The tick of the clock invaded the room. It was deadly silent, except for that tick, tick, tick. Time was precious, words were needed, and daylight threatened to break soon. They'd been in her home for an hour, and John knew what he needed to say, yet the words remained in the bottom of his throat, left to die.

Her home was comfortable in the same way her flat had been. The decor was different, much more fashionable. She had always been the catalog type of girl though. Her place always looking as if it had been picked out of a magazine, but this...It was a different kind of fashionable; better, more grown up. Her carpet was yellow, but her walls were white. They were aligned with posters and photographs. He'd only glimpsed at a few, but those few were enough to let him know she really had tried to erase her past. No picture could be found of that eighteen year old who latched onto him during 1966. It was almost as if she hadn't existed. If she wasn't so nervously fiddling with her fingers beside him, he would've thought it was something his boiling insanity had created.

He let his feet rest of her coffee table, legs crossed, eyes diverted. He didn't look at her, in fear that he'd say something wrong. In fear that, in the midst of yet another stupid action, he'd break her down one more time this month. He'd lost count how many times he'd done it already.

"You're not nearly as verbal as I remember you being." She was the first to speak, undeterred by the tock of her clock or the obvious tension that resided between them. She was braver than himself; it painted a frown on his lips. "You tell you want to talk and you don't talk. I don't think you know what you want anymore than I do."

John looked up and swallowed, choking down the bitterness, and pushing away the urge to narrow his eyes. He bit at his lip. "Me neither." A shrug overtook his shoulders as he let himself be vulnerable. "I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"My deepest colondecles," she offered, insincerely. John was, slowly but surely, learning what self-control was. She was helping him more than she could ever imagine by being stubborn and guarded the way he often found himself being. It was like looking in the mirror; like choking down the same medicine he had dished out. It was bitter, nasty, but needed.

"When did you find out you were pregnant?" he cut straight to the chase. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She crossed her arms, and licked her lips. "A month after you left. I did tell you John, I did. Or I tried. That manager of yours--Epstein--told me he'd pay me off if I didn't say a word to the press, so I hung up on him. I sent you a letter too, but you never responsed. Figured it was you just avoiding me, so I didn't bother you any longer. I just took matters into my own hands."

John swallowed, a quick sweep of emotion hitting him unexpectedly. He turned his head, looking at that fucking clock, focusing on the tick tock, not on the news, not on the baby. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Finally, gaining his composure, John looked at Charlie. In his eyes lingered a tinge of sadness, but in the big pool of shaded void they'd become, it was undetectable. John never liked to show vulnerability; he feared a mocking, and the thought of being seen as weak. He wasn't weak, just tired, and that was old news. He'd screamed about it, until his throat had burned and his eyes were red, but he still wasn't ready to face it head on. He was sure he never would be.

"I gave her away, John," she told him, not waiting for another inquiry. His sweaty palms sat on his knees, and he focused on his boots. Anything but what was real, anything but facts. He didn't know why this hurt so bad. He'd left Charlotte and he didn't want the kid. He wouldn't have if he'd know about it. But it hurt as if he did, like that child was something he'd planned his whole life for and she'd taken it from him. Maybe, he concluded, it's was because of all the trouble Yoko and himself were having with that.

But he knew it wasn't true; it was because of something else, something he dared not admit to even himself. What he had with her was unusal, and it had only lasted a month or so, but he loved her. John had loved Charlie the day he met her. Maybe not fully, and maybe not as much as he loved Yoko, but he did love her. He loved her enough to be put off by her news, and ashamed that he left her. He loved her enough to regret it, even.

"I'm sorry I was so shit to ya." John looked at her. "I...That's all I can muster. I'm sorry."

"I know you are."

She looked at him, eyes lacking emotion. He stared back at her with an understanding he hadn't had before. In the early hours of the morning, sat on the chair, feet crossed and the light from the T.V. illuminating half her face, Charlie was safe. She wasn't sharp-tongued, or a person to be wary of. She was just Charlotte; she was always just Charlotte until she spoke.

"I think I know all my answers, John, and I think I've got yours." So leave, he could hear. She didn't have to say it.

"Well," he began, sitting forward, feet slamming onto the wooden boards beneath him, "I don't have a ride home."

"What?"

"I don't have a ride home."

"Walk," she offered him the solution, voice calm and collected.

He shook his head. "I can't. I'm not jus'--I can't do that, ya know I can't." He hoped she'd take pity on him soon. Gathering the last of his courage he said, "Let me stay, yeah? Till I can call Rings to pick me in the morn."

She didn't even take a second to think about it before she supplied the answer. Short and simple: "No."

"Char-" John tried.

"John," she cut off, folding her arms. She no longer looked so much like Charlotte. "I said no. I knew you'd do this...I knew you'd hang around. What do you want from me?"

He was a bit taken back by that. However, he'd come to expect these kind of things the more he hung around. They lurked about on every corner, and the more progress he made with her, the more that would appear.

"Nothing...to crash," he answered honestly. "Can't I stay here? Just for tonight, and I'll be gone."

"You think I trust you after earlier tonight? After you kissed me like the fucking loon you are?"

John scoffed, finally packing it in. He was tired of being civil. "Oh sod off, Char, will ya? Can't I kiss you without you being so uptight about it?" he stood up. "Y'should know that I don't do well with people who treat me like shit. I've never liked them, and I never fucking will."

John grabbed his jacket off the couch, clutching it in his hand. He walked past her, towards the door, before he turned back around. "I said I was-"

Charlie stood too, face flushed, finger rose. He stopped talking. "You've got a real ego on you if you think I'll just let you talk to me like that in my own home. You're a fucking prick, John Lennon, a fucking prick who's been idolized and heroworshiped so fucking much he's forgotten everyone doesn't do it." She went silent for a moment, collecting a breathe and walking closer to him. John back up, more out of habit than out of fear; it was simply instinct. "I want you to leave me alone, okay? I know...I know you've got some trouble with the deportation thing so I'll do you a big solid and I won't call the cops, but I want you gone. I don't want to see you around anymore because we...that was then and this is now. This is present."

"But it wasn't, was it? It isn't, I mean." John didn't know why he was sticking around; all he had gathered was that his boots weren't moving and his mouth was. "That was then, sure, but look at us, Char. If it was all then, if that was then and this is now and all was fucking clear, we wouldn't be at each other's throat, would we? You won't even let me talk to you without going mad! I know I fucking messed up, but God, Char I've been trying so fucking hard with you. I did...I did care about you."

Charlotte stood in front of him, arms crossed. Her countenance contorted with anger, before falling into something he could recognize, something that scared him. Her lip dared to shrivel and her eyes threatened to spill. Oh fuck, great, he thought, just what we need; more waterworks.

"You don't understand." She spoke softly. He rose an eyebrow, watching her cautiously. She didn't appear to be crying, but she was on the brink. Composing herself with each stubbled over word, he gathered. "I thought you were something special. Sure, I'm just another one of those groupies, if you will, but John, I gave you everything. I gave my whole mind, body, and soul to you, and you ran away and left me alone. I only gave it to you and look at you, and look at me. At this-" she motioned around the room. "I was suppose to be somethin' good. I was supposed to inherit my Dad's shop, and I was supposed to be loaded, rich, but I had to go and get pregnant, didn't I?"

"Char I said," he began, soft as she was, but stopped, thinking better of it. He thought about hugging her, but his better judgement keep him from doing so.

"I loved you." She said it almost to herself. It was aimed at him, but she wasn't looking at him, and her voice was so quiet. He found it amazing how one second she could be so loud, so defensive, and the next she could be so weak, so tired. He pitied it, too.

"I loved you too, if you'll believe it." He couldn't help but tell her. "I'm sure, somewhere, I still do if you'll believe that as well."

She gazed up at him again. "Don't believe me, do ya?"

"Can't, can I?" she responsed weakly.

"Yeah," he nodded his head. "You can. It's alright, to trust me even though I've been shit. Not wise, but alright."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I can't John; I can't afford to, not anymore. Not again."

John sighed, placing his hands on his hips. The air was sucked of noise, and they looked at each other. He wanted to kiss her again, to feel her soft lips against his own. He wanted to kiss her cheeks and taste the salt of her tears, and feel like he was doing something to help instead of hinder. "Let me kiss you, yeah?" he asked.

She gave thought to it, more than he thought she would. "No," she answered. "Leave John."

"Let me kiss you and I will."

"Why do you want to kiss me so fucking bad?" Anger was creeping into her tone again. "You already did."

"Not proper, y'know." John dared to step foward. "Just one kiss. One goodbye kiss if you'd like it be that way. I just..." he stopped, thinking. "I don't want to go off like this again. A real shit thing, that. So, what do you say? One kiss and I'll be gone."

She pulled him down by his shirt, taking him by surprise, before she kissed him. Charlotte pressed her lips against his, let her cold fingers fall on his cheeks. She leaned into him, and kissed him harder than he had expected her to. When he had asked for a kiss, he thought of quick peck, not this--not all of her passion pressed into one intimate session. However, he wasn't going to be one to tell her no. John still, as much as ever, found himself enchanted with intimacy. It always fucking got him in trouble, but it was always good.

John let his hands fall onto her sides, and she let hers travel down to his chest. She pulled back, and her blue orbs looked into his. She looked stunning, beautiful, and he wanted to kiss her again but he was a man of his word.

"John?"

"Yeah?" he asked, a bit breathless.

"You still up for staying?"

----------

It has been about a trillion hot minutes since I've updated this. I'm so sorry.

What do you guys think though? Do you think she's too forgiving? What do you think about her asking him to stay?