Chapter Text
Back to Get Back
Paul
"You can't cry yourself to sleep every night, honey," said Linda. She put an arm around him and leaned in to press a kiss to his shoulder. "The lawsuits will all be over someday."
"I'll never get out of it," said Paul. He hated this, he hated feeling like this. The betrayal went too deep, like tearing bits out of his flesh. Why couldn't they just have murdered him, if they hated him this much? At least then he wouldn't have to keep feeling it.
"It'll all come out in the wash, you'll see," said Linda.
"What was the point? Hard as we worked on those last two albums. The money's all getting stolen or pissed away in lawsuits. I should've walked away, before it could get like this."
"You love the Beatles. You guys did great things together," she pointed out.
"Well, I wish we hadn't bothered. Maybe we could've stayed friends instead."
"Aw, honey. You're talking to Richie again. The others will come around."
Yeah, but Richie had always been the least likely to hold a grudge, and even so, things were still a bit awkward between them.
I wish I had quit, he thought fiercely. I wish I'd just quit before all of this.
#
Of course it was just a dream. These things always were. But it felt real.
Maybe not a dream, but a trip, then. He and Linda hadn't taken anything before bedtime, but maybe they'd got up in the middle of the night and decided to get high, or take a little something stronger.
He didn't think they'd even had anything stronger on hand, though.
Of course, you didn't have to remember it for it to be real. Remembering how he'd got into this would probably come after he was out of it. But all the same, here he was: back to the horrible Let It Be filming. Back to that awful cold sound stage and looking at his mates, who, he now knew, didn't want to be here, didn't like him, and didn't like the Beatles anymore, either. At least not enough to fight for it—instead of fighting him. Blaming him.
They wanted out, didn't they? In a few short months, they'd get it. Why not now?
"I'm not sure," said Paul slowly. They were all sat round, and he was holding his guitar. "Maybe we shouldn't bother."
John
Maybe we shouldn't bother?
Paul was looking at the other lads one at a time, slowly, like he was looking at them for the first time. It was an uncomfortable feeling. John wanted to get away from that gaze, not see Paul's cold, flat look. It was like Paul didn't know—or trust—them anymore.
The director cleared his throat. Michael Lindsay-Hogg wore an awkward smile. "Well, I certainly won't get much of a film out of it, if you decide not to bother with the music now."
"I just don't think there's any point," said Paul. "You guys all want to do your own thing."
"Come on, man," said George awkwardly. "We're here, aren't we? Ready to work. Up with the birds and bees and all that."
"Well, why don't you do one without me, then?" Paul got up.
"What are you talking about, Paul?" said Richie. "Why've you changed your mind?"
John wet his lips. "Yeah, Paul. You wanted to do this. Knock out an album, get the film done—all of it. Why so wishy-washy?" He hated that they were doing this in front of others, but what choice did they have? Paul was throwing a wobbly.
"I just don't see what the point is, doing all of this. Pretending we're mates, and loyal, and all that." He gave John a look of strong dislike. "Instead of going behind my back with Allen Klein and all that."
John blinked. Who told him that?
"Klein could do us good," said John slowly. "Anyway, who cares? We've got to find someone someday."
"Yeah, and then turn on me. Fuck it, I'm not doing this." He put his guitar down and got up. He turned to Hogg and said, snidely, "Get that on camera, did you? Why don't you make a meal of it? I know you will anyway." And he gave the director a double handed two-fingered salute before storming off.
The other three Beatles looked at each other awkwardly, then away. This was not how things were supposed to go.
I'm not high enough for this, thought John. Or maybe that was the problem: he was too high, because wouldn't he have stopped Paul before this, in the old days?
He'd have stopped him before he stormed off, or maybe he'd have run after him and grabbed hold of his arm and argued with him till he got more reasonable. But John wouldn't have just sat here doing nothing, letting everyone else make—or not make—the decisions.
Would he?