"Just book me on the next flight to Europe, will you?" John snapped to Dan, pushing his sunglasses back up his long nose angrily. The sun was high in the hopelessly blue sky, shining hard upon the roof of the car. The air was stifling hot and the leather interior burning to the touch, increasing John's unease.

"It's Paris." John blinked, looking back up to Dan. "The next flight," his assistant repeated, looking frayed. "It's Paris." John shrugged, and stepped out of the car, dragging a small bag behind him and slamming the door shut, the metal smooth and warm under his hand, like the skin of an animal. "Don't care."

He strode to the airport, crossing the sun-blasted expanse of the parking lot looking neither right nor left, in the hope of not being recognised, Dan following unsteadily, hot on his heels. The artificial coolness of the air-conditioned building hit them as they stepped inside, as unpleasant and unnatural as the hotness outside. "I'll go and queue?" Dan proposed carefully and John nodded, the move brisk, handing him his passport and check book.

The queue was long and slow, sliding between the counters like heavy water, and Dan barely managed to get a seat in the end, booking John on the next flight after a long and tedious argument with the hostess. He found John in the lounge, drinking duty free whiskey in a plastic toothbrush cup.

John accepted the tickets with a begrudging thank you, getting up unsteadily, his bag sliding steadily over his narrow shoulder until it fell to the ground with a soft thump. He didn't seem to notice. "Tell George..." he began, before stopping. "No, tell Yoko..." He sighed angrily. "Don't bother. See ya." Dan watched him in puzzlement as he stomped away towards the boarding terminal.

——————————————————————————————

"When I got the call from Ravi about Bangla Desh I couldn't say no, John. The people are suffering and need help," George was saying. John hummed encouragingly and tucked the phone between his ear and his cheek, wriggling his toes against the white pillow of his immaculate couch.

"I phoned you because you've got a lot of experience with this sort of thing. I'd like to have you 'round for the concert, it would be good. Do you think you'd be up for it?" George asked quietly, thinking that it was unlikely John would turn him down. His mate had backed plenty of causes already , using fame for good, just as George wanted to do with that concert. "It's just in the beginning stages, but I'd like to know if you'd be interested or not," he added gently, not wanting to pressure John into anything.

Ever since the Beatles had made that pilgrimage to India in 1968, the idea of using his celebrity for something he believed in had appealed to George. He and his former band mates were still constantly followed, their every word hung upon as if they were some kind of gospel. He figured that if people were so eager to listen to him go on just about anything, it would be just as well to say something important and turn them onto what was going on in the world. It was possible, John had done it often enough.

"Yeah, sure, 't's not a bad idea," John agreed easily, nodding to himself. George's reasons for lending himself to the cause of raising awareness and funds for the refugees of Bangladesh were sound enough, and they came from a good place. "It's more complicated that it should be though, charity. Pretty unusual to have a charity concert, too." He scratched his stubbly cheek, titling his head to the side and staring at the white wall in front of him without seeing it, eyes narrowing in thought. "It's a good idea though. I like it."

George's thick brow furrowed contemplatively, trying to imagine what he would have to do to pull off something of such magnitude. "Is it that unusual? It's just getting a group of friends together to jam," he naively stated. John chuckled fondly, closing his eyes. "It is, isn't it?" It made him smile, the warmth of George's heart, even over the phone.

"It's not so easy, still. Got to be careful. Transparent-like, or they'll say you took the money. Choose who you'll give it to so it doesn't go into the pockets of some selfish politician. Make sure the record company is fine with it to, and make them sign to state they are." John remembered the Toronto peace festival debacle all-too-well. "They won't like the sound of 'giving most of the money to charity' much."

George had yet to think of this benefit from a realistic or business perspective. He sighed, running a hand down his bearded chin. "You've given me even more to think about, now." He gave a little hissing laugh, feeling more encouraged than disheartened by the idea of having to put in some hard work. He'd given Ravi his word, and he wouldn't let him down.

"Who're you going to ask?"John asked, curiously. "Ravi will be up for it, won't he? Perhaps Clapton as well, if he manages to lay down the snow for a couple o' minutes," John drawled, snorting. "I told you Ravi's the one who asked for my help. Of course he's going to participate," George replied, a bit annoyed, wondering whether John was truly listening to him or just placating him with a few well-placed words and questions here and there throughout their conversation.

"Oi," John protested, wishing he would nudge George in the ribs right where he knew he was most ticklish, or flick his nose. "Don't get pissy, it was a rhetorical question. I know how fond of sitar playing you are, love." He grinned, making his tone overly too sweet. "Fond enough to inflict it on the rest of us even at a charity concert..." He sat up, giggling to himself. "It's fine, I'll bring a book," he added teasingly. Ravi's pieces were known to be pretty long, ten minutes at least.

George relaxed under John's playful ribbing. "You should do that..." He paused for dramatic effect before continuing with a grin on his face. "... so I can hit you over the head with it." John made a rude noise and George chuckled, running a hand through his hair, feeling better about putting on a show of that scale since John would be there to back him up. "Make sure it's something thick and heavy, War and Peace will do." John smirked, tutting. "Didn't peg you for a fan of Russian literature, Georgie..."

George shook his head, smiling and belatedly replying to John's question. "I was thinking of asking Ringo and Paul, for starters. I'm going to try and get a hold of Bob too, and hopefully I'll be able to convince him to perform again."

John paused, sniffing. "Good luck with Bob. He's been hermittin' himself away these days." He hesitated, not sure of what to make of Paul and Ringo being asked as well. "So... will this be like the big reunion everyone's expecting? The boys back together at last," he asked, trying to sound bold and perhaps a little brash about it. His voice dropped lower as he grew serious. "You think we could handle that?"

"I was thinking...hoping that we could put aside our differences for a good cause." John hummed, obviously not convinced. "Very noble of you," he commented, a tad mockingly, though he did like the sentiment behind it. "It's nothing serious for us John, we aren't making a statement about getting back together. We're just jamming up there on-stage with other musicians," George pleaded, but even he knew that it wasn't true. People would think that this meant The Beatles were getting back together, finally, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to open that can of worms again.

"I think we could handle it. I don't know about everyone else, though. What about you? How do you feel about getting back together with the three of us?" he questioned, knowing that neither Ringo nor he were a problem for John to deal with it, but Paul.

John licked on his lower lip, playing with the telephone chord nervously. "I don't know, George. I wouldn't mind so much but I don't really want to have to cope with what people'll say. It'll be like... everything I've done to get rid of my Beatle's image was for nothing, you know? People'll say that I'm finally seeing the light and going back to what's good for me, and all that crap." John was getting angry, not at George, but at the imaginary situation.

"I hear ya, Johnny," George sighed, more than able to understand where his friend was coming from. He'd struggled to get rid of that image as well and he liked to think that they were more than this now, more than the band they'd been part of for a while.

John went on, encouraged by George's sympathetic comment. "People'll begin to say crap about Yoko again too. They'll think I'm leaving her at last." He paused, suddenly realising something. "Can she come? I mean, at the concert. Play something?" he asked, sounding a little frayed.

George made a face, scratching his beard. He always tried to tread lightly when it came to the topic of Yoko. He didn't have anything against her but he didn't have anything for her, either. Still, for John's sake, they managed to get along just fine in general, though it didn't mean that he wanted her at the benefit. George wanted time alone with John and that couldn't very well happen with Yoko by his side. He also felt that it was best all-around to leave her out of the equation, because her presence brought an unintentional tenseness with it, or so he recalled from her becoming a fixture of their recording sessions. Plus, for him to have half a chance of getting Paul to show up, Yoko would have to be out.

After a long pause of trying to choose his words carefully, he responded to John's question. "Perhaps it would be best if you left Yoko home, mate." He did his best to sound casual about it. "You know, it'll be just like old times...the four of us. Besides, I don't think it's her scene." He knew his arguments sounded a bit reaching, but how did you tell your friend that you didn't want his wife around?

"Maybe I don't want it to be like old times," John grumbled. George bit his lip. "Not exactly like old times, but you know what I mean," he replied, an undertone of pleading in his voice for John to remember that there had been some good to the years they'd spent as The Beatles. He could understand that it was easy to forget, especially when you considered the madness that had surrounded their lives during that period. From time to time, George himself was guilty of viewing his years in the band with nothing but negative eyes.

John didn't say anything. He knew that Yoko wouldn't likely be very welcome at the concert, either by the audience or by the other musicians. It was true that it was not really her 'scene'. Contrary to what most people thought, John did realise that conceptual art was not always welcome, and though he still enjoyed Yoko's irreverent shenanigans immensely, he knew when they would be accepted and when they wouldn't.

"Yeah, all right," he stated at length. "I'll have to talk 'bout it with her, but I get what you mean. Juss the lads, not the wives. Like old times, evening with mates," he nodded to himself. "Makes sense."

George was surprised not to be challenged on the matter, enough not to know what to say for a few seconds. He'd thought that it might be cause for a row, and was relieved that things hadn't gone that way between the two of them. He didn't know whether Yoko would understand, but that was John's problem. He also purposefully left out the fact that if Paul were to attend, he'd probably bring Linda along. "It'll be a good time, I think. You know, as long as everyone leaves their egos at the door and focuses on the music."

John grinned, humming in agreement. "Don't invite Paul, then," he teased, but with no real animosity. George chuckled. "I should probably start phoning the others on this little list of mine I have written down in front of me, and see who's up for it."

"Yeah, all right, do phone again if you need me? 'm good at convincing people." John paused and then added, on impulse, "I'll even talk to Paul, if you like."

——————————————————————————————

John leaned his burning cheek against the tepid glass of the plane window, closing his eyes. He was not interested in seeing what was outside, blanketed by a plush lid of heavy grey clouds, and even less by what was inside, the old lady sitting next to him, politely stealing curious glances at him. The weather was quickly deteriorating, turning stormy as they progressed over the Atlantic, perturbations shaking them unpleasantly, turning his stomach into a nervous knot.

John tried not to think about what was happening, tried not to think about George, turning up at his place at the hour they'd agreed on for rehearsal, and finding an empty home, Yoko locked in their bedroom and May scurrying around.

Instead he tried to focus on how he'd ended up there, on that plane, flying away from everything he'd ever loved. How did it get so bad, after such a promising start? John sighed through his nose. It had started the moment he'd hung up, going back to the breakfast table where he'd left Yoko, just after composing what would probably become a Christmas song. John'd always wanted to write a Christmas hit. It was slightly tacky and perhaps unexpected of him, but he liked it, basing the harmonic progression of the song on the old "Stewball" ballad, to give it a familiar melody, and added a little counterpoint that Yoko would sing, following the "War is Over" campaign.

Yoko had been enthusiastic for the concert, very keen on appearing, and singing, perhaps alongside John, perhaps as a solo artist, liking the idea of a charity event very much. It had made John angry, in a way. Angry at her for being so up for it, for assuming that she would be invited without asking, angry at himself for having to hurt her feelings, and at George for making him do so. He hadn't said anything.

And then it had gotten worse. Paul had called, cool and casual. "I'll go if you go," he'd said, asking about the concert, about how it would work, legally, for them to go back on the stage together, about what they would call themselves and what they would perform, and what the copyrights would be, and a hundred little reasonable things that had gotten on John's nerves oh-so-quickly, because he'd forgotten how annoying Paul could be when he wanted to. So he'd called George again to complain, and George had placated him, saying that he would talk to Paul himself. But then George had called back, fuming, and informed John that Paul wouldn't come.

——————————————————-

George hesitated, before continuing. "Despite Paul not agreeing to be part of this, things are going rather well," he stated, trying to sound positive, more for John's benefit than his own because he knew John's decision about appearing was vastly tied up with Paul showing up as well. It seemed to be some sort of odd power play on both their parts. John made a small noise to show that he was still listening. "Maybe it's better that way," he agreed, slowly. "I didn't really want to be a Beatle again." He paused. "That's the last thing I want right now, as a matter of fact, going back to the old tune. It was too hard to get out of it the first time."

"Yeah." George didn't know what to reply to that. "Ringo will be there," he pointed out awkwardly, hoping that John's fondness for the drummer would win out over any nagging doubts he felt about being part of the benefit. "Good old Rich. Pretty reliable mate, ain't he?" John teased, but he sounded fond nonetheless.

John wasn't sure of how he felt about this. Paul thumbing his nose at them was frustrating, and made him want to drop out of it as well. He wanted to perform with Paul again, and at the same time, he really didn't. John didn't want to be a Beatle again, and though he knew that was what he would always be in most people's minds, he wanted to at least try and be more than that. A Beatles reunion, on-stage, sounded both appealing and frankly dreadful. Paul's absence would prevent that at least, though he had no doubt about what the headlines for the concert would be. Some crap along the lines of "The Beatles (minus Paul) back together again!"

"I'm working on securing a location at the moment," George was saying, and John hummed along, cautiously trying to veer the conversation to a delicate matter. "Listen, 'bout Yoko... you really don't want her to come? She's really keen on doing the gig, charity's right up her alley, you know. She doesn't want to perform with us, or with me, she'd do her own thing, as a solo artist?" John asked, hopefully.

Having Yoko around would make things so much easier for him. First he wouldn't have to hurt her feelings by telling her that she wasn't invited, but more than that, she would be his crutch, his blanket against the temptations of his old life, against all his old mates ganging up on him. And of course, though John didn't even want to think about it, against George, sleeping in the hotel room next door, with his dark eyes and his enticing smiles.

George made a face, knowing he had to handle the matter as sensitively as possible. He was annoyed with John for bringing it up again, having thought the matter had been settled. "Didn't we agree that this wasn't Yoko's thing?" He asked, and then continued, not giving his mate the opportunity to respond. "I've got a list of great musicians lined up, John. The rooster is pretty full at this point."

It was a weak defence but he hoped that John wouldn't challenge him on it. George wasn't too bothered by the fact that Paul had decided not to be part of the benefit, but losing John on this was a worrying thought for him. "It's not about anyone getting their own solo spot, either. The plan is for us to perform as a group of musicians," he pointed out, further supporting his justification for not extending an invite to Yoko.

John didn't say anything for a few long seconds. He knew this wasn't the point. George didn't want Yoko around because he didn't like her, and didn't think much of her work as an artist. He didn't want to argue over that, since he'd known George long enough to be able to tell that his mate wouldn't budge over the matter. He could always try and threaten not to come if Yoko wasn't allowed to, but that would have been a pretty shitty thing to do to George, in his opinion.

"It's just... she likes the idea of charity, you know. We've always been pretty much into that. So when I told her I was going to do the benefit, she thought she was invited along, as she always is. I don't want to hurt her feelings or somethin'," he mumbled, honestly enough, though he knew this wasn't an argument that would work. George would sympathize, but ultimately, his answer would stay the same. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs.

George wasn't swayed. "'m sure she'll understand if you explain it to her. Yoko's a reasonable woman, isn't she?" he questioned, hoping that his mate's desire to defend his wife at all costs would get him to agree that Yoko wasn't prone to fits because she didn't get her way.

"'course she is," John mumbled, his lips twitching in a mixture of amusement and irritation as he realised what George was doing. "Reverse psychology, mn?" he teased. "You learnt from the best."

"When it comes to mind games, no one has you beat," George replied with a grin. He hadn't meant for it to come out as a subtle dig, but he couldn't take it back and quickly changed the subject. "There will be a few rehearsals before we put this on. Her sort of thing seems to be more in the moment, you know? I'm not sure how well that would go over from an audience standpoint, let alone a technical one."

"Yeah, yeah," John replied. That wasn't the point, and John felt that they both knew it all-too-well.

George was arguing the point logically, but there was something else there, that he found hard to admit. He wanted John all to himself, without Yoko interfering. He'd missed his former lover ever since that late night studio session during which they'd slept together. He'd hoped that there might be a repeat of this at some point, but so far the opportunity hadn't presented itself. Now, at the benefit, seemed like the right moment, one that might never come along again.

John swallowed dryly. It was tempting, very tempting, to agree and leave Yoko home, spending a week with his mates and sleeping in George's hotel room every night. It seemed nearly like heaven, as a matter of fact. But then, once it would be over, would John be able to go home? Would he be able to get over the fact that he couldn't have that life again, as he'd struggled to several times before?

"So, it's settled then? You'll be there, won't you?" George questioned hesitantly as silence stretched between them, afraid of John's answer. It wasn't common to see John without Yoko, but he wouldn't be away from his wife for that long. "We'll make our own fun," he pleaded.

"Yeah," John replied, at length, sounding somewhat uncertain. "Yeah, I'll come. It'll be good."

————————————————————-

Yoko could tell that John was agitated that morning, but she didn't want to push him to reveal why, knowing that he would tell her when he would need to. She was feeling rather good herself, looking forward to performing at the benefit concert George was working on, her head filled with all sorts of ideas for her solo performance.

She shared them with John over breakfast, frowning a bit as each and every one of them was met with an uncharacteristic hesitation. John was usually quite taken by her ideas, and more than happy to help see them come to life. She couldn't figure out why he looked so sour and studied his face curiously, reaching out to take his hand. "Is everything all right?" she asked softly, caressing his knuckles with her thumb. "Paul not being part of things shouldn't stop you from being there, John," she tried, thinking that this was the root of her husband's annoyance, and wanting to reassure him about his decision.

John raised tormented eyes from his cup of green tea to her understanding face, his lips thinning. He withdrew his hand from underneath Yoko's, a little briskly. "It's not about Paul. Don't care if he shows up or not." That was a bit of a lie. Though George had been quite clear on the matter, telling him that he really didn't think Paul would come, John still dreaded a surprise apparition from his old partner, trapping him on stage, as it were, to relive the blaze of their old fame. The perspective both terrified and angered John. He wasn't against a trip down memory lane once in a while, but being bullied into it, as he saw it, made him quite annoyed.

There was nothing whatsoever that suggested that Paul would come still, apart from silly tabloid rumours. John knew he was being paranoid about it but he just couldn't shake the feeling. That, added to the fact that he had yet to tell Yoko she wasn't invited, made him rather skittish. He looked to the side and it dawned on Yoko that his behaviour wasn't necessarily related to Paul, but she still couldn't figure it out.

Yoko knew how to deal with John's mood swings, taking them in stride and learning to adapt to each facet of her husband as it presented itself to her. She tried again "If it's not about him, then whatever it is, we can figure it out, John." She gave him a small smile, hoping to sway his mood. The thought of John moping around for the rest of the day was rather unappealing.

"Can we?" John hissed confrontationally, his eyes narrowing short-sightedly as he glared at her. Yoko sighed, knowing that this was going to be a difficult day for them. John chewed on his lower lip. This wasn't going how he'd planned it to go at all. He'd meant to let Yoko down easily, trying not to hurt her feelings and using George's cowardly arguments to attempt to persuade her that it had nothing to do with his mates disliking her, but indeed with the organisation of the benefit. He rather suspected that Yoko wouldn't believe it, but it was worth a try, he reckoned.

Problem was, this wasn't the only thing at stake, there. John had to make up his mind, and choose between giving up on George for good and staying with Yoko at home, or telling Yoko he wanted a week free from her and spending it with George. Both perspectives filled him with desire and dread, and he could choose neither.

"It's your own damn fault!" he finally snapped, getting up briskly and grabbing his glasses from the table, squeezing them tight into his clenched fist. "Oh, you always want to sing at the drop of a hat! Well, you fucking can't!"

Yoko was taken aback by his aggressive outburst but she said nothing to defend herself, sensing that John was pushing, more or less consciously, to goad her into an argument. She tried to stay even-tempered in the hopes that it would calm him down, though his dig had hurt her feelings. John's acerbic words always did, whenever they were directed at her. "You don't want me there?" She looked up at him, face expressionless, the complete opposite of John who was flushing in anger.

Yoko had unknowingly hit the nail full on the head. Did he want her there? He closed his eyes for a few seconds, shaking, and hissing when a sharp burst of pain went through his hand. He'd squeezed his glasses so hard the wire frame had bent out of shape, sticking out and cutting his palm. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled. Yoko wanted to argue that it did matter but before she could speak, John began talking again. "You're not invited." He paled and stared at her, stumbling a bit as he strode to the door before she could reply anything to that. Run John, run. From Yoko, from George.

Yoko stared at his back. George didn't want her to be part of the benefit and she could accept that, but she couldn't understand why John's anger was directed towards her. She was perfectly able to cope with not going to the benefit, so what was the problem? She didn't try to stop John from leaving, knowing that if he needed time to himself, she should let him be. She just hoped that he would come to her whenever he was ready to talk, as he usually did. There were no taboos between the two of them, nothing that they couldn't talk about.

John found himself in the bedroom, throwing his knotted glasses on the ground with unnecessary force. He waited for a few seconds, hoping Yoko would come after him, sighing angrily when he realised she wouldn't. He grabbed a bag, shoving a few clothes inside of it. "Dan!" he called, fumbling with his shoes and looking up as May stepped in instead. "Go and fetch Dan, ask him to get the car ready," he asked curtly, looking for his spare pair of glasses with shaky hands.

——————————————————————————————

John kept his eyes closed and focused on his breathing, hoping his shaky behaviour would get pinned down to the landing and not to a nervous breakdown. He ignored the announces in French and English, swallowing dryly. He had just lost everything, hadn't he?

No, no. He didn't believe that. He would go back to Yoko. She would forgive him. And George would forgive him too, though it would take longer. Things would go back to normal.

But they would be disappointed, the both of them. The two people who mattered most in his life would think of him as a heartless, gutless coward, and the thought of that made John's stomach clench painfully. That was never a pleasant feeling.

He opened his eyes to a drizzly night, the ground looking grey and wet through the window, jumping towards them at an alarming speed. He grit his teeth as they touched it jerkily. He would need to buy presents to make up for this double betrayal. He would need to be sweet as pie. He could do it, he knew he could.

John gathered his things and got up nervously. He needed to find a phone, and get in touch with someone who could plead his case to Yoko. Klein would do.

—————————————————————————————————

George had always done what John wanted, but now that he'd needed his mate's help for once, John had let him down. He couldn't understand what had happened, why John had just ran away with no explanation. He'd initially suspected that Yoko had had a hand in John backing out of the benefit, but that assumption had been quickly squashed when May'd told him that John had left without her, and that she had no plans to join her husband.

The more George thought about John's disappearing act, the less it made sense. It was hurtful. He knew he could do this without his former lover, he'd given Ravi his word and he wouldn't back out, but the fact that John hadn't even given any thought to how his behaviour would affect George was disturbing. It led George to wonder how much John truly cared about him.

He'd really wanted John there, both for the sake of the benefit and for his own, but he was determined to have the show go on without him. George was going to put all of his energy and time into this, hoping that he'd be far too busy to give John much thought. He knew that he'd get over this and that things between the two of them would go back to normal at some point, or at least to that odd status quo they dared to call normal in their little world. It'd be quite some time though, until he could forgive that betrayal, and be as open with John as he had been in the past.

——————————————————————————————————-

John laughed, a little too loudly, stumbling along the corridor with Klaus hot on his heels. "Hush," he said, exaggeratedly. "C'mon." Klaus giggled but followed him to the kitchen, bumping into him several times and causing them both to let out muffled chuckles. Faint music was coming from the living room of their rented hotel floor, the half-drunken, half-serious jam session that had started a good while ago in celebration of John's birthday still in full swing.

"I wanna eat some more cake," John stated, nearing in on the fridge, dragging Klaus with him by the sleeve. "You want cake, Voormann?" Klaus just giggled and John nudged him some more, pushing him to open the door. "Get it out, don't want me fingerprints on the plate. Could tell I've eaten more than reason," he slurred as a joke, though there was a slight drunken seriousness behind the words. Klaus stuck his head into the fridge, swaying dangerously but emerging after only a few seconds with the plate on which rested what was left of John's chocolate birthday cake.

"Got it!" he stated winningly. John merely stared. Klaus's hair was long and his beard a little all over the place these days, and for just a second, it was George. George standing before him with the cake, grinning. But George's eyes weren't blue. John blinked. "Yeah. Ta." He took the plate, setting it on the table. "Did George call?" Klaus looked at him interrogatively, closing the fridge. "Harrison," John insisted. "Did he call?"

"Don't think so," Klaus replied, softly. "Your PA'd have told you, no?" John stuck his finger into the icing on the cake, and then licked it clean. "He usually calls for my birthday."

Klaus set out to look for a couple of spoons. "Maybe you should call him yourself. If you miss him," he tried, going through the kitchen drawers.

John nodded slowly, and licked at his finger once more, savouring the sugary taste. "Yeah." He grinned broadly. "I'll do that."

————————————————————————————————

George was stretched out on the couch, a book on traditional Indian meals resting open on his stomach. He'd dozed off into a light sleep when the phone rang and it took him a moment to answer, reaching over his head to grab the receiver. " 'ello," he mumbled sleepily, running a hand through his hair.

"George?" John asked, sounding slightly slurred and excited. "Happy birthday, you git!" he called out, cackling. "Happy Birthday to me?" George sounded genuinely confused as he sat up, closing the book and setting it off to the side. "John?" He was positive it was his mate, seemingly slightly pissed. "Yeah, that's me," John replied happily, grinning like a fool against the receiver. "Did I wake you up or somethin'? You sound a bit thick..."

"I was jus' resting me eyes. What's this about wishing me a happy birthday?" George yawned, stretching an arm over his head and John made a rude noise, sounding playfully put-upon as it took George a moment to realize that he was referring to his own birthday. The date had completely slipped his mind and he felt a bit guilty for it. He and John were in contact, though not as much as they had been in the past, George still a bit annoyed with his mate for backing out of the concerts for Bangladesh. "Oh, happy Birthday, mate!"

"Ta." John chuckled. "You too. It can be your unbirthday, George, if you'd like. Happy unbirthday! Lots of good... stuff." He added, cradling the phone close to his cheek. "Thanks for the unbirthday wishes, mate." George smiled, leaning back against the couch.

"Why didn't you show up at the party? Did I invite you, I can't remember..." John went on, apparently losing his train of thoughts fairly quickly. George honestly couldn't recall. "Can't say I remember you doing so, but it's possible that you did." He scratched his bearded cheek, trying to recall a conversation in which he'd been invited. John hummed. "I'm missing you."

George's eyebrows raised in surprise at the confession and John continued. "'ad to convince Klaus to come with me and steal what was left of the cake. Good bloke, Voormann." George nodded in agreement even though John couldn't see him. "A good mate who's been around since the beginning of it all," he replied, finding John's thought process fairly amusing and sweet.

"Not as good as you, though," John rambled on quickly. George chuckled. "I don't know about that, mate. It's nice of you to say, though." John smiled widely, his voice soft and genuinely appreciative. "I mean it, George. You're a good bloke. Good friend." He nodded to himself.

George smiled. "Thanks, Johnny. You're not half bad yourself. Especially when you're pissed three sheets to the wind." John made a ridiculous cooing noise, leaning his head against the padded arm of his couch and nuzzling it a bit, as he would have with George's cheek. "Ta, mate. I'm not that pissed, though. Juss a lil'."

George snorted, tilting his head when he could hear a bit of a commotion going on in the background. "What's going on over there? Sounds like a good time from what I can make out on my end. Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah, there's a party going on. Few pressies, good food, lots to drink. Bit of jamming with everyone pissed." He grinned. "You get the idea." He pushed his glasses back up his long nose, curling his naked toes into the white shag carpet. "Ringo's here," he added, suddenly. "And Neil. An' Clappy. No, I must have invited you, not possible otherwise. Everyone's here but you." He pondered that for a few seconds. "And Paul, but I wouldn't invite Paul. Party-pooper."

"'m not such great company these days," George replied, but John just pouted. "Don't sell yerself short, Georgie." George shook his head. Despite the overwhelming success of All Things Must Pass, he was feeling a bit hung up and lost, these days. "I think Paul would've been better company." John made a strange noise, between a curse and a snort, clearly showing that he disagreed, but George still went on. "I don't want to keep you if you've got to go. It seems to be a rather rowdy affair with that guest list."

John didn't say anything for a few seconds, pressing his cheek against the receiver so hard it began to hurt a bit. "I'd rather stay with you," he whispered, at length. "I miss you, you know. Terribly." He smiled, though his eyes were sad, and rattled on quickly, before George could reply. "'m sorry I was such a coward. 'bout the concert. I really wanted to come."

George didn't know how to feel about John's words. He doubted that he would ever get over him, over what the two of them had shared. It wasn't something you could forget but he usually tried to put it in the past, where it belonged. And then John would say something incredibly honest and heartfelt, and George was seventeen all over again. At times he resented his mate for having such an effect on him. He frowned at the mention of the concert, still a sore spot to him, but he didn't want to row.

"Maybe another time," he remarked, words ringing false even to him. "Did you get what you wanted for your birthday this year?" he asked, trying to shift the topic of conversation to something neutral, but John was having none of it. "George," he protested, soft and almost plaintive. "I mean it, you know. I know it was a crap thing to do. I just... I couldn't." John bit on his lower lip, unwilling to explain. "Would you forgive me? If I were really, really good from now on? You wouldn't have to do anything special juss... be my mate. I can't bear with..." There was some noise coming from the corridor, breaking John's little trance, and he seemed to realise that he'd rather said too much, there. "I have to go," he mumbled, embarrassed.

No matter how hard George tried to lead his life by the teachings of Krishna, some things were universal and holding grudges was one of them. He knew that he shouldn't hold onto feelings of disappointment and hurt regarding John going back on his word, but he simply wasn't ready to truly forgive his mate. He was rather thankful when John abruptly ended their conversation. "I should go as well. Happy birthday, John." He hung up before either one of them could say any more than that, leaving John alone with the tone.

"Yeah. Happy birthday to me."