chapter 5
Title: Split
Author(s): charliewhats
Pairing: George/Ringo, Ringo/Maureen
Rating: PG
Warnings: none really
Disclaimer: none of this happened, i own nothing, no libel intended
'Ringo? Ringo!'
Ringo looked up suddenly, dropping his drumsticks so they clattered to the floor. John clicked his teeth irritably.
'Are you paying any attention to what you're doing, Rings?'
'Sorry,' Ringo mumbled, leaning down to pick up his sticks. As he did so, he caught George's eye for the briefest moment.
'We'll do it again, okay? And this time - at least try and keep on the beat, will you?'
He nodded distractedly, rubbing his temple. George was fiddling with a guitar string, biting down on his lip in concentration.
'Right. Are we all ready?'
Maybe, if it was any other day, Ringo might have noticed that John seemed uncharacteristically tense, snapping at everything and everyone.
'One, two, three, four - '
The song was "It's Only Love"; it was one of John's, though he didn't seem to like it much, pulling a face as he launched into it.
'I get high, when I see you go by, my-oh-my ...'
Ringo concentrated as best he could on keeping in time, avoiding John's eye; despite his best efforts, however, his gaze kept wandering over to George.
'When you sigh, my-my insides - '
His eyes had the familiar, half-glazed look he always adopted when he was in the midst of playing, but Ringo could pick up on the telltale signs in his demeanour; the tiny crimson scar where he had bitten through his lip, and the fingers, too tense, almost slipping on the strings.
They were signs that, over time, Ringo had learned to pick up on, couldn't help but pick up on. Seeing George like this - when Ringo couldn't do anything for him - was almost more than he could bear.
When they had finished recording the song, John fell into a chair, irritably lighting a cigarette. Judging by the look on his face, they were done for the day, so Ringo slowly began packing up his things, feet dragging on the floorboards. As he was doing so, he patted his own pockets for a cigarette, wondering vainly if it might alleviate for a moment the pain that was now a dull, permanent feature.
'John?'
George's small, weak voice pierced the silence, and John looked up; Paul, who was just leaving the room, did the same. Ringo kept his eyes very carefully on his feet.
'Yeah?'
'I've - I - ' George stumbled over his words, coughing, and Ringo realised he had hardly spoken at all through the whole session.
'I've written a song.'
'You have?' Ringo balked as his voice rang out across the silent studio. His tone sounded - almost accusatory, and he couldn't think why.
'It's not finished yet,' George continued quietely, not looking at Ringo (though John and Paul were fixing him with contemptuous glares).
He knew George wrote songs, he had had one on an album, but that was over a year ago, and he had written far more than that; he would play them for Ringo when they were alone together, a guitar balanced across his lap. Some of the songs he would ask Ringo's opinion on, because he wanted to take them to the studio.
Far more often, though, he would sit carefully facing Ringo, so close that their knees touched and Ringo could feel his breaths warm on his cheek. Their lips would almost brush as George sang, sang those careful, tender words that Ringo knew only he was meant to hear.
The memory - memories - were a sharp pain against the heavy ache to which he had now become accustomed; he could still remember the words to every song, and the way George looked at him as he sang them.
'You don't realise how much I need you - '
Ringo looked up with a start as he realised George had started to sing, a tune he hadn't heard before, lyrics he had never heard either. His voice was still the same, soft and heavily accent with an ever-so-slight quiver.
'I'd love you all the time, and never leave you ...'
No - no, it wasn't quite the same. It was imbued with a keening note that hit right at Ringo, in a sad, strange sort of way.
'I need you back with me, I'm lonely as can be - '
At this point, George's fingers slipped, creating a jarring chord, but he carried on, his voice beginning to crack.
'I need you ...'
For the briefest, most fleeting moment, Ringo could have sworn that George looked at him - just for a second - as he sung those three words.
'Said you had a thing or two to tell me - '
'It's a good song, George.'
Paul's voice was serious, and John nodded his assent; for a second, it almost looked as though George might smile.
'That's the first verse, right? And the beginning of the second?' John asked, and George nodded, biting his lip.
'The lyrics are good - I think maybe we'd change them a bit, though, you know, so it flows better - '
'Would it be acoustic finished?' Paul said, leaning over, ''cause if it was electric, then it could go on the A-side, and - '
The three of them were so absorbed in George's new song, that it was easy for Ringo to slip out the door without being noticed.
Author(s): charliewhats
Pairing: George/Ringo, Ringo/Maureen
Rating: PG
Warnings: none really
Disclaimer: none of this happened, i own nothing, no libel intended
'Ringo? Ringo!'
Ringo looked up suddenly, dropping his drumsticks so they clattered to the floor. John clicked his teeth irritably.
'Are you paying any attention to what you're doing, Rings?'
'Sorry,' Ringo mumbled, leaning down to pick up his sticks. As he did so, he caught George's eye for the briefest moment.
'We'll do it again, okay? And this time - at least try and keep on the beat, will you?'
He nodded distractedly, rubbing his temple. George was fiddling with a guitar string, biting down on his lip in concentration.
'Right. Are we all ready?'
Maybe, if it was any other day, Ringo might have noticed that John seemed uncharacteristically tense, snapping at everything and everyone.
'One, two, three, four - '
The song was "It's Only Love"; it was one of John's, though he didn't seem to like it much, pulling a face as he launched into it.
'I get high, when I see you go by, my-oh-my ...'
Ringo concentrated as best he could on keeping in time, avoiding John's eye; despite his best efforts, however, his gaze kept wandering over to George.
'When you sigh, my-my insides - '
His eyes had the familiar, half-glazed look he always adopted when he was in the midst of playing, but Ringo could pick up on the telltale signs in his demeanour; the tiny crimson scar where he had bitten through his lip, and the fingers, too tense, almost slipping on the strings.
They were signs that, over time, Ringo had learned to pick up on, couldn't help but pick up on. Seeing George like this - when Ringo couldn't do anything for him - was almost more than he could bear.
When they had finished recording the song, John fell into a chair, irritably lighting a cigarette. Judging by the look on his face, they were done for the day, so Ringo slowly began packing up his things, feet dragging on the floorboards. As he was doing so, he patted his own pockets for a cigarette, wondering vainly if it might alleviate for a moment the pain that was now a dull, permanent feature.
'John?'
George's small, weak voice pierced the silence, and John looked up; Paul, who was just leaving the room, did the same. Ringo kept his eyes very carefully on his feet.
'Yeah?'
'I've - I - ' George stumbled over his words, coughing, and Ringo realised he had hardly spoken at all through the whole session.
'I've written a song.'
'You have?' Ringo balked as his voice rang out across the silent studio. His tone sounded - almost accusatory, and he couldn't think why.
'It's not finished yet,' George continued quietely, not looking at Ringo (though John and Paul were fixing him with contemptuous glares).
He knew George wrote songs, he had had one on an album, but that was over a year ago, and he had written far more than that; he would play them for Ringo when they were alone together, a guitar balanced across his lap. Some of the songs he would ask Ringo's opinion on, because he wanted to take them to the studio.
Far more often, though, he would sit carefully facing Ringo, so close that their knees touched and Ringo could feel his breaths warm on his cheek. Their lips would almost brush as George sang, sang those careful, tender words that Ringo knew only he was meant to hear.
The memory - memories - were a sharp pain against the heavy ache to which he had now become accustomed; he could still remember the words to every song, and the way George looked at him as he sang them.
'You don't realise how much I need you - '
Ringo looked up with a start as he realised George had started to sing, a tune he hadn't heard before, lyrics he had never heard either. His voice was still the same, soft and heavily accent with an ever-so-slight quiver.
'I'd love you all the time, and never leave you ...'
No - no, it wasn't quite the same. It was imbued with a keening note that hit right at Ringo, in a sad, strange sort of way.
'I need you back with me, I'm lonely as can be - '
At this point, George's fingers slipped, creating a jarring chord, but he carried on, his voice beginning to crack.
'I need you ...'
For the briefest, most fleeting moment, Ringo could have sworn that George looked at him - just for a second - as he sung those three words.
'Said you had a thing or two to tell me - '
'It's a good song, George.'
Paul's voice was serious, and John nodded his assent; for a second, it almost looked as though George might smile.
'That's the first verse, right? And the beginning of the second?' John asked, and George nodded, biting his lip.
'The lyrics are good - I think maybe we'd change them a bit, though, you know, so it flows better - '
'Would it be acoustic finished?' Paul said, leaning over, ''cause if it was electric, then it could go on the A-side, and - '
The three of them were so absorbed in George's new song, that it was easy for Ringo to slip out the door without being noticed.