split - chapter 8
the penultimate chapter of my current fic ٩(͡๏̮͡๏)۶
Title: Split
Author(s): charliewhats
Pairing: George/Ringo, Ringo/Maureen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: strong language
Disclaimer: none of this happened, i own nothing, no libel intended
It had been a ruthlessly tiring day; first there had been the stress of the early-morning flight; then facing the teeming, deafening crowds at the airport; a long, mind-numbing press conference; and all this coupled with the jarring change in timezone and jetlag all round.
Yet still, Ringo could not sleep.
He was fairly certain that he had never felt more tired in his life; he had had hardly any sleep the night before, either, though that seemed to be the norm now. Still, with all that had gone on today, and with how exhausted he felt, he had expected to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
John and Paul certainly had, anyhow - Ringo could hear their soft snores from the opposite side of the room. George slept near-silently, but Ringo was sure he had to be asleep, too; there had been dark, pronounced circles around his eyes since that morning. His own eyes stubbornly refused to stay closed for more than half a minute.
He couldn't stop thinking; about George, the long day they had had, the film, George, and, eventually, why it was he couldn't sleep. He even tried blocking out all thoughts, difficult as that was - singing the same song repeatedly in his mind, squeezing his eyes forcibly shut against the pitch-black room, waiting in vain for sleep to cloud over his mind.
As it got later and later, he grew more and more frustrated, digging his fingers into the bedsheets and jumping at every slight noise. Through the silence, he could pick out every tiny creak and rustle with unnatural precision. He became irritatingly aware of one sound in particular; a soft, stuttering noise, that he couldn't place, but that sounded distinct from the usual sounds of pipes and floorboards. It was hardly audible, but Ringo had a particular sense that it was coming from somewhere nearby.
Sighing, he rolled onto his other side, trying to blot out the strange, keening sound. From where he lay now, he could make out George's familiar, silhouetted shape in the next bed, could hear his ragged, shaky breathing, sounding almost like choked sobs and nearly exactly like the low noise Ringo hadn't been able to place.
'Oh, God ...'
There came a soft, tearful moan from the other bed, piercing to Ringo's ears even though it was so quiet; because he hated the weak, aching sound of George's voice, and he wanted nothing more than to climb under the covers beside him, hold him, kiss his forehead and lie that it would all be fine, in the end. He craved that even more than he missed George's kisses, missed spending long, cold nights with him, missed cuddling with him in the early morning.
Yet it could be no use now, could it? He had betrayed George, broken the love and the trust between them; how could George ever love him after that? After the plane journey earlier, he had briefly entertained the notion that their hand-holding meant that George still loved him, and was, miraculously, prepared to forgive him - but he knew that couldn't be true, not really. George had clung to him out of fear and out of habit, nothing more. Ringo's late-night attempts at comfort would be of no use.
It was still, however, far more than he could bear to lie in his bed and listen helplessly as the one person he loved most in the world cried a few feet away.
'George?'
He knelt cautiously beside George's bed, so their faces - Ringo's weary and anxious, George's pale and tear-stained - were barely inches apart. George let out a groan, burying his face in the pillow.
'George, sweetheart, please look at me.' He stroked his hair lightly, tracing a line down to his ear.
Slowly, George lifted his head again, and this time his eyes met Ringo's with almost alarming intensity. Even through the darkness, Ringo could make out fresh tears glinting in his eyes.
'What is it?'
'George, what's - what's wrong?' It was an idiotic question, totally idiotic, but it was all he could think to ask.
'What's wrong?' He shot Ringo an angry look, face still half-hidden in the pillow. 'Everything's fucking wrong, Ringo, I though you of all people would know - ' His voice, broken and tearful, seemed to ring out in the silent room, and Ringo quickly cut across him in softer, pleading tones.
'George, I'm - I'm really sorry, and I know it doesn't - I know - '
There were tears in his own eyes now; he hated himself. George started to cry again, breaking into empty, hiccupping sobs that threatened to wake John and Paul - Ringo tried in vain to calm him, whispering useless words in his ear in an attempt at comfort. He only wept harder, though, and eventually Ringo, still shushing him, clambered awkwardly up into the bed beside him, wrapped his arms around his chest and pulled him close.
'Shh ... '
Eventually, George began to calm down, though his breaths were still shuddery and his body still shaking in Ringo's arms. He nuzzled into Ringo's neck, thick hair tickling, but it was hardly as if Ringo cared.
'I love you so much,' he murmured softly, running fingers through George's dark hair. George shifted against his neck, remaining silent.
'You'll find someone else, I promise you will.'
'No - '
Ringo stroked his hair, shaking his head. 'You will. Someone much better.'
George shook his head, tears damp on Ringo's neck. 'I don't - I don't want someone else.'
'George, please - ' He almost wanted to break at that point, and it took all his willpower not to - ' - I know you feel rubbish now, but it'll get better - '
'For fuck's sake!'
Ringo shushed him quickly, sure he would wake John and Paul (though a certain stillness from Paul's bed indicated that he might be listening anyway); but he didn't speak again, instead staring directly ahead into nothing, his eyes fixed above George's head. He didn't start even when George spoke again, lips brushing against his skin in a ragged murmur.
'I don't want anyone else, Rings. Not ever.'
He stayed silent for another moment, one finger trailing through George's hair.
'I just want you back, Ringo.'
His voice cracked again, and he looked up at Ringo, face still crumpled and worn - it was almost more than he could manage not to cup his face in his hands, kiss him until everything was better -
'You don't want me, though, do you? Not after - not after - ' - Ringo was crying now, voice breaking through his tears, as two months' worth of guilt pressed on him more than ever. 'Why'd anyone want me - ?'
'Shh, Ritchie ...'
He shifted up to his full height, enveloping Ringo in a close hug, which comforted him briefly; but then he found he was only crying harder, clinging too hard to George and hands clasping at his pyjama shirt.
'Why're you - why're you doing this? All I've done is fuck up -'
'Ringo - ' George lifted Ringo's chin, cupping his face with his other hand. 'Remember - remember after that show, when you told me - and - ' There were new tears forming in his eyes, which he briskly wiped away with the back of his hand.
'Remember? You asked if - if I'd always love you, no matter what - '
Ringo nestled himself into George's shoulder, aware that he was now making his shirt very wet, but not particularly caring.
'And I said I would. No matter what.'
He closed his eyes, burying himself even more in George's shoulder. 'So?'
'So - that hasn't changed.' George lifted Ringo's chin again, looking him in the eyes. 'I still love you, Ritchie.'
For a second, Ringo paused, eyes still on George's, and he saw in the weary face, barely inches from his own, everything he had always loved about George and always would love; and for a second, it was so easy to forget all he had done wrong, the stupid mistakes he'd made that had driven them apart -
'You love me too, don't you, Ringo? That's what you said.'
He nodded silently, tears trickling down his cheeks. 'But - '
George shook his head, pressing a finger to his lips. 'Don't. I know - I know it won't be the same, but - it's all right. I love you too much for all this, Rings.'
'George - ' Biting his lip, he wiped away the last of the tears, eyes stinging. 'I'm really - I'm so sorry.'
George didn't respond, only pulled him closer, stroking his hair tenderly. 'No more crying.'
Ringo nodded, slipping his hand tentatively through George's. 'I love you.'
'I love you too, sweetheart,' George murmured, pressing the softest of kisses to Ringo's lips. 'More than ever.'
Title: Split
Author(s): charliewhats
Pairing: George/Ringo, Ringo/Maureen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: strong language
Disclaimer: none of this happened, i own nothing, no libel intended
It had been a ruthlessly tiring day; first there had been the stress of the early-morning flight; then facing the teeming, deafening crowds at the airport; a long, mind-numbing press conference; and all this coupled with the jarring change in timezone and jetlag all round.
Yet still, Ringo could not sleep.
He was fairly certain that he had never felt more tired in his life; he had had hardly any sleep the night before, either, though that seemed to be the norm now. Still, with all that had gone on today, and with how exhausted he felt, he had expected to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
John and Paul certainly had, anyhow - Ringo could hear their soft snores from the opposite side of the room. George slept near-silently, but Ringo was sure he had to be asleep, too; there had been dark, pronounced circles around his eyes since that morning. His own eyes stubbornly refused to stay closed for more than half a minute.
He couldn't stop thinking; about George, the long day they had had, the film, George, and, eventually, why it was he couldn't sleep. He even tried blocking out all thoughts, difficult as that was - singing the same song repeatedly in his mind, squeezing his eyes forcibly shut against the pitch-black room, waiting in vain for sleep to cloud over his mind.
As it got later and later, he grew more and more frustrated, digging his fingers into the bedsheets and jumping at every slight noise. Through the silence, he could pick out every tiny creak and rustle with unnatural precision. He became irritatingly aware of one sound in particular; a soft, stuttering noise, that he couldn't place, but that sounded distinct from the usual sounds of pipes and floorboards. It was hardly audible, but Ringo had a particular sense that it was coming from somewhere nearby.
Sighing, he rolled onto his other side, trying to blot out the strange, keening sound. From where he lay now, he could make out George's familiar, silhouetted shape in the next bed, could hear his ragged, shaky breathing, sounding almost like choked sobs and nearly exactly like the low noise Ringo hadn't been able to place.
'Oh, God ...'
There came a soft, tearful moan from the other bed, piercing to Ringo's ears even though it was so quiet; because he hated the weak, aching sound of George's voice, and he wanted nothing more than to climb under the covers beside him, hold him, kiss his forehead and lie that it would all be fine, in the end. He craved that even more than he missed George's kisses, missed spending long, cold nights with him, missed cuddling with him in the early morning.
Yet it could be no use now, could it? He had betrayed George, broken the love and the trust between them; how could George ever love him after that? After the plane journey earlier, he had briefly entertained the notion that their hand-holding meant that George still loved him, and was, miraculously, prepared to forgive him - but he knew that couldn't be true, not really. George had clung to him out of fear and out of habit, nothing more. Ringo's late-night attempts at comfort would be of no use.
It was still, however, far more than he could bear to lie in his bed and listen helplessly as the one person he loved most in the world cried a few feet away.
'George?'
He knelt cautiously beside George's bed, so their faces - Ringo's weary and anxious, George's pale and tear-stained - were barely inches apart. George let out a groan, burying his face in the pillow.
'George, sweetheart, please look at me.' He stroked his hair lightly, tracing a line down to his ear.
Slowly, George lifted his head again, and this time his eyes met Ringo's with almost alarming intensity. Even through the darkness, Ringo could make out fresh tears glinting in his eyes.
'What is it?'
'George, what's - what's wrong?' It was an idiotic question, totally idiotic, but it was all he could think to ask.
'What's wrong?' He shot Ringo an angry look, face still half-hidden in the pillow. 'Everything's fucking wrong, Ringo, I though you of all people would know - ' His voice, broken and tearful, seemed to ring out in the silent room, and Ringo quickly cut across him in softer, pleading tones.
'George, I'm - I'm really sorry, and I know it doesn't - I know - '
There were tears in his own eyes now; he hated himself. George started to cry again, breaking into empty, hiccupping sobs that threatened to wake John and Paul - Ringo tried in vain to calm him, whispering useless words in his ear in an attempt at comfort. He only wept harder, though, and eventually Ringo, still shushing him, clambered awkwardly up into the bed beside him, wrapped his arms around his chest and pulled him close.
'Shh ... '
Eventually, George began to calm down, though his breaths were still shuddery and his body still shaking in Ringo's arms. He nuzzled into Ringo's neck, thick hair tickling, but it was hardly as if Ringo cared.
'I love you so much,' he murmured softly, running fingers through George's dark hair. George shifted against his neck, remaining silent.
'You'll find someone else, I promise you will.'
'No - '
Ringo stroked his hair, shaking his head. 'You will. Someone much better.'
George shook his head, tears damp on Ringo's neck. 'I don't - I don't want someone else.'
'George, please - ' He almost wanted to break at that point, and it took all his willpower not to - ' - I know you feel rubbish now, but it'll get better - '
'For fuck's sake!'
Ringo shushed him quickly, sure he would wake John and Paul (though a certain stillness from Paul's bed indicated that he might be listening anyway); but he didn't speak again, instead staring directly ahead into nothing, his eyes fixed above George's head. He didn't start even when George spoke again, lips brushing against his skin in a ragged murmur.
'I don't want anyone else, Rings. Not ever.'
He stayed silent for another moment, one finger trailing through George's hair.
'I just want you back, Ringo.'
His voice cracked again, and he looked up at Ringo, face still crumpled and worn - it was almost more than he could manage not to cup his face in his hands, kiss him until everything was better -
'You don't want me, though, do you? Not after - not after - ' - Ringo was crying now, voice breaking through his tears, as two months' worth of guilt pressed on him more than ever. 'Why'd anyone want me - ?'
'Shh, Ritchie ...'
He shifted up to his full height, enveloping Ringo in a close hug, which comforted him briefly; but then he found he was only crying harder, clinging too hard to George and hands clasping at his pyjama shirt.
'Why're you - why're you doing this? All I've done is fuck up -'
'Ringo - ' George lifted Ringo's chin, cupping his face with his other hand. 'Remember - remember after that show, when you told me - and - ' There were new tears forming in his eyes, which he briskly wiped away with the back of his hand.
'Remember? You asked if - if I'd always love you, no matter what - '
Ringo nestled himself into George's shoulder, aware that he was now making his shirt very wet, but not particularly caring.
'And I said I would. No matter what.'
He closed his eyes, burying himself even more in George's shoulder. 'So?'
'So - that hasn't changed.' George lifted Ringo's chin again, looking him in the eyes. 'I still love you, Ritchie.'
For a second, Ringo paused, eyes still on George's, and he saw in the weary face, barely inches from his own, everything he had always loved about George and always would love; and for a second, it was so easy to forget all he had done wrong, the stupid mistakes he'd made that had driven them apart -
'You love me too, don't you, Ringo? That's what you said.'
He nodded silently, tears trickling down his cheeks. 'But - '
George shook his head, pressing a finger to his lips. 'Don't. I know - I know it won't be the same, but - it's all right. I love you too much for all this, Rings.'
'George - ' Biting his lip, he wiped away the last of the tears, eyes stinging. 'I'm really - I'm so sorry.'
George didn't respond, only pulled him closer, stroking his hair tenderly. 'No more crying.'
Ringo nodded, slipping his hand tentatively through George's. 'I love you.'
'I love you too, sweetheart,' George murmured, pressing the softest of kisses to Ringo's lips. 'More than ever.'