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Remember
alifeofourown
Title: Remember
Author: alifeofourown
Pairing: John McCartney/Paul Lennon (The Beatles)
Rating: General
Summary: It’s been years since he’s been back to this spot, this stupid garden and the goddamn building that plagued his memories more than anything, but he’s come back and on one of worst days to come back.
Warnings: Post-Death, Memories
Disclaimer: I. Do. Not. Own. God, if I did...that'd be awkward.
Beta: havah24601
Dedication: lifeisafantasy2 who kept me entertained for almost twelve hours on the phone yesterday
Author's Note: Written in honor of the 29th anniversary of John Lennon's death which is tomorrow. First attempt at Beatles slash. Dun kill? Cut lyrics to Let it Be, since it's the song I'm listening to.

He shouldn’t be smoking. He knows that he shouldn’t be smoking, but for some reason, the nicotine is all that he wants right now. It’s been years since Paul McCartney’s had a cigarette, but for some reason, today deserves one. It’s cold in Central Park, but that’s to be expected on one of the first days of December. The winds start up, biting at his nose and forcing the putrid smoke off the wrong end of the cigarette into his face, but Paul doesn’t really care about that. Not when he’s got a mind full of mishaps and memories.

The scenes are unfolding in his mind and no matter how hard Paul tries to shut off his brain, it won’t stop running through memories. It’s been years since he’s been back to this spot, this stupid garden and the goddamn building that plagued his memories more than anything, but he’s come back and on one of worst days to come back. The day that he never wants to think about, the one that he wishes would just delete itself from the calendar so that this had never happened.

The date of John’s death.

Granted, it’s been almost thirty years since that’s happened but every time it comes around, it hits Paul like it just happened, like he just lost his best mate all over again. It hurts his head, his heart to think about the fact that he’s still alive and kicking up a storm in the world while someone who he considered the closest person to him was just a mere pile of ashes in a box.

Paul took a drag of his cigarette and sighed, looking up at the overcast, grey sky. Typical dark, depressing feeling; the Earth was matching his mood again. He let out the stream of smoke that had been holed up in his mouth and sighed, dropping the cigarette to the ground before stamping it out. John wouldn’t want him smoking right now. He wouldn’t want him dwelling on the past either, but that was something that Paul was going to do no matter how much he didn’t want to do it.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Paul began to walk. He could only stand in front of the withered garden for so long before it made him think, and sadly enough, it had worked. His thoughts were drifting lazily in his mind. He was remembering.

He remembered the first time he’d ever met John Lennon, the first time he’d ever laid eyes on the beautiful man. It was that very same day that Paul had decided that he wanted him somehow, be it friendly, brotherly or even intimately, Paul McCartney wanted John Lennon.

It hadn’t taken him very long to get what he wanted either. The same day that the band had officially decided that the painstaking name changes were over and The Beatles would be their official name was the very same day that John declared Paul his best friend, the only person that he’d be able to confide absolutely everything that was plaguing his mind with.

He remembered the day John first kissed him. The feeling that he had felt when the lips that he had so desperately wanted on his own had actually made contact. It had been a perfect ending to the very last day of their first tour and the start of something new, something dangerous. Their relationship had to be kept quiet because the two were not about to risk losing everything because of what they wanted. Music was their life and that wasn’t going to change.

They cheated on each other, with permission, which was an odd sounding concept within itself. John married, Paul played his cards with all the pretty ladies he could find. It provided a sturdy sense of straightness for the two of them, but for those in the band, it was clear that John and Paul were more than met the eye.

He remembered the good times, the bad times, the times in between. Stolen kisses and shared beds, marriages and children, love and hate, war and peace, the two had had their fair share of all of it, or at least most of it. True, there were fights, but every relationship was bound to have a fight or ten. The important thing was that their fights never lasted long and everything usually ended up being okay in the end.

He remembered the rumours of a torrid love affair between his secret lover and their manager. He remembered believing them at first too, feeling like the cheating had sunk to a new low, one that could have possibly been permissible if it had been mentioned or hinted at before the rumours sparked. Paul was difficult when it came to forgiving and forgetting, and John knew that. That was why it might have taken almost three months to get Paul to see that John had merely assisted the openly gay man in his hunts for bedtime partners rather than actually came anywhere near close to sleeping with him.

Of all the things that Paul remembered though, his least favorite and absolute worst memory was the one that haunted him more than all of the others; the day they broke it off, for good.

It was true that Paul was a bossy fellow, and it was true that he liked to make sure that everything was in line, but the idea that his controlling nature would put a strain on their relationship had never occurred to him. The secret, shared moments had dwindled to rare occasions, and even stolen kisses had dropped off. John was becoming aggravated with him, and Paul had been completely oblivious to it.

Abbey Road changed that. It had been after a particularly brutal recording session when the first fight had exploded in the air with brutal honesty and disturbing yet true accusations. Confessions were screamed and realization hit the both of them when they discovered just how many problems the two had had with each other. Paul stormed out, and John had come close to destroying Paul’s prized guitar.

Unfortunately, that had only been their first fight.

Surprisingly, their relationship hadn’t ended with a fight though. No, it ended with something far worse for both of their hearts. It ended with Lennon walking out on McCartney, abandoning him, breaking both of their hearts without a single care.

Paul’s thoughts dwindled as he stopped in front of The Dakota, the apartment building that John had lived in with his wife and son, the one that he had died in. Memories were taunting him, haunting him, forcing him to relive every good and bad moment that he had shared with John. Even almost three decades of time to heal from the incident hadn’t given Paul the proper chance to heal. He wouldn’t heal until he let it out, until he screamed, cried, begged for John’s return, but that would never happen. Sir Paul McCartney was not one to act out, especially when he was here, at the scene on the date of the loss. It was in his nature to bottle up the feelings and hide them, and that’s just what he did.

Of course, despite the fact that he refused to let himself heal, that didn’t mean he couldn’t stand there looking at the building and remember; remember the feelings that had numbed him when he had first heard the news, remember the first violent screams that John had directed at him, remember the day that they had been so high that they switched last names for a few hours and pretended they had married.

It was all about the remembering, the memories of the good times and the memories of the bad, the memories when they were at the absolute peak of their relationship and the nightmares of when they were at their worst.

Paul moved to the shadows, watching as a few older ladies accompanied by younger ones, probably daughters or grandchildren, stopped to leave flowers by the door. It made him realize that he was not the only one still in mourning over the loss of someone he had put his entire faith, heart and soul in, but that didn’t stop him from feeling it. It didn’t stop him from remembering.

Braving the frigid cold of a December evening, Paul lifted an ungloved hand from his pocket and he brushed away the tear that had just managed to slip past his floodgates, removing all outward traces of his pain. He would keep that to himself, hide the emotions that filled him up at thoughts of John Lennon. He turned and began to walk, leaving behind the apartment building, leaving behind the park with the memorial garden. He was heading back to his current “home,” the hotel room that he had for the next few days just so that he could come back and relive old memories. He was going back to go to sleep, to dream of love, hate, pride, joy, envy, jealousy, anger, hurt, pain, John.

He was going home to dream of John.


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This ia very good. I don't know why it doesn't ahve more comments. My only complain is that it wasn't (only) Paul's perfectionism that became an issue in their relationship. It was many factors combined.

However, the fiction is very good. Congratulations.

Yeah, I know that Paul's OCD about being perfect wasn't the only thing that strained their relationship. I just didn't feel like dragging in all of it. It felt right with just that part.
Thank you very much for reading and commenting! :D

This was really really good :)
I really like th way you write.
Sory for any misspelled words, I read this on my iPod in school.
P.S. Random question, are you a member of ATL slash? Your LJ name thing (nice description) sounds familiar.

Thank you very much, and reading things on iPods is pretty legit. :D
I am a member of ATL slash, haha. That's like, all that I write these days, aside from that lovely little Beatles thing. :D

And you said you were never going to write Beatles slash. Ha.

Anyway,
This was so sad, made me tear up. Love it. Great job bb.

I never said that I was never going to write Beatles slash, I said for you to kill me if I ever did.

It was sad, but today is a sad day. ;-;

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