𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧

3 - What're You Doin' Here?

15 December, 1960

At first no one quite knew what to say. John was there, had been there, all this time. Last night, he'd slept right around the corner from them, in his aunt Mimi's little house that was identical to the Twickenhams' and bordered their backyard.

Or maybe he hadn't slept there. Fiona hardly knew anything about his life anymore; he could have been anywhere, with anyone.

But here he was now, and for a quick moment it was easy to remember why she'd fallen for him all that time ago. He looked harder now, bolstered with crude wisdom and cold toughness picked up on the Hamburg streets. His brow, though sterner, still framed his eyes the same way. His features, though sharper, still carried an air of childlike mischief with them. His brown eyes caught hers for a moment, but the corners of his mouth didn't turn up the way they used to. Rather, his lips thinned and he shifted his gaze away, passing over her.

But perhaps the most apparent difference how empty he looked. John always had something to say or do, some comment to make, some secret plot you could see forming in his eyes if you looked. But now he was a shell of himself, blank and dim, the brightness gone from him.

Paul at first grinned in contented surprise, but less than a second after he grew serious, frowning as he shook his head. "What're ye doin' here?"

John didn't look at him. "Came back."

"When'd ye come back?" George asked, stepping closer to John. Fiona felt Lewis reach for her hand and gladly took it.

"Last week."

"Why?" Paul sighed, visibly frustrated to be getting nowhere in this conversation.

John shrugged. "Was bored."

"An' Stu?"

"Still there."

There was a pause where no one said anything. Bob Wooler seemed to sense the tension building in the room; clearly this reunion had not at all gone how he'd envisioned.

Paul sighed again, throwing his hands out helplessly before folding his arms. "Why didn't ye tell us, John?"

"Coulda come an' found us," George added, his Scouse accent adding a natural sing-songy ring to his voice even when he was annoyed.

For a moment Fiona thought to say something. In her old world she would have; she would be there defending John, telling off the rest of them, fleshing out the story when John wouldn't elaborate. But she didn't step forward now. She had nothing to say. If anything, she was just as bloody confused as the rest of them.

John downed the remainder of his beer in one swig. "You three left, an' Stu and I needed somethin' to do. He's lookin' at the art school they've got there, an' most nights he goes to Astrid's and paints with her and Klaus. I went around a few nights, tryin' to play with whatever group was on, when I could.

"After a while, figured I oughta just come back. Hamburg rejected me, it bloody rejected all of us." He paused. "I guess comin' back and seein' you all would mean I'd given up, an' I didn't wanna do that."

Paul nodded to the chair John was sitting in. "Well, here you are now. Can ye see us?"

"Unfortunately, yeah."

Paul could never stay angry at John for long, and a moment later there he was clapping John on the shoulder, forgetting his frustration within minues now that the band was reunited. John playfully nudged George's shoulder, then cordially nodded hello to Meg. Paul introduced Lewis, who seemed to hesitate a moment before nodding his own hello. John turned to Fiona last, instantly locking eyes with her.