bother him so far. Perhaps he didn't have any wife who'd been a Beatle fan in her youth and would swoon over his autograph. Or perhaps he did, and couldn't stand the real size poster of Paul that had been behind the door of the loo for the past ten years anymore. John muffled a cackle against the palm of his hand, pretending to be very interested by what was going on outside the window, in the near-deserted avenue.

It was late and the few people still out in the cold were hurrying back home, shuffling along bent against the biting wind, or staggering up and down the pavement, drunk. John'd stayed way too late in the small club, so late that both Yoko and his PA had given up, going home and leaving him alone, to attend the rest of the 'meeting', fascinated if not convinced by what was being said. Hoffman and Rubin had talked a good part of the evening about political reform and the need for social revolution. They'd talked about John Sinclair, about how he was still imprisoned, officially because he'd owned a few joints but in reality because his left-wing 'propaganda' bothered the government. What kind of country did that?

It made John's blood boil and, though he didn't agree with the idea of a violent reprisal, it filled his body with angry energy and his head with songs. He slipped Hoffman's book, Steal This Book! (he'd followed the advice and almost gotten caught. He'd lost his touch, since Hamburg. Then again, back in those days people wouldn't recognise him at a single glance.) onto his knees, lighting himself a cigarette one-handedly. The driver didn't comment, just turning on the radio.

He was engrossed in the last part of the book when the music softly playing from the car radio drifted away to a newsflash. "... amendments are still being discussed." The speaker got his breath back, before going on. "Former Beatle George Harrison was involved in a serious car crash tonight, along with his wife. He reportedly hit a post in a roundabout during a black out. Upon arrival at the hospital, Harrison was bleeding heavily from the head, while wife Pattie remained unconscious. No further details are known at the time, but we will of course keep you informed in our morning edition. The baseball matches today..."

John very nearly leaped at the driver's throat. "Stop the car, stop the car!" It came to an abrupt halt in the thankfully sparse traffic and John threw a couple of bills at the bemused man, forgetting his book in the back-seat. John's mind was blank and his heart was racing, running towards the telephone booth they'd passed only a few seconds before. When he pushed the door open the certitude that George was dead hit him as if he'd walked into a wall. He couldn't breathe.

His head spun as he had to lean heavily against the filthy panes of the booth, fumbling for his change, hands shaky. bleeding heavily from the head, bleeding heavily from the head, bleeding heavily from the head... the voice looped in his mind. No, no, it couldn't be. He managed to dial the number of Friar Park, panting agonisingly into the receiver for a few long seconds before one of George's assistants replied, reassuring him. "He's fine," the man said. "Just badly rattled. Mrs Harrison is much worse, though. She's still unconscious." John unapologetically did not care. He asked to be put in relation with the hospital George was staying at, and was put through after a few, never-ending, minutes.

———————————————————————————

George's mind felt heavy, full of noise and dumb pain. He'd been admitted to the hospital late at night along with Pattie and received stitches for his head wound. Head wounds always looked worse than they actually were, the nurses had reassured him, helping him wipe away the blood that had run down his face and stained his collar. His wife hadn't been so lucky. She had suffered a bad concussion and broken ribs and was still unconscious. The nurses had been good, updating him on her condition quite often, making plans to move her to nearby Nuffield Nursing Home for further and more private observation as soon as it'd become obvious that her state wasn't improving.

The shrill sound of the phone ringing startled him out of a painkiller-induced lull, forcing him to sluggishly turn onto his side, reaching to pick up the receiver.

"ello," he answered gruffly, realising too late that someone from the press might have managed to be patched through to his room. They'd picked up the story rather quickly according to what Chris had told him, and he dreaded the media backlash that would undoubtedly occur.

But the voice that came through the receiver was familiar, in spite of its unusual croakiness. "George?" John crackled in the distance. "George, is that you? Are you all right?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm me," George replied dryly, turning onto his back, getting himself comfortable again. "And 'm alright, John. Just bumped my head is all," he explained, downplaying the incident to keep his mate from worrying when there was nothing he could do to fix things. "Pattie's worse off than me. They plan on moving her to another hospital but I'm going to be discharged today."

"All right." John put his hand on the receiver, pressing his palm against it so George wouldn't hear him pant as he tried to get his breath back. George was fine, he would be fine. "I mean, I hope she gets better. But, you know. I thought it was worse." He bit on his lower lip, sighing and leaning against the side of the booth. "They made it sound terrible on the radio. I thought perhaps..." He couldn't finish that sentence and cleared his throat instead. "What possessed you to drive so fast when there was no bloody light, you wanker?"

George sighed, feeling terrible about Pattie having received far worse injuries than him. The last thing he needed was John's worry adding to his overall guilt about the whole thing. He didn't want to be scolded either, though he knew he deserved it for getting involved in another driving accident. His record was spotty at best, but George had always loved driving fast, due to a fascination with racing cars that went all the way back to when he'd still been a kid growing up in Liverpool.

"What can I say? It was a mistake." He knew he sounded remorseless but that wasn't how he felt. "I do feel badly about what happened to Pattie. How're you? It's been awhile since we last spoke." He didn't want to talk about the accident. It made him feel awful to think that his carelessness had led them to a very serious wreck.

John frowned angrily, not very keen on changing the subject. His heartbeat was just returning to normal and he wanted to yell at George for causing him such a fright, for being such an idiot and not thinking about what would happen to him, to John, if he'd died in that crash. John didn't think he could have coped with that. George being dead. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like. He felt his throat close up again and swiftly decided to go along with George's question. "I'm fine," he managed to get out. "Fine. Just gotten back from another political meeting." He tried to chuckle. "'m turning into one of them commies, George. Terrible. The FBI's trying to kick me out."

George was thankful for the change of topic. "You wouldn't be the John that I know if you weren't ruffling a few feathers." John snorted on the other end of the line, a small but genuine grin appearing on his lips. "Yeah, that's me. 'm a trouble-maker. Raisin' mayhem everywhere I go."

"That's you all right." George chuckled, softly. "They aren't really going to toss you out, are they?" he asked, genuinely curious and trying to focus on John's words and not on the unpleasant sleepiness creeping over him. "Well, they're gonna try, apparently," John replied, petulant. "'fore the next elections, too."

"Can they even do that? Isn't it anti-constitutional or something?" George questioned, making John chuckle at the way he stretched the word. "Throwing someone out of a country for their political beliefs doesn't sound right to me, but what do I know, right?"

"Nothing," John replied playfully. "Nothing at all. You'd make a terrible politician, way too honest." He smirked a bit. "Can't keep it in yer pants, either. That's bad press, for sure." George snorted. "I don't suppose you'll be running for office any time soon either, then. I can see plenty of sex scandals for you too, Senator Lennon," he teasingly replied.

John smirked, blowing on his fingers to warm them up, freezing now that his overheated body was cooling down, shivering. He surveyed the decreasing numbers on the telephone set with worry, making sure he still had a bit of time.

"Well, not really. Been fairly good to the wife, so far," he replied, scratching the side of his nose. "Except, y'know." He smiled to himself. "You."

George laughed. "Just me as the exception to the rule? 'm not buying that, Johnny." John smiled along, looking down though George wasn't actually there to see him.

"You should, though." He went on quickly. "But yeah, they can do that. Juss got to find a good enough excuse, like that phoney drugs bust at mine and Yoko's, remember? Wonderful pretext." He snorted, feeling a little riled up just at the mention of it. "That's America for you, mate. Land of freedom and crap."

"If you feel that way, why don't you come back to England? There's crap here as well but the one difference is that I'm here," George replied, not catching himself before he could stop from making such a revealing statement. George had been playing his feelings for John close to the chest since his mate had backed out for the Concert for Bangladesh, thinking that it would just be easier for the both of them that way.

John didn't say anything for a few seconds. "I miss you too, George," he replied, softly. "I do. You know I do. But my home's here, now. Yoko's not going back to England, either, and I wouldn't make her do that, not after how they treated her."

"Well, if the mood for beans on toast or even me strikes your fancy, England will always be here for you to come back to, mate," George replied easily, the medication dulling any emotional pain John's words might have made him feel. John chuckled, catching the slight sleepiness in George's voice that probably meant he was addled on pills or something. "Most certainly will, should I be in the mood for George on toast," he replied playfully, making George laugh.

"Not enough meat on these bones of mine to make a filling meal, I don't think. But you should visit, at least. So much has changed at Friar Park since you last here. The gardens are all on the outside now." He grinned to himself, and John chuckled along.

"Really? How disappointing. I'd have thought..." The phone began beeping unpleasantly, signalling that he was nearly out of money. John didn't have any more coins to put into the machine and had to stop, sighing. "Hey George, 'm nearly out of time. I'm in a phone booth. Can I call you back later? Just wanted to make sure you were okay, really."

"You can do whatever you like, John. You always have, haven't you?" Geirge slurred, slowly losing the last bits of lucidity he possessed. John paused, patting his pockets frantically for change, not wanting to have to say goodbye when George was being that way, hazy, soft and open. "You should just come 'round to the hospital. Tittenhurst isn't that far, is it? You can even bring the biscuit stealer if you'd like, I just want to see you again."

John cackled a bit, giving up. "Oh, c'mon. She ate one of yer biscuits once, that hardly makes her..." There was a faint click as the connection was broken, leaving John alone with the tone. "Dammit." He sighed, slowly hanging up. "I'll visit," he told the empty booth. "I'll visit soon George, I promise."

———————————————————————-

"...feeling pretty good these days." George smiled, running a hand through his hair. "Spent a lot of time in the home studio, nothing too serious, you know, just playing around. Mo's been coming over more often as well, sitting in on the sessions. 'T's nice."

He leaned back in his desk chair, debating whether he should confess his feelings for Maureen to John. He wanted to, but he didn't know how John would cope with it. The only other person he'd told had been his personal assistant, Chris, and she'd dismissed his declaration of love as being silly. It felt like so much more than that to George though, and with every passing day it was getting harder and harder not to come clean and tell Pattie and Ringo.

It really didn't have anything to do with guilt, George could deal with that. He didn't feel as if it were his fault, either. Maureen and he had slowly formed a bond with one another, one that transcended the physical attraction for an emotional and spiritual connection. "She's been bringing me out of whatever this is that I've been feeling, lately."

John hummed, nodding slowly and trying to sound fond and interested. "That's good. She's a nice girl, Maureen. How's she doing?" he asked, more out of politeness than because he actually cared. It wasn't that he didn't like Maureen because he did, always had. She'd been a sweet little thing, right from the start, and had taken good care of Ringo through his ups and downs, as far as John could tell.

Still, he found it difficult to be happy for George when he felt so low himself. He knew it was a dreadful thing of him to think, which was why he tried to hide it, and yet there it was. George being seemingly happy when John was struggling against the whole world did not make him feel better.

George didn't pick up on his lack of enthusiasm. "Things aren't going too smoothly between her and Ringo." He chewed on the nail of his thumb. "There seems to be a lot of that going on, these days," he remarked, thinking of his own crumbling marriage with a sense of detachment.

"So I've heard," John replied, prudently. His marriage with Yoko wasn't an entirely smooth ride either, but he really couldn't complain, so far. He found it somewhat sad to learn that Ringo and Maureen were falling apart; they'd always seemed to be pretty much in love, in spite of everything. John couldn't say he felt the same regret about George's marriage to Pattie but he kept that to himself.

"Yeah. I've gotten myself in a fairly interesting situation, too." John made a curious sound, and George went on. "I haven't told anyone else aside from Chris, but I think Pattie suspects something." He nervously licked his lips, feeling quite unsure of how John would react to the news. He needed to tell someone who'd understand, and even if John theoretically wasn't the best choice, he knew his friend would get it.

"Mo and I have gotten to know each other rather well, you know. We've been connecting quite a bit these past few months and I think I've... fallen for her. I'm thinking of telling Pattie and Ringo. That I love her." He held his breath for a few seconds, sighing at the loaded silence that followed. "John?"

"Yeah," John replied, at length. "'m here. Juss... don't know what to say, mate. It's pretty... sudden, you know?" He frowned. He didn't like the idea of that very much. It felt wrong. Plus, it seemed unlikely that George would suddenly fall for Maureen, didn't it? For a brief, paranoid second, John wondered whether George was just making it up to upset him. "I mean, did you always fancy her or something? Or did it juss spring out of nowhere?"

George was relieved that John didn't seem too bothered by what he'd told him. "I've always been fond of her but it only became more recently. I'd never really thought of her as being anything but my mate's wife, you know. Getting to know her as a person has been an incredibly rewarding emotional and spiritual experience." His words were genuine if a bit excessive, feeling quite enthusiastic about this new relationship he found himself in.

John bit his lip, struggling not to say anything mean. "Yeah, but still... It's a bit... I don't think you should tell them, George. That's what Clapton did, yeah? I know you were okay with it, but if it'd been me, I'd have kicked his teeth in. Don't know 'bout Ringo, though." He paused. John had always wondered how George had managed to stay friends with Eric in the middle of that mess. He wasn't sure Ringo would be quite so understanding, in spite of his easy nature. "He's your mate. Mates don't do that to their mates," he stated somewhat reproachfully.

George snorted. John, of all people, giving him a mild dressing-down on how mates were supposed to treat one another, was a laugh. "He's still my mate. Ringo's an understanding sort, if I just explain it to him, he'll get it. It's not about having it off with his wife, it's a genuine connection," he explained, fully believing that Ringo would come to terms with it in time. George -just like his mates- had grown accustomed to having what he wanted, and what he wanted at the moment, was Maureen.

"I don't see how that makes it better," John retorted, unconvinced. "It kinda makes it worse, doesn't it? If you told me you wanted to shag Yoko, I'd kick your teeth in all right, as a principle. But if you started blabbering on about emotional connections, then I'd get really jealous."

"You don't have to worry about that happening," George retorted disdainfully, making John snort. "Lucky me," he replied, his voice a little cold because though he didn't want to show it, the insult had stung nonetheless.

John disliked the whole idea of it, George and Maureen. First because it had came out of seemingly nowhere, and between two people who were definitively not supposed to feel that way for one another. John didn't even want to picture the collateral damage the whole thing would trigger. And then, for more selfish reasons, because it had seemed to him that George was finally going to divorce Pattie soon, thus becoming a dashing bachelor once again, free to come by and visit if John invited him. If he moved on to Maureen, a brand new love, John knew he wouldn't see that much of George alone, not any time soon.

"It's not as if being with Maureen will wreck the band, there's no band to break up anymore. The four of us did that all on our own," George added, growing increasingly annoyed with the idea of John turning his relationship with Maureen into something shameful. John made a face, scrunching his nose up. "That's not the fucking point, George."

George ground his teeth but didn't reply, feeling that he'd made a mistake telling John and deciding to change the subject. "How are things for you?"

"Pretty fucking awful, since you're asking," John drawled, trying to lighten the mood a bit. "I got a new album out, heard about it?"

George had listened to John's album. He'd been somewhat disappointed by it, thinking it'd been his mate's weakest solo album to date, but he wasn't going to say that. He hesitated, going for a neutral reply. "I've heard bits and pieces of it. Hasn't been much on the radio or anything."

John made a rude noise."Precisely. Fucking disaster, it is. People aren't getting it all. They want Imagine all over again, but I've moved on, you know?" George hummed in agreement. He could relate to that feeling. His fans had been asking for another All Things Must Pass but George knew he couldn't pull that stunt again. That had been years worth of material. He didn't want to do the same thing over and over again, either. You didn't grow as an artist if you never actually grew. He could respect the fact that John had done something experimental but all the same, it felt to him that his mate had missed the mark.

"I don't want to sit around for ages recording stuff anymore," John carried on."This album was fun because it was done quickly. Write a song, record it, it's done in a day. Move on to something else. I liked that." He scratched his stubbly chin. "But people don't get it. They think I'm grown lazy."

"It's what we did with the first Beatles album," George pointed out, thinking of the marathon recording session. "We had George Martin producing it though and we did take after take. That made for a better quality product but not by much. Who produced your album?"

"Spector," John replied quietly.

"Phil produced it?" George asked, his thick eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Yeah? Is that so surprising? 'e's nuts, but he's good at what he does", John replied, pushing his glasses back up his long nose. George faltered. "Err, no, it's just that I hadn't noticed he'd been the one to produce it when I checked out the album," he replied, hoping that made for a reasonable explanation.

George hadn't thought Phil had produced the record because he thought it was somewhat sub-par, not at the level of what the man had done working with John before. He scratched his leg embarrassedly, realising that there was probably only such much Spector could do. He was the creator of the 'Wall of Sound' and one of the best producers in the business, but not a miracle worker. George knew he was being far too harsh with John's album and mentally scolded himself for it.

Thankfully, John didn't catch up on his mate's slip, interested in his earlier comparison between this album and the first the Beatles had put out. "It was sort of like that, yeah. Same energy, in a way. Except we didn't even bother to do that many takes, this time." He chuckled, shaking his head."Wouldn't blame it on Phil, though. He's done an all right job with what we gave him. I guess people just don't wanna hear about what's wrong in the world and get into experimental music." He shrugged."They want little ditties, easy to remember and with cute, meaningless lyrics." He paused, Paul's name hanging heavily between them.

George laughed, softly. "What's wrong with silly little ditties? Somebody has to write them, right? He's good at it, too." John didn't have to say more for George to pick up on who he was talking about. His voice always had this special tone when talking about Paul, half-fond and half-bitter, as if there had been too much unfinished business between the two of them.

"You should keep doing whatever it is that you want to do, John. We haven't done everything and who is to tell any of us that we can't experiment?" George pointed out. "It's not an album made for commercial or even critical success, from the sound of it." He hadn't meant it as a dig, just an observation that he hadn't thought about censoring for the sake of John's feelings.

"Well, ta, mate," John drawled in reply, for he knew George well enough to be able to tell.

"You're very welcome, Johnny," George stated, affectionately.

"And you're right, I suppose. I shall be doing whatever the hell I want to do, anyway."

George grinned. "As usual."

John laughed, nodding in agreement. "As usual," he repeated, warmly.

————————————————————————————-

George poured himself a drink from his home bar, filling the glass nearly to the rim. He walked over to the couch, sitting down and taking several long sips, the alcohol burning his throat. George didn't seem to mind, his thoughts preoccupied with the mess he'd inadvertently created by announcing he was in love with Maureen to Pattie and Ringo, Chris O'Dell witnessing the confession.

He didn't regret it. George wasn't ashamed of what he felt or of the manner in which he'd told them, firmly standing by his belief that there was nothing wrong with falling in love, even if it happened to be with one of your oldest and closest mate's wife. Love was beautiful therefore what he and Maureen shared was pure.

He couldn't understand why it was such a hard concept to grasp, but Pattie and Ringo were apparently having a hard time of it. George felt the urge to talk to someone and considered calling John, even though his mate hadn't been too understanding the last time he'd mentioned his new-found attraction for Maureen.

If someone knew how it felt to be given a hard time for the person you loved it was his mate, still. He put the glass onto the coffee table and reached for the phone, placing it onto his thigh and picking up the receiver, dialling John's number thoughtfully, unsure of whether or not he'd even be in.

May picked up the phone and politely put him on hold, going to fetch John.

"We need to talk," John said to her, insistently enough, as she came into the bedroom to tell him there was a phonecall for him.

"It's George, for you," she replied instead, making him sigh.

"Later, then." He picked up the phone, following her with tired eyes as she walked out. "Yeah? Georgie, what's up?"

"Nothing, really." George picked up his glass, taking another sip. "Just thought I'd give me old mate a ring." John chuckled and made a ridiculous cooing noise. "How sweet of you. What is it, do you need money or something? Made bad investments again?" he joked, grinning.

George laughed. "Nothing like that. I didn't call at a bad time, did I?" He hoped he hadn't, really wanting to talk to John. It'd been a while and he had plenty to fill his mate in on. "Nah, it's fine," John replied quietly, reaching out to close the door shut. "Just got a bit of a situation going on, here, but that's all right." John knew he didn't sound too convincing, but he didn't feel like sharing the mess his marriage was turning into with George, right then. "So, what do you want to tell me? Doing anything?"

"'m jus sitting at home with a strong drink to keep me company," George replied honestly. He could feel the rather strong and expensive scotch he had been drinking work its way through his system, loosening him up. John smiled and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "Yeah, I could use a drink, too. Hang on. I'll drink with you."

He set the phone down and quickly fetched himself a glass of whiskey, tucking the phone receiver between his cheek and his shoulder and getting comfortable on the sofa. "So. Tell me."

George raised an eyebrow, though knowing John couldn't see it. "What am I supposed to tell you?" he asked, amused. "I don't know, Georgie. Whatever's on your mind," John replied, easy-going enough, taking a long sip from his drink. George didn't say anything for a few seconds and John let the silence stretch between them, not minding it.

"For instance...," George began slowly. "That I've gone and done the one thing you warned me against doing? You'd never let me live it down! I intend on keeping my lips shut, mate." John snorted, shaking his head. "You'll have to be more precise 'bout that, George. You do a lot of silly stuff, and I'm always right about things. I give good advice, I do," he drawled.

"You 'aven't heard from Ringo then?" George asked, not feeling too surprised about that. He knew that what he and Mo shared had hurt his friend's pride.

"Ringo? No, not recently." John paused, pressing the cool rim of his glass against his lower lip and sighing as he realised what this was about. "Oh, that's right. You went and told him about you and Maureen, didn't you? How did he react to that?"

"'Better you than someone we don't know.' That's what he said to me." George ran a hand down his bearded chin. "I think he's in shock, to be honest with you. He didn't try to hit me or anything. I suppose that means he's given Mo and I his blessing, in a way." John chose to say cautiously silent on that subject matter, and George went on. "Pattie's not too keen on the whole thing. I don't think she understands what I mean when I say I think of Maureen as being my Radha."

John rolled his eyes on the other end of the line. "I don't think anyone understands what you mean by that, Georgie," he replied dryly.

George sighed, finding the idea of explaining what he meant to yet another person rather daunting. "Krishna and Rhada shared a divine love, the highest form of devotion. It's not something that you're necessarily intended to find with your wife." George could have gone on for hours on that matter but he didn't want to argue the point with a sceptic. John thought that was just an excuse for George to justify his cheating around but he kept that opinion to himself, not offering any sort of reply, letting George deduce that he wasn't too convinced.

"I suppose it doesn't matter too much now, because things between Maureen and I have taken a turn since that night. I think she's pulling away from me," George went on, slowly. "Oh." John chewed on his lower lip and took another sip from his glass, wondering whether he should mention what was happening to him and Yoko. "Going back to Pattie, then?" he asked instead.

"No, I don't think I want to be married to Pattie anymore." It was a sad conclusion for him to come to, but at the same time it was also liberating in an odd way. As a bachelor, he would have the opportunity to explore multiple relationships freely, if he so desired. Being married had never really slowed him down too much on the matter, but there would no longer be any guilt associated with the idea of chatting around, if he didn't have a wife in the first place. George liked the idea of that, the freedom, and somehow -perhaps because he had thought about this as well- John was able to pick up on that.

"My, going back to bein' a roaming bachelor, then?" John teased gently, chuckling. "'m sorry to hear that, though. I know you cared for Pattie, and she cared for you." George rubbed his forehead. "'m not ready to ask for a divorce, but I'm ..." he trailed off, not entirely sure of what he'd do. George went back and forth on wanting and not wanting to make his marriage work. "...considering it."

John hummed, sympathetically. "Life has a way to mess things up, doesn't it?"

"'m not so sure if it's life or us, that messes things up." George reached for his glass and took several sips from it, leaving John to frown a bit at the tone of his voice. "Oh, it's life, Georgie. Definitely life," he replied, trying to make George smile. His mate just went on, changing the subject. "How're things between you and the missus, then?"

"Ah." It was John's turn to sigh and fiddle with his half-empty glass. "Not so great, since you're asking. Thinking about taking a break from each other." George's eyes widened in surprise, not knowing what to say as John downed his glass in one swift gulp, sounding a bit strangled as he went on.

"Well, Yoko is. I wouldn't mind staying." He paused. "She thinks it's for the best. We're not good for each other anymore, apparently." John didn't sound too convinced by that, merely parroting what Yoko had been patiently explaining to him. "I'm sorry to hear that, John," George replied, genuinely meaning his words. He knew that this former lover needed a great deal of attention and constant companionship. His relationship with Yoko provided him with that, and much more.

"Yeah, so was I," John drawled with an unhappy snort. He knew Yoko was right, though. The amount of hatred directed at their marriage was still mind-numbing, slowly taking its toll on their daily life. Yoko felt stifled creatively by John's overbearing fame, though he tried his best not to expose her to it, and John felt that his 'fans' would never be able to understand Yoko's work.

The other factor was, to John's shame, sex. His libido was still through the roof while Yoko's was fairly quiet these days, resulting in quite a few nights of him tossing and turning next to her restlessly when she turned him down. This had led him to a few 'slips', of which he always felt fairly ashamed in the morning, coming back from whoever's place he'd been spending the night at. He also felt increasingly attracted to his PA, May, who was young, lovely and undeniably liked him too. Much to his dismay, Yoko had picked up on that.

But she hadn't been nearly as angry as he'd thought she's be, encouraging an affair, encouraging him to take a break from this all, and take May with him for some holidays apart. John wasn't sure of how he felt about that yet, but he knew Yoko was usually right. "You remember May?" John asked, after a few seconds of silence.

"Yeah, of course I remember May. Sweet girl," George replied, thinking fondly of the soft spoken woman. He remembered having a couple of conversations about Eastern culture with her. "Yeah. Considering taking her for a holiday somewhere. Maybe in L.A," John mentioned casually.

"You and May? And, Yoko's alright with that?" George questioned, not clued into the dynamics of John and Yoko's marriage at the moment. He and Pattie had done there fair share of swapping and stepping out on each other, but he didn't know if John and Yoko might be into that as well. He wondered what had happened to the couple that seemingly had to spend every waking moment together. He snorted to himself, finishing off his glass, thinking that no matter how much you loved someone, spending every waking moment with them couldn't be healthy.

"It was her idea," John confessed, rubbing his forehead. George thought that was interesting, Yoko being the one to propose that John should go off with May. He wasn't sure of what to make of her intentions, or of John being seemingly resigned to elope with his PA.

"I'm not sure about it," John went on. "But I think she needs a break from me, and I can understand that. I'm hardly a walk in the park to live with, as you know." He tried to chuckle, but it came out sounding somewhat hollow. "I like May, though. So it won't be too bad. And hopefully, Yoko'll take me back, after a while."

"Maybe this will be good for you, in the long run? A bit of a break might do the two of you some good," George stated, trying to be helpful. John hummed softly, feeling rather despondent but unwilling to show it too much. "Yeah, maybe. We've been spending a lot of time together, you know? Can't hurt to be apart for a couple of weeks, see how that's like."

"Yeah, couldn't hurt. A change of scenery could be good, mate. Hey, the two of us could meet up. I'll be in the States for a bit, within the next few months." George sounded genuinely upbeat to see his former lover again, though somewhat hesitant to bring it up. He didn't expect them to fall into bed at once -though that would've been nice, still- he just wanted to see John. "If you'd like?" he added, unsure because he couldn't see the way John's whole face had lit up at the perspective, corners of his mouth curving up in an irrepressible smile.

"That's a good idea. I'd like that. Meet up for a little vacation together, it's been a while since we did that," John replied, sounding a little more cheerful.

"Yeah, it'll be just like old times." George smiled, quite pleased that he would be seeing his friend in the near future.

John grinned along and suddenly, the perspective of going to L.A. on his own, taking only May which him and the meagre hope that Yoko would let him come back at length, didn't sound so terrifying anymore.