chapter 3
Title: Split
Author(s): charliewhats
Pairing: George/Ringo, Ringo/Maureen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: strong language, very mildly sexual situations
Disclaimer: none of this really happened and i don't own anything. no libel is intended
By that afternoon, the phone had rung twice, and both times Ringo had let it ring off, knowing exactly who it was. Mo had obviously sensed that something more was wrong with Ringo, and had left him alone for of the day, but without speaking much the two of them had still reached that inevitable decision. With that on his mind, by the time the car came round to pick Ringo up for that afternoon's concert, he felt so sick he wondered if even Brian might let him have today off.
He clambered awkwardly into the back seat, almost falling on top of George because he felt so dizzy. George quickly caught him, slipping an arm around his waist.
'You alright?'
'Yeah - yeah, I'm fine,' gasped Ringo, automatically turning to let George kiss him on the cheek. John, who was sprawled on the opposite seat, watched them with an indulgent smile.
'George says you've not been answering his calls,' he said teasingly.
'Oh - '
'Sorry,' said George quickly, squeezing Ringo's hand. 'I was just - I just wanted to check you were OK - '
Ringo cupped George's face in his hands and stared at him for a moment, stuck somewhere between laughing and crying. God, he was going to miss this wonderful, perfect boy.
'So what happened?' asked Paul, jolting Ringo from his reverie.
'It wasn't - um - ' He tried desperately to formulate some acceptable lie, conscious of three pairs of eyes on him.
'It's not - not that important. Just a bit hectic but - it's OK.'
'What actually happened, though?' Paul said persistently, but George gave him a friendly kick.
'Ah, leave him alone,' he said fondly, giving Ringo an impish smile. He forced a smile back, and laid his head on George's shoulder, comforted but feeling wildly, madly guilty.
The rest of the journey was rather uneventful; Ringo laid his head on George's shoulder, John threw things at them, George was sweet, Ringo laid his head in George's lap, Paul threw things at them, George was sweet, Ringo had to bury his head in George's neck about five times because for some [i]stupid[/i] reason he kept wanting to cry. By the time they arrived at the cinema, he was so out of it that George had to yank him by the wrist through the screaming crowds to the door.
'Rings, are you sure you're alright?' he asked when they got into their dressing room, taking his hand by the fingertips.
'Fine,' mumbled Ringo, slumping into a chair and trying to straighten his tie. George moved his hands and straightened his tie himself, kissing him gently on the forehead.
'Ringo, love ...' George dropped his voice, stroking Ringo's hair from his face. 'What's happened?'
He leaned in and kissed Ringo softly on the lips, running a hand down the back of his neck. 'You can tell me.'
No, he really couldn't - though, all things considered, he would have to, eventually.
'Honestly, George, it's fine.'
'It's obviously not fine, Ringo,' George said, suddenly sounding irritable. 'I'm just trying to help, but if you're gonna be miserable - '
'Boys?'
Brian stood in the doorway, looking rather harrassed and running a hand through his hair. 'Are you ready?'
With a tiny sigh, George stood up, pulling Ringo with him by his wrist.
'Yeah,' he said, picking up his guitar from where it was leaning on the wall, and handing Ringo his sticks, rather more forcefully than necessary. He took them nervously, feeling his stomach sink.
As they arrived on stage, Ringo automatically put on a smile and waved to the screaming crowd, for some reason - no, actually, he knew exactly why - finding it especially difficult to do so. It wasn't as if, though, anyone in the crowd would notice that his grin was more of a grimace, or that his eyes were starting to water a little (which had to be some kind of allergic reaction) and blur the faces in the audience.
He took his seat, waving one last time before launching into the first song, "Twist and Shout". Ringo had played through every song so many times that he could drift off while he was playing, and, as he always did, he found himself watching George at the front of the stage. How his thick hair bounced around his ears when he moved, how slim his tiny waist looked in the well-cut grey suit; how, when he turned to the side, Ringo caught a glimpse of sharp, sculpted cheekbones, round lips, long lashes framing dark, intense eyes.
Watching George like this normally brought a smile to Ringo's face, a warm blush to his cheeks, because George - gorgeous, perfect, wonderful George - was all his, not that he knew why someone like George would ever, ever want him; but George loved him, and that was all that mattered.
Now, though, when he looked at George, Ringo was still struck, probably even more so, by how lucky he was to have George - but it came with a wrench of pain, of longing, because he knew he was going to lose him.
'Ringo? Rings - '
Ringo felt a hand on his, and turned, startled, nearly tripping over - he had been absorbed in his own thoughts, which were mostly rather depressing.
'George - '
'C'mere,' he said softly, pulling Ringo into the dressing room. He steadied himself on the wall, licking his lips nervously.
'George, can I - '
George cut him off with a sudden kiss, running his hand up his chest. Instinctively, he leaned into George, gasping as he bit down on his lower lip, slipped his tongue between his lips -
'Sorry I got short with you earlier,' he murmured, nuzzling Ringo's neck with kisses. 'I was just worried - '
'George - '
'Let me make it up to you,' he whispered, and sucked lightly on Ringo's earlobe, one hand grazing his thigh. Ringo gave an irrestible whimper of pleasure, but forced himself to push George away, taking both his hands and holding them by his sides.
'Come and sit down, love.'
George frowned, but nodded, and followed Ringo to the sofa in the corner. As he sat down, he slipped an arm around Ringo's shoulder, but Ringo gently moved it away, turning so he sat cross-legged facing George.
'I need to ... I have to - ' He sighed, shifting where he sat, and let his eyes drop to the floor. There was no sensitive way he could put this, but he could at least try to soften the blow.
'I need to tell you something.'
George nodded again, biting his lip. 'Is this about - '
'Yeah.'
They were silent for a second, and George took Ringo's hand in his; Ringo couldn't bear to wrench it away.
'You know Mo went to the doctor's yesterday?'
'Mmm.' He tightened his grip on Ringo's hand, running a finger over the silver ring.
'Well - when she phoned yesterday - she said - that - ' He could feel the tears prickling in his eyes again, and dropped his gaze so his hair fell in his face.
'George, you know I love you, don't you?'
'Yes, love,' murmured George, reaching forward and dabbing at Ringo's eyes. Ringo pulled away, furiously wiping the tears away himself.
'You love me too, don't you? Whatever - whatever happens?' Even if he had resigned himself to the fact earlier, when it came to it, he knew he could never bear to lose George, knew he had to do whatever he could to hold onto him.
'Of course I do,' said George, a concerned look on his face. 'Ringo, what's - '
'Mo's - Mo's pregnant.'
George dropped Ringo's hand, wide-eyed. 'Are you - ' - he swallowed, running a hand through his hair - ' - are you sure?'
Ringo gave a tiny nod, staring down into his own lap. 'And - and we're getting married.'
There was a tense pause, during which Ringo, out of the corner of his eye, watched George nervously. His expression was unreadable, but when he spoke, there was a dangerous quiver to his voice.
'You said you were being careful. With Mo.'
'I was! We were - but it must've - broke or something - '
George raised a shaking hand and pressed it to the side of his pale face.
'I don't believe this. I don't - '
'George, I am sorry - '
'Oh, well, that makes everything all fucking better, doesn't it?' said George harshly, his voice suddenly raised and cutting. 'Now that you're fucking sorry -'
'I really am - ' - of course he knew saying sorry wasn't enough now - but what else could he do?
'You know what, Ringo?' he said, and now his voice was cracking, there were tears in his eyes, and Ringo couldn't bear it - this was the worst, knowing that he had upset George.
'I've never - since we've been together - I've never had anyone else.'
'I know - ' Ringo took George's hand, but he pulled it away, giving Ringo an acrid look.
'I never - I never minded about you and Mo, though, 'cause - 'cause I thought you loved me.'
'George, I do - '
'Oh, well, you've got a pretty fucking good way of showing it, haven't you?'
'You two all right?'
George turned to the door with a heavy, irritated sigh. 'Piss off, John.'
John swung the door handle, giving George a dirty look. 'We've got to go.'
With another acidic sigh, George dug his fingers into the side of the seat.
'Give us a minute, will you?'
John snorted. 'You can snog later, I wanna go home.'
Carefully, deliberately, George turned very slowly where he sat, until he faced John dead-on.
'Ringo has just told me that his girlfriend is pregnant,' he said in a soft, measured voice that almost made Ringo shudder. 'They are getting married.'
John stared, momentarily taken aback.
'What - '
'So, would you give us a fucking minute?'
'I - ' John appeared to be experiencing a rare instance of being completely lost for words. 'I - okay.' He left the room rather too quickly, and George turned back to Ringo again.
'I really thought - I really thought you loved me.' His voice had dropped again, and there was a real, heart-wrenching sadness to it.
'I thought - we were permanent, you know? And Mo was temporary.'
Exactly what Ringo had thought - but he couldn't say that now, it wouldn't make this better.
'Just shows how stupid I was, doesn't it?'
With one last, faintly sad look in Ringo's direction, he stood up; just as he was walking out of the door John had left half-open, Ringo sat suddenly up, going after him -
'George, wait - please - '
- but he didn't even look back, and it was all Ringo could do to trail after him to the waiting car.
Author(s): charliewhats
Pairing: George/Ringo, Ringo/Maureen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: strong language, very mildly sexual situations
Disclaimer: none of this really happened and i don't own anything. no libel is intended
By that afternoon, the phone had rung twice, and both times Ringo had let it ring off, knowing exactly who it was. Mo had obviously sensed that something more was wrong with Ringo, and had left him alone for of the day, but without speaking much the two of them had still reached that inevitable decision. With that on his mind, by the time the car came round to pick Ringo up for that afternoon's concert, he felt so sick he wondered if even Brian might let him have today off.
He clambered awkwardly into the back seat, almost falling on top of George because he felt so dizzy. George quickly caught him, slipping an arm around his waist.
'You alright?'
'Yeah - yeah, I'm fine,' gasped Ringo, automatically turning to let George kiss him on the cheek. John, who was sprawled on the opposite seat, watched them with an indulgent smile.
'George says you've not been answering his calls,' he said teasingly.
'Oh - '
'Sorry,' said George quickly, squeezing Ringo's hand. 'I was just - I just wanted to check you were OK - '
Ringo cupped George's face in his hands and stared at him for a moment, stuck somewhere between laughing and crying. God, he was going to miss this wonderful, perfect boy.
'So what happened?' asked Paul, jolting Ringo from his reverie.
'It wasn't - um - ' He tried desperately to formulate some acceptable lie, conscious of three pairs of eyes on him.
'It's not - not that important. Just a bit hectic but - it's OK.'
'What actually happened, though?' Paul said persistently, but George gave him a friendly kick.
'Ah, leave him alone,' he said fondly, giving Ringo an impish smile. He forced a smile back, and laid his head on George's shoulder, comforted but feeling wildly, madly guilty.
The rest of the journey was rather uneventful; Ringo laid his head on George's shoulder, John threw things at them, George was sweet, Ringo laid his head in George's lap, Paul threw things at them, George was sweet, Ringo had to bury his head in George's neck about five times because for some [i]stupid[/i] reason he kept wanting to cry. By the time they arrived at the cinema, he was so out of it that George had to yank him by the wrist through the screaming crowds to the door.
'Rings, are you sure you're alright?' he asked when they got into their dressing room, taking his hand by the fingertips.
'Fine,' mumbled Ringo, slumping into a chair and trying to straighten his tie. George moved his hands and straightened his tie himself, kissing him gently on the forehead.
'Ringo, love ...' George dropped his voice, stroking Ringo's hair from his face. 'What's happened?'
He leaned in and kissed Ringo softly on the lips, running a hand down the back of his neck. 'You can tell me.'
No, he really couldn't - though, all things considered, he would have to, eventually.
'Honestly, George, it's fine.'
'It's obviously not fine, Ringo,' George said, suddenly sounding irritable. 'I'm just trying to help, but if you're gonna be miserable - '
'Boys?'
Brian stood in the doorway, looking rather harrassed and running a hand through his hair. 'Are you ready?'
With a tiny sigh, George stood up, pulling Ringo with him by his wrist.
'Yeah,' he said, picking up his guitar from where it was leaning on the wall, and handing Ringo his sticks, rather more forcefully than necessary. He took them nervously, feeling his stomach sink.
As they arrived on stage, Ringo automatically put on a smile and waved to the screaming crowd, for some reason - no, actually, he knew exactly why - finding it especially difficult to do so. It wasn't as if, though, anyone in the crowd would notice that his grin was more of a grimace, or that his eyes were starting to water a little (which had to be some kind of allergic reaction) and blur the faces in the audience.
He took his seat, waving one last time before launching into the first song, "Twist and Shout". Ringo had played through every song so many times that he could drift off while he was playing, and, as he always did, he found himself watching George at the front of the stage. How his thick hair bounced around his ears when he moved, how slim his tiny waist looked in the well-cut grey suit; how, when he turned to the side, Ringo caught a glimpse of sharp, sculpted cheekbones, round lips, long lashes framing dark, intense eyes.
Watching George like this normally brought a smile to Ringo's face, a warm blush to his cheeks, because George - gorgeous, perfect, wonderful George - was all his, not that he knew why someone like George would ever, ever want him; but George loved him, and that was all that mattered.
Now, though, when he looked at George, Ringo was still struck, probably even more so, by how lucky he was to have George - but it came with a wrench of pain, of longing, because he knew he was going to lose him.
'Ringo? Rings - '
Ringo felt a hand on his, and turned, startled, nearly tripping over - he had been absorbed in his own thoughts, which were mostly rather depressing.
'George - '
'C'mere,' he said softly, pulling Ringo into the dressing room. He steadied himself on the wall, licking his lips nervously.
'George, can I - '
George cut him off with a sudden kiss, running his hand up his chest. Instinctively, he leaned into George, gasping as he bit down on his lower lip, slipped his tongue between his lips -
'Sorry I got short with you earlier,' he murmured, nuzzling Ringo's neck with kisses. 'I was just worried - '
'George - '
'Let me make it up to you,' he whispered, and sucked lightly on Ringo's earlobe, one hand grazing his thigh. Ringo gave an irrestible whimper of pleasure, but forced himself to push George away, taking both his hands and holding them by his sides.
'Come and sit down, love.'
George frowned, but nodded, and followed Ringo to the sofa in the corner. As he sat down, he slipped an arm around Ringo's shoulder, but Ringo gently moved it away, turning so he sat cross-legged facing George.
'I need to ... I have to - ' He sighed, shifting where he sat, and let his eyes drop to the floor. There was no sensitive way he could put this, but he could at least try to soften the blow.
'I need to tell you something.'
George nodded again, biting his lip. 'Is this about - '
'Yeah.'
They were silent for a second, and George took Ringo's hand in his; Ringo couldn't bear to wrench it away.
'You know Mo went to the doctor's yesterday?'
'Mmm.' He tightened his grip on Ringo's hand, running a finger over the silver ring.
'Well - when she phoned yesterday - she said - that - ' He could feel the tears prickling in his eyes again, and dropped his gaze so his hair fell in his face.
'George, you know I love you, don't you?'
'Yes, love,' murmured George, reaching forward and dabbing at Ringo's eyes. Ringo pulled away, furiously wiping the tears away himself.
'You love me too, don't you? Whatever - whatever happens?' Even if he had resigned himself to the fact earlier, when it came to it, he knew he could never bear to lose George, knew he had to do whatever he could to hold onto him.
'Of course I do,' said George, a concerned look on his face. 'Ringo, what's - '
'Mo's - Mo's pregnant.'
George dropped Ringo's hand, wide-eyed. 'Are you - ' - he swallowed, running a hand through his hair - ' - are you sure?'
Ringo gave a tiny nod, staring down into his own lap. 'And - and we're getting married.'
There was a tense pause, during which Ringo, out of the corner of his eye, watched George nervously. His expression was unreadable, but when he spoke, there was a dangerous quiver to his voice.
'You said you were being careful. With Mo.'
'I was! We were - but it must've - broke or something - '
George raised a shaking hand and pressed it to the side of his pale face.
'I don't believe this. I don't - '
'George, I am sorry - '
'Oh, well, that makes everything all fucking better, doesn't it?' said George harshly, his voice suddenly raised and cutting. 'Now that you're fucking sorry -'
'I really am - ' - of course he knew saying sorry wasn't enough now - but what else could he do?
'You know what, Ringo?' he said, and now his voice was cracking, there were tears in his eyes, and Ringo couldn't bear it - this was the worst, knowing that he had upset George.
'I've never - since we've been together - I've never had anyone else.'
'I know - ' Ringo took George's hand, but he pulled it away, giving Ringo an acrid look.
'I never - I never minded about you and Mo, though, 'cause - 'cause I thought you loved me.'
'George, I do - '
'Oh, well, you've got a pretty fucking good way of showing it, haven't you?'
'You two all right?'
George turned to the door with a heavy, irritated sigh. 'Piss off, John.'
John swung the door handle, giving George a dirty look. 'We've got to go.'
With another acidic sigh, George dug his fingers into the side of the seat.
'Give us a minute, will you?'
John snorted. 'You can snog later, I wanna go home.'
Carefully, deliberately, George turned very slowly where he sat, until he faced John dead-on.
'Ringo has just told me that his girlfriend is pregnant,' he said in a soft, measured voice that almost made Ringo shudder. 'They are getting married.'
John stared, momentarily taken aback.
'What - '
'So, would you give us a fucking minute?'
'I - ' John appeared to be experiencing a rare instance of being completely lost for words. 'I - okay.' He left the room rather too quickly, and George turned back to Ringo again.
'I really thought - I really thought you loved me.' His voice had dropped again, and there was a real, heart-wrenching sadness to it.
'I thought - we were permanent, you know? And Mo was temporary.'
Exactly what Ringo had thought - but he couldn't say that now, it wouldn't make this better.
'Just shows how stupid I was, doesn't it?'
With one last, faintly sad look in Ringo's direction, he stood up; just as he was walking out of the door John had left half-open, Ringo sat suddenly up, going after him -
'George, wait - please - '
- but he didn't even look back, and it was all Ringo could do to trail after him to the waiting car.