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30 November 2007 @ 04:31 pm
"Isn't It A Pity?" - A Fic  
Okay, so, this is a day late, but better late than never, right? Well, yesterday was the 6th anniversary of George Harrison's death, and this is what I came up with. It might not be one of my best, but it has been over a year since I last wrote a Beatles fic, so, I hope it's not too horrible.

Hope you all enjoy!

Isn't It A Pity
Pairing: Paul/George
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A late night meeting helps put old feelings to rest.
Cross posted to multiple Beatle slash communities, :-)

Isn’t It A Pity?

Moonlight streamed into the room from between parted curtains, its silvery rays giddily dancing along deep mahogany furniture and sterile hospital equipment. All was still, save for the steady beeping that sounded throughout the chamber, each “beep-beep” charting the heartbeat of the frail form huddled on the bed, graying dark hair peeking out from beneath thick blankets.

Maybe it was the sound of crickets chirping in the garden, or the sound of a distant crash on the 101 freeway, but whatever the cause was, the figure on the bed started to stir. Slowly swimming into consciousness; George’s eyes were met with absolute darkness, the coverlet obscuring his blurry view. An acute sense of panic gripped him for a split second as he quickly sat up; causing the soft material to fall from his eyes as it brought the room into focus. With a relieved sigh, George leaned against the headboard as he began to rub the sleep out of his eyes, a frown marring his pale features as he noticed the tubes connected to his hand. Turning his arm this way and that, the frown on George’s face deepened, and with a look of utter disgust, he ripped the offending apparatus away.

Throat parched, George eschewed the covered glass of water on his bedside table as he lowered himself to the floor, his feet making a dull thud as they hit the rug. With a glare towards the monitors and IVs that cluttered the bedroom, George quickly left, the creaking of the door as it swung on its hinges accompanying his flight.

Gripping the banister tightly with one hand, he slowly made his was down the stairs, one bare foot following the other as his frail form paused on every alternate step, the simple act of descending a flight of stairs exerting him more than he felt it should. With growing frustration, George walked down as quickly as he could; ignoring the pain that racked his body as he determinedly reached the first floor. A pained look on his face, George stumbled through the darkened house, his hands in front of him as he blindly made his way through the unfamiliar rooms to the kitchen.

With a flick of the wrist, George illuminated the darkened room in brightness, the rays from the recessed lighting bouncing of glossy counters and stainless steel appliances. Rummaging through the cabinets for a glass, his eyes closed briefly as he leaned his head against the wood, the task of getting out of bed and making his way down the stairs taking its toll. As soon as he filled the glass with water from the fridge, George lowered himself onto a barstool; his head falling forward as he finally stopped fighting the pain and tiredness that infused his body. In a matter of minutes sleep started to overtake him, his arm falling limply to his side as the glass of water that he gripped fell to the floor and shattered on impact.

With a jerk, George sat up, his eyes wild as the unexpected sound startled him. With a tired sigh, he looked down at the shards of glass on the tiles below before gingerly stepping around the mess and kneeling down, pale fingers placing the glass in the palm of his hand.

“Bloody hell!!” a voice suddenly bellowed, causing George to jerk up in surprise, the shards in his hand digging into the soft flesh of his palm as he accidentally closed his fingers around them.
“Fuck,” George winced as he quickly dropped the broken glass to the floor before surveying the cut on his hand. “Look what you did,” he groused as he raised it for the other man to see, blood dripping onto the tiles.

With an irritated sigh, Paul came forward, nimble footsteps avoiding the mess as he clasped George’s injured hand in his own, hazel eyes surveying the damage.

“George,” he said with a shake of his head, as he grasped the younger man’s elbow and pulled him none too gently to the sink. “You need to be more fucking careful. What the hell were you doing out of bed anyway?”

George violently pulled his arm away and stepped away from the other man as he fixed him with an angry glare.

“Riding a fucking horse,” George spat, as he quickly made his way to the sink on his own and turned on the faucet. “What the fuck do you think I was doing, Paul?”

Sighing, Paul closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. With a shake of his head, he fixed the younger man with a disapproving glare.

“You know you’re not supposed to be out and about,” he said slowly, as though talking to a child. “The doctor said that you’re to stay in bed at all times.”

Turning off the water, George wiped his wet hands on his shirt before turning around and fixing his old friend with an irritated look, his eyebrow raised scornfully.

“Or what?” he ground out. “I’ll die? Newsflash, Paul. I’m going to die anyway, it’s only a matter of time before I do, so, there’s no harm in speeding up the process.”

Paling, Paul took an alarmed step back as his eyes widened in shock at George’s harsh tone and words.

“I… I’m sorry, George,” the older man stammered. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, don’t,” George ground out, as he stalked past Paul, pushing his friend out of the way as he did so. “If I need your help, I’ll bloody well ask for it.”

“I said I was sorry,” Paul snapped back, as he regarded the thin man with narrowed eyes. “God, why do you always have to be such a prick about everything?”

Body starting to tremble in anger and exertion, George gripped the edge of the nook table, his knuckles turning white as he fought to stand upright. “And why do you always have to fucking meddle in shit that’s none of your business?” he fired back.

“None of my business?” Paul nearly shouted. Shoulders tense, the older man took a step towards George before backing off again with a shake of his head. “One of my oldest and closest friends is sick and it’s none of my business?”

The younger man laughed derisively. “One of your oldest and closest friends?” he said with a sneer. “Now that’s a laugh.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Paul shot back, his hands closing into fists by his side.

Voice faltering, George finally sat down, his aching body slumping into a cushioned chair, chest heaving “Only that you must not put much stock in your oldest and closest friends if you can easily discard them whenever someone new comes along,” he continued quietly, his voice bitter.

Shoulders slumping, realization dawned on Paul’s face as he hesitantly moved forward.

“George…” Paul said softly, as he placed a hand on George’s shoulder. “I…”

“Just forget it, Paul,” George ground out, as he shrugged off the other man’s touch.

Stiffening, Paul nearly lunged forward, intent on turning the other man around, but at the last second, he restrained himself. Stalking to the other side of the table instead, he placed his palms on the smooth surface and leaned over, his face in line with that of the younger man.

“No, goddamn it,” Paul snapped. “You can’t just say something like that and brush it off like it’s nothing.”

Raising his head, George looked straight into Paul’s eyes, pain and sadness swirling within his dark gaze.

“Are we going to do this now then?” he asked softly.

Sighing, Paul sat down across from the younger man. “I… I think we have to, don’t you?”

Sighing, George looked up, eyes slightly glassy with unshed tears. “It’s just been way too long, Paul. It’s been way too fucking long, and I know that I’m acting like a complete asshole by holding on to it all these years, but sometimes I just can’t...”

Ducking his head, Paul studied his hands, unwilling to meet the other man’s eyes and not able to say a word.

“What you did still hurts, you know?” With a short laugh, George leaned his head back, as he tipped the chair back on its hind legs. Looking up at the ceiling, he continued. “I never did quite understand how we could go from being best mates one day to near strangers the next.”

Looking up, Paul said softly, “We were more than just best mates.”

Coming back to earth with a low thud, George glanced at Paul’s face, noting the pain that was mirrored in his expression.

“I know. We were,” he said. “But whenever I tried to talk to you about it, about anything at all, you brushed me off, suddenly looking at me like I was nothing but a child. Once John started coming around, that is.”

Paul smiled wryly, “If I can remember correctly, you were quite entranced by the dazzling Mr. Lennon as well.”

With a roll of his eyes, the younger man chuckled softly, “I won’t deny that, but…” George sighed. “What we had was something different. It was fucking scary, but it was…” seeming to be at a loss for words, he trailed off.

“Exhilarating,” Paul finished, as he leaned forward, his fingers softly ghosting over the younger man’s cheek.

“Yeah,” George echoed as he moved in closer, capturing Paul’s lips with his own.

The kiss was gentle, a feather light touch of one mouth on another. Close-lipped and sweet, it wasn’t a passionate kiss but a loving one. Paul gently ran his tongue over George’s mouth, a comforting gesture that parted the younger man’s lips with a sigh. Gently nibbling and sucking, the kiss lacked the taste of new beginnings and the promise of something more, but what it did have proved infinitely valuable.

It tasted like closure.

With a soft sigh, the two parted, Paul placing a tender kiss on George’s forehead before sitting back down. His eyes were immediately drawn to the younger man’s peaceful expression, a look that had not been seen on his face in a very long time. When George opened his eyes, Paul treated him to a small smile before leaning forward and clasping the younger man’s hands in his own.

“I’m really sorry, George,” he began earnestly, his gaze never wavering from George’s sallow face. “I could say that I never knew that what I did hurt you so much, but we both know that that would be a cop-out.” With a short laugh, Paul shook his head regretfully as he continued. “I know that I can’t change what happened back then. All I can do now is say sorry, as insignificant a gesture as that might be.”

Silent throughout Paul’s speech, George tilted his head slightly, and gave his old friend a sideways glance. With a smile tugging at his lips, he said, “You’re forgiven.”

Mouth falling open comically, Paul gave George a puzzled stare.

“That’s it?” he asked, confusion in his voice.

Shrugging, George replied. “Well, yeah” he said. “It’s been nearly 40 fucking years, and I’m certainly not keen on taking that to the grave.”

Shaking his head, Paul let out a soft sigh of relief before responding. “You’re fucking barmy, mate,” he said in an amused voice.

“I know…” the younger man yawned, as he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to keep them open.

Paul smiled softly. “I think it might be time for both of us to get some rest.”

“You’re too right,” George mumbled, as his head pitched forward slightly.

Paul quickly jumped up and hovered by George’s chair, unsure of whether or not to help the tired man back up to his room. Noticing his uneasiness, George rolled his eyes, before looking into the older man’s uncertain face.

“Do you think you could help me back upstairs?” he asked softly, as he began to rise from the chair.

Paul’s face broke into a smile, as he quickly put his arms around George’s thin shoulders and helped the younger man stand up. “Of course, mate,” he answered as he pushed the chair in with his foot, and began to help George towards the door.

As the two walked through the darkened house, Paul quickly clicked on the hallway light as the two ascended the stairs, George finally relaxing and allowing the older man to guide him without resistance. As they neared the landing, George finally spoke, breaking the comfortable silence.

“It wouldn’t have worked out between us anyway,” George said matter-of-factly, causing Paul to pause mid-step.

Turning sideways, the elder man looked quizzically at the younger. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

A grin pulled at George’s lips, but he fought it down before answering. “You’re too bloody high-maintenance,” he said seriously.

Paul gasped, as he punched George lightly in the arm. “I’m not,” he exclaimed.

Snorting George replied, “You bloody well are. Don’t know how I stood being around you for so bloody long. Lord knows I wanted to strangle you on more than one occasion.”

“Yeah,” Paul scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “Because you were such a fucking prince to be around.”

“Maybe not,” the younger man shrugged. “But I didn’t piss and moan every fucking hour of every fucking day.”

“Wanker,” Paul grumbled with an amused shake of his head, as he pushed open the door to George’s room.

“Yeah, yeah,” George shot back, giving Paul’s arm one last squeeze before letting go. With a twinkle in his eye, he turned around to face the other man, treating him with a grin before continuing. “You know you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

Shaking his head, Paul returned the smile before turning around and switching off the hallway light as George closed the door to his room.
 
 
Current Location: LAUSD; 15th Floor
Current Mood: chipperchipper
Current Music: Crazy Teachers Yelling
 
 
 
Annikaannikaa on December 1st, 2007 06:27 pm (UTC)
Haha, I'm not either. I'm more of a John/Paul girl myself. But thanks. Glad you liked it!
fab4fic_lover on December 1st, 2007 08:17 pm (UTC)
Hee! Me too :P