i love gripweed, & hiwtw♡
"What's that crying for?" John was squinting at her through his fogged vision. He squinted at his bird, turning a hand to block the sunlight peeking through the shades with the same expression. He squinted against the low rumble of the air conditioning that rattled outside their window, which made her wonder why it hadn't made the building fall yet with it being so old.
She bit her lip. "Just got a call from my mother," she nodded to herself, swiping at her cheeks. "Dad's in the hospital."
"Old Mike?" John gathered her in his arms. "Poor ol' fella."
"He's hanging on by a thread anyways."
"Well we should head out and see him then, yeah?"
Mike has been sick for a while, ever since she was just a little girl, so this was nothing knew. She was surprised she had any tears left to let slip out. John let her go, heading to the kitchen to grab his car keys and slip on his glasses. She stared at him with her mouth open as if to say something, but her throat was clogged.
"You have to stay here to film for the movie, John-" he stopped her.
"The movie can wait, can't it? Something like this simply cannot!" He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at her, letting her know he was being sarcastic.
"John, I need you to stay here, please, I don't want you in trouble with Richard-" she protested, but he cupped her face and smooshed her cheeks together to get her to shut up.
"God, yer so cute!" he fake swooned before dragging her out the door.
After major convincing to Richard, who as said, was very upset with the idea, they were on the quickest plane to England. John was noticed everywhere he went, even with his chopped hair and rounded glasses. He kissed a few cheeks and sighed a few books before they called a cab to escort them to the hospital her father was staying in.
The nurse nearly fainted when she saw John Lennon walk in and begin talking to her patient as if he knew him all his life; "Mike! Old pal, how's it hanging?"
"Pretty shite right now, don't ya think?" her father replied, rolling his eyes at the sight of John.
She hugged her mother.
"You've cut your hair, John!" Maureen ran a hand over John's browned head.
"The life of a movie star," her daughter responded, kissing her cheek. John and her began talking up a storm while she went to grip her father's hand. "How're you doing, Dad?"
"Eh," her dad looked up at her. "Why'd you bring him?"
"Believe me," she said, turning to see John and her mother conversing. "I didn't want to."
"Yes you did," her dad spoke. "I know you love watching him torture me."
She chuckled. Her dad had always been her favorite, even after John showed up, he always seemed to make her smile like no one else. He got along with John more than anyone in her entire family, even her mother, who insisted on buying every Beatle album that released into shops. She simply loved John, but her dad and him got along like nobody she'd ever seen.
Unwanted tears rolled down her cheeks, and she felt her dad's hand reach up to cup her face. "Stop yer crying, bloom. Don't cry over such silly things."
"Yeah, yeah I know," she wiped under her eyes. "Just overwhelmed is all."
"When you marry that bloke," he ushered to John. "You can cry all you want."
She was a bit taken aback by her dad's words—marry him? Who said anything about marriage? Where did that come from? Of course she wanted to, it's all she ever thought about, but right now?
"Who said I was gonna marry him, dad?"
"I see the look ye get when yer with him," he answered, retracting his hand and laying it across his stomach. "The way yer eyes light up. It's like a sort of tension that everyone gets that lets ye know someone's fallen in love." John turned his head to look at them while her mother was in the middle of a sentence and he smiled at the pair.
"He's gonna ask you one day," her father continued. "I'm gonna wheel you down the isle."
"Dad," she slapped his chest, more tears rolling down her cheeks while he laughed aloud, a sound she hadn't heard in a while without the quiet crackling of his broken insides behind it.
"I'm serious," he said when he calmed down. "I'm never gonna walk again."
"Don't say that," she whispered, tracing circles on the bedsheet. "You're gonna walk me down the isle whether you want to or not."
"Ah, see? You do wanna marry him."
John joined her side. "Ello, Grandfather," he said to her dad, earning a disapproved look. "Ah, so something else then? Hm, what about Mildred? Petunia?"
"Marigold!" her mother joined in, chuckling afterwards.
"Christ, I'm not yer bloody nan," her dad answered while attempting to angle himself higher up the bed. "I'm the father of yer wife, so watch yerself."
"Yes sir!"
"That's a good lad. Now, will you get on with this bloody proposal?"
