"You alright John?"

John looked up from his hands, which were tightly gripped to his glass. George stared at him with concern.

"Whadya mean, George?"

Paul and Pete were off at the bar, talking to two birds who looked a bit older, with their beehives and heavy makeup. One of them, a blonde, laughed and grabbed Paul's arm.

"I mean, we're back home, right?" George paused with hesitance in his tongue.

John raised an eyebrow. "It took you this long to figure that out?"

Screaming Jay Hawkins blasted through the record player. Paul held his hand out to the blonde and pulled her to the middle of the room to dance. John noticed that her hair wasn't naturally blonde: her roots were a mousy brown. He didn't think she'd look much better either way.

He turned back to George, who seemed to have given up the conversation, twiddling his thumbs around his own glass.

"I still haven't got the chance to hear your wonderful soliloquy," John said with a small smirk. George looked up with ambivalence. "Go on," he gestured. "Say what you ought to."

George was a shy little anklebiter, and didn't talk much, but when he did, it was worth listening to. John did so in earnest.

"We've been back for two days now," George began, conducting his voice with a leveled worry, "and you 'aven't mentioned Prudence once."

John winced, squeezing his glass tighter.

Of course she had to be talked about sometime. But as soon as she was brought up, a concoction of despair, anger, betrayal, loneliness- just about every bad feeling in the book- bubbled in John's stomach and boiled through his veins.

"You don't think it would be good for you, maybe?"

John turned to George. He hadn't realized that the lad was still speaking.

"What would?"

George's voice lowered, as if what he was saying was a government secret, not to be overheard by anyone. "To go see her."

He didn't know why he felt so strongly about her. She was just a bird. He'd had hundreds like her back in Hamburg. He wouldn't have cared if any of them stopped writing.

As soon as that thought entered his mind, he realized how stupid it was. Of course none of the Hamburg girls were like her. No one was like her.

George looked at John expectantly, waiting for an answer. But John provided none. He just sat, lost in his own musings, unwilling to make a decision.

He deserved an explanation, didn't he? He needed that, at the least.

Paul and Pete barged into the scene, holding the girls by the arms behind them.

"Ey, lads," Paul said, chipper but slightly out of breath. He had a lipstick mark on his cheek. "Us and the girls here are going to the Casbah for some dancing. Care to join us?"

George shrugged and looked back at John. Paul and Pete turned to him, too.

"Whadya say, John?" Paul asked.

John looked up. His mouth was taught in a straight line, and his eyes shone with determination.

"I say, no thanks." He finished his drink and pulled out some change, smacking it on the table. "George and I 'ave some other business to attend."

George stared at him, confused. "Me?"

"Well, it was your bloody idea, wasn't it?" John stood up and threw on his coat. "Come 'ead."

George obediently grabbed his coat and followed John out of the pub. Paul just muttered an "Alright, lads," focusing more on the bird.

John pushed the door open and walked swiftly, not slowing down for George.

"You're not mad about missing out on the Casbah, are ya George?"

The lad shook his head no as he matched John's pace.

"Good." John turned to look at George, his walk unwavering. "'Cos I'm gonna need you there, lad."

____________________________________________

John held his finger centimeters away from the doorbell. It felt as if he'd been standing that way for hours. George stood patiently off to the side.

"Just gimme a minute, ey?" John muttered, flustered, despite the fact that George hadn't said anything. He sucked in a deep breath, and then let his hand drop to his side.

He was so close. He could just press the button. It was that easy.

But it wasn't.

John turned around and plopped onto the steps, leaning his arms on his knees. George sat down beside him.

"I don't... I don't know what she'll..." John sighed and dropped his head in his hands. He felt George's gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.

"What do you think it is?" John said softly into his hands.

"What do I think what is?"

"The reason she stopped writing." As he said that, he tensed up.

He had many theories, and all of them seemed plausible at one point or another.

Maybe she had moved away. Maybe her mother married some handsome Italian bloke or somat, and that meant shipping the whole family off.

Maybe she was tired of her boyfriend being too far away to kiss.

Maybe she had died. Like Julia, in some freak accident. 

Maybe she got amnesia, and forgot all about him.

Maybe some bigger, better lad had swept her off her feet.

Maybe...

"Well, the only way to find out is to ask her," George replied.

John whipped his head up. George jumped in surprise. His eyes were wide.

John turned his head up to the doorbell, and sucked in another breath. This time, though, he knew he would do it. He stood up and pushed the doorbell with his index finger, holding it for slightly longer than necessary. George popped up next to him.

After what felt like eons had passed, they heard the latch click, and saw the door slowly turn open.

Prudence's mother appeared, a polite smile on her face. "Good aftern..." As recognition dawned on her, the smile fell like a ripped tapestry.

A ball was stuck in John's throat. He couldn't speak. He didn't know why she stared at him like that.

"Good morning," George spoke for him, with timid courteousness. "Is Prudence there?"

"No," Prudence's mother replied tersely. "She isn't." She glared at John.

What had he done wrong? He couldn't remember anything he had done to upset Prudence's mother. She had always been so jovial and pleasant to him, feeding him snacks and tea whenever he was around.

"D'you 'appen t'know where she could be?" John's voice was surprisingly steady, but his accent had thickened. Any inclination to act polite seemed to have vanished with the arrival of worry.

"If you've any idea of chasing her down, Mr. Lennon, I won't have it," the woman replied, crossing her arms.

"Ma'am, John and I were only trying to talk to Prudence," George tried to console her desperately, "since we 'aven't seen her in some time-"

"That's right! Quite some time!" she huffed.

"Where is she?" John said, sternly. George grabbed his arm to calm him down, but it had no such effect.

"She's gone! Off to nicer plains! And no thanks to you!"

The stout woman always had an abruptness to her. It was a quality John admired, and Aunt Mimi despised ("Ladies should be more behaved"). But today she deliberately avoided answers, and it made John furious.

"Look, ma'am, I'd like t'know where Prudence is. I 'aven't seen 'er in months and it's been the worst bloody time of my entire bloody life!" His voice got raspy as he screamed.

"John!" George said firmly, but John just ignored him.

"You can't hide her from me! I love her!"

"Then act like it!"

SLAM.

John stared at the closed door. He wasn't finished yet. He threw both his fists at the wood, banging on the door and shouting, "Where is she? Tell me where she is!"

He realized how ridiculous he must've looked, throwing a tantrum like a little child, but he couldn't stop. All that anger, all that loneliness, all that betrayal had finally exploded. She had left, and he didn't know where or why.

"John! John!" George grabbed him and pulled him away from the door in a surprising feat of strength. John stumbled down the steps and fell backwards.

George stared down at him, his brows furrowed. Both of them were out of breath.

After a moment, George hopped down the stairs and kneeled next to John. He grabbed his shirtsleeve and wiped at John's cheeks. John hadn't realized he was crying. 

He waved George away. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry, John. I thought she'd be here."

John let out a sad laugh. "Yeh, well, she's not, so let's bleedin' leave." He leaned on his hands to stand up, then winced in pain. George looked down at his palms.

"Oh God, you're bleedin'." George helped him stand up.

"I never win, do I?" John chuckled, staring at his scratched-up hands. He sniffled and wiped at his nose with his arm. Finding his footing, he and George started to walk away.

_________________________________________________________________

{{ HEY GUYS

I've uploaded one more chapter, as you can see. It took me a whole year to do it :p so once again, I apologize for my lazy and messy writing.

This week has been the worst week ever, hasn't it? I must've listened to Space Oddity five hundred thousand times.

Hopefully the next week is going to be much better for everyone :)

 PEACE AND LOVE L***}}