Slashed Wings

It's All Too Much

*Tick, Tick, Tick.

*Tick, Tick, Tick.

     The clock seemed to drone on for hours. In fact, Ringo was quite suspicious that it would sometimes stop on a number just to mess with them. He glanced over at Paul and John, who were a few seats down. Paul had his face rested between his hands and seemed lost in thought; John's position was generally the same, except for his leg, which was bouncing up and down madly. Across from them Brian was eyeing several schedules and calendars. Ringo felt some remorse for him, there would no doubt be major publicity to recover from, not to mention all of the press conferences and interviews that'll need to be scheduled. But he couldn't keep his focus on that thought for long, his mind still plagued by George.

     He was hopeful that they were close to seeing the results, so very close. Minutes turned to hours, however, and they still sat unaware of the situation. It was obvious John was fed up. He suddenly sat upright and called out, "This is bullsh*t! it's been three f*cking hours and we still haven't hear a thi-", but he was cut off by the sound of a door opening, and the sharp clicks of rolling metal wheels. Ringo's breath hitched as his eyes focused on the small frame sat slouched in the chair. Was it George? Well, who else would it be. But was he even alive? If he wasn't, why would they even wheel him out?! John's arms fell to his side as he stared with anxiety, they all did.
    Suddenly, George's eyes slowly pushed open. They seemed heavy, either from being sedated, or just plain tiredness. Paul sprung up almost immediately, his eyes brimming with tears of joy, "G-George, you're really alright!" He yelled, running over to his younger friend. He almost made it in for a hug, but the doctor motioned for him to back up. The other two Beatles quickly tailed Paul over to the guitarist with wide grins. "Now-," the doctor started with a tone of annoyance, "your friend's wounds are still healing, they will be vulnerable to applied pressure, if any disruptions happen with the treatment, please give us a call." The three of them nodded, and Ringo spoke next. "C-can he stand?" The doctor nodded and went to help George up. George grasped firmly to his arm as he regained his balance, but slowly let loose his grip and stood steadily. The doctor gave a small nod and walked over to most likely discuss the treatment information with Brian.
    They stood in tense silence for a moment, but a smile suddenly made its way onto George's face. "Miss me?" Paul got choked up a bit on his previous tears, but then started laughing. Soon they were all laughing, John and Ringo hysterically. They laughed for all of the pain and uncertainty, all of the anxiety and misery, at this point their eyes brimming with tears. George began to cough a bit near the end of their fit, clutching his side. Paul made a move to help him but George just waved him away. Ringo eyed Paul and noticed the small bit of hurt from rejection, as he now knew that the bassist was determined to make it up to his friend.

     When John was sure the doctor was busy in conversation with the manager, he pulled the guitarist into a firm hug. "I'm just- glad you're still here, Geo...". In response to this, George was a bit shocked to say the least. "Are you goin' soft on me Lennon?" He playfully accused. But after seeing John's dejected look, he felt bad, and another patch of awkwardness hit. Perhaps this recovery would be harder than he thought.

    A few minutes and a lengthy lecture on restrictions later, the band was preparing to head back into publicity. Of course, it wouldn't be the same, seeing as all of the news would have to break and all of the shows to be postponed. But the four of them seemed in a state of blissful happiness, something that sadly can't last forever.